JJ DoeHae, I said no comment!
Gifs are fun.
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Ugh, I can hear it in Megan's voice.
Hae, I said no comment!
Gifs are fun.
Hae, I said no comment!
Gifs are fun.
Anima, we still need to JP - maybe this weekend?
Prisk said
Oh my God, don't mind me, I'm just being a...I love you guys and you are the best.I shall do shorter responses for Samuel dialog with everyone. It seems to me that collaborations, if not limited to dialog only, takes more time than just responding normally to the ic. So, I'll be writing something up for Kim and JJ's post today/tomorrow. And since everyone will be talking to Sam, it's probably best to just do it through short posts in the ic.
I find that gif oddly attractive...
Also I am super pumped about the thing we've discussed. I want to integrate it into the story soon somehow D:
Check your PMs, dear. I started to reply here but decided it's better to reply there.
One Prisk, two Prisk, red Prisk, blue Prisk: check your PMs :D
Now, to your post:
Honestly, I just can't do it. I can commit to continuing to post regularly. I cannot commit to hard deadlines. There are three reasons for this:
First, as a writer, I take a long time and I underestimate how much time I need.
Second, RPGuild is not and can never be my first priority. There's something like a dozen other things that come first. Those things will push RPGuild off my schedule sometimes.
Third, I do this in my spare time, and the nature of that time is unpredictable. I don't know what my availability is like week-to-week. Some days, like today, I check the forums multiple times in a few hours. Sometimes, I don't check them at all
I totally respect the goal behind the idea, I like the idea of consistency and if I were writing for TSW in a professional capacity, I would be totally in support. Since I'm not, though, I have to balance behaving professionally with keeping my actual real-world obligations in mind. I try hard to keep everyone advised of my plans and my schedule, but I only have so much control over the factors that go into my availability; not enough for this kind of scheduled posting.
What I COULD do is write a number of posts and schedule the time when they'll be posted AFTER they're written - but I don't think that's fesiable with our structure.
Now, to your post:
Honestly, I just can't do it. I can commit to continuing to post regularly. I cannot commit to hard deadlines. There are three reasons for this:
First, as a writer, I take a long time and I underestimate how much time I need.
Second, RPGuild is not and can never be my first priority. There's something like a dozen other things that come first. Those things will push RPGuild off my schedule sometimes.
Third, I do this in my spare time, and the nature of that time is unpredictable. I don't know what my availability is like week-to-week. Some days, like today, I check the forums multiple times in a few hours. Sometimes, I don't check them at all
I totally respect the goal behind the idea, I like the idea of consistency and if I were writing for TSW in a professional capacity, I would be totally in support. Since I'm not, though, I have to balance behaving professionally with keeping my actual real-world obligations in mind. I try hard to keep everyone advised of my plans and my schedule, but I only have so much control over the factors that go into my availability; not enough for this kind of scheduled posting.
What I COULD do is write a number of posts and schedule the time when they'll be posted AFTER they're written - but I don't think that's fesiable with our structure.
Bacon is amazing. That's why.
I am working on the things we discussed earlier and will hopefully have them to you tonight.
I am working on the things we discussed earlier and will hopefully have them to you tonight.
Posted. Still looking to do a JP with Mags and with Sofia at some point, so talk to me, guys! D:
Flashback - Two Years Ago
Emily stood in the hallway outside Roy's room, listening to pulsing bass from a suite down the hall. She rapped on the door twice, and it drifted open, so she pushed it aside and stepped in.
"Hello?" She called. "Roy! You're here, you texted me."
The room was dimly lit from where Emily stood, with clothes hanging from whatever surface they were thrown on. It wasn't messy, per se, but it definitely wasn't spotless. The smell of aerosol and deodorant lingered a little too long once the door flew open, with a tinge of dampness that came from the open bathroom door from which Roy popped his head out. He didn't lick knick-knacks, so the room was pretty barren aside from the essentials: a few books, a lamp, clothes, naturally, and a punch of school supplies, and a clock somewhere under the mess on his nightstand.
"I texted you two seconds ago," Roy complained, combing through his damp hair. He stepped out already clothed and somehow expecting Emily's hasty entrance. "You're early, though. I assume the date went well?" He gave her a knowing smirk as he rummaged through his dresser for a few socks and his stash of illegal beverages.
He pointed to the nightstand, paused, and then pointed to the small living room attached to his small dorm. "There should be glasses somewhere in there, if you could grab 'em for me," he requested, "And don't hesitate to start talking all the shit you can about your boyfriend of two days. You always do; what'd he do this time? Blow his nose too hard?"
Emily passed into the living room and flopped onto the couch. She put her boots up on Roy's coffee table and rubbed her eyes.
"Josh didn't do anything," she said. "But I broke up with him."
Roy gave her a look, only mildly surprised, but he smiled regardless. "You didn't make him cry, did you?" he asked.
"Nah. He was too surprised for that," she said, straightening her skirt.
Sitting down next to her, he grabbed a few spare glasses and poured the vodka he'd nabbed into both. Roy handed her one of the glasses and said, "Was this just
impulsive or did you just... stop liking him along the way?"
Emily accepted the glass with a sigh, and took a long drink.
"I dunno. I think I liked being in a relationship way more than I liked him. It was stupid to even start it, that's all. I don't know what he wanted, and I don't know what I wanted, so it just didn't work. That's all."
"Maybe you should, uh," Roy paused to drink and think over his words carefully, "You know? Sex it out first and then find someone to settle down with. Relationships don't just fall out of the sky, Emily. You have to make them work."
"So I should just give up and have one-night stands?" She said. "Thanks, Roy."
"That's not what I meant," He sighed, "I just meant you aren't going to find someone immediately. Why not have fun while you look? You never know, that one night stand could turn into a wonderful relationship with dozens of children and a nice house in the prairie. God forbid. I mean, unless you want that, Milly."
Roy poured himself another small glass and looked at Emily. "Are you sure that's all that happened, though? You didn't, you know... do what you always do with random guys you want a relationship with?" he asked, raising a brow, "Not that you do something all the time. Or anything."
She didn't answer him, but took another long drink and stared down at herself. After a moment, she laughed.
"God, I'd be such a shit mom. And don't call me Milly," she said. "Anyway. At least I look pretty, right?"
"Ah, you could be worse," Roy laughed along, "At least you aren't a drug addict, just an alcoholic. And looks are all you need right now, Milly, but I guess you've got some brains too." He gave a shrug and took another drink.
He looked at her again, silently for a few moments before he said anything. "So, you got a guy lined up or are you gonna be responsible and wait a week? Or is that respectable...?"
"Fucking hell, Roy! I'm not just doing this to get more sex. Come on. I won't go, I don't know, whore myself out or whatever because I broke up with someone. That's not even a thing people do. Or. Not me, anyway."
"Sometimes you just gotta fuck it out and move on, Milly, sheesh," he said with a grin, "I know that's what I do. Regardless, maybe you should take a break from anything sexual or commital for a good month. Sometimes, it takes a little relaxing to find out what you want in a person."
"What you do and what regular people do, Roy, there's such a wide gap I don't even know... but yeah. Probably." Emily said.
"Plus, it was just a suggestion; you could use a good fuck. I doubt that guy you dated, whatever his name was, satisfied you anyways," Roy was still grinning as he downed his second glass.
Emily set down her glass and mock-slapped her friend across the cheek. "That is so completely none of your business! Not everything is about sex."
Roy feigned hurt as he rubbed his cheek. "You're right, there's also money and power to worry about."
Setting his glass down, he leaned into the arm of the sofa and titled is head to the side. "So, what is it you're looking for in a guy, Millie? If you don't mind me asking, especially since it obviously isn't sex," he asked, rolling his eyes.
"I don't know-- I mean. Not Josh, obviously. But I don't know."
She stared into the distance for a few seconds.
"It's not like there was even anything wrong with him. He was fine. Cute, and sweet, and he knew what to do and say. It just felt perfunctory, I don't know. Not totally like either of us were really involved in it."
"Oh, his name was Josh, thought it was—never mind, that's not important," Roy trailed off. He looked down at his hands for a moment as he muttered, "Don't forget he sneezed like a kitten and was too much of a clean freak."
"So, he was almost Mr. Perfect, aside from the fact that you both really didn't give a shit about the relationship?" Roy said, looking at her with a cheeky grin, "I mean, from an outside view, it seemed you had it all."
"I think you mean from hindsight," Emily said. "Whatever. I don't care. I mean, yeah, I do. But I'm not gonna."
Roy chuckled, grabbing Emily's glass and filling it with more alcohol. "You should try having a relationship with alcohol for a few weeks," he suggested, "Slack off and take it easy, right? Says Guru Roy."
"So I should be a drunk prostitute? Thank you, mighty sage."
"The mightiest and the wisest," Roy lifted his beverage, "I can toast to that, whaddya say, newly appointed, alcoholic skank? Watch out, though, that Britney gal is very territorial."
"I bet I lift more than she does," Emily said. "You never liked him, anyway - why not?"
"He was a prick?"
"How many times did you even meet him?"
"I don't know, like three times? Why does it matter if I liked him or not?" he shifted in his seat, but smiled regardless.
"I just wanna know what you thought, that's all."
"Well, I didn't think highly of him. Just the way he talked was—what's the word? Pretentious?" Roy gave another look as he hid behind his glass, "He seemed snobbish. Was he rich? I bet he was rich."
Emily shrugged. "I never met his parents. He wanted me to. I just told him he'd have to get by my dad first."
"Your dad would have hated him, but he would have sucked it up for you," Roy said, smiling at her.
"Too bad my sassy gay friend couldn't," She grinned back and prodded him gently.
"I'm far from sassy," Roy rolled his eyes, "I bet you if you were marrying the guy he would have said something."
"Hey, you never answered my question, though," he quickly changed the subject as he tilted his cup toward Emily, "What do you want in a guy that would get you involved in the relationship, or something like that? You gotta have some kind of idea; everyone does."
Emily considered for a few minutes.
"I don't have, like, a list of criteria," she said. "But I mean, I know what's my type and what isn't. It's more a definition by exclusion, you know? It's what I don't like that I notice."
"I guess it's one of those things, right? People keep blowing bull out of their asses about loving someone's flaws," Roy said, smirking at Emily again, "Maybe you're one of those people."
Emily giggled. "I have enough flaws. Everyone else should be perfect."
She remembered small things. Voices. The feeling of being held, carried - she didn't know by whom. The taste of blood in her mouth. Her heartbeat, slow but rhythmic, controlled. The pulsing feeling on, no, in her chest.
Now, she sat propped against a wall in the freezing cold, clutching at her chest. There was something there that hadn't been before. It felt firm, but smooth, like a leather baseball glove, and it ran from just to the left of her left shoulder down to the top of her left breast. It was shaped like a scar, or a gash in her skin, thin and tapered at the ends but wide in the middle. It pushed in and out with her heartbeat. Bulbous, orange sacs ran down the center, softer and squishier than the rest of the growth but impermeable even when she tried to dig at them with a finger.
The growth didn't hurt, but she could feel it, like she could feel her hands and feet. She could sense it working in her, alongside her body. Nothing about it had been explained to her - she had only the dimmest memory of how it had arrived, impaled in her chest when the xeno fell - but she knew it wasn't there to hurt her. It had some purpose, she thought, and she had to be alive for it to be accomplished. She wondered whether it realized what that meant. The thought that it might, that it might have its own conceptions or ideas of some kind, terrified her.
She knew she should still be in pain, but she felt only numb, narrow focus. On breathing regularly, keeping herself calm, staying alive. It was the growth's doing; it was hellbent on keeping her alive, whether she wanted it to or not. No animal wants to die. She didn't blame it, after all, how could you blame something for saving your life, or its own? But still, she hated that it was there. She remembered the warmth and light that had come with death, the comfort of it, like being wrapped in the arms of... not a parent, not quite, but an old friend, a cherished relative. She missed it terribly. She tried not to think about what that probably meant.
Emily remained seated on the floor, head down, as the others confronted Sofia, but she heard it all. She heard the girl's voice, familiar, but distinct. She wondered, albeit in an emotionless, analytical way, whether anything Sofia said was true, and how it had come to pass. Remi had gotten up to help the others. She wished he would come back and sit with her again. Though she felt stronger with every passing moment, she knew it would be a short time still before she had the strength to get up and move on her own. Even when she felt capable of doing so, she stayed where she was, letting the thing on her chest work whatever magic it could on her damaged body.
As if she had any choice.
Emily was resting against the wall next to the entrance to the tiny office space in which the friends found themselves speaking to Sofia. She was on her feet, rubbing her forehead with her hands. Her uniform was covered in muck from the sewers, and smelled of death. Still, she had clearly recovered somewhat from whatever had happened during the fight, at least enough to stay standing and breathe regularly. The bo staff was propped up next to her, against the wall. She didn't notice as Olivia approached.
“Emily, are you okay?” Olivia said.
She affected a shrug. "Yeah. I'll be fine."
Olivia stared at the freckled girl in silence for just a moment. She was usually lenient and understanding when it came to her friends, but this time things were different. Olivia skipped her usual phrases of apparent concern and bluntly stated what she wanted to know. “What happened back there?”
Emily folded her arms under her chest and stared at them.
"I died," she said. "Or maybe something like that but not so melodramatic. I don't know why I'm standing here and not lying on the floor frothing at the mouth."
“You died, huh…? It looked more like you did something with that Xeno,” Olivia said and looked at the vile growth, Olivia’s voicing sailing ever so slightly into waves of irritation.
Emily's hand traced the venous thing on her chest. "I don't remember, Liv. I remember seeing the creature, and I remember seeing it die, and then something hit me and everything was gone. That's it."
“I saw you absorb a spirit from that thing, we all did. Devoured spirits are nothing like the ones that we have, they are lifeless and dull, and there are no Guardians out there that can absorb them. So, I ask again: what did you do with that Xeno, Emily?”
"I just told you." Emily said. "I. Don't. Remember. If I had any idea, I'd tell you. When we get back to the Academy, we can go and ask somebody who knows more about this shit, okay?"
“I seriously doubt that there is anyone that knows anything about that,” Olivia said and hinted at the slimy growth. “I mean, what is that?”
Emily didn't say anything. She stared down at herself, down at the growth. It was a little smaller than it had been when she'd woken up, and viscera around the edges had subsided into her skin, but she could still feel it pulsing in and out with every heartbeat. Its leathery flesh and pulsing, orange organs - she didn't know that they were organs, but thought of them as such - felt less alien to her than they had before, but the strange, malign appearance of the thing was still sharp in her mind.
"I can feel it," she said. "On the inside. Like how you can close your eyes and know where your hands are. It's just... there. I think it can feel me, too. I think it, I don't know, it doesn't think like we do, but it knows what it exists to do. Like a spirit. But I don't know."
Olivia could feel herself projecting a scornful look on her face as Emily attempted to explain what the strange growth on her chest was. Olivia could only gaze upon it with disgust and somehow, at the same time blame Emily for it. But recently learning that Samuel was alive, this issue lost much of its weight, but it had to be dealt with in due time. Olivia forcefully jerked at Emily’s uniform and attempted to cover the thing up. “Whatever happens, you don’t show this to anyone but us — understand? — until we know what it is.”
Emily jerked away from her, along the wall.
"Remi's already seen it," she said. "And maybe the others while I was out, I don't know. Just go, okay? Leave me alone."
“Hey, don’t get snappy with me,” Olivia said, “I’m talking about everyone else, not us. I may not be the smartest person in the world, but I know enough to know that they will lock you up and dissect your brain if they see this, do you understand?”
Emily brushed roughly past Olivia and out into the hall, clutching her staff tightly.
"Maybe they should," she said. "Would that make you happy?"
Following the freckled girl, Olivia reached for her shoulder to make her pace stop, addressing her with a firm tone. “Hey! Why would you say something like that, huh? Haven’t I done for you and everyone else here enough already? If you got something to say, Emily, then just come out and say it!”
Emily pulled away and kept going, slinging the staff over her back.
Olivia stepped in front of Emily to halt her pace and look at her. “Hey, I’m talking to you,” Olivia said, but soon realized that her strategy of words so far needed revision, and that she was dealing with a person, a dear friend, not some expendable soldier. “Look, just be careful with whatever this thing is… that’s all I’m saying.”
Emily stopped, and stared at her erstwhile friend. She wondered whether the tiredness in Olivia's eyes mirrored her own. Another wave of exhaustion crashed over her; she couldn't think of anything to say that would make it come across clearly, so she just nodded slowly. She raised her hand, intending to take Olivia's, but pulled it back again, rubbing her neck, and fell back against the corridor wall.
Emily stood in the hallway outside Roy's room, listening to pulsing bass from a suite down the hall. She rapped on the door twice, and it drifted open, so she pushed it aside and stepped in.
"Hello?" She called. "Roy! You're here, you texted me."
The room was dimly lit from where Emily stood, with clothes hanging from whatever surface they were thrown on. It wasn't messy, per se, but it definitely wasn't spotless. The smell of aerosol and deodorant lingered a little too long once the door flew open, with a tinge of dampness that came from the open bathroom door from which Roy popped his head out. He didn't lick knick-knacks, so the room was pretty barren aside from the essentials: a few books, a lamp, clothes, naturally, and a punch of school supplies, and a clock somewhere under the mess on his nightstand.
"I texted you two seconds ago," Roy complained, combing through his damp hair. He stepped out already clothed and somehow expecting Emily's hasty entrance. "You're early, though. I assume the date went well?" He gave her a knowing smirk as he rummaged through his dresser for a few socks and his stash of illegal beverages.
He pointed to the nightstand, paused, and then pointed to the small living room attached to his small dorm. "There should be glasses somewhere in there, if you could grab 'em for me," he requested, "And don't hesitate to start talking all the shit you can about your boyfriend of two days. You always do; what'd he do this time? Blow his nose too hard?"
Emily passed into the living room and flopped onto the couch. She put her boots up on Roy's coffee table and rubbed her eyes.
"Josh didn't do anything," she said. "But I broke up with him."
Roy gave her a look, only mildly surprised, but he smiled regardless. "You didn't make him cry, did you?" he asked.
"Nah. He was too surprised for that," she said, straightening her skirt.
Sitting down next to her, he grabbed a few spare glasses and poured the vodka he'd nabbed into both. Roy handed her one of the glasses and said, "Was this just
impulsive or did you just... stop liking him along the way?"
Emily accepted the glass with a sigh, and took a long drink.
"I dunno. I think I liked being in a relationship way more than I liked him. It was stupid to even start it, that's all. I don't know what he wanted, and I don't know what I wanted, so it just didn't work. That's all."
"Maybe you should, uh," Roy paused to drink and think over his words carefully, "You know? Sex it out first and then find someone to settle down with. Relationships don't just fall out of the sky, Emily. You have to make them work."
"So I should just give up and have one-night stands?" She said. "Thanks, Roy."
"That's not what I meant," He sighed, "I just meant you aren't going to find someone immediately. Why not have fun while you look? You never know, that one night stand could turn into a wonderful relationship with dozens of children and a nice house in the prairie. God forbid. I mean, unless you want that, Milly."
Roy poured himself another small glass and looked at Emily. "Are you sure that's all that happened, though? You didn't, you know... do what you always do with random guys you want a relationship with?" he asked, raising a brow, "Not that you do something all the time. Or anything."
She didn't answer him, but took another long drink and stared down at herself. After a moment, she laughed.
"God, I'd be such a shit mom. And don't call me Milly," she said. "Anyway. At least I look pretty, right?"
"Ah, you could be worse," Roy laughed along, "At least you aren't a drug addict, just an alcoholic. And looks are all you need right now, Milly, but I guess you've got some brains too." He gave a shrug and took another drink.
He looked at her again, silently for a few moments before he said anything. "So, you got a guy lined up or are you gonna be responsible and wait a week? Or is that respectable...?"
"Fucking hell, Roy! I'm not just doing this to get more sex. Come on. I won't go, I don't know, whore myself out or whatever because I broke up with someone. That's not even a thing people do. Or. Not me, anyway."
"Sometimes you just gotta fuck it out and move on, Milly, sheesh," he said with a grin, "I know that's what I do. Regardless, maybe you should take a break from anything sexual or commital for a good month. Sometimes, it takes a little relaxing to find out what you want in a person."
"What you do and what regular people do, Roy, there's such a wide gap I don't even know... but yeah. Probably." Emily said.
"Plus, it was just a suggestion; you could use a good fuck. I doubt that guy you dated, whatever his name was, satisfied you anyways," Roy was still grinning as he downed his second glass.
Emily set down her glass and mock-slapped her friend across the cheek. "That is so completely none of your business! Not everything is about sex."
Roy feigned hurt as he rubbed his cheek. "You're right, there's also money and power to worry about."
Setting his glass down, he leaned into the arm of the sofa and titled is head to the side. "So, what is it you're looking for in a guy, Millie? If you don't mind me asking, especially since it obviously isn't sex," he asked, rolling his eyes.
"I don't know-- I mean. Not Josh, obviously. But I don't know."
She stared into the distance for a few seconds.
"It's not like there was even anything wrong with him. He was fine. Cute, and sweet, and he knew what to do and say. It just felt perfunctory, I don't know. Not totally like either of us were really involved in it."
"Oh, his name was Josh, thought it was—never mind, that's not important," Roy trailed off. He looked down at his hands for a moment as he muttered, "Don't forget he sneezed like a kitten and was too much of a clean freak."
"So, he was almost Mr. Perfect, aside from the fact that you both really didn't give a shit about the relationship?" Roy said, looking at her with a cheeky grin, "I mean, from an outside view, it seemed you had it all."
"I think you mean from hindsight," Emily said. "Whatever. I don't care. I mean, yeah, I do. But I'm not gonna."
Roy chuckled, grabbing Emily's glass and filling it with more alcohol. "You should try having a relationship with alcohol for a few weeks," he suggested, "Slack off and take it easy, right? Says Guru Roy."
"So I should be a drunk prostitute? Thank you, mighty sage."
"The mightiest and the wisest," Roy lifted his beverage, "I can toast to that, whaddya say, newly appointed, alcoholic skank? Watch out, though, that Britney gal is very territorial."
"I bet I lift more than she does," Emily said. "You never liked him, anyway - why not?"
"He was a prick?"
"How many times did you even meet him?"
"I don't know, like three times? Why does it matter if I liked him or not?" he shifted in his seat, but smiled regardless.
"I just wanna know what you thought, that's all."
"Well, I didn't think highly of him. Just the way he talked was—what's the word? Pretentious?" Roy gave another look as he hid behind his glass, "He seemed snobbish. Was he rich? I bet he was rich."
Emily shrugged. "I never met his parents. He wanted me to. I just told him he'd have to get by my dad first."
"Your dad would have hated him, but he would have sucked it up for you," Roy said, smiling at her.
"Too bad my sassy gay friend couldn't," She grinned back and prodded him gently.
"I'm far from sassy," Roy rolled his eyes, "I bet you if you were marrying the guy he would have said something."
"Hey, you never answered my question, though," he quickly changed the subject as he tilted his cup toward Emily, "What do you want in a guy that would get you involved in the relationship, or something like that? You gotta have some kind of idea; everyone does."
Emily considered for a few minutes.
"I don't have, like, a list of criteria," she said. "But I mean, I know what's my type and what isn't. It's more a definition by exclusion, you know? It's what I don't like that I notice."
"I guess it's one of those things, right? People keep blowing bull out of their asses about loving someone's flaws," Roy said, smirking at Emily again, "Maybe you're one of those people."
Emily giggled. "I have enough flaws. Everyone else should be perfect."
She remembered small things. Voices. The feeling of being held, carried - she didn't know by whom. The taste of blood in her mouth. Her heartbeat, slow but rhythmic, controlled. The pulsing feeling on, no, in her chest.
Now, she sat propped against a wall in the freezing cold, clutching at her chest. There was something there that hadn't been before. It felt firm, but smooth, like a leather baseball glove, and it ran from just to the left of her left shoulder down to the top of her left breast. It was shaped like a scar, or a gash in her skin, thin and tapered at the ends but wide in the middle. It pushed in and out with her heartbeat. Bulbous, orange sacs ran down the center, softer and squishier than the rest of the growth but impermeable even when she tried to dig at them with a finger.
The growth didn't hurt, but she could feel it, like she could feel her hands and feet. She could sense it working in her, alongside her body. Nothing about it had been explained to her - she had only the dimmest memory of how it had arrived, impaled in her chest when the xeno fell - but she knew it wasn't there to hurt her. It had some purpose, she thought, and she had to be alive for it to be accomplished. She wondered whether it realized what that meant. The thought that it might, that it might have its own conceptions or ideas of some kind, terrified her.
She knew she should still be in pain, but she felt only numb, narrow focus. On breathing regularly, keeping herself calm, staying alive. It was the growth's doing; it was hellbent on keeping her alive, whether she wanted it to or not. No animal wants to die. She didn't blame it, after all, how could you blame something for saving your life, or its own? But still, she hated that it was there. She remembered the warmth and light that had come with death, the comfort of it, like being wrapped in the arms of... not a parent, not quite, but an old friend, a cherished relative. She missed it terribly. She tried not to think about what that probably meant.
Emily remained seated on the floor, head down, as the others confronted Sofia, but she heard it all. She heard the girl's voice, familiar, but distinct. She wondered, albeit in an emotionless, analytical way, whether anything Sofia said was true, and how it had come to pass. Remi had gotten up to help the others. She wished he would come back and sit with her again. Though she felt stronger with every passing moment, she knew it would be a short time still before she had the strength to get up and move on her own. Even when she felt capable of doing so, she stayed where she was, letting the thing on her chest work whatever magic it could on her damaged body.
As if she had any choice.
Emily was resting against the wall next to the entrance to the tiny office space in which the friends found themselves speaking to Sofia. She was on her feet, rubbing her forehead with her hands. Her uniform was covered in muck from the sewers, and smelled of death. Still, she had clearly recovered somewhat from whatever had happened during the fight, at least enough to stay standing and breathe regularly. The bo staff was propped up next to her, against the wall. She didn't notice as Olivia approached.
“Emily, are you okay?” Olivia said.
She affected a shrug. "Yeah. I'll be fine."
Olivia stared at the freckled girl in silence for just a moment. She was usually lenient and understanding when it came to her friends, but this time things were different. Olivia skipped her usual phrases of apparent concern and bluntly stated what she wanted to know. “What happened back there?”
Emily folded her arms under her chest and stared at them.
"I died," she said. "Or maybe something like that but not so melodramatic. I don't know why I'm standing here and not lying on the floor frothing at the mouth."
“You died, huh…? It looked more like you did something with that Xeno,” Olivia said and looked at the vile growth, Olivia’s voicing sailing ever so slightly into waves of irritation.
Emily's hand traced the venous thing on her chest. "I don't remember, Liv. I remember seeing the creature, and I remember seeing it die, and then something hit me and everything was gone. That's it."
“I saw you absorb a spirit from that thing, we all did. Devoured spirits are nothing like the ones that we have, they are lifeless and dull, and there are no Guardians out there that can absorb them. So, I ask again: what did you do with that Xeno, Emily?”
"I just told you." Emily said. "I. Don't. Remember. If I had any idea, I'd tell you. When we get back to the Academy, we can go and ask somebody who knows more about this shit, okay?"
“I seriously doubt that there is anyone that knows anything about that,” Olivia said and hinted at the slimy growth. “I mean, what is that?”
Emily didn't say anything. She stared down at herself, down at the growth. It was a little smaller than it had been when she'd woken up, and viscera around the edges had subsided into her skin, but she could still feel it pulsing in and out with every heartbeat. Its leathery flesh and pulsing, orange organs - she didn't know that they were organs, but thought of them as such - felt less alien to her than they had before, but the strange, malign appearance of the thing was still sharp in her mind.
"I can feel it," she said. "On the inside. Like how you can close your eyes and know where your hands are. It's just... there. I think it can feel me, too. I think it, I don't know, it doesn't think like we do, but it knows what it exists to do. Like a spirit. But I don't know."
Olivia could feel herself projecting a scornful look on her face as Emily attempted to explain what the strange growth on her chest was. Olivia could only gaze upon it with disgust and somehow, at the same time blame Emily for it. But recently learning that Samuel was alive, this issue lost much of its weight, but it had to be dealt with in due time. Olivia forcefully jerked at Emily’s uniform and attempted to cover the thing up. “Whatever happens, you don’t show this to anyone but us — understand? — until we know what it is.”
Emily jerked away from her, along the wall.
"Remi's already seen it," she said. "And maybe the others while I was out, I don't know. Just go, okay? Leave me alone."
“Hey, don’t get snappy with me,” Olivia said, “I’m talking about everyone else, not us. I may not be the smartest person in the world, but I know enough to know that they will lock you up and dissect your brain if they see this, do you understand?”
Emily brushed roughly past Olivia and out into the hall, clutching her staff tightly.
"Maybe they should," she said. "Would that make you happy?"
Following the freckled girl, Olivia reached for her shoulder to make her pace stop, addressing her with a firm tone. “Hey! Why would you say something like that, huh? Haven’t I done for you and everyone else here enough already? If you got something to say, Emily, then just come out and say it!”
Emily pulled away and kept going, slinging the staff over her back.
Olivia stepped in front of Emily to halt her pace and look at her. “Hey, I’m talking to you,” Olivia said, but soon realized that her strategy of words so far needed revision, and that she was dealing with a person, a dear friend, not some expendable soldier. “Look, just be careful with whatever this thing is… that’s all I’m saying.”
Emily stopped, and stared at her erstwhile friend. She wondered whether the tiredness in Olivia's eyes mirrored her own. Another wave of exhaustion crashed over her; she couldn't think of anything to say that would make it come across clearly, so she just nodded slowly. She raised her hand, intending to take Olivia's, but pulled it back again, rubbing her neck, and fell back against the corridor wall.
It's only because I love you.
Anima, this seems like an apropos theme song for Sofia:
It'd also work well for Emily, but she's got hers :P
Anima, this seems like an apropos theme song for Sofia:
It'd also work well for Emily, but she's got hers :P
Where is Prisk? I need her for my purposes.
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