Redward

Shadow Smiles

Eyes, jaw, hands, His own eyes roved over the subject, considering the changes and their rapid recession through slitted eyes. Luca's face was mostly smile, a finger lingering to toy with an errant braid. The S.C.A.R.E make talking to them somewhat difficult. While I understand their position, it's certainly hampering my ability to operate easily. His other hand lingered over another set of particularly potent buttons, fingers stretched to linger over several at once.

His smile settled, listening as 42 opted for the more reasonable response. Or, at the very least... Instead of finishing the thought, he leaned forward; letting his smile shift to something more rueful. "Unfortunately, a phone's out of the question," his words were light, as always, "but water should be no large task. Tora?" A stiff nod met the request, one of the S.C.A.R.E sliding away and out of the door at Luca's back. He watched, swiveling to follow the motions before spinning back to face Martin.

Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on either side of the console; lazily bringing his eyes back to the Subject. "Sometimes I wonder if there's more machine than anything else in them. That's rarely a problem with people," if the S.C.A.R.E present took any offense, they didn't show it, "but humans present an entirely different set of challenges in understanding. It's a commonality between us and them. The problem with that arises," his wrist rolled, stopping when his hand was extended toward the containment cell proper, "when we, as observers, make too large a distinction between the two."

But that's not the point, here.

Luca could see, from where he was, the glass being slid into Containment Cell 42. One of the panels came down, quickly, depositing the flimsy plastic cup onto a small outcropping; sliding to lock in its proper place immediately after. While this wouldn't be directly shared with the Subject, Luca preferring to let these things be observed, there were several such outcroppings inside the cell. The one used, today, would be false tomorrow. Blackthorne Medical and Munitions had at least been careful in some areas. The 'scientist' was glad about that. Behind him, the door slid open; Tora returning to her post quickly.

Good. I wonder...

"The problem in this particular situation is asking your cooperation in forming those lines, while forcing it. I'm going to ask something of you," he had settled on using that one, at least for the time being, "and I expect a thoughtful answer." Did he? No. He expected a demonstration of character. "What is it, in your opinion, that creates that line between you and those untouched by Miasma? Furthermore, what is it that makes you any different from the other Subjects we've so carefully acquired?"

Aside from the direct intervention of Smile, himself...is there much? Luca smiled more widely, perching in his chair; letting his fingers drift from the buttons he had been so eager to press, earlier. What does he see that 'we' don't? The real mysteries won't be solved by locking them away. That much is for certain. If Smile wanted them free, it doesn't seem unthinkable that they would be free. Some of them are, even. Still, losing one of the organs could be damaging to its plan...

Against the Fangs of God

Amaranthe

HEART AND MIND - WHO YOU WERE BEFORE

Name: Korine Amaranthe
Sobriquets: The Blacktongue

Concept: A ceaseless hunger, wrapped in a tenuous identity. Being Twice Damned has done Amaranthe no favors, but made more prevalent the illness in her nature. Exile will only see her grow more contemptuous.

Origin: A question that haunts Korine ceaselessly. Unaware of her absence from the world, it is but one of many gaps in her memory. While she sees herself as an Elatreisi serving-girl who was burned under suspicion of stargazing, the truth may be something entirely different. Regardless, that is what has cemented itself in her. She can still taste the culling of her youth, vibrancy snuffed out by reaching flame, uncertain as to how she escaped.

That life, when the fragments are arranged, was an uneventful one. Tending to dusty libraries and the whims of a godly man. Her glaring hatred may have first spread seeds during those years. If pressed, Korine can recount herself being bartered for as her earliest memory. Her last pure, screaming pain; contorted countenances dancing and giving praise as she was flayed.

Appearance:

[+]

Skills and Flaws

Guarded Smile: Korine knows well the machinations of man. Their lies and wiles. She has adopted them as her own, capable of controlling the seething beneath to present herself as a reasonable and, at times, charming girl. Favoring a wide smile and open eyes, Amaranthe will give herself to the facade if it benefits her to do so.

Hidden Blade: Preferring more personal conflicts, she is an artist with a dagger. More often than not Korine will strike from an advantageous position; utilizing an intimate knowledge of human weaknesses to quickly end a conflict.

Cruel Tongue: A practiced poisoner, Amaranthe believes that tainted blood serves as well as clean. She has spent a fair amount of time learning the practical effects of various toxins, both on herself and the various subjects. Pain is her forte, though Korine has a vested interest in doses that numb the body and leave the mind fumbling.

Cracked Vessel: Despite all of her posturing and positioning, Korine is unstable. She seethes and spits and rages, when things stray from the path chosen. It is in these moments that she reveals herself, screaming and brandishing all the force at her disposal against the object of her ire.

Beyond this, it is hunger. She seeks deeper knowledge and greater power, greater influence and ever, always, is she looking for more. This, in itself, is damning; driving her forward with little regard for the well-being of herself or those around her. This hunger has given birth to arrogant musings, blurring and obliterating the lines that would fetter her mind.

Hooks:

• Is the reality anything like the dream?
• Can I become more? This frail form poorly suits the grandeur of my desires.
• If men can eat the flesh of Angels, what is the taste of God's own struggling viscera? The stars, too, arouse a lust in me...

SOUL - WHAT YOU ARE BENEATH THE SKIN

Initiation: Amaranthe came into her exile as a Sorcerer. She does not comprehend this, however. Reconciling the gaps in her memory, she believes herself to have been a practitioner for some time; owing her status solely to her own willpower.

Weirds

Choir of Disdain: Shedding her blood on raw earth makes the soil sick and wrathful. Groaning punctuates the air as warped facsimiles of the human form begin emerging. Screaming always ensues, a mix of cruel elation and despair unending. While the constructs are rickety, they are receptive to Korine's commands and surprisingly dexterous.

If performed under starlight, the result is somewhat different. Instead of multiple wailing constructs, one whispering archon is formed. This thing is sturdier than its day-stained counterparts and does not share their penchant for wildly diffusing noise. Instead it mimics Korine's own words as she speaks them, serving as messenger; whatever grim task that may entail.

If not given commands, the daylight constructs will simply amble without aim until disturbed; when they will attack. The night archon cannot function without instruction and will simply follow Amaranthe, serving as guard until a task is assigned to it. She has no direct connection to the dolls, but can feel when they are destroyed.

Retching Desire: To consume is to know and learning has its own price. While her bite is imbued with potent poison and an uncanny sharpness, tasting of human flesh will elicit a dark, excited stupor from Amaranthe. This impaired state imparts flashes of knowledge gained from the dire act, presented in the form of stolen memories, but passes quickly and leaves little retained.

She will begin vomiting approximately half an hour after the initial bite is taken; paling and beginning to shake as the physical effects fade. During her brief minutes of recovery, Amaranthe is unfocused and detached.

Obsessive Shroud: Shadows have a love for Amaranthe, clinging to her tightly as she passes by. Returning their embrace, she can become as one of them. While this does not completely obfuscate her, it dulls her presence in the Known World. Searching eyes may pass over her without recognition. A keen nose may falter, finding the end of her trail at an odd place. Familiar ears may find her voice a foreign caress.

BLOOD AND BONE - THE NEPHILIM

Nephilim: Nalzhacta
Sobriquets: Grinning Chrysalis

Concept: Twisted in unacceptable defeat, pride seeks sanguine reprisal.

Form:

[+]

Abominations

Consuming Contrast: During the day Nalzhacta gleams and glints, all pristine angles and spread wings. At night it drinks starlight, folding back the wings so proudly displayed, seething with contempt. Regardless of the time, it carries the taint of that which came before; capable of forming the stored energies into tangible implements.

Sunlight is forged into an aegis, casting scathing beams from the center of a solidified disc. Umbrage becomes an empty orb, pulsing and reaching out with spikes and undulating tendrils. One cannot exist while the other does.

Predatory Pride: A warrior by nature, an artisan by exterion. Nalzhacta revels in physical strife, presenting strength and grace belied by its delicate frame. More than the struggle, though, is the outcome. Emboldened by the prospect of victory, the Nephilim releases a distorting warcry; imposing madness on unguarded minds and presenting tactile pressure to those in its immediate vicinity.

This roar carries enough force to push aggressors back, rattling earth and painting the stage with malice. Hues of hazy red pulse outward, growing more dim and finally dispersing as it moves. The farther one is from the source, the lesser the effect.

Tempestuous Contempt: Wind bends to the will of this Nephilim, creating gusts and gales with a flex of its wings. Incredibly quick, Nalzhacta moves with grace and brutal intent. Creating currents to propel itself with greater accuracy is its usual utilization; though there exists the potential for more offensive use. A trio of tornadoes dance around the battlefield, when the Nephilim's full wrath is stoked.

Delicate Destroyer: Nalzhacta is a thing of relatively frail composition. Despite being quick and vicious, there is a soft flexibility to its sarcophagus. While movement is fluid, once stopped the Nephilim is vulnerable.

WIP. I'll be finishing up later tonight or tomorrow, I think.

Will be completed when I get back.

Almost done. Last touches will be applied after another short absence.

One more edit, after this one. Two more things to go.

Korine is done!

Worlds Apart

Footfalls echoed lightly from high arches and close walls. The Magician's keep was, as always, extremely quiet. Those footfalls being the only noise punctuating a short trek down a particularly long hallway. The master's hallway. It had never been given a true title, but this particular moniker seemed to arise from time to time. Different from the others only in the most basic sense, this hallway's import was its usual traversal. There were no grand secrets hidden in the shadows that danced along along it; though one could argue that the door at the end of that hallway held more than one or two, at least once a proper knock had been given.

As usual, there was a chair at the midway point. It had never been moved, nor would it be. Often, Elegance had questioned its purpose. More than once aloud. Only once had the Magician's keeper been given a proper response. She hadn't understood, at the time. Now it brought a smile to her face, considering the bizarre simplicity of it, as she stepped lightly around it. There was much that seemed simple, once the answer was given. Truly, though, I had heard that answer before. Was it Rain or Constance that had it right? In a way, that didn't matter. Elegance knew that. It was her own thoughts on the subject that should be at the forefront.

Either way, she was right. It's simply there, a test fo- she stopped before one of the few mirrors in the keep, put there at her request, lifting her sparkling lantern to a countenance wracked with long hours, Oh my. That won't do. Lightly, her fingers left the lantern to hover at her side. All at once her face and figure shifted, Elegance adopting a more personally pleasing form. Just like that, it goes away! Dark circles beneath her eyes now spoke of careful application, loose locks shortened and stylized, mouth widened and lips adjusted. She stared for a long moment, bringing a finger to her eyes to test the tenacity of quick changes.

"Ow." Her new frown was positively provocative, the tears in her eyes lending a certain vulnerability to the expression. "Perfect!" Immediately Elegance covered her mouth. Her echo, however, seemed to spread joy through the master's hallway. Neutrality worked its way onto the 'naturally' morose beauty she had claimed. A curse escaped her, silently; turning to take the lantern back in her grip with a sigh. She left her reflection behind, satisfied, still careful to walk lightly.

After all, the master is not one pleased to be woken prematurely, both hands now were wrapped around the lantern, holding it aloft and ahead, Elegance's countenance cast fully in the blue it unevenly shed, Though is anyone in this castle really happy about being awake at this odd hour? I cannot imagine so. However, they had guests to attend. Instructions to follow. Jobs to perform. Elegance had always been the best at this. Which is why she had been chosen. Not by the Magician, who was often too busy to look after himself; but by the shadowy one she had molded several of her appearances after. Elegance had taken each order with graceful patience, making sure to be eloquent when protest was required. As requested.

Slowly the hallway narrowed, the walls framing the door precisely and the ceiling dipping low. Thankfully the door was larger than Elegance by half. Really, it's bigger than most of us. There were perhaps two she could think of, on the keep's staff, that would have trouble approaching the door alone. Still, so far as she was aware, she was the only one who made this trip regularly. Elegance placed the lantern at her feet and knocked on the door. Sixteen knocks, two claps, a stomp and a satisfied sigh to herself. Silence followed. She shifted back and forth, listening, counting down the seconds. Finally, a grunt and the sound of latches thrown. Then, sliding.

The door didn't open, but she felt eyes on her from the other side. "Master?" It was never really a question. Elegance had come to understand, quickly, how things worked in Magician's keep. Silence, expected, followed the question. An invitation to continue. "Your guests are nearly here," she folded her hands, looking slightly upward, "it's time for you to greet them." Elegance gave her best smile to the door. A groan, disbelief and petulant reluctance. Fourteen, fifteen...

He appeared before her with a decompression that made her lantern tilt and sputter. Madness twitched somewhere deep within her, the reason she held her hands as she did. Their grip tightened, not so much as to be obvious; or so she liked to think. Then it subsided. He wore a broad rimmed hat, pointed and much too large to be reasonable. Under that, Elegeance knew, was a face still lined with sleep and unkempt stubble; tired and downcast, his lone eye would be on her feet. The other covered with his most regal patch. "Purple and gold always are a nice combination, but don't you think it would be better to wear your normal one?" He tilted his head, intent on proving her wrong; though Elegance had predicted this. She smiled broadly, giving him her most enthusiastic gesture of approval; a thumbs up.

Indeed, he had worn his normal eye-patch. Black leather and otherwise unremarkable. His normal hat, as well. His coat was different, though, one she had never seen before. It was quite remarkable. Envy wrapped arms around Elegance's throat. Despair struck her in the stomach. He won, after all. Sixteen seconds, my point. Eye-patch, my point. That jacket... A snap brought her eyes to gloved fingers and somewhat to Magician. There was a soft smile on a scruffy face, the lantern in his other hand. "Game over. Magician wins. Good morning, Elegance." He turned and walked away, leaving her trailing behind him.

It was in the fashion of many of his jackets. Tight sleeves growing wide at the wrists, tails that tapered and twisted. However, the material it was made of, the colors were so unlike what she had seen before. Usually he was a man of dour dress, black and deep blues the signature storm-cloud she had come to know. To see him clad in white and the sky's own blue was disconcerting. Not to mention that it makes the hat look out of place. She wouldn't bring that up, though. Instead Elegance did her best to completely ignore that and continue on with her duties.

"Don't worry about it," his voice was relaxed, his pace leisurely, allowing time for his keeper to remain in the lantern's light, "I've been up for a while. Tonight's an important one. For me, for you, for her, for everyone. How am I supposed to sleep with something like this going on?" That was a fair point. One Elegance wouldn't contest, instead nodding along. Magician had been invested in many things over the last two weeks, one of which had proven to be a problem beyond his capacity. "I've figured out a couple of things, that's for sure. Notice that they're arriving with one of their members missing?" Of course she had. Elegance had been watching closely.

"Yes, Koda Yuhashira succumbed to the weight of his Semblance," she brought a finger to her lips, speaking around it, "Do you think offering them condolences would be appropriate?" Magician shook his head, passing the lantern back to her. They both slid around the chair, in silence, before Elegance continued. "You're probably right." She shifted the moment through several different lenses, finally settling on what she thought would be the right light. "It makes sense. That course of action. However, it also brings her motivations into question." She was adept at viewing the strings, but following them to their conclusion was often fruitless; drenched as each possibility was in possibility.

"This wasn't part of her plan," Magician stated that confidently, stretching with the hallway behind him, "Otherwise I would've been instructed to greet fewer visitors." She could feel his frown deepen as he began walking down the stairs. "Though, technically, the number is the same." Elegance hurried to catch up, but stayed a step behind her master, curiosity on her face. A glance in her direction, then ahead, torches kicking to life above and below; their lights shifting from blue to green to red and stalling there. It was a rosy color, revealing a long table and the various faces gathered at it. Greetings rang out in various tones, some of her counterparts waving or rising to bow at their master's entrance.

I suppose he's right. There's only so far one should be willing to trust, however. The others, that distracting mob of uniformed maids and butlers, seemed overexcited. Uncomposed. She allowed herself an internal leer at them. It was unbecoming of those who served her master's needs to act without restraint. I'll discipline them later. For now, I have to attend to my own assignment. She had made note, already, of which of them had cheered loudest.

"Ah, yes, the boy that's tagging along. Didn't you say you were expecting something of the sort?" She kept her own tones light, letting her distaste for the others show with a glare in their direction. Quickly they returned to their meals, only a few daring to make a face or grumble while she was watching. "It should have been dealt with on the road." Elegance let her lantern go, over the rail. It did not shatter, or even touch the ground. Instead it hovered unevenly, drifting aimlessly until sputtering out of existence. "The Mortals I can understand, but inviting an unknown entity into this keep is pressing your luck."

He stepped off the stairs and adjusted his hat, scratching lazily beneath his ears afterward. "Yeah, that's true. I've been thinking about it. It could turn out poorly. Or," he pointed to Elegance without looking, "it could be exactly what I need, at a time like this." When he resumed walking, she was already beside him and gaining speed. "Think about it. If this tag-along is what I think he is, half of my problem will be solved." Elegance nodded, her back now to him. She was thinking about it, but she didn't get it. Magician continued, Elegance lowering her head slightly. "Really, though, it's going to be difficult." A sigh escaped him. "Even if the Mortals are cooperative and straightforward, it's not like anyone is going to want to see what happens."

"Why is that, master?" Elegance was curious, standing straight-backed by the entrance to the keep. Her hand was already on the door, prying it open for him to pass through. Her face was, again, telling. Magician stopped to consider her, placing his own hand atop hers, stopping the door from opening all the way.

"Because," his eye bored into her, vibrant in its oddity, catching the light and shifting between colors she couldn't quite recognize, "they've killed a man dressed as a beast. Scattered him to the wind. They're learning, but they haven't had time to adjust. What I'm going to suggest will almost undoubtedly irritate them." Slowly his fingers drifted away, leaving Elegance fighting her first impulse. "If I'm going to teach them anything, the first test will be the most important. I need you to be on guard, ok?" She opened the door, fully. A lantern appearing in her free hand. "Let's go."

Elegance followed her master into the waiting night and down the keep's steps. Other small points of light existed around the unmarked grounds, lanterns of varying color; put there by her effort. She stayed close to Magician, having taken his words to heart. When she was on guard there was little that escaped her. The blue in her lantern surged, shivering and rising to coat her fingers in cobalt flame. Empty, the vessel served no purpose; dissolving and flickering into nothing. Flexing her digits, the flame danced and intensified, Elegance holding her hand forward to spread light over a wide wedge before them.

...Go on! Say something!

...

Did we stop?

Tabitha Calvicante had been quiet, for a good while. Long had she stared at the strange spire. Even when light had seemingly been bled from Irriss, there was an aura around the place. Not entirely uninviting like it was during the day. The clear sky at it's back, the moon hanging beside it in a half that brought to mind beaches and vodka. Other than a giggle, here and there, at her own absurd thoughts; she found there was nothing to say. So, instead Tabitha had focused on the small problems. Chewing over the same five or six things kept her feet moving and her eyes open.

Her hand on fire? Ya gotta be jokin'. Who the fuck's this?

Now, her mouth was moving. For the first time in what felt like hours. All that came out, first, was a rasp. She cleared her throat and stepped from behind the group to better observe, tilting her head. Indeed, before them were two people. One was a guy in a big hat and some kind of jacket. That, like, some kinda fucked up windbreaker? She couldn't really tell. It was eye-catching in the dark, regardless. The other was a maid with her hand on fire. Something about her was eerily familiar to Tabitha. It's her face. Looks like... A shiver chased the thought away. Nah, the eyes're different. Besides, if she was here we'd know about it. I think? Does that mean he's...?

They stood side by side, in silence. Tabitha wasn't sure she caught it, but for a second the maid's eyes darted to the man; then back to the group. She couldn't see his face very well. Body language didn't reveal much. He seemed relaxed, from what she could tell; hands dangling at his side. It's him, right...? Looking between them she barely noticed that defending herself hadn't crossed her mind. Part of her blamed it immediately on fatigue. Another whispered that she didn't much care about fighting; that Tabitha had accepted this encounter because it had been the only way forward.

Ellard, who she had momentarily forgotten about, was staring hard at the duo. She considered him, for a moment, giving a light nudge. His eyes moved from them to her and back, finally settling at the ground.

The one in the hat shifted, bringing a hand to his mouth; leaning to whisper something to his companion. Her flame sputtered, dimming for a moment. The maid's eyes widened and shock touching lightly on her features. "Oh, of course. My apologies." It was after a rapid whisper, but Tabitha caught that part; before the woman composed herself and her eyes fell on the group. A gloved hand was holding the brim of the hat low, though her periphery might have caught the ghost of a smile. "Welcome to the Magician's domain, Mortals. I'm Elegance, head of staff in the keep."

"We here, for real?" She couldn't help herself. Tabitha wasn't sure she had even spoken the words until she felt eyes on her. A shrug followed, too tired to be given true pause. "I mean, damn. We walked a long way. About time. Ya gonna let us in or what?" Despite how tired she had become, Tabitha smiled. The maid frowned at her, then disregarded her entirely.

"This," she pointed with the hand that wasn't burning blue, "is Magician." He stepped forward, then, offering a slight tilt of his hat in their direction.

"Thanks, Elegance," he sounded normal enough, but that hardly meant anything, "I'll take it from here." Tabitha couldn't help but feel underwhelmed, despite the tension creeping through her. The guy in front of them wasn't making much of an impression. Still, hatred for the one he served was hard to fight down. The maid stepped back, brandishing her hand. "You're finally here. That's good. It's not easy to make it from Lightbridge." He brought a hand up, motioning to the group. "However, a couple of things I need to sort out before you can come in. First, some of you haven't put on your Semblance." He sighed, after saying that.

"The way I see this is simple. You choose to surrender it, or you put it on. Otherwise, I can't help you." Entirely uncertain, Tabitha watched his hand as it lowered. "The second is a matter concerning Silverbrook. That conversation's a little more complicated. I'll let you decide exactly what's going to happen. There are a lot of paths we can take, so take your time. Think of questions, if you need to."

Wait...what? We gettin' this bullshit again? I ain't...fuck, I ain't wanna do this. Y'all up.

NEMESIS HEARTS: You Are Worthy Of...

I'll probably be opening up recruitment for this thread relatively soon. If you're here, now, and reading this; go ahead and make yourself known.

Tomorrow, or later tonight if I manage to get to my computer, I'll be making another post with some more details.

Quick Edit; I'll be moving forward with an Aito post to get the Monster Hunter Club arc/interactions moving. This will happen, also, tonight or tomorrow.

Shadow Smiles

Maya felt the 'tank' lurch, turning her faceplate forward. She was one of the S.C.A.R.E who wouldn't take her armor off, since boarding with the coffin. A lot of them trusted it. You ain't catching me dead near that thing without some kind of protection. Val and Waldvogel had been assigned to making sure the casket stayed completely shut and if that task were to somehow go awry the edict was waste the fucking thing and close the goddamn box. She was on edge, that much was for sure.

Luca had come through her comm, during the process of stuffing a half-mangled mess of man into the unkind sarcophagus. Maya, he had said in his disgustingly fluid, disgustingly friendly way; she knew it meant something bad for her, just not how bad, yet, another assignment has trickled its way to my hands. Your ears only. That stank of a mission no one else was supposed to know of, but the verification was sent directly to her HUD...courtesy of Blackthorne's constant vigilance; obscuring her vision for the barest moment as she read it over and swiped it away, accepting with a heavy sigh. It seems things are quite different than they were three years ago, yes? Commander Wyrick hung up on him, her orders memorized.

"Mataraci," the usual driver, who turned only slightly at the sound of Maya's voice, "drop me off near the New Steel Memorial Hospital. They've got some fucking patient me and Val need to check out." She sighed, sitting back against the stark rise of the seat; quite clearly made for those well above her height. Don't see why the fuck it has to be us. Her eyes drifted to Val, their usual sharpness dulled for the girl. Maya Wyrick did see and she saw all too well. Trouble was waiting for them, there. If that report's right...Val's not the only one. Thoughts of scalpels and Luca's smiling face flitted through her mind. She didn't shudder, but she brought her eyes from Val's knees.

The 'tank', a heavily armored vehicle provided for the S.C.A.R.E in their moving moments, chugged along. Unimpeded now that the streets had been mostly clear. Meeting this thing that was her little sister's eyes, Maya gave a soft smile and finally spoke. "Hey, kid. You did good getting that freak into the bag," her fingers automatically trailed to the pistol sitting at her hip, eyes drifting back, "Now we got something else to handle. No weapons, this time. Just me and you...and some scared bitch in a hospital bed. She might be..." Maya Wyrick, veteran of a thousand skirmishes, hesitated in the face of Valkyrie and the truth she needed to know; opting instead to stare at the non-windows. "she might be like you." It was a heavy statement, made casual by delivery.

"Let's hope for her sake that she isn't. I wouldn't feel so special if there were another."
There was a nervous sort of sarcasm in her voice, she noted. Maya gave a derisive snort, tilting her head back and letting the small thunder of her laughter roll for a moment. "That isn't anything to worry about, Val; she wasn't raised S.C.A.R.E. Whatever she is, we've been passed down an order to deal with it," her eyes moved behind their encasing, her neck twisting to produce a pop along her spine. She's worried, and Maya Wyrick couldn't blame her. Val's my responsibility, can't have her moping over some latent abomination.

With trepidation, she left herself partially defenseless; removing her helmet and giving Val a soft smile. The commander shook her head, letting the weight of the armor fade.

"Besides... These headaches get to me sometimes. I can't even read when they start."

Maya's words echoed within her jumbled thoughts, as she tried to maintain a collected visage amongst her peers. "She might be like you." The words caught Valkyrie off guard, sending a cold shot of worry through her chest, before she slowly exhaled and calmed herself. She stood up in the back of the tank, placing her boot on the edge of the coffin and pulling her side arm from it's holster, placing it on the weapons rack alongside her rifle.

No weapons, huh... None seen is as good as none, right? If she may be like me, that means she may be close, but different. The infection could be rooted more deeply, and I doubt it's suppressed the way mine is.. Could manifest. No way we need to go in there without something to protect us..

The S.C.A.R.E Commander watched her charge's face from behind a feigned veil of joviality. From worried to pure business. That's the Val I know, Maya stood, making her way to stand beside her little sister; foot propped on the coffin's top when she stopped. She leaned forward, looking up at her companion. The tank rattled, Mataraci letting them know that their stop was coming up in his usual fashion.

"Last stop for Maya and Val, New Steel Municipal Hospital," he laughed, over their comms, in a good mood as always, "not sure why you two're stoppin' here, but it's probably 'bove my paygrade." He turned, one of those comfortable without his armor, and eyed them both. "Still my lips are sealed and whatever sick litle kid's day you're gonna make is jus' heartwarmin'." Maya turned, fixing Mataraci with a glare; unhappy with his creole humor.

"Shut the fuck up, Mataraci. Me and Val are here because we have to be, not because it's that much fun," she slid a small ceramic pistol into the neck of her armor, taking what remained off with care, quickly free of her station and in her 'off-duty' clothing. A black tank-top, fitting given their method of travel...though Maya knew little about why the garment had its name, and a pair of sturdy boots. "Now, open the doors. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to." Valkyrie sighed. She didn't want to be here, either and was worried for the girl they were going to report on.

She chose to leave her spring loaded boot knives in place along with the magnetic bracelets the engineers from Blackthorne had outfitted her with on her twelfth birthday. She didn't have to use them often, but they were her favored fallback when conflict was too close for her rifle. "Alright, big sis.. Is that all the info you've got for me? It's not a lot to work with.. I'd feel a lot more comfortable if I felt more prepared.."

A voice, happy and simultaneously tormenting would drift over Maya and Val's private channel. "Hello, fair ladies of S.C.A.R.E! I've come across some more information!" Maya let loose something close to a growl and politely asked how Luca D. Beak had come across such information. "Oh, try as they might! Interrupt my work as they might, Blackthorne Medical and Munitions has rarely been able to keep a secret from me!"

If this was supposed to be a secret; what the fuck are we doing here? Maya put that question to Val, without saying a word, only with a lift of her eyebrow and a falling of the corners of her mouth. She knew the look as soon as she saw it, along with what it meant. Oh, the tangled webs they weave.

"Originally, you were intended to observe the problem. Now you're being asked to bring the problem in," Luca seemed to be delighting in this turn of events. The tank sliding to a stop and Mataraci slowly opening the doors, oblivious. "Remember, however, she is a unique Specimen. One to be...treated kindly." As if you of all people has a clue what kindness is.

"Oh what the fuck ever, Mister Beake. You know as well as I do that this is a snatch-and-grab; and I'm not having it! Not in a public place! Not in a fucking hospital! The hell are the brass thinking?" An urging, maddening giggle came from the other end, Maya's patience worn thin, "You want this girl brought back for your experiments and God-knows-what-else..." A loud laugh confirmed everything she feared and made her guts knot and Val's lower lip find its way between her teeth for a stifling bite.

"That's not your concern, Miss Wyrick. Nor yours, Miss Valkyrie. All that Blackthorne requires is that you accomplish your new goal...and without casualties. The updated information will be sent to your Internal HUD," She could imagine Luca smiling, mocking her and everything she had done to get here...then came the final jab, "Do play nice, now."

I'll show that creep how ladylike we can be before sis gets the chance if he keeps on with that. Val was normally a calm person, relatively speaking. But Luca D. Beake had a unique way of making her blood boil. She looked to Maya and gave a slight nod before jumping from the tank to the asphalt below, trying to shake the feeling of filth she associated with his voice. "C'mon. Ignore that idiot. I'll play nice with him one of these days. That stinking little creature won't be able to resist giving me a good excuse too much longer." There was no love lost between Val and Beake. She'd always smelled rot around him and honestly prefered the stench to his demeanor.

Val chose to take point up the door, having a habit of holding it open and watching Maya's six as she entered. They made their nearly sychronized long strides across the concrete to the front of the hospital, Valkyrie turning when cued by the mechanical hiss of the sliding doors and meeting her mentor's gaze. As she passed, Val spoke quiet and certain. "We shouldn't be doing this, sis."

Maya nodded, her slight scowl and the cast of her eyes making plain to Val what others may have missed. She was trained at keeping her demeanor balanced, but the S.C.A.R.E, Val and Luca all seemed to be able to tell much about her moods. I'd tear his fucking head off, if Blackthorne didn't have him on a leash. She took a quick glance at the door as it slid shut behind them. Even in casual-wear she felt out-of-place. It was an unfortunate side-effect of her training and ambition. "Yeah, Val, I know. We shouldn't." Her hands found their way to her pockets, striding beyond the desk and the people waiting in the large lobby.

Only a security guard, she had relaxed, a little, surveying her surroundings and finding them without immediate threats, I guess that means that Blackthorne hasn't hit this place, yet. She briefly considered asking the receptionist about the presence of any conspicuous authority figures. That wouldn't fly, though. Even if I tried to make it sound casual, I doubt me or Val could talk openly without getting people suspicious. Her left hand came from her pocket, as they made their way to an elevator. It trailed along the exposed tail of her unsightly scar. "It doesn't feel right, but we have our orders." Simplicity at its finest; despite all of the complications that could arise.

The elevator door opened promptly, three nurses and a doctor stepping out and passing the two without a second glance. Maya walked ahead, by a pace or two, letting her hand drop. "Our target is Cecilly Roseberg, currently in a room on the fifth floor," she gave a glance over her shoulder to Val and then ahead to be certain that there was no one within earshot, "She'll be in room five-oh-nine and without any posted guards. Way I understand it was orders came through to keep her relatively sedated. That should make things easy for us." Eyebrows lifted, Maya scanned the nearby doors. They had a moment to go, yet, before reaching the girl who sat at the center of an anomalous storm. One of many such disturbances that seemed to be kicking up in the final hours of New Steel City's lockdown. "What won't be easy is getting her out quietly. We don't know all the details, either. There's a chance she's more like one of the things back at the Complex than she is you."

This better not get messy.

[+]

In collaboration with @MordecaiThe 1st

NEMESIS HEARTS: You Are Worthy Of...

No problem. Things have been pretty off for me, as well. Take your time folks.

Against the Fangs of God (Mecha / Necromancy Interest Check)

Oh. My. God!

Tristan! Why wasn't this sent to me immediately! You know your favorite GM already promiiiiiiiised~!

Amaranthe reporting in.

NEMESIS HEARTS: You Are Worthy Of...

@floodtalon Prodding for a post, again! ^_^ Ehehe.

Everyone else you're doing wonderfully! Thank you so much for your effort and patience.

After Flood posts, it should go to @Mordecaithe 1st; then @Viatos, then me...with Ryu posting...after that? I may have that part wrong. Please correct me if I do!

Mind you, this is for the MHC

Who are we waiting on, in the DETENTION ARC? I have plans, for that, by the way; so hit me up on Discord so some things can get worked out!

Thanks!

Worlds Apart

Tracing strange sigils on her forehead hadn't been Beatrx's envisioned goodbye. However, Caretaker Nirvu had insisted. As things were, with the rules she had chosen to abide by; there was little choice in the matter for her. It had been at the task for a long moment, pausing only to inquire about her comfort. She watched her strange friend, her strange mentor, dip its fingers into a small well of black liquid; tried to watch as it gently etched the pattern onto her face.

First had been the markings along her mid-cheek, long and wrapping to rest at the nape of her neck. Next were the circles around her eyes, spirals leading outward. She had opened her mouth, several times, to question the meaning behind it all. That question was met with a small, felt smile. "It is to prepare your body for our parting, for the gift I intend to give you. Now, please remain still, this is a delicate ritual," she hadn't understood that, at all, but did as bid and let herself be as unmoving as stone. "We have spoken at length about your displacement, but today, the day of our parting, I will give you something to tie you tie Irriss," Caretaker Nirvu spoke gently, but its words sent a small wave of dread over Beatrix's heart.

I don't want to be...to be tied here. I want to go home, of course, she knew her situation; that she had some place in a struggle she didn't understand, that home was an impossibility anyway. I want to see my family...but, but this is important. I'm supposed to be a warrior... Her heart was heavy. The sparring session with Srath was still fresh in her mind, the phantom weight of the blade still in her hands as though some part of her yearned for it. I promised, though! That was her steel, that which allowed her to place all of her faith in the Prime Caretaker. So she did. Whatever lines he traced on her, Beatrix knew, was for her benefit.

They were in the hut she had come to call 'home', during her two weeks-and-a-day in Irriss, in the Crystalline Gardnen. Now that it was time for her to depart, things seemed dismal. I'm going to be sent out into the world, b-but why? Beatrix knew that answer well. The other Caretakers had been unhappy with her presence since her arrival. Caretaker Nirvu was the only one kind to me. It changed something in me. The second half of the thought would have sent a shiver through her, had an edict not otherwise compelled her to remain static. The candle she had noticed, before, was now lit; black and white wax trailing down the helix of that bizarre candle.

Beatrix Ashworth watched the flames as the Prime Caretaker continued its work. "Beatrix," it began, drawing her attention, "I intend to give you something called the 'Empty Sphere'. A relic left behind by an age Irriss never experienced." She desperately wanted to ask what that meant, but the Caretaker continued. "These markings are to be certain your body can bond with the Sphere properly. To make it your own. For too long has it been kept in idle, secluded hands. The other Caretakers know not what I intend. Please, keep it hidden."

I don't, either! Her fingers tightened against the slacks she had been given, drawing a handful of the coarse material into her palm. The blade she had practiced with sat on the table before her, without the shimmer it had earlier possessed; the enchantment to dull it gone. She was afraid, truly, but the trust grown between herself and the Caretaker soothed that frantic emotion. It already turned me into a fighter...am I...am I going to be a warrior, next? I-I guess that's up to me... In a way, it was exciting. She had faith that she would return to Lightbridge, eventually, but what she had been told made it clear; that time may come long down the road she would travel.

"Is it going to hurt?" She turned wide eyes to the Caretaker, staring into its faceplate, "I'm not sure wh-what the Empty Sphere is or why you're giving it to me! I don't feel like I'm right for-"

"Be still, Beatrix," the Caretaker gave her a non-existent smile, lightly putting a hand on her arm, "much like the ritual I performed to draw out your warrior's instinct, this is to provide you with a means of defense. The Empty Sphere is an artifact that requires a Mortal host, by itself it can do little but project a tangible, durable field," the Caretaker paused, considering her in the low light. "It seeks out the other Spheres, as well; which is the burden I ask for you to shoulder. If the Nomad Serpent has returned, things will become increasingly dire for Irriss. These Spheres may allow us to repel it."

A...quest, then. I'm being given a quest... Her heart leapt and thundered, settling back slowly into normality. She thought back to Srath, awaiting her outside the Gardens. Her guardian. Then she thought to her outburst; her tears and wailing. Her face flushed and she fought down the urge to lower her head, instead directing her eyes to the sturdy boots given to her. I'm really leaving... That drove a spike through her heart. The hut, the Garden, even the aloof Caretakers had become so deeply familiar over the last two weeks. Her fingers trailed to her Remembrance Leaves, careful not to impede the Prime Caretaker's movements.

Gentle fingers drew her from racing and tangling thoughts; chasing away phantoms of doubt. Caretaker Nirvu was standing before her, its faceplate lowered to observe her. In the dancing light of that lone candle, color seemed to catch vibrantly on her companion's not-face. "It is done. All that remains is for you to accept the Empty Sphere..." it folded its arms, Beatrix feeling its sad smile, "and for your departure." The Prime Caretaker turned and approached a hefty box, occupying a far corner of the room. Slowly, it stooped to open it. A wave beckoned Beatrix forward.

She could still feel the ink on her face as she did, wet and strangely heavy. Over her companion's shoulder, she could see it. Perfectly average, in an odd way. A glass sphere, larger than a marble but barely. It could fit in the palm of my hand. The Caretaker turned to face her, straightening itself. "This is the Empty Sphere. One of five Spheres that exist within Irriss," sensing the question it continued on, "the others correspond to the elements. Fire, Water, Wind and Earth. Each of them responds to the Empty Sphere, lending their power to it. It is..." Beatrix tilted her head, waiting, "a complicated thing. Even we are not sure of its origin." That didn't sound good, at all, but Beatrix kept her trust braced at the forefront, "Though several of us have given guesses. We are, however, familiar with its use."

Beatrix knelt, looking close to the Sphere. It's...strange. I can feel something from it. She couldn't place the feeling, aside from longing. It's r-reaching for me! For something that was supposed to be empty, there was a thick swirling of what she assumed to be smoke within. Beatrix Ashworth found herself incredibly uncomfortable. Something about the Empty Sphere suddenly seeming slightly sinister. "A-And this is for...me?" Her hands moved forward, slowly, hesitating just above the thing's sufrace. "But why? What does it do...where do you want me to go? What d-do you really mean when you say 'accept the Sphere'?"

A broad non-smile came from her companion. "I assure you there is no danger in accepting the Sphere, Beatrix. I have warded you to integrate it. To accept it, however, is to play host to it. It will become a part of your body, something you can control; with time and guidance," her heart sank, but the Caretaker remained stationary; watching her as her jaw dropped, "It will strengthen you. What I did, today, to prepare you for sparring is nothing compared to the boon this Sphere will offer."

She took time considering it. It-It did help me learn to fight. I promised to help. This is scary, I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home!

With those thoughts, the Sphere moved into her skin. Melting into a puddle of chromatic mercury, flowing upward to make contact. Beatrix watched, awed and repulsed as it seeped into her palm. A trailing along her neck made her lift her hand. The Prime Caretaker stopped her, gently. "Watch. You called to it." The markings snaked down her neck and those close to the left arm made their undulations toward where the Sphere had liquefied and slid into her skin. She was too stunned for protesting thoughts. "The markings will form your Sigil, Beatrix Ashworth. Then, after a time, the Sphere will form where it first entered you."

Wh-what's...

Ecstasy jolted through her, Beatrix's face coloring further. Her body tensed and twitched, but the new, faint presence she felt was already familiar. Already conjoined to her.

"The Sphere will seek out the other Elements. Those scattered when Irriss was..." Caretaker Nirvu paused, for a moment, "changed. There is much you must learn, Beatrix. I have instructed Srath to guard and instruct you, until you have come to master your abilities. I am afraid, however, that this is goodbye." It moved forward, lightly lifting her from her crouch; drawing her eyes to it. Slowly, Caretaker Nirvu embraced her. Beatrix's eyes watered. Despite the strangeness, despite the secrets; it had been kind to her, honest with her.

She didn't cry, but she found her voice in their embrace.

"Can I come back, some day?" She was squeezing harder than she meant to, the strange markings having settled on her palm. Already it hurt, as though there were something growing there. "I...I'm going to miss you! I'm going to miss this place!"

Caretaker Nirvu stepped back, almost reluctantly.

"I will welcome you into the Crystalline Gardens, should you return," it folded its arms, giving her the sense of a smile, "but you have a long road to walk, Beatrix Ashworth. A long road to your home. Srath is waiting on you. Do not forget to take the blade." There was a long silence. "Goodbye, Beatrix Ashworth."

"Goodbye, Caretaker Nirvu. Thank you for everything!"

NEMESIS HEARTS: You Are Worthy Of...

I'm back from a bit of an absence. Tomorrow I'll start prodding people about posts.

How's it going, everyone? ^^