Force and Fury

Word association Game!

Priest

hello there...

Hello and welcome aboard, new person! Based on your interests, I have a feeling we'll be seeing a good amount of each other in the future. I'm a sucker for most of those things that you mentioned, though I have yet to take the dive into Nation RPs (I'm intrigued, though, so someday!). Anyways, I'm going to shill a tiny bit here, so feel free to take this with a grain of salt: if you'd like a custom fantasy RP with really deep lore, check out The Hourglass Order. No matter what, welcome aboard and happy RPing. Here's hoping we get to write together sometime!

Kōkyo | Anime Survival Horror RP [Recruiting]

I'm still up for it. Just need to find the time to edit and prune those four CSes lol.

When the man comes around.

Welcome aboard. Glad you have taste in music. Anyways, feel free to dive in! Maybe we'll get to write together at some point. 'Til then, stay awesome!

Does anyone else wish they had good enough artistic skills to draw character sheets of their roleplay characters?

All of the time!

The worst part is that I'm just good enough, artistically, to be tempted to draw them. I also have just enough sense to know that my drawings would be pretty awful.

the alphabet game. lol

Electrocardiogram

Hi there!

Well, it is indeed night (in my part of the world), so that checks out. As for the 'wolf' part, I guess we shall see. Welcome aboard, new person. Here's hoping you have lots of great times on here. Stay awesome!

Hello, from an old user

Welcome (back) aboard. Here's hoping you've learned how to back your stuff up. I'm... still kinda working on that myself. Looking forward to hopefully writing with you someday. Stay awesome!

The Hourglass Order

Lines in the Sand

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The Assassins

T R I S T E _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The Owl

The King's energy attack was clumsy and sophomoric. He had given in to his rage and now it controlled him. Yet, he was so massively powerful that one misstep on Triste's part would've resulted in certain death. He truly was a monster in the mold of Fradje Ironshaper himself. Perhaps, she thought, Perhaps I can overcome him, but it is not near worth the effort or the risk. What was more, he came barrelling through the smoke and blinding light and struck her cleanly on the face. Triste's head snapped back and her world spun. Had she not sucked every bit of kinetic energy she could find up and deadened the blow's effect, it would've cleanly decapitated her. As it was, she saw stars and felt her mask shatter. The edges of her vision darkened. Training from years ago, from when she'd been a mere girl, kicked in and she cast an invisibility illusion on instinct alone. Her dead body crashed to the ground, head smashed to a pulp, and Horik roared in triumph. "By Ironshaper, you are avenged, my people!" That was Veleno's work, of course. Sometimes it seemed like the Volto Certosa could read her very thoughts, so well coordinated were the two of them.

Good timing, the assassin thought, but her heart filled with bitterness. Diavolo had not told her. He had given her no idea that Horik was this strong. She counseled herself that the goal of the mission was not to actually kill him. The goal had long since been achieved. Had she professional pride, it would've been pricked. As it was, she was only left with sadness at having been lied to again. Veleno, of course, was well out of harm's reach, so Triste wisely retreated, her goal having been reached. Until next time, your highness. Next time, she would go in with full knowledge of what Horik Vinderborg of Oleften was. Next time, she would kill him. Others looked around, confused at where she had gone, but they dared not try to pursue. Veleno's illusion had been for Horik's eyes only. Triste gathered as much energy as she needed and took off at a breakneck pace, before any of them decided to get brave. Let the seeds of war be sown. Let the fires burn. Let something new rise from their ashes.

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V E L E N O _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Long, nimble, and ghostly pale, Veleno's fingertips danced over the keys of the harpsichord. The music flowed from them and she continued: to all the world, a tortured, passionate artist in trancelike ecstasy. Outside in the dark, cool night, lives were ending. Bodies were dropping to the ground, limbs twitching spastically and hands reaching vainly for the heavens, grasping for some final absolution from a quintet of nonexistent gods. Final, gasping breaths shuddered forth from desiccated lungs. That was some kilometers away, however. In the drawing room of President Yibozo's townhome was warmth and light. The newly-installed gas lanterns burned cheerily. Violinists and cellists swept expertly through their notes. The Jorubans, with their poetry and humanist philosophy, with their treatises and debates, with their frilly clothes and powdered wigs, had finally stopped prattling on about the separation of church and state, the equality of all men before the law, and movement of celestial bodies. Now, they lounged about on filigreed sofas, fanning themselves and drinking in earnest, the redness in their cheeks less visible than in people with lighter complexions, but nonetheless very much in evidence. Bourgeoisie that they were, they consumed wine as if the grape itself was going extinct. Animals.

In truth, it was a great exertion for Veleno to be in two places at once like this. Were she nearly anybody else, feats of that magnitude would've been impossible, but such were her abilities with the Gift. Were I anybody else, however, many other feats would not be so impossible, she thought, striking the keys with a hard bitterness. A God, she consoled herself, a dying God. That Triste was in trouble she could plainly sense. So entranced were these fools by the music that they did not even notice the explosion as it happened. Veleno's heart thundered in her chest. She leaned into the next series of notes, sweat dripping from her brow, rendering her fingers slick and collecting between her skin and this device of agony known as a ball gown. Her friend was unharmed, however. Weaving the magic in and out through her music, over a distance that these frilled peons couldn't possibly fathom, she saw Triste's plan even before the assassin did, and followed through with it. Objective met, she told herself, finishing the piece with a flourish. Her chest was heaving with the exertion of it. She could feel the locks of hair pasted to her forehead by sweat, but nobody would see them. She remained, as ever, pristine. Two masterpieces in synchronicity. With some difficulty, Veleno backed away from the harpsichord and doubled over at the waist, bowing deeply and respectfully.

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S O L D A T O _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Soldato watched dispassionately from his perch some ways away, close to a fast-moving stream with its roaring kinetic energy. He should probably kill one of them, he decided. There had been two Volti dispatched to confront each king… except for Horik, he mused. There, it had only been Triste. He was stuck with Ombra… or “Avrael”, as he called himself because he had to be unique. That ego case had done a whole lot of nothing. It was enough that there had been a fairly serious attempt on the life of King Rouis, he’d insisted. That was all that was needed to meet their objective.

Light of Ahn-Shune, the magusjaeger remarked inwardly as the girl who’d come to face him cast a spell. Flashy. The problem was that you either closed your eyes or blinded yourself unless you knew what you were doing. She went for the first. Pop, he thought boredly. Could’ve killed you right there. His superior had ordered him to leave her unharmed, though. He watched as she used a water clone technique. Those were… not easy to master. He raised an eyebrow. Talented, he decided, or else singular.

Soldato reached out with his chemical magic, close to maximum range, and planted the image in her head of a surge of energy from close to the fire and the echo of a gunshot from that direction. Come, little fishy. The worm is on the hook.

Soldato’s chemical magic had the effects he desired on Eun-Ji. Still hidden behind the same tree, she sensed the surge of energy and heard the echo of gunshot. Her hand moved, intending to throw the dagger she had prepared; but then within a split second she noticed something… wrong. There was the surge of energy and the echo of gunshot, but she saw no projectile nor felt it hit her water clone. Her training and instinct kicked in, and she quickly remembered how Avrael had messed with her head with his chemical magic quite recently. And before that, the weird feeling as if someone wiped her memory during the opening ceremony… ...Chemical magic?...

The gears in Eun-Ji’s mind moved very quickly. In the end, this was still a battle of tricks between two magi who relied on exactly that, tricks. She realized that her opponent was very powerful, significantly more than herself. But perhaps, she could at least attempt to outplay him. A risky gambit, but one she was willing to take. Thus, she manipulated her clone to make it fall to the ground as if hit by a gunshot while also quickly throwing her dagger at the bait to make it seemed like she had not realized what had happened. Then she prepared yet another dagger and imbued it with kinetic magic. Two daggers thrown and used so far, two left. She had to make these remaining two counts, and thus she watched intently with all her focus of what her opponent’s next move will be.

Soldato watched the water clone fall and he grinned ear-to-ear. There’d been no shot, of course. The fact that it had fallen showed that she was onto him. Marvelous sport! He thought. That he was not allowed to kill her was a shame. He felt like she’d at least make him work for it. Soldato stood all at once, knowing that he would seem to appear from nowhere. Yet, he also knew that he would seem to appear from seven different places. “Come, girl,” he announced from seven mouths, “which one is the real me? Take your pick!”

... He caught on. It wasn’t fully out of Eun-Ji’s expectation. With how skilled her opponent was, she had prepared for the possibility that it would take much more to trick him. His next move had been quite bothersome regardless; although it became clear to her that he was toying with her instead of seriously trying to kill her. She knew not the reason, and it didn’t matter to her. Eun-Ji’s eyes flitted from each copy of the enemy to the next, analyzing them as quickly as she could. No obvious sign to discern which is the real one… The course of action for her seemed pretty clear.

“Two in seven chance!” one of the clones taunted, “come on! Step right up!”

Eun-Ji didn’t even react to the taunting. Instead, while the one clone was taunting her, she drew in from the surrounding heat once more, using them to gather even more water into her clone. Then, she caused the gathered water to burst, pumping to all directions for just a single second. The objectives were simple; One, to see which, if any, of the copy was the real enemy. And two, to hopefully surprise the enemy and give her whatever small opening that was just enough for her to launch her dagger.

The water splashed through the clones imperfectly, soaking them, but in such a way that it was clear that the chemical magic in question was trying to adjust what she perceived. There was a split second of lag and Eun-Ji knew which was the real target: the one second from the right - the same one that had spoken. But then they all disappeared and there was a terrible, debilitating throbbing in her head. Her world swayed and it felt as if her brain was about to explode.

During that split second of lag, Eun-Ji immediately moved to throw her dagger. It was the same moment that the clones all disappeared and the internal chemical magic affected her. The result was that the throw was just slightly imperfect, but she couldn’t really notice that as she fell to one knee from the overwhelming pain. This pain wasn’t exactly new, it was similar to whatever it was that Avrael had used to take her entire squad of five out in split seconds about a year back. Yet it was overwhelming regardless, and it nearly made her scream out, taking all her will, instinct, and training to resist doing so.

Regardless, she knew at that moment that the battle was pretty much over. She had no counter against this kind of attack, something she really needed to fix; if she survived what was to come as she was now in the mercy of her opponent.

The dagger whizzed by Soldato’s shoulder, still a bit too close for comfort, and he raised an eyebrow. Quickly, his features formed themselves into a sadistic grin, not that it would be visible behind his mask. “No magnetic magic,” he observed, “huh?” He shook his head and turned up the pressure a bit more, hoping to get a scream out of this one. “Big mistake. Big oversight. Mighty even get you killed sometime.” He came to a stop right in front of her, tantalizingly close, employing a bit more chemical magic to give himself a sort of safety net. “You see, my partner for this mission - he thinks he’s my senior - said that I wasn’t supposed to kill you, but I don’t really care that much what he says, so…”

He trailed off suddenly and went rigidly alert. He tried leaping backwards with a kinetic boost, but then the entire clearing seemed to light up with the fire of a thousand suns. A terrifying bolt of lightning, thicker than a tree trunk, scarred the ground and sent the assassin reeling. Dazed, he staggered backward and, seemingly out of nowhere, a massive log came hurtling from above to slam into him. Soldato dodged to the side, eating little more than a graze, but his new opponent was no mere trainee. Eun-Ji felt the pressure in her head start to ease as Zeno Lascand arrived on the scene, but then the log lifted itself from the ground and hurled itself at him. The Zeno employed all of his Binding skills to disintegrate it in midair and send a colossal, roiling fireball back at his target.

Soldato was already gone, however, and where there had been one of him, there were now six. With a crack, the fireball split into six portions, each seeking out one of the clones but, too late, Eun-Ji and the Zeno realized that the actual assassin had hidden himself. A thunderous kinetic shove pummeled Zeno Lascand like a ragdoll, and he crashed into the river. Eun-Ji was well enough that she could stand but, just before she could start to mount any sort of counter-offensive, she felt it: energy signatures - hundreds of them, all over 7.00 and approaching rapidly.

“Looks like the gods are on your side,” Soldato taunted, as the Zeno burst from the river. Hurriedly, he gathered a great deal of energy, pushed off, and rocketed away into the distance, still holding his rifle. Lascand’s lightning chased him until he was out of sight. “Are you alright, girl?” he asked. “That was brave of you. Foolish, but brave.”

Eun-Ji took a deep breath in, before slowly standing up fully. Her fourth and final dagger was gripped in her left hand, something she had done by reflex as soon as the pressure in her head eased off earlier on. She relaxed her grip and put the dagger back into the fold of her dress, taking a few seconds to recompose herself. Her expression had turned back to neutral even as sweat from the pain she felt earlier covered her face. She turned to address the Zeno, and after making sure she was once more stable, bowed politely at him. ”My gratitude for your aid, sir Zeno. And my apologies for the trouble… I was… Absorbed in doing my… task. I did not expect to face so powerful a foe. He was… significantly different from the other Magusjaegers we faced today.” And that mask… He must be one of them. Outmatched by a Masked One yet again… She sighed softly before addressing the Zeno again. ”I hope, at the very least, that the objective….” She paused, recomposing her words. ”... Pardon me. I mean, I hope at the very least that his majesty King Rouis is safe?”

Zeno Lascand stroked his beard, every bit the archetypal magus, and seemed to study Eun-Ji for a moment. Then, he nodded and managed a tight, professional smile. “Just so. His majesty is well thanks to efforts such as yours. Now,” he recommended, “let us get back to the others.”

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T H E C H E S S M A S T E R _ _ _ _ _

A tall, lean figure peeled out of a mask, dark shoulder-length hair swaying with the motion. With a light clack against a wooden tabletop, it set the mask aside and reached eagerly for a tall jar of water.

The figure drank greedily for a moment, exhaling. Then, it sat there in shadowed repose, so still that one may have taken it for a statue or a rather poor illusion. The room was not large. A lone candle flickered on a tabletop. A second guttered in a wall sconce some ways away.

Slowly, as if either tired or savouring the moment, the figure leaned forward. Long pale fingers reached out towards a chessboard. They picked up and moved pieces about. A couple of pawns left the board. Finally, a pointer drew back before a black rook and flicked it over. The valuable piece toppled with a clack that seemed to carry in the stillness and darkness.

Seemingly satisfied, the hand drew away and the figure leaned back.

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That Night

That Night

^{Music Above}

Marlijn had never felt so inadequate in triumph. A half-dozen of her fellow Eskandish lay dead on a makeshift raft on the water, among them Lady Anesin. Her hands trembled with more emotions than she could hold. She, Karim, Desmond, and Owain had gone in search of the chemical mage who had been moving people like pawns, but what they had found simply didn't make sense: there had been nobody in range capable of that kind of magic - nobody even close. It was as if the spells had simply come out of nowhere.

"Into the darkness, brothers and sisters, you voyage," spoke King Horik solemnly. A rose of flame blossomed on the raft and spread quickly. "The journey from these green lands is long, but we know that Shune-Zept's light will guide you."

It wasn't right that they had died in the Greenlands, Marlijn thought, this unholy place with its crowded stinking cities, strange beasts, and greedy, gasping men.

"Though we will not see you arrive at the Visitor's table, we know, one day, that we too will hear the call, and we will meet you there to drink and feast until the time of the Giving."The Visitor. She had heard of the Old Gods, of course - the heathen gods. The Giving Hearing one mentioned was shocking, though, and in concert with the Pentad. Uncertainly, Marlijn glanced towards Owain and he seemed lost in thought, brow furrowed.

"Let this fire of Eshiran cleanse your vessels from this mortal plane," Horik continued. "So that your spirits may voyage."
The raft was fully ablaze now. "Voyage well, brothers and sisters." He bowed his head. Marlijn bowed hers. All of the others did. After about a minute, the flicker of flames on the waves had died down and what was left of it disappeared. The Eskandishwoman raised her head and wiped away the handful of tears that had slipped, unbidden, down her cheeks. War had been declared on their people, by those who they'd welcomed into their halls, who they'd embraced, given bread and salt, and called friends. Horik Vinderborg was not her king, but he had been right. There must be blood.

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They had galloped across the border: hundreds of Perrench cavalry of the Legion de la Flamme Sacree, banners fluttering as they went. Wheeling and swirling, they surrounded the king and his entourage and formed a perimeter. Penny exchanged a look with her father and he nodded and smiled slyly, directing his comment at more than just her. "As you can see, they never truly had a chance." He raised his chin. "Our enemies are so foul that they're predictable at this point." His jaw set pridefully, "and our strength so great that they could not hope to overcome us."

Against such a force, Penny could not imagine many but the city of Ersand'Enise itself standing, and this was not more than one tenth of the Legion. Yet, the spectacle and the feeling that it created in the depths of her stomach served only as temporary distraction. She had shouted 'Papa' during the conflagration. She had been heard. Madeleine was still stealing glances between her and her father. Yvette had only recently dabbed away her tears, but she had certainly heard as well. Carmille was being prudent about it, but the Princess was fairly certain she'd caught a subtle glance as well. She tried to hide the breath that she took, but failed. Her fist closed tightly around the grip of her crutch and the world grew fuzzy as her pulse thundered in her ears. I am not Penny Pellegrin anymore, she knew right then, giving the imaginary girl who'd scarcely had a chance to live an imaginary burial in her mind's eye. She was the only casualty on our side.

And yet... had she not protected her father and fellow Perrench with power and purpose? Had she not relayed the messages by her own hand that had led to a new alliance being forged? Had not she stood and begun the anthem that had united thousands and would yet make a folk hero of King Rouis XI? She was Penelope de Perrence, blood of a thousand years of royalty and soon to be one of the most powerful magi alive. Why should she live in fear and shame? At the king’s statement, she bowed her head gracefully, bringing it down to the level of the other girls' "It is as you say, my king. We shall get ours," she agreed. "I have no doubt." She turned her smile on them, beatific. “Would you not agree, friends?”

Carmillia gave Penelope a comforting smile but said nothing. However the Royal wanted to interpret it was up to her but Carmillia wasn't going to play her cards yet. Though it was possible there was more to her circumstances, it was clear why Penny's lineage was kept under wraps.

Being as she was - still somewhat beside herself - Yvette simply aped Carmille’s response. She nodded and smiled reassuringly while Madeleine pulled herself together enough to let her eyes rove across the hundreds of mounted magi. “Yes, I’ve no doubt, your ro…” she seemed to hesitate, “right, of course.”

Rouis towered above the four of them. He was quite an imposing figure in his full regalia. He glanced down. “I look forward to great things from you four young ladies and I expect you shall remain the firmest of friends.” His tone seemed to shift for the briefest of moments. “You make our nation proud,” he affirmed. “And now you must excuse me.” The head of the detachment was there. He dismounted before the king and removed his helmet: it was Sir Jean de Lorraine, the Sword of Arsice. “My King.” He bowed low and that was the girls’ cue to move on. Fresh horses had been provided for each of them and surely they would want to return to Ersand’Enise after such a harrowing ordeal.

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Daybreak

Daybreak

With that strangest of nights over, the students of Ersand'Enise woke to a changed world. When first they rolled out of bed, few were aware of the entirety of what had happened the night before. Yet, news spread across campus like wildfire and, soon, there were few students who had not heard. King Jobanzaggah had been slain by an unknown assailant or assailants and Jomurr Ikon had been found, half-dead, in the coastal mangroves north of the cliffs. Anesin Bjelke and a handful of other less notable students had not been so fortunate. Yet, there were those who'd returned covered in glory: Desmond Catulus, Seung Eun-Ji, Karim Nazeri, Penny Pellegrin, and Carmillia Carbonneau among others.

Yet, before any of this could take place, the day started with another interruption to routine: under their bedroom doors, every student at the academy found a note. In it was detailed what were to be their new student groups, for reasons of politics and balance, ostensibly. When they opened these, they found who were to be their new roommates and masters.

1. Zeno Sienna Afraval: Carmillia, Leon, Penny, Onarr
2. Zeno Hamir Zemana: Dorothea, Manfred, Eun-Ji, Wvysin
3. Zeno Zander Mozaru: Desmond, Karim, Marlijn, Jomurr

While some found that they would have plenty of time for morning introductions, others - who had signed up for either the Making Camp class, the secret Blood Magic class, or both - found themselves hurrying off after only brief introductions, many only partially fed and hungover. Strange, they thought, but perhaps fitting that the Blood Magic class was to be held outside of the city proper, in a large, rambling complex on the outskirts of Mudville.

For many of the remainder, it was to be a day off and a day of adjustment. Two, in particular, however, found more than one letter slipped beneath their doors that morning. For Leon Solaire it was an urgent summons from his patron, the Doge of Revidia, to meet for luncheon. For Onarr Yidlob, it was an invitation from the local Stresian Chapter to attend a seminar by famed Stresian Philosopher (and Ersand'Enise professor) Alcaster Serra on the moral implications of magic in paid medical practice after lunch hour.

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Code Vein (Closed)

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_{Location: Fork in the Road @ The Ruined City // Date: February 23, 2057 // Time: 14:22 // Interactions: Cerise @Medili, Ajax @DClassified}

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The last three hours had gotten progressively tougher and, without Iron Horse, Lys had fallen behind repeatedly and outright needed help over a handful of obstacles. Her arms and shoulders ached with exertion and there were a couple of blisters forming on her hands despite the gloves. Coming on this mission had been a mistake but she was here now and would have to do her best not to be a further detriment to the group. They had split up a few minutes ago into two teams, and it was as if Lysandra had been strategically separated from Akaia. Who mentioned a potentially deadly threat, she thought bitterly, that I'm not allowed to ask questions about. Much as she tried to let it go, it stuck in her craw. It had been over two years and she'd thought that she knew these people, that there was trust between them, and that they valued her as someone who could problem-solve, but that episode had put the lie to it. She wasn't sure why it had stung so much, but it had. And, most importantly, who knew how the information could be relevant? What if there was some angle they weren't seeing? What if they thought they had it all figured out but didn't? She could help. She could!

The afternoon sun passed in and out of view behind the great dead hulks of collapsed buildings, rays the colour of beaten straw shimmering diffusely through a hazy curtain of clouds and miasma. Lys blinked and, presently, paused to reach into her backpack and slip a pair of sunglasses over her eyes. Poppy was doing better and she had Iron Horse back, at least, though it was low on batteries. That meant fewer spares for Sage and Princess, which meant less searching for the mistle with them. The group of four that she was part of had formed something like a kite shape that swirled and twisted as the terrain forced it. When her eyes weren't drawn by necessity to the ground immediately in front of her, Lys watched Cerise in the lead, darting and scrambling for vantage points. She took in the revenant's footholds and route choices. Most were the ones she would've made but, every once in a while, Cerise defied expectation, making some athletic leap or spiderlike climb that Lysandra never could've managed as a human.

The revenant was bothered, Lys could tell. That's how she was: when people got hurt or - god forbid - killed, she drew into herself, worried and self-flagellating. Had Lysandra been able to catch up to her, she'd have tried to have words, but that wasn't going to happen, and it occurred to her that Cerise probably also knew about whatever it was that Erik wanted to hide. Momentarily, her stomach tightened, but she continued wheeling along, eyes searching the murky darkness behind every empty storefront, reeling in the nebulous shadows of every blind corner, and sparing the odd glimpse at the rest of the team. The sun disappeared once more behind a broken concrete leviathan and Lysandra had to pop a wheelie and engage Iron Horse to make it over a fallen telephone pole. Her eyes went back to Cerise, just as she was cresting the top of a stack of debris. The revenant froze in place for a second and a cold, electric pulse shot through Lysandra’s arteries. “More Lost!?” she called, heart beating a little faster, hands ready to reach for the controller on her lap.

Cerise wished that this had been yet another of the solo scavenging or scouting missions that she often went on. That made it really easy for her to deliberately ignore certain things that she’d rather not find at all, and then she wouldn’t have needed to lie about it; she hated having to lie. This time, with three other members of the Commune with her, it made things far less easy. She stared at the thing that had made her freeze, for a moment not even responding to Lysandra’s words. It lay on the ground not too far in front of her, a red crystal that most Revenants including Cerise knew all too well. And this time, it was glowing.

“Cherry Darling: you alright!?” Lys called out, starting to feel a different kind of unease. “It’s not Lost, is it?” There was a bit of a straightaway ahead and she pushed a bit faster to catch up.

Lysandra calling out to her again made Cerise flinch, pulling her out of her shock at finding the Vestige. She quickly turned around, an awkward looking smile on her face. “Oh no, it’s nothing. Sorry, I just spaced out for a moment there, ahaha… A-anyways yes, everything’s fine!” Then she deliberately circled around to the left as she proceeded further forward, hoping that the others would follow her route and thus keeping the vestige hidden.

Geez, hun, Lys thought. No wonder you don’t lie much. You suck at it. She forced the suspicion from her voice. “You sure?”

“Absolutely!” Cerise called out while turning around again, her right hand making the thumbs up gesture at Lysandra. “Now let’s keep going, yes? We don’t have much time and all that. I’ll stay in the front!” Thus she turned around again and continued onward in a hurry; something that the usually very careful scout would normally never do. Even more so because Akaia had told her to be extra careful beforehand because she didn't want anything to happen to Cerise too after what had happened to Poppy. Please follow me and don’t look at that. Please follow me and don’t look at that. Please follow me and don’t look at that.

Of course, Lysandra Tran, being who she was, found herself damned-near pathologically incapable of leaving well enough alone. Maybe it was the scout or the scientist within her, but she let herself deviate from Cerise’s chosen path. In any event, the bizarre new route was… less than wheelchair accessible. As she went, she kept her eyes peeled. Surreptitiously, she peered in the direction of where Cerise had glanced when she’d frozen, but was unable to see anything. Mind you, Lys was also unable to climb up that debris stack like her friend had been. In one smooth motion, she unclipped Sage from where he hung on the back of her knapsack and tossed him into the air. Almost ghostly quiet, his rotors hummed to life. “Horsie, push, terrain following.” Lys commanded softly, trading her sunglasses for the headset. Let’s see just what scared the bejeezus out of you, she thought.

Marsh Sage rose into the air, his cameras scanning the surrounding area. Within seconds, behind a few collapsed pillars in a ruined office's atrium, it spotted a reddish glow. Its cameras zoomed in. A vestige, Lys knew immediately. Why would you avoid a vestige? We’re supposed to scoop those up. Unless… She made a mental note of its location. It was sheltered from view unless one had a high vantage point, and there was a semi-accessible route there. Lys called Sage back, plucked him out of the air, and flipped her headset up. “Hey people,” she chirped. “Super sorry, but I uh… have to take a pee.” She checked her watch. It was actually time for that. When you couldn’t feel your bladder, you had to do it on a schedule. Lysandra gestured towards the half-collapsed atrium where the vestige was and started wheeling. “I’ll be right over there. I’ll be quick,” she promised. “Sorry again!”

With that declaration, Ajax paused in his path. His eyes flashed between each of the women in the group briefly, as he’d simply kept quiet up until this point. Something here was clearly off. “Hang back for a second, Cerise.” The Sword called up ahead to the girl, clearly rushing away from something. He had a hunch as to what it could be, as not many things rattled the bright and cheery revenant. Not even missions themselves. His attention shifted more directly to Lysandra. “Make it quicker than you think. We’re already late.”

Oh no… Cerise gulped and stopped as Ajax called out to her. She should have known better than to try to hide her unease from him, but then again she didn’t exactly have the time to think it through. She turned around again, looking at Ajax. That made her also note where Lysandra intended to go to for her bladder need, in turn making Cerise realize that even Lysandra was on to her. Uh-oh… She couldn’t even maintain her smile anymore, expression very clearly looking worried. “U-umm… We really should…” She stopped herself, sighing, realizing that there was no use trying to keep things hidden anymore. They were simply already on to her.

Lysandra decoupled from Iron Horse and rolled over to the atrium with an eager, morbid sort of anticipation. She damned near wrenched her shoulder going over a broken step, but then she was inside. Bluish-green marble dominated and the shards of a broken skylight sparkled in the dim golden rays that streamed through it. A scraggly green bush grew up in the middle, surrounded by debris and a pile of dirty, half-melted snow. The shining reddish crystal glowed in an unnatural juxtaposition against its surroundings. Lys chose a path carefully and made haste for it, eyes casting about warily for any Lost. This is yours, Cherry Darling, she thought. She wasn’t sure why the revenant wouldn’t want it, but there was probably a good reason. Lys could understand having pain in one’s past. Still, she thought, I think we should keep it in case things ever do change. Sometimes we need to feel that pain to move past it. In any event, Lys shoved it into one of her backpack’s pockets for safekeeping, found a good spot, and reached into another pocket for some tissue and her catheter. Cripple perks: pee like a guy. A minute and a half later, fresh and smiling, even humming a bit, she emerged from the ruined atrium. “Sorry, all! We’re good!” Her cheeks flushed a little. “I won’t hold everyone up again.”

Cerise watched as Lysandra disappeared from view for about two short minutes before reappearing again, fresh and smiling. She weirdly didn’t bring up the vestige, even though she definitely must have seen it. “Umm…. Lysandra, did you-...” Cerise wanted to ask, to make sure. But then she stopped again, hesitating. She ended up just standing in place, looking at Lysandra, and then at Ajax, and then at Lysandra again, unsure of what to do.

Lys looked at Cerise and glanced at Ajax too. She shrugged matter-of-factly. “Yes, I saw a vestige in there,” she admitted, “and I’m guessing it was yours.” She scratched awkwardly at the back of her head, where the strap from her headset often made it itchy. “I’d never try to tell you what to do with your life, Cherry Pie. I know the past can hurt.” She let her hand fall away. “So your secret back there? Don’t worry. It’s safe with me.” She put hands to wheels, ready to move again.

Ajax studied Wheels, and if only briefly did a glare of suspicion flare in his brows. It was instinctive, protective of Red, even though nothing seemed to directly threaten her. Lysandra’s words, specific as they were chosen, eased whatever tension that he felt rising within. Thus, playing along, he started forward again but stopped at Cerise. A gloved hand fell on the thin girl’s shoulder, gripping gently. Despite his own view of vestiges, there was a form of understanding in his eyes. Regardless, the moment didn’t last long, and Ajax started again; this time taking the lead.

“Let’s move. I get the feeling we’re close.”

Cerise remained quiet as Lysandra spoke. With each of Lysandra’s sentences, Cerise’s mood seemed to take a dip. Even after Lysandra’s assurance that she wouldn’t pry, Cerise’s shoulders were visibly slumped with her head looking down at the ground. She tried to sort out her own feelings and the jumbled up thoughts in her mind, not exactly succeeding at it. Well… I wish you hadn’t gone there and taken a look at it in the first place… She only glanced up again when she felt Ajax’s gloved hand gripping her shoulder gently, not even noticing that he had moved and stopped near her. Regardless, that simple gesture did the work of making Cerise feel just a little bit better. That he didn’t say anything was also something that Cerise appreciated.

Cerise stayed silent and stood in place for a few brief seconds more before sighing softly. Then she looked at Lysandra again, speaking up. “... Alright. Umm… Thanks…” Just like that, she turned around and proceeded onward again, now moving behind Ajax.

Of course, that put Lysandra out on one of the ‘wings’ of their formation, which wasn’t exactly a place she could always be. In practice, as the sun dipped lower in the sky and shadows started to lengthen, she drifted in toward Cerise, guts twisting with anxiety. Way to go, Lys. You just ripped the wings off a butterfly. On a particularly flat stretch, she let Iron Horse take over and whipped out her notepad. On it, she drew a big heart and started writing:

Dear Cerise. I’m sorry. I’m too curious and I know it. I can’t help myself. I just need to solve every mystery I see and, sometimes, I feel like people don’t tell me things. I know that you would if you were ready, though. I should trust you more. For what it’s worth, I don’t care if you were the biggest baddest bitch in this shit-sack world before (pretty sure I was, though). The only Cerise that I know is you. She’s great, and I’m so happy that I know her. Please don’t be mad at me. :(

- Lys

She attached this to the clip on the bottom of Sage and had him buzz up in front of Cerise until she couldn’t ignore him.

Hmm? Noticing Sage buzzing in front of her with a note clipped on his bottom, Cerise looked in Lysandra’s direction briefly, a puzzled expression on her face. She quickly turned around again though, and took the note from Sage to read as she walked. Oh… I see. She kept looking at the note for a few seconds more even after she was done reading it. It didn’t take her much to understand that Lysandra must have felt guilty about prying. She muffled a giggle as her mood started to swing back up again. She wasn’t exactly mad at Lysandra, but even if she had been, she wouldn’t have been able to continue being mad after reading that.

Thus she turned around again, and once she was sure that she had the other woman's attention, she smiled warmly and mouthed a ‘thank-you’ at Lysandra. Then she turned around once more, now with her steps having that particular spring and cheerfulness typical of her.

Lys made a little heart with her hands and felt a bit of spring returning to her figurative step as well. Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned here: if you lived with people, you lived with their secrets too, and you had to accept that. Just because they didn’t let you all of the way in all of the time didn’t mean that they didn’t like you or trust you. She let out a deep breath and kept moving. Surely, it couldn’t be much further now.

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