This sounds absolutely perfect to create one of the numerous crafter characters running through my head, right now.
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Should I go? I was honestly just waiting cuz I didn't wanna cut out Yuki.
One of those situations where, "Yo, you wanna go first," is the best question to ask. Speaking from experience there.
ATTN:@The Irish Tree, @Polaris North, @PaulHaynek, & @AzureKnight
Scarlett hissed, as Shavis approached her, and attempted to assert dominance over her. It was annoying, because the Tigress Belua was chosen specifically for her ability to generate lightning and her overwhelming might - a battery of lightning strikes would magnetically charge Scarlett's body, and her blood could be slowed down to the point that Shavis's brutal strength could easily overpower her made fragile body. However, before Shavis could do anything, Keith broke out fighting, and took on Hector and Lapis, as Lapis took to the offensive; perhaps she was planning to create an opening for the sniper, or she just wanted to show off like Evelyn did.
Whatever the reason, it would overrode by the burst of wood and spray of blood, as the Makara broke through the floor, and eviscerated Keith in simple, but horrific swings of their bestial claws and fangs. Scarlett's third eye dilated in full, as the bloody smell filled the room, and she was free of her moral compass - the leg that heralded the bloodshed disappeared into her hand, and was drawn into her mouth. Silver fangs dug into the muscle, and ripped it from bone, once she tore the clothing off with said teeth; blood washed down her throat, and she swallowed the raw meat. Immediately, she was dove on by the feral beasts, but her body didn't move as claws struck metal - her skin growing plates of iron, thick and bulky, but protective beyond normal armor.
Suddenly, spikes erupted out of the plates without rhyme or reason - skewering those closest to her, and grievously wounding those further on, before retracting; each dripping an electric-blue liquid. Something had been injected into the Makara, as the more wounded seemed to be reverting to a simpler beast, and retreating like wounded animals would. Lapis could tell their minds were clear of their poisoned fury, and refilled with instinctive fear. A fear that Scarlett capitalized on, as she threw herself forward and tackled one; ripping its throat out with her fangs, and tossing its corpse at the wall.
It was easy to corral them, as she rushed the exit, and slashed them with her metal claw - her armor didn't slow her in the slightest, and only reinforced her swinging, as she sheared through flesh and bone with the weight behind her swings, as she cracked the floor with her palm. However, she wasn't killing them all blindly, but specifically as she seemingly allowed some to slip away and live. It was fair to think she did care to take them all, until she started ripping open abdomens and retrieving stomachs of those she had killed; dumping the glistening organ into a bloody pile. Carefully, she retrieved the remaining pieces of Keith, and split the stomachs open to dump their contents out.
She was retrieving the meat that had been eaten, as she crammed pre-chewed pieces of Keith into her mouth, and selfishly ate the man; enjoying her meal, as she tossed whatever she didn't want to eat into the swamp.
After gorging herself fat, Scarlett grew lazy to complement, and an iron tail thumped on the floor, as she lay her naked body on a bed of stomachs and blood; curled up, she relaxed and iron spread out, forming into floor-mounted gates, familiar to the trio.
It was the same kind of gate she had used to change her snake summon into an iron-clad creature; only, the gates were dripping with that liquid that had caused the Makara to regain their facilities and run for their lives - even if they were forfeit for most part for eating her meal.
Scarlett hissed, as Shavis approached her, and attempted to assert dominance over her. It was annoying, because the Tigress Belua was chosen specifically for her ability to generate lightning and her overwhelming might - a battery of lightning strikes would magnetically charge Scarlett's body, and her blood could be slowed down to the point that Shavis's brutal strength could easily overpower her made fragile body. However, before Shavis could do anything, Keith broke out fighting, and took on Hector and Lapis, as Lapis took to the offensive; perhaps she was planning to create an opening for the sniper, or she just wanted to show off like Evelyn did.
Whatever the reason, it would overrode by the burst of wood and spray of blood, as the Makara broke through the floor, and eviscerated Keith in simple, but horrific swings of their bestial claws and fangs. Scarlett's third eye dilated in full, as the bloody smell filled the room, and she was free of her moral compass - the leg that heralded the bloodshed disappeared into her hand, and was drawn into her mouth. Silver fangs dug into the muscle, and ripped it from bone, once she tore the clothing off with said teeth; blood washed down her throat, and she swallowed the raw meat. Immediately, she was dove on by the feral beasts, but her body didn't move as claws struck metal - her skin growing plates of iron, thick and bulky, but protective beyond normal armor.
Suddenly, spikes erupted out of the plates without rhyme or reason - skewering those closest to her, and grievously wounding those further on, before retracting; each dripping an electric-blue liquid. Something had been injected into the Makara, as the more wounded seemed to be reverting to a simpler beast, and retreating like wounded animals would. Lapis could tell their minds were clear of their poisoned fury, and refilled with instinctive fear. A fear that Scarlett capitalized on, as she threw herself forward and tackled one; ripping its throat out with her fangs, and tossing its corpse at the wall.
It was easy to corral them, as she rushed the exit, and slashed them with her metal claw - her armor didn't slow her in the slightest, and only reinforced her swinging, as she sheared through flesh and bone with the weight behind her swings, as she cracked the floor with her palm. However, she wasn't killing them all blindly, but specifically as she seemingly allowed some to slip away and live. It was fair to think she did care to take them all, until she started ripping open abdomens and retrieving stomachs of those she had killed; dumping the glistening organ into a bloody pile. Carefully, she retrieved the remaining pieces of Keith, and split the stomachs open to dump their contents out.
She was retrieving the meat that had been eaten, as she crammed pre-chewed pieces of Keith into her mouth, and selfishly ate the man; enjoying her meal, as she tossed whatever she didn't want to eat into the swamp.
After gorging herself fat, Scarlett grew lazy to complement, and an iron tail thumped on the floor, as she lay her naked body on a bed of stomachs and blood; curled up, she relaxed and iron spread out, forming into floor-mounted gates, familiar to the trio.
It was the same kind of gate she had used to change her snake summon into an iron-clad creature; only, the gates were dripping with that liquid that had caused the Makara to regain their facilities and run for their lives - even if they were forfeit for most part for eating her meal.
Charles Blanchet...
A name that John wouldn’t soon forget, as Juniper pulled her away from Tiziana - leaving the Hydro Witch to make her own decisions as to what she would do, and how she would proceed in this palor of pugilism. It would seem that Charles seemed to have some sense of the depth of Tiziana’s pockets; at least, enough to believe that she could put money forward on John’s debut. However, the curious idea that she could bet on herself without collateral - she couldn’t help but wonder what the debts in this place were like.
Juniper wouldn’t give her much time to think about it. "Alright, Alighieri, let’s see what you can do without your toys, eh," she asks, motioning towards a locker, while tossing her a key. "I’ll hang onto the key, while you fight." John rolled her eyes, as she pulled off her knuckle dusters, and then reached behind her to unholster her shotgun. "Oh, ho, crafty girl with the tricks. That explains the coat," Juniper chuckled. "Anything else?"
"You wanna do a full-body search," John asks, raising her arms, "Never can trust a Witch, after all."
Juniper smirked, as she strolled over, and by, "Tempted, tempted, O’ Lord, am I tempted. However, no time for pleasure, only business."
John huffed, "Oh, well. Another day, perhaps."
"Another day, indeed," Juniper says. "So, let’s talk shop about your opponent. There’s a small roster of people, but I’m pinning you against an Uveran with a Cryo Vision; one of our big earners. Odds against you, by default, are 20:1 with his track record," she says, "Add on another 10 for “No Weapons” complication, and another 20 for the “Knockout” condition, and that’s 50:1 against you."
"Doing me no favours by selling a massacre," John says. "Walton sure didn’t stray far from her roots."
"I’ll take that as a compliment from you," Juniper says.
"On with the spiel for this loser," John says, rolling her hand, as she stripped off her gloves with her teeth. "I’ve no plans to lose, but," she reached down, and removed her boots, "information is ammunition."
"Looking to win over the foot lovers," Juniper asks, curious.
"These fucks should be so blessed," John says, bouncing on the balls of her feet, as she shirked off her coat. "I’m just removing all my weapons, so to speak."
Juniper smirked, as she gathered the gloves and boots - noting they were rubbery. "Well, I’ve told you the bulk of what you need to know, really," she says, "All that remains is his name..."
John looked at the Uveran that was her opponent; a man with more rippling muscle and might than all of Averton combined. His skin was worn smooth by the erosive abuse of the ring, but his stance and posture was as firm as stone; the +20 Odds on a Knockout made all the more sense up close. His chest and upper arms were decorated in tribalistic tattoos that marked milestones - his body a canvas of accomplishment most men dreamed of; he wore nothing else but blood-stained bandages like gauntlets and fur jeans, upon which his Vision was looped into the front like a buckle.
However, it was his eyes that drew John’s attention - they were cold, hardened by warfare and violence. Beyond that, however, was a deep-seated anger - an intrinsic hatred for Averton, bringing the curse of Walton, to his people. So, John wasn’t surprised when he raised a thick finger to accuse her of:
"Johanna Wattsun... So, you’re the Witch that defiled my sisters, and brought colonial shame to my family!"
"Okay..." John drawled. "Honestly, I didn't see that coming..."
"So, so, if it isn’t the consequences of our own actions," Juniper says, suspiciously amused by this revelation that shouldn’t have leaked out of Averton. Before John could make any formal accusations, Juniper slammed her open palm against the small of her back, and threw John into the den with a buzzing, "Go! Gettem, champ!"
"Bloody hell. I’m guessing a lame apology and some hard drinks won’t salve this wound to your family pride or whatever," John sighed, as Bjorn approached the center to shake on the match.
Bjorn threw his hand forward. "I’m going to break your bones," he growled out, "Starting with the one between your legs..."
"Yeah... didn’t think so..." John grimaced, extending her own; gripping Bjorn monstrous elbow, as he gripped her delicate elbow - committing to the customary exchange of the ancient warrior’s handshake.
-- before John was flipped into the sky on the upward motion of the handshake; shouting obscenities as she flew up towards the ceiling, and descended the same towards a potential death and humiliatingly public castration.
John didn’t know which would be worse, honestly. All she did know was this:
A name that John wouldn’t soon forget, as Juniper pulled her away from Tiziana - leaving the Hydro Witch to make her own decisions as to what she would do, and how she would proceed in this palor of pugilism. It would seem that Charles seemed to have some sense of the depth of Tiziana’s pockets; at least, enough to believe that she could put money forward on John’s debut. However, the curious idea that she could bet on herself without collateral - she couldn’t help but wonder what the debts in this place were like.
Juniper wouldn’t give her much time to think about it. "Alright, Alighieri, let’s see what you can do without your toys, eh," she asks, motioning towards a locker, while tossing her a key. "I’ll hang onto the key, while you fight." John rolled her eyes, as she pulled off her knuckle dusters, and then reached behind her to unholster her shotgun. "Oh, ho, crafty girl with the tricks. That explains the coat," Juniper chuckled. "Anything else?"
"You wanna do a full-body search," John asks, raising her arms, "Never can trust a Witch, after all."
Juniper smirked, as she strolled over, and by, "Tempted, tempted, O’ Lord, am I tempted. However, no time for pleasure, only business."
John huffed, "Oh, well. Another day, perhaps."
"Another day, indeed," Juniper says. "So, let’s talk shop about your opponent. There’s a small roster of people, but I’m pinning you against an Uveran with a Cryo Vision; one of our big earners. Odds against you, by default, are 20:1 with his track record," she says, "Add on another 10 for “No Weapons” complication, and another 20 for the “Knockout” condition, and that’s 50:1 against you."
"Doing me no favours by selling a massacre," John says. "Walton sure didn’t stray far from her roots."
"I’ll take that as a compliment from you," Juniper says.
"On with the spiel for this loser," John says, rolling her hand, as she stripped off her gloves with her teeth. "I’ve no plans to lose, but," she reached down, and removed her boots, "information is ammunition."
"Looking to win over the foot lovers," Juniper asks, curious.
"These fucks should be so blessed," John says, bouncing on the balls of her feet, as she shirked off her coat. "I’m just removing all my weapons, so to speak."
Juniper smirked, as she gathered the gloves and boots - noting they were rubbery. "Well, I’ve told you the bulk of what you need to know, really," she says, "All that remains is his name..."
“BJORN! BJORN! BJORN!”
John looked at the Uveran that was her opponent; a man with more rippling muscle and might than all of Averton combined. His skin was worn smooth by the erosive abuse of the ring, but his stance and posture was as firm as stone; the +20 Odds on a Knockout made all the more sense up close. His chest and upper arms were decorated in tribalistic tattoos that marked milestones - his body a canvas of accomplishment most men dreamed of; he wore nothing else but blood-stained bandages like gauntlets and fur jeans, upon which his Vision was looped into the front like a buckle.
However, it was his eyes that drew John’s attention - they were cold, hardened by warfare and violence. Beyond that, however, was a deep-seated anger - an intrinsic hatred for Averton, bringing the curse of Walton, to his people. So, John wasn’t surprised when he raised a thick finger to accuse her of:
"Johanna Wattsun... So, you’re the Witch that defiled my sisters, and brought colonial shame to my family!"
"Okay..." John drawled. "Honestly, I didn't see that coming..."
"So, so, if it isn’t the consequences of our own actions," Juniper says, suspiciously amused by this revelation that shouldn’t have leaked out of Averton. Before John could make any formal accusations, Juniper slammed her open palm against the small of her back, and threw John into the den with a buzzing, "Go! Gettem, champ!"
"Bloody hell. I’m guessing a lame apology and some hard drinks won’t salve this wound to your family pride or whatever," John sighed, as Bjorn approached the center to shake on the match.
Bjorn threw his hand forward. "I’m going to break your bones," he growled out, "Starting with the one between your legs..."
"Yeah... didn’t think so..." John grimaced, extending her own; gripping Bjorn monstrous elbow, as he gripped her delicate elbow - committing to the customary exchange of the ancient warrior’s handshake.
-- before John was flipped into the sky on the upward motion of the handshake; shouting obscenities as she flew up towards the ceiling, and descended the same towards a potential death and humiliatingly public castration.
John didn’t know which would be worse, honestly. All she did know was this:
50:1 Odds. This was gunna be a helluva debut fight, and she didn’t come to lose.
ATTN: @PaulHaynek
"Sun." Alice says, floating on the surface of the water near the docks; impatiently patiently awaiting the port authority to release a boat to her, and someone to sail it. According to the captain of the boat she boarded, the shipping lanes and sailing lanes were closed to travel - especially foreign traffic - coming in and going out. As such, she had simply thrown herself overboard and into the water...
Did she expect someone to bother in the water? No.
And, yet, here she was, being called upon by a... a walking rainbow?
Upon entering the port town, Alice didn’t realize that she was bonding with Carroll, until she noticed the looks. It spoiled her cover, since a Cursed Sword immediately stained a Human as a Mamono - to them, she was nothing more than a monster. Detaching, Carroll assumed her Lamia Form - attempting to bring some ease to the cowardly; after all, a smiling face was more approachable than a wicked blade.
Unfortunately, cowardice was stronger than personality, it seemed.
From under the water, Carroll surfaced with a fish flopping in her mouth - skewered by her fangs, and slightly smudged by her lipstick. Blinking, she took in the blinding man adorned in psychotic cheer, and wrapped her tail around Alice’s left arm.
<This... is embarrassing...> Carroll started.
<Agreed.> Alice nodded.
<Should I swallow this fish...> Carroll asks.
<Maybe?> Alice offered.
<I don’t wanna with him... staring at me...> Carroll whined.
<He’s spoiling the sun, too...> Alice lamented.
<He’s also kinda cringe, as well...> Carroll says.
<Yeah...> Alice agrees.
Unblinking, Alice and Carroll would, almost comically, sink into the water; leaving nothing but the loose, peasant dress and the fresh, slime-laden blood of the fish behind for the self-proclaimed “onii-chan” Ian.
He might have come on a little strong...
"Sun." Alice says, floating on the surface of the water near the docks; impatiently patiently awaiting the port authority to release a boat to her, and someone to sail it. According to the captain of the boat she boarded, the shipping lanes and sailing lanes were closed to travel - especially foreign traffic - coming in and going out. As such, she had simply thrown herself overboard and into the water...
Did she expect someone to bother in the water? No.
And, yet, here she was, being called upon by a... a walking rainbow?
Upon entering the port town, Alice didn’t realize that she was bonding with Carroll, until she noticed the looks. It spoiled her cover, since a Cursed Sword immediately stained a Human as a Mamono - to them, she was nothing more than a monster. Detaching, Carroll assumed her Lamia Form - attempting to bring some ease to the cowardly; after all, a smiling face was more approachable than a wicked blade.
Unfortunately, cowardice was stronger than personality, it seemed.
From under the water, Carroll surfaced with a fish flopping in her mouth - skewered by her fangs, and slightly smudged by her lipstick. Blinking, she took in the blinding man adorned in psychotic cheer, and wrapped her tail around Alice’s left arm.
<This... is embarrassing...> Carroll started.
<Agreed.> Alice nodded.
<Should I swallow this fish...> Carroll asks.
<Maybe?> Alice offered.
<I don’t wanna with him... staring at me...> Carroll whined.
<He’s spoiling the sun, too...> Alice lamented.
<He’s also kinda cringe, as well...> Carroll says.
<Yeah...> Alice agrees.
Unblinking, Alice and Carroll would, almost comically, sink into the water; leaving nothing but the loose, peasant dress and the fresh, slime-laden blood of the fish behind for the self-proclaimed “onii-chan” Ian.
He might have come on a little strong...
A wise man once advised his students, "A fighter must see underneath the underneath," - to see what lies between the lines, and furthermore, between those lines.
As Juniper walked her through, John was studying the underside of the cityscape; learning with her crimson eyes, as she kept her glasses perched in her hair. It was risky to maintain her [Amaterasu's Eyes] for extended periods of time, but she'd surely get her hands on a Potion of Regeneration at some point in this place. In the meantime, she followed Juniper as she slipped through the under-cityscape with ease; as if, she were flying over the roads and into side paths, before coming to a stop before a rather open business front.
Lowering her glasses, John massaged her eyes for a moment, as she normalized her sight, and let the Mana Drain do its work. Not to be betrayed by its glitzy facade, the inside lacked the subtlety that was expected of the environment contained - likely, in such a lawless place, they weren't expecting a crackdown any time soon. It was almost disappointing in a way; no risk, no excitement, just an underground gladiatorial arena for the poor fools that needed a quick, private means to make some Mora and ends meets.
It turned her stomach, but nausea was tolerable. As such, she turned the moment into an opportunity, and looked at the clown in the suit with his cane. "I'm just here to earn enough to open a business," she says, "After that, we'll see if we cross paths again. I don't know anything about the seven out of ten over there."
"Above-average," Juniper asks, smirking.
"Three points off for being dressed," John says smoothly. "Now, let's talk about how I'm supposed to enter a match with no money."
"I'll put her up. KO Match, No Weapons, Victory," Juniper says, "I've seen her talent with weapons, I wanna see it raw."
John narrowed her eyes, and reached up to loosen her ponytail. "This stays on me," she says, presenting her Vision.
"That's fine with me. Plenty of Vision users drift through her on hard times. We match them together, and lucky you, we have a few awaiting a match," Juniper says, "So, so, sound kosher, Bossman?"
As Juniper walked her through, John was studying the underside of the cityscape; learning with her crimson eyes, as she kept her glasses perched in her hair. It was risky to maintain her [Amaterasu's Eyes] for extended periods of time, but she'd surely get her hands on a Potion of Regeneration at some point in this place. In the meantime, she followed Juniper as she slipped through the under-cityscape with ease; as if, she were flying over the roads and into side paths, before coming to a stop before a rather open business front.
Lowering her glasses, John massaged her eyes for a moment, as she normalized her sight, and let the Mana Drain do its work. Not to be betrayed by its glitzy facade, the inside lacked the subtlety that was expected of the environment contained - likely, in such a lawless place, they weren't expecting a crackdown any time soon. It was almost disappointing in a way; no risk, no excitement, just an underground gladiatorial arena for the poor fools that needed a quick, private means to make some Mora and ends meets.
It turned her stomach, but nausea was tolerable. As such, she turned the moment into an opportunity, and looked at the clown in the suit with his cane. "I'm just here to earn enough to open a business," she says, "After that, we'll see if we cross paths again. I don't know anything about the seven out of ten over there."
"Above-average," Juniper asks, smirking.
"Three points off for being dressed," John says smoothly. "Now, let's talk about how I'm supposed to enter a match with no money."
"I'll put her up. KO Match, No Weapons, Victory," Juniper says, "I've seen her talent with weapons, I wanna see it raw."
John narrowed her eyes, and reached up to loosen her ponytail. "This stays on me," she says, presenting her Vision.
"That's fine with me. Plenty of Vision users drift through her on hard times. We match them together, and lucky you, we have a few awaiting a match," Juniper says, "So, so, sound kosher, Bossman?"
Chuckling at the reactions, so far.
Despite her head-start, it wouldn't be long before the remainder of the Taskforce left behind would catch up - especially, since she'd stopped to feed. As such, Carroll was looking over the mission board for anything that would put a generous distance between herself with Alice, and the meddling members that could stop her. Admittedly, she was shocked when nobody attempted to stop her, as she rejoined the town at the border of the temple and the township; where they so trusting of Alice that no-one questioned the Lamia carrying her sleeping body, or were they so foolish to not think that a more nefarious Mamono would use another as a Trojan Horse, if they knew of their relationship to the Taskforce.
And, then, there was the matter of Lady Kikyo; last seen riding by Carroll in a clear panic - a far cry from the wintry matriarch that had wrapped them in her cold embrace. It would take a fool not to assume the allegiance of the men that had attempted to sack the cemetery temple with that expression: they were her soldiers, defected from her word and whim. To what end, Carroll didn't care - men were fickle; women more so. Across the board, Humans were a baffling species, and she wanted little to do with them.
Hence, her desire to put space between her and them.
...but, she was only so honest with her disdain.
That training hadn't only changed Alice, but her, as well. Bonding with a Human - a man, to boot - had corrupted her own mentality in a way, itself. Shizuka was full of emotions to prey on; past glories, failures, and losses. Negative emotions were always the best to focus on, and his most regrettable featured this form she inhabited, now. She didn't have all the details, but enough to form this new shell.
Unfortunately, in the heat of battle, we can take more than intended. The form didn't come without drawbacks - she couldn't assume the full form of her true nature, but that was easy to overcome with more training. What wasn't was the deeply rooted emotion that lingering in Shizuka's heart for the woman she mimicked; he hated her, yet loved her, and she felt it. Whoever she was, she broke his heart and soul, and shaped him into the man he was today.
As she scanned the board, she noticed Shizuka's name stamped on one of the notices, and traced it with a finger, "Darling, ganbatte kudasai..."
Carroll drew her hands to get mouth in shock and horror, as she registered the words that came out her mouth. That wasn't what she meant! Not even in the slightest! She didn't even give a passing thought to the wannabe samurai bandit! She had her Alice! She didn't need some husband -- er, man! Shaking her crimson locks with a violence, she realized she'd been standing at the board for an inordinate amount of time, and snatched an order off the board.
A mission to deal with some loon swinging his sword on a beach. That's what she needed - a good sword fight; steel against steel; sweat dripping; bodies clashing; euphoria mating with -- meeting with! -- violence! Slamming the request down, Carroll was troubled to hide her self-inflicted arousal. "C-Carroll and Alice," she stammered out when requested her name. Turning, she slithered to the room she'd been asked to put Alice in with a quickness, and battered through the door with her tail; locks and privacy be damned. "Alice! We have a mission! Let's depart for the nearest harbor, and set sail for Hama Island!" she shouted, before she melted and converted into her mundane form.
~Half an hour ago...~
Alice only slept a short while, after Carroll had deposited her in one of the temple rooms. It was no life of luxury, but a bedroll was a bed, and invited sleep all the same. No, her rest was fractured by the nightmares - the flames of war, the smell of battle, and the sounds of death and dying men. It was unforgettable, unmistakable, and unforgivable...
Her dreams were desperate peace and guilty protest mulled into simple nightmare; recollection of the horrors she'd wrought in the name of belonging for nearly two-hundred years - hiding behind a moniker, and a monarchy, to stand above it all as the most brilliant of her kin and ken, undisputedly.
They called her a barbarian for a reason.
Yet, she'd once only dreamed of making tea from a hole in the ground.
...wait, did she?
Alice sat up, having been lying down, and staring at the ceiling. Looking around, she spied a looking glass upon the wall, and stood up to approach it. She looked at herself, the reflection of a conqueror - her Mamono nature kept her beautiful, but she knew how haggard and exhausted she looked within. "Beautiful, outside. Horrendous, inside," she lamented, as she looked at her head. Her blonde hair, as golden as the rising sun, had shifted in streaks and the roots, towards the redness of a setting sun. "My hair is dirty..." Alice grumbled, taking the color change for filthiness, as she ran her fingers through and they came back oily.
Displeased, the Mad Hatter would collect toiletries from the cupboard provided as a closet, and head out to the temple bath with basket in hand and towel covering her modesty. As she reached the bath, she ignored the rest of the bathers - a mixture of Human and Mamono - to slip into her own world. Culturally, her kind had no issue with communal... well, everything, really, but, sometimes, a woman just wanted some me time. Having come back from a hard training session to be dragged into a fight only to be cucked out of it by a Goblin and High Orc - poetic irony, that - had Alice in a bit of a funky mood.
Not to mention, unfulfilled. After all, Carroll had stirred the pot, but she didn't get to boil over; a fact that her loins were aching to remind her of - blue-balled, as they were. Alice hungered for the Jiangshi; her violence, her neediness born of a hunger only she could satisfy, her --
A sudden suck of someone's teeth brought the former Matango back to reality, and an older woman gave her a surreptitious glance, directing the Mamono to her sword. Alice blushed grass-green from the nape of her neck to her perfect hairline, as she hastily supplied an apology to the elder clergywoman, and fucking booked it for her room - leaving her hat, towel, and bathing basket behind.
Thankfully, shame was a POWERFUL demotivator - if you weren't a total humiliation sub - and Alice was able to splash into her bedroll, after locking the door, without cracking her most, and least, important bone. Humiliated to the nth degree, Alice wallowed in agony and misery, as she prayed that rumours of her curse wouldn't circulate. "Oh, why did I listen to that damn Sea Hag when she wanted to 'spice things up in the bed,' like an idiot!"
Kicking her legs in the air, Alice would rant and rave and yell at her crotch for basic biological responses before the door was suddenly battered in by a powerful tail slamming through it. Before she could entertain if it was the Temple Decency Police come to arrest her for public indecency and whatever charges the old lady cooked up, Carroll would enter and entreat a side quest upon her.
An excuse to leave, if ever there was one!
Hastily, she scooped up her demonic hand-and-half axe, and grabbed a peasant dress from the dresser, and booked it for the docks - screw shoes, they'd be useless on a beach anyways. And, so with no hat, underwear, socks, or shoes, the Mad Hatter would beat the fast retreat - racking up numerous (imaginary) charges against decency, but she didn't care as she ran.
Upon arrival, she'd be told there was a grace period, since the swordsman seemed to be self-contained to the beach, unless provoked. Due to his assumed skills and potential background, the higher-ups had requested a few days before shipping off to allow some of the more seasoned members to opt in.
As long as Alice's misadventures were undiscovered, she didn't care. Besides, it was one guy with a sword on a beach, who would wanna waste their time with that, when there were more exciting things to do - probably, maybe. It wasn't like she looked as she hurried away with her tail between her legs, so to speak.
"Well, whatever..." Alice sighed, lying on the deck of the boat, "I'mma take a nap, and get some sun in."
And, then, there was the matter of Lady Kikyo; last seen riding by Carroll in a clear panic - a far cry from the wintry matriarch that had wrapped them in her cold embrace. It would take a fool not to assume the allegiance of the men that had attempted to sack the cemetery temple with that expression: they were her soldiers, defected from her word and whim. To what end, Carroll didn't care - men were fickle; women more so. Across the board, Humans were a baffling species, and she wanted little to do with them.
Hence, her desire to put space between her and them.
...but, she was only so honest with her disdain.
That training hadn't only changed Alice, but her, as well. Bonding with a Human - a man, to boot - had corrupted her own mentality in a way, itself. Shizuka was full of emotions to prey on; past glories, failures, and losses. Negative emotions were always the best to focus on, and his most regrettable featured this form she inhabited, now. She didn't have all the details, but enough to form this new shell.
Unfortunately, in the heat of battle, we can take more than intended. The form didn't come without drawbacks - she couldn't assume the full form of her true nature, but that was easy to overcome with more training. What wasn't was the deeply rooted emotion that lingering in Shizuka's heart for the woman she mimicked; he hated her, yet loved her, and she felt it. Whoever she was, she broke his heart and soul, and shaped him into the man he was today.
As she scanned the board, she noticed Shizuka's name stamped on one of the notices, and traced it with a finger, "Darling, ganbatte kudasai..."
What?
Carroll drew her hands to get mouth in shock and horror, as she registered the words that came out her mouth. That wasn't what she meant! Not even in the slightest! She didn't even give a passing thought to the wannabe samurai bandit! She had her Alice! She didn't need some husband -- er, man! Shaking her crimson locks with a violence, she realized she'd been standing at the board for an inordinate amount of time, and snatched an order off the board.
A mission to deal with some loon swinging his sword on a beach. That's what she needed - a good sword fight; steel against steel; sweat dripping; bodies clashing; euphoria mating with -- meeting with! -- violence! Slamming the request down, Carroll was troubled to hide her self-inflicted arousal. "C-Carroll and Alice," she stammered out when requested her name. Turning, she slithered to the room she'd been asked to put Alice in with a quickness, and battered through the door with her tail; locks and privacy be damned. "Alice! We have a mission! Let's depart for the nearest harbor, and set sail for Hama Island!" she shouted, before she melted and converted into her mundane form.
~Half an hour ago...~
Her dreams were desperate peace and guilty protest mulled into simple nightmare; recollection of the horrors she'd wrought in the name of belonging for nearly two-hundred years - hiding behind a moniker, and a monarchy, to stand above it all as the most brilliant of her kin and ken, undisputedly.
They called her a barbarian for a reason.
Yet, she'd once only dreamed of making tea from a hole in the ground.
...wait, did she?
Alice sat up, having been lying down, and staring at the ceiling. Looking around, she spied a looking glass upon the wall, and stood up to approach it. She looked at herself, the reflection of a conqueror - her Mamono nature kept her beautiful, but she knew how haggard and exhausted she looked within. "Beautiful, outside. Horrendous, inside," she lamented, as she looked at her head. Her blonde hair, as golden as the rising sun, had shifted in streaks and the roots, towards the redness of a setting sun. "My hair is dirty..." Alice grumbled, taking the color change for filthiness, as she ran her fingers through and they came back oily.
Displeased, the Mad Hatter would collect toiletries from the cupboard provided as a closet, and head out to the temple bath with basket in hand and towel covering her modesty. As she reached the bath, she ignored the rest of the bathers - a mixture of Human and Mamono - to slip into her own world. Culturally, her kind had no issue with communal... well, everything, really, but, sometimes, a woman just wanted some me time. Having come back from a hard training session to be dragged into a fight only to be cucked out of it by a Goblin and High Orc - poetic irony, that - had Alice in a bit of a funky mood.
Not to mention, unfulfilled. After all, Carroll had stirred the pot, but she didn't get to boil over; a fact that her loins were aching to remind her of - blue-balled, as they were. Alice hungered for the Jiangshi; her violence, her neediness born of a hunger only she could satisfy, her --
A sudden suck of someone's teeth brought the former Matango back to reality, and an older woman gave her a surreptitious glance, directing the Mamono to her sword. Alice blushed grass-green from the nape of her neck to her perfect hairline, as she hastily supplied an apology to the elder clergywoman, and fucking booked it for her room - leaving her hat, towel, and bathing basket behind.
Thankfully, shame was a POWERFUL demotivator - if you weren't a total humiliation sub - and Alice was able to splash into her bedroll, after locking the door, without cracking her most, and least, important bone. Humiliated to the nth degree, Alice wallowed in agony and misery, as she prayed that rumours of her curse wouldn't circulate. "Oh, why did I listen to that damn Sea Hag when she wanted to 'spice things up in the bed,' like an idiot!"
Kicking her legs in the air, Alice would rant and rave and yell at her crotch for basic biological responses before the door was suddenly battered in by a powerful tail slamming through it. Before she could entertain if it was the Temple Decency Police come to arrest her for public indecency and whatever charges the old lady cooked up, Carroll would enter and entreat a side quest upon her.
An excuse to leave, if ever there was one!
Hastily, she scooped up her demonic hand-and-half axe, and grabbed a peasant dress from the dresser, and booked it for the docks - screw shoes, they'd be useless on a beach anyways. And, so with no hat, underwear, socks, or shoes, the Mad Hatter would beat the fast retreat - racking up numerous (imaginary) charges against decency, but she didn't care as she ran.
Upon arrival, she'd be told there was a grace period, since the swordsman seemed to be self-contained to the beach, unless provoked. Due to his assumed skills and potential background, the higher-ups had requested a few days before shipping off to allow some of the more seasoned members to opt in.
As long as Alice's misadventures were undiscovered, she didn't care. Besides, it was one guy with a sword on a beach, who would wanna waste their time with that, when there were more exciting things to do - probably, maybe. It wasn't like she looked as she hurried away with her tail between her legs, so to speak.
"Well, whatever..." Alice sighed, lying on the deck of the boat, "I'mma take a nap, and get some sun in."
Well, props for committing to the bit, lol. Thankfully, I read the original run, so my eyes aren't forced to commit die.
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