Snagglepuss89

Destiny Reborn!

Renauld: Smoldering Firebrand

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The task.

The pay.

The location.

It was all shit- possibly literally shit this time- and Renauld was furious. At that moment he would have wagered the meager pay this mission was promising on this: That the anger boiling inside him at that moment was hotter than anything that the living candle in their group had been consumed by.

A group this powerful could be chasing down real leads on the great threats facing this politically backwards sham of a nation, not getting lost in a sewer that rivaled Paris’ to chase a few souls that were almost certainly already dead. There was a bigger picture being sketched in the background of this realm, and Renauld’s passions drove him to paint on such a canvas.

Still, while he was a passionate man, he was not- he hoped- a stupid one. He did not speak his objections out loud. This group had some of the few people that would still have his company on the road, and alienating them was not on his list of priorities. Not that alienating half of the Kingdom had been on his list of priorities either.

Yet.

Renauld turned his head towards the small body perched on his shoulder, and found its masked gaze turned towards him as well. Studying him? Judging him? The latter thought, strangely, filled him with a rare flush of shame. Gently he picked it up from his shoulder, eliciting a pop from its artificial joints, and held it in front of his face for a long moment, completely lost to the conversation happening in the sewer around him.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Came the softly spoken words in French. The two faced each other for a moment longer, before the creature pried his hand open with its surprising strength and scurried its way up his arm back to its perch. The…

Paladin?

Magi?

Warlock?

This place had many names for him, most of which were less polite than those three. The revolutionary then turned to his companions, finally catching the tail end of a sentence.

“… better suited for being here than most either way.”

Suited for a sewer? Just what the hell had they been talking about? He knew plenty of people whom he would help to make a sewer their permanent residence, but most of them were in another world. And dead for over a hundred years, if he had understood some of the other Paladins properly. There was at least some justice in that.

“Anything suited for being here ought to be left here comrade.”

He chimed in while placing a hand on Harlow’s shoulder in a gesture that was meant to be reassuring, after having completely missed the thrust of the conversation. The self-immolating Paladin unnerved Renauld like few others. As someone who had been stabbed to death and left to bleed out in a gutter, the thought of voluntarily driving a blade into himself was madness. To be someone who could do that voluntarily and repeatedly was something he never wanted to become.

Finally, he turned his gaze to Thalorian taking up the rear. Renauld appreciated that his morals seemed to be in the right place most of the time, but there was something that didn’t sit right with the devoutly anti-Catholic about a man who embodied a sort of chivalric ideal. Frankly, he expected them to have a fruitful partnership up until the moment they had a single moral disagreement. After that, who knew? At a minimum the Frenchman would make sure to be out of sword reach when the time came.

Hopefully though it would never come up. Better still if it was never given a chance to come up, preferably because this mission was going to end quickly. Then Renauld could go on to doing something more meaningful. And better paying. And not located in a sewer.

Destiny Reborn!

Political Pariah

Name: Renauld Więcesław Barreau

Age: 26

Backstory: The grandson of a revolutionary. The son of a revolutionary. It was almost destiny that Renauld Barreau would also walk the same path. He was lucky enough to grow up in the burgeoning middle class of the industrial revolution, his father ironically being a protégé of Adolphe Thiers, who Renauld himself would die marching against. The would-be revolutionary led a comfortable life growing up, not suffering from the economic hardships that were decimating the lower classes, or the political repression meted out by the renewed Bonpartiste regime.

As such, his childhood was mostly unremarkable. His mother, almost as wealthy as his banker father, ensured her son had a top notch education for the time. He was trained in Polish and Creole, her native languages, as well as French and English, a set of skills that have become almost worthless in his present circumstances. From his father he picked up a brief streak of liberalism fostered by the man's grumblings about Napoleon III's rising despotism, but those would be snuffed out at university, where Renauld found himself drawn to much more radical ideas.

His time in university was interrupted by two prison sentences, handed out due to his hobby of starting up radical newsletters critical of Second French Empire. They were shut down each time he was locked up, though the third was burned to the ground as he bled to death on the streets of Paris.

He was, naturally, a vocal supporter of the Second French Republic, and then the Paris Commune against the Second French Republic when the Empire collapsed during the Franco-Prussian war. He was not a leader of the movement, though he did start his third printing press during the revolt, and joined the National Guard to help defend the city against the Prussians, and then the Second Republic. He was one of the first people killed during Semaine Sanglante as the city was retaken by Adolphe Thiers' forces.

It was with great disgust that he found himself, a failed revolutionary, reincarnated back into a world that was even further behind than his own. A powerful monarchy. A powerful church. Guilds and other organizations wielding massive influence out in the open. The fact that one of their sacred objects had resonated with him on his arrival was a complete farce, with a bitter irony attached to it.

Suffice to say, he did not join the Order of Paladins. Nor did he join the Order of the Magi, despite his present set of skills.

He has recently made his presence known again by frequenting the adventurer's guild, and has earned some side-eyes over immediately jumping into high bounty contracts. It took very little time for whispers of his status as a warlock to begin spreading- not that Renauld would be able to hide it given his condition. Despite his reputation for both him and his groups returning alive from their quests, it is quickly becoming difficult for him to find locals who are willing to partner up with him given his status.

Appearance

Renauld is still a young man, and his youth shows on his face. With a half-creole mother his complexion is darker than the average Frenchman, but hardly so much that it would raise eyebrows in his own time. Having lived the comfortable life of a middle class banker's son, and then gone on to receive a university education, Renauld hardly cuts an imposing figure. Standing only 5'7", with a frame that would lose a fistfight against a cat, it would be surprising to see him charging headlong into battle. Though, ironically, he was doing so when killed in his first life.

His robes are bright red, trimmed with white. Along the trim colorful blue waves swell and crest, breaking against each other. Above them and throughout the robe the red color is cut through with shimmering sea-green lines that swirl. It is a fashion clearly not from his own time, or from Ceosia. The little creature that perches on his shoulder is dressed in a similar, although distinct style. Perhaps from Elven lands, perhaps something else. On the wrist of his right hand is a what looks to be a shackle that a prisoner would wear, with an eye engraved and painted onto it.

Those who know him long enough will inevitably see him walking with a bad leg, or suddenly lose the use of his arm as it takes on an unsettling plastic-like texture. He has even been known to randomly pass out while on the road, though so far he has always gotten back up again after a time. These odd episodes can last either several minutes or several days, and come and go without warning. He is known to be a magi of some kind, and this seems to be the obvious mark of a Warlock's curse, though how his condition came to be is unknown.

Paladin Form: Unknown.

Weapon: A sling with a pouch made of mithril chain links. Has not been seen to use it and it has not bonded with anybody previously. Properties unknown.

Type: Paladin / Magi(Warlock).

Rank: Unknown / Unknown.

Affinities: Wind (Primary), Water (Secondary).

Catalyst: A red sash imbued with spirit.

Familiar

Description: A humanoid creature small enough to sit comfortably on Renauld's slender shoulders. It can frequently be seen scrambling up and down the magi, and through his robes, apparently to his annoyance. The movements it makes while doing so are unnatural, and the cracks and pops the emanate from its small body are indicative of an artificial life, like a small golem. The creature appears incapable of speaking, though has at least a simple intelligence to understand others, as its master can regularly be seen talking with it- or at least at it. The familiar seems capable of great strength relative to its size, able to at least carry out similar tasks to a fully grown human.

Element: Unknown.

Powers/Spells

(Will fill in additional details, such as somatic versus runic before the start of the IC.)

1. Sonic Boom: A sudden compression of air that results in a thunderously loud sound. While it's technically possible to kill a person with it in the hands of an archwizard, it is more of a distraction than anything under normal circumstances.

2. Mute: Can create a sound proof bubble in an area around himself by stopping the air's ability to carry sound waves. Covering more space than a large room takes concentration, but he can comfortably cover a small group without worry. This does nothing to prevent spellcasting with a verbal component, it simply stops sound from being able to enter or leave the space.

3. Cold Winds Rising: Can drop the ambient temperature in an area. Able to comfortably function as air conditioning passively. With concentration this affect can be multiplied greatly within a localized area, to the point of seriously disrupting fire-based creatures abilities to function. The stronger the affect, the more turns needed to prepare the spell for casting.

4. Gather Water: 1 turn prep time. Consolidates water in the atmosphere into a large mass, dictated by the current conditions in the environment (Can probably only form a few small balls in a desert. Can pull more than a swimming pool during a storm). Held in the air by wind magic. Has no other effect.

5. Flash Freeze: Developed alongside the previous spell. Can almost instantaneously turn a large volume of water into ice.

6. Magic Bullet: Fires a small projectile of pure magic with high accuracy. Can be considered about as effective as a modern medium-grade rifle round at penetrating targets. Does not break apart on impact like a bullet, so slightly more effective against particularly hard surfaces.

7. "Flight": Able to travel in the air for arbitrary spans of time, including his possessions and familiar. Can "levitate" a handful of other subjects with concentration, but for much shorter distances and durations. The flight functions with about the same momentum as the magi's actual muscle strength, so while faster it can easily be stopped or disrupted by a strong enough force slamming into them. Since this is through pure force of air magic, the rushing winds effectively make whoever is under the spell deaf. An unskilled or low ranked user would likely throw themselves with tornado force winds to their death.

Destiny Reborn! A Dark Fantasy Isekai with a twist.

Been a couple years since I've done much writing, I might poke my head in.

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

Pluto

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~3PM | OCEAN SPRINGS | MILO POINT

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Stepping into Mississippi felt like stepping into Hell.

The cool breeze coming in from the Gulf did little to hide the humidity, the uncomfortable warmth hanging in the air. He could not suppress the shiver that ran through him though in spite of the heat and his own eyebrow raising layers of clothing. Slowly he began to walk forward in order to keep his mind in the present, not lost in the past. Memories of yellow fever. Of the slaves. From what he knew of America it was appropriate in more ways than one that where he stood now should remind him of Saint-Domingue.

Hell on Earth.

Pluto tightened the blue scarf around his next and made his way towards the town proper, kicking the sand beneath him as he went, as if trying to physically force his thoughts away. It was much more important to think about the mission in front of him, or at least it should have been. A thought had been nagging at him ever since he had accepted this posting.

Was he truly needed here? If the others were all new recruits he could see the wisdom in it, but Nine? They had worked together many times, and he knew that either one of them would have been more than enough on their own to make sure a mission like this reached a successful conclusion. While he had not worked with Mateo nearly as much as some of the older Reapers he did know that the young man’s magic lent itself much more to annihilation than investigation.

As did Nine’s. As did his own.

“Merde. Fuck.”

He swore under his breath as reached the edge of town, seemingly ignored in spite of his ridiculous appearance. Hopefully this mission wouldn’t conclude with any collateral damage, but as he went over the list of present reapers in his head that seemed increasingly likely. It was always hard to find the right balance between entering a fight with too much strength -causing unneeded damage- or too little- potentially allowing things to go horribly wrong- and Pluto usually preferred the former to the latter. An inclination that usually led to more paperwork than he cared to stomach, and more “performance reviews” than he cared to listen to.

Still…

Hopefully this wouldn’t turn into another Munich. It had been decades, and yet people were still slow to forget it. City Under Siege had been airing the last time he stepped foot on Earth, and while the “Based on a true story” flick could not have possibly been farther from the mark with its conclusions, it was a constant reminder for the need for restraint. Though whether restraint was even possible during that situation was a debate that Pluto tried to avoid mulling over.

Trying yet again to keep his mind in the present time and the present place, Pluto pulled his notebook out of the pockets of his trench coat and reviewed what they had been told about the current target.

Dekotah.

Mississippi.

Milo Point.

Walter Anderson Museum of Art.

So, fuck all.

Still, he’d worked with less. Hopefully he could let the newer members run the investigation and gain some more experience, but he would at least try to help how he could. The city was small enough that he shouldn’t need to ask for directions to this Museum, wherever it was, and the extra time spent walking there might actually allow him to get a grip on mind’s insistence on staying in the past.

The sound of his wooden sandals hitting the sidewalk soon silently echoed down the street, ignored by the passerby’s as surely as the giant of a Frenchman garbed in his trench coat, tracksuit pants, wooden sandals, scarf, and rose-tinted Windsor glasses. With any luck, by the time the mission was over they won’t have cause to notice anything at all.

With any luck.

Decibitus [Moved to a new thread]

Pluto. Just Pluto.

✦ Name: Pluto (Close observers may note that this is obviously not his real name.)

✦ Age: Mid 30’s

✦ Gender: Male

✦ Faceclaim and/or physical description:

image

A large and fit man in life, Pluto has not slimmed down any in death. Trying to keep well groomed, well spoken, and well dressed, it is nonetheless clear that the man has not kept up with the times. Or rather, he’s kept up with all times simultaneously. Some days he might be out in a suit from the 1920’s while adorned with a tricorn hat and aviators, on others he might be in Air Jordan’s and military dress. All of it clearly meant to be expensive and high end, but also giving a sense that he wears what he wants to, at least at this point in his afterlife.

✦ Weapon: A simple unadorned cruciform sword. Unremarkable in appearance aside from the fact that it comes to no point, instead simply ending in a flat surface nearly three feet from the hilt. Those who have been on jobs with him know that he is reluctant to draw it, except to unmake a spirit with a final blow.

✦ First Job:
He had always been a fit man- his father had demanded that of all of his children- but “Pluto” (A name he hoped would sound less foreign to him in time, even if it was one he had chosen.) still marveled at the ease with which he navigated the streets of London, chasing the wisp that had become the target of his first job. Reaper was what he was called now, a grim title if informal, though he supposed in time he would get used to that too. What he was finding it harder to get used to was the city itself. He had lived in London for some time as a youth, and yet the city was almost unrecognizable to him. It seemed that change came startlingly quickly these days, and he wondered if he would ever be able to keep up with the times now that his home lay in Decibitus.

Aux armes… Aux armes…

He mentally repeated, even as he spoke the words in Vertan. Each phrase was timed with the steps of his march, and Pluto’s pace all at once flowed from brisk to absurd as he closed on the wisp. It was a pitiful thing, nearly formless, and crying out in a language that he could not understand- one that perhaps nobody could understand. It had been detected early, long before it could feed and grow into an actual problem. This would not be a glorious battle nor a test of his skills, it was no better than an execution.

“I am sorry my friend, I know how this is going to feel.”

Was it wrong to feel pity for the wisp? Perhaps it deserved to be viewed with dignity and respect in honor of the person it used to be, rather than pity. Pluto could not help but be filled with the latter though as he drew his blade- flinching at the tingling in his neck that always accompanied such an action- and cut through the wisp after a final great stride.

Maybe it would get easier over time.

✦ Magic Branch: Physique

✦ Magic
Coup de Grâce: If one were to turn his gloves inside out, they would see this spell written on the inside. Its effect is simple: Magnifying the strength of a single punch to, theoretically, the maximum conceptual extent of what a punch can achieve. The most threatening wisps are rarely able to be taken down with a single blow, and this spell is no exception to that, but Pluto can be confident that should the need to use it arise that it will at least cause some damage to whatever it connects it. Its tendency to also cause collateral damage and draw a lot of unwanted attention from outsiders on Earth means that he is particularly reluctant to use it in urban areas.

Atlas: A written spell physically tattooed onto Pluto’s body (And one he is also reluctant to use as a result, being a pain to reapply) it magnifies his already enhanced physical attributes greatly. Mostly focused on providing a sustained period of enhanced strength rather than speed or endurance, he will often used this to restrain a target while either letting a partner provide the finishing blow, or drawing his own sword once a secure enough pin has been achieved. His use of this in recent years is in no way connected to his recent discovery and binging of the entire WWE catalogue.

Fusillade: A written spell much like his others, the spell is always scribbled on what appears to be a baseball, looking almost as if it were covered in an entire team’s worth of signatures. Once thrown (Or, more properly, pitched) the ball will accelerate forward rapidly, and impact with the force of a cannonball. If properly scribed, the spell should also hold the ball together on impact, ensuring that more of the force is transferred into the target. This is the only written spell that he carries more than one of with him.

Poucet: Pluto’s only verbal spell, and one that sees use in every job. Repeated each time he takes a step, this incantation lengths his strides to an absurd degree, though the resulting physical toll on his body is also enhanced. He will quickly be reduced to breathlessness with prolonged usage, but by then he will usually have long reached his destination.

Note: Formatting not complete.

Decibitus

This will actually be formatted, but I wanted to post this as is before bed.

Pluto

✦ Name: Pluto (Close observers may note that this is obviously not his real name.)

✦ Age: Mid 30’s

✦ Gender: Male

✦ Faceclaim and/or physical description:

image

A large and fit man in life, Pluto has not slimmed down any in death. Trying to keep well groomed, well spoken, and well dressed, it is nonetheless clear that the man has not kept up with the times. Or rather, he’s kept up with all times simultaneously. Some days he might be out in a suit from the 1920’s while adorned with a tricorn hat and aviators, on others he might be in Air Jordan’s and military dress. All of it clearly meant to be expensive and high end, but also giving a sense that he wears what he wants to, at least at this point in his afterlife.

✦ Weapon: A simple unadorned cruciform sword. Unremarkable in appearance aside from the fact that it comes to no point, instead simply ending in a flat surface nearly three feet from the hilt. Those who have been on jobs with him know that he is reluctant to draw it, except to unmake a spirit with a final blow.

✦ First Job:
He had always been a fit man- his father had demanded that of all of his children- but “Pluto” (A name he hoped would sound less foreign to him in time, even if it was one he had chosen.) still marveled at the ease with which he navigated the streets of London, chasing the wisp that had become the target of his first job. Reaper was what he was called now, a grim title if informal, though he supposed in time he would get used to that too. What he was finding it harder to get used to was the city itself. He had lived in London for some time as a youth, and yet the city was almost unrecognizable to him. It seemed that change came startlingly quickly these days, and he wondered if he would ever be able to keep up with the times now that his home lay in Decibitus.

Aux armes… Aux armes…

He mentally repeated, even as he spoke the words in Vertan. Each phrase was timed with the steps of his march, and Pluto’s pace all at once flowed from brisk to absurd as he closed on the wisp. It was a pitiful thing, nearly formless, and crying out in a language that he could not understand- one that perhaps nobody could understand. It had been detected early, long before it could feed and grow into an actual problem. This would not be a glorious battle nor a test of his skills, it was no better than an execution.

“I am sorry my friend, I know how this is going to feel.”

Was it wrong to feel pity for the wisp? Perhaps it deserved to be viewed with dignity and respect in honor of the person it used to be, rather than pity. Pluto could not help but be filled with the latter though as he drew his blade- flinching at the tingling in his neck that always accompanied such an action- and cut through the wisp after a final great stride.

Maybe it would get easier over time.

✦ Magic Branch: Physique

✦ Magic
Coup de Grâce: If one were to turn his gloves inside out, they would see this spell written on the inside. Its effect is simple: Magnifying the strength of a single punch to, theoretically, the maximum conceptual extent of what a punch can achieve. The most threatening wisps are rarely able to be taken down with a single blow, and this spell is no exception to that, but Pluto can be confident that should the need to use it arise that it will at least cause some damage to whatever it connects it. Its tendency to also cause collateral damage and draw a lot of unwanted attention from outsiders on Earth means that he is particularly reluctant to use it in urban areas.

Atlas: A written spell physically tattooed onto Pluto’s body (And one he is also reluctant to use as a result, being a pain to reapply) it magnifies his already enhanced physical attributes greatly. Mostly focused on providing a sustained period of enhanced strength rather than speed or endurance, he will often used this to restrain a target while either letting a partner provide the finishing blow, or drawing his own sword once a secure enough pin has been achieved. His use of this in recent years is in no way connected to his recent discovery and binging of the entire WWE catalogue.

Fusillade: A written spell much like his others, the spell is always scribbled on what appears to be a baseball, looking almost as if it were covered in an entire team’s worth of signatures. Once thrown (Or, more properly, pitched) the ball will accelerate forward rapidly, and impact with the force of a cannonball. If properly scribed, the spell should also hold the ball together on impact, ensuring that more of the force is transferred into the target. This is the only written spell that he carries more than one of with him.

Poucet: Pluto’s only verbal spell, and one that sees use in every job. Repeated each time he takes a step, this incantation lengths his strides to an absurd degree, though the resulting physical toll on his body is also enhanced. He will quickly be reduced to breathlessness with prolonged usage, but by then he will usually have long reached his destination.

Brilliant Fake Kaleidoscopic Prism

It was loud. It was cold. It was uncomfortable as hell. However, as Ayumi looked upon the salaryman in front of them- his face smashed against the other side of the metro car’s glass- it was hard to feel anything but contentment.

Rush hour Tokyo.

It’s true that Ayumi could have pushed their way inside of the train car with their magically enhanced strength and found a place among the unfortunate commuters-turned-sardines. Perhaps had they done that then they would have been able to hear themself think. At what cost though? On the other side of the glass, the salaryman seemed to come to turns with the absurd sight in front of him- Ayumi balanced casually on the couplers between the cars- and his eyes took on a far away look. His fate was to have himself smashed up against the side of the train until he reached his destination, and he let his mind be elsewhere.

“南に死にそうな人あれば 行ってこわがらなくてもいいといい”

The words were lost to the wind as Ayumi turned their face away from his.

And then came the cursing, also lost.

The gate itself was the first cause, and one could also say the primary cause. Without its figure looming over Tokyo Bay then it was entirely possible that Ayumi would have never known about the ongoing battle and could have gone about their day having missed the entire affair. The youkai, quite naturally, were the second cause. The gate was a curiosity of course, but was really only a supporting role to the very real danger of the swarm that was actually using it. A gate without the youkai might have meant that Ayumi could have still gone about their day while ignoring the entire affair, but that was hardly an option at this point.

And the third reason?

Even if Zen’s voice hadn’t echoed through the metro’s PA system…

Even if the “Admiral”s ship wasn’t breaking through the ice of the bay…

Even if the tell-tale explosion of Jasmine’s flames weren’t lighting up the distance…

Ayumi could feel them, could feel the presence of the others with power like theirs. Perhaps it was because they had been transformed for so long now, or perhaps it was pure intuition, but there was always something in the air when the others were around. It was a feeling that resembled dread more than anything else.

With a sigh, and no excuse not to get involved, Ayumi made their decision.

The salaryman never noticed.

Ayumi couldn’t fly, at least not in the traditional sense. As they discovered one day though, if they simply didn’t treat the air any different from the ground then it was easy enough to walk on. If anyone had bothered to look up at that moment they would have seen the increasingly annoyed form of Suginami’s guardian sprinting through the sky at an almost supernatural speed. However, Ayumi couldn’t blame them for not looking up at that moment, after all, their attention was focused on the same place.

Their journey was almost stopped short by the sight of a youkai ahead that managed to get past the others and reach some of the civilians that hadn’t yet fled, before a bright flash immediately preceded Sunny cutting it down. Ayumi wordlessly gave the girl a thumbs up from above- that she doubtlessly missed- before catching sight of something that did cut their journey short. Ryufu. The Bikers. Amélie skating through the gathering horde of youkai.

Ayumi had been running directly for the gate, but they slid to a stop above the magical musician. Was she… threatening the youkai? Above, Ayumi cracked her knuckles and hesitated for a second- aware of just how much this was about to hurt- before sighing.

“No, this what you tell them. Five words: Fuck around and find out.”

Then Ayumi leapt forward, as if jumping off a cliff, and fell through the air. As the ground rapidly approached they tried to dispel any regret over what was about to happen, but somehow Ayumi wasn’t suicidal enough to be totally okay with this course of action. Throughout the descent towards the bulk of the youkai Suginami’s guardian drew all of their magical power into their fist.

Ayumi was not powerful on paper. They were not granted any of the special tricks or enhancements from their worthless contract that the others were. However, it was true that they never became tired, and as their kilometers-long sprint moment before proved; That meant Ayumi could go all out all the time.

And so when Ayumi’s fist hit the ice below it was accompanied by an explosion of magic usually reserved for a last resort, introducing the youkai to the waters of Tokyo Bay.

Brilliant Fake Kaleidoscopic Prism

Ayumi

Name: Toda Ayumi

Appearance:

Age: 22

Personality: Ayumi is… rude. Not intentionally, but as a side effect of their need to constantly be doing something, either with their mind, hands or legs. Even with all the time in the world there is always a place to be, a thing to do, or a different person to speak to in order to maintain their district, something that has been made very clear is their “duty” by their patron. The need to fulfill this duty, and hopefully get Ayumi’s patron off of their back for once, is a driving force, and one that compels them to cut conversations and other activities short. They’re friendly enough, but hard to pin down and even harder to establish any sort of meaningful relation with. Still, they cross paths with the other “Magical Girl”s quite often due to the nature of the job, and these others probably know Ayumi better than most of the residents of Ayumi's own district.

Background: Ayumi grew up a painfully average person in the district of Kōenji, and the person they were for the first 17 years of their life is almost unrecognizable compared to who they are today. A student with terrible grades and only mediocre exam scores, they had no desire to attend university and only some vague notion of maybe joining one of the many bands trying to make a living in the district. Of course, Ayumi also lacked the dedication to actually learn an instrument, so their most likely outcome in life was a downward spiral into complete failure.

That changed when one day they found themselves wearing a pair of boots they could not remove, and all the time in the world to fill.

To the amazement of most people who knew Ayumi, they quickly began to rebound out of that spiral, and by the time another year had passed they had scored well enough on exams to be accepted into Meiji University. Soon they could be seen on the streets, helping the locals of Suginami with all manner of troubles and often speeding off before even giving their name. After several years of this Ayumi has become a local legend, albeit one that’s still practically a stranger within their own home district.

Magical Powers

Patron: Simón José Antonio de la Santísima Trinidad Bolívar y Ponte Palacios y Blanco

Patron Tool: A pair of knee-high boots that Ayumi tries to pretend they’re not being forced to wear 24/7.

Patron Weapon: An old worn flintlock pistol that resists any attempts to restore it.

Patron Aspect: “Iron Ass”, the almost supernatural well of energy Bolívar drew upon while fighting in the Wars of Independence.

Aspect Magic: Ayumi does not get tired. Period. Their muscles do not fatigue, their eyelids never grow heavy. It is a blessing and a curse, much more so the latter in Ayumi’s opinion. They have not slept since acquiring the power, and their patron will not let them turn it off. They fear going mad before they can satisfy their patron’s will.

Other skills: Never sleeping has given Ayumi a chance to build a number of skills while not out patrolling their district. While most of these are irrelevant to combat, such as playing the piano, they’ve become particularly fond of boxing and Ayumi takes particular delight in practicing on the more human troublemakers in her district.

Other Mentions: Unknown source of income.

Brilliant Fake Kaleidoscopic Prism

Ayumi

Name: Toda Ayumi

Appearance:

Age: 22

Personality: Ayumi is… rude. Not intentionally, but as a side effect of their need to constantly be doing something, either with their mind, hands or legs. Even with all the time in the world there is always a place to be, a thing to do, or a different person to speak to in order to maintain their district, something that has been made very clear is their “duty” by their patron. The need to fulfill this duty, and hopefully get Ayumi’s patron off of their back for once, is a driving force, and one that compels them to cut conversations and other activities short. They’re friendly enough, but hard to pin down and even harder to establish any sort of meaningful relation with. Still, they cross paths with the other “Magical Girl”s quite often due to the nature of the job, and these others probably know Ayumi better than most of the residents of Ayumi's own district.

Background: Ayumi grew up a painfully average person in the district of Kōenji, and the person they were for the first 17 years of their life is almost unrecognizable compared to who they are today. A student with terrible grades and only mediocre exam scores, they had no desire to attend university and only some vague notion of maybe joining one of the many bands trying to make a living in the district. Of course, Ayumi also lacked the dedication to actually learn an instrument, so their most likely outcome in life was a downward spiral into complete failure.

That changed when one day they found themselves wearing a pair of boots they could not remove, and all the time in the world to fill.

To the amazement of most people who knew Ayumi, they quickly began to rebound out of that spiral, and by the time another year had passed they had scored well enough on exams to be accepted into Meiji University. Soon they could be seen on the streets, helping the locals of Suginami with all manner of troubles and often speeding off before even giving their name. After several years of this Ayumi has become a local legend, albeit one that’s still practically a stranger within their own home district.

Magical Powers

Patron: Simón José Antonio de la Santísima Trinidad Bolívar y Ponte Palacios y Blanco

Patron Tool: A pair of knee-high boots that Ayumi tries to pretend they’re not being forced to wear 24/7.

Patron Weapon: An old worn flintlock pistol that resists any attempts to restore it.

Patron Aspect: “Iron Ass”, the almost supernatural well of energy Bolívar drew upon while fighting in the Wars of Independence.

Aspect Magic: Ayumi does not get tired. Period. Their muscles do not fatigue, their eyelids never grow heavy. It is a blessing and a curse, much more so the latter in Ayumi’s opinion. They have not slept since acquiring the power, and their patron will not let them turn it off. They fear going mad before they can satisfy their patron’s will.

Other skills: Never sleeping has given Ayumi a chance to build a number of skills while not out patrolling their district. While most of these are irrelevant to combat, such as playing the piano, they’ve become particularly fond of boxing and Ayumi takes particular delight in practicing on the more human troublemakers in her district.

Other Mentions: Unknown source of income.

Skybound

---

Birds of a Feather?

---

Rhain

Alix

---

The Deck of the Fornacis

---

Emotional immaturity meets emotional instability

Alix was still on the main deck of The Fornacis, still idly tossing things over the side even as the cool winds of dusk fell over the ship. Not that the brisk air was any issue to her; one of the benefits of her Pyxis. It was odd to describe: she could feel the cold, and definitely feel the drastic differences in temperature when it came to hot vs. cold, but it just didn't phase her the way it did other people. She understood that it was uncomfortable, or even dangerous at certain points, but to her it just...wasn't.

Alix tore another page out of the last book she had on her, dropping it back to the ground and folding another paper glider out of her scrap. It had been a decently sizeable book at one point, but Alix had made her way through about the half the pages and was showing no signs of slowing. It was keeping her distracted, at least.

It was almost destiny to meet here.

The deck of the Fornacis was the place Rhain felt most at home. The wind in her hair, the landscape rushing by her. She had grown up in a saddle, grown up with a feeling of speed beyond what her human legs could manage on their own. Speed, she’d always enjoyed it, and there was no better place to indulge it than where she was now.

Magic aside, of course.

However, she had not come up here to relax, or feel the wind. No, she had heard of the woman presently littering some kind of literature. Heard some interesting things about this ‘Alix’ that had won a place on their legendary crew through strength. Through magic.

At first Rhain had been worried. Another mage on board? Rhain was strong of course, she knew that, but something else she knew was that she was an awful mage. One of the worst. Until now she had been avoiding a meeting with Alix, but at the week went on slowly she started to hear more. And the more she heard about this new crew member, the more unlikely it seemed that she was one of those mages. The kind that could replace Rhain.

And so, creeping closer, the shape changing wizard began to grow more excited. They were practically siblings already, elemental mages who were probably pretty terrible at the mage thing. Or like a master and apprentice. Master Rhain had a nice ring to it.

Not able to contain herself any longer, the mage stopped her creeping and lunged forward for the final distance, sliding into place beside her glider-making companion. She imagined she looked incredibly cool at that moment, and didn’t hesitate to break the ice;

“Hi, I’m Rhain. I hear you can do magic?””

It was only through the culmination of a hundred thought processes flying through her head at once that Alix didn't actually take the swing she'd whirled around for. She was still ready, scowling at the newcomer as she held up both her fists in preparation for some sort of brawl, and she took a step backwards to put some distance between them. This wasn't an attack, or at least it was a stupid one if this person were going to waste the element of surprise like that, but Alix still wanted enough space to be ready.

"I can do plenty of things." Alix responded gruffly, still holding her fists at the ready and glaring daggers in the woman's direction. "Like knock your goddamn teeth in if you jump me like that. The hell do you want?"

If Rhain was phased by this reaction, she didn’t show it, and those who knew her knew that she would have shown it. So this newcomer was Mean Kerry 2.0, with a bit more violence maybe. Good to know, but something that she could handle. Whether handling Alix was good or bad for the young woman was anybody’s guess at this point.

Still, Rhain could at least try to placate her first.

“I want to know if you can do magic, can’t always trust rumors you know.”

The mage had her hands open and stretched in front of her, in a Relax, I mean no harm posture. Quickly, she added;

“I’d love to be able to see it! I think you learned yours like I learned mine. I mean…”

A pointed look towards the half-destroyed book.

“… Unless you’re the scholarly kind.”

Alix's tension relaxed slightly, but she still kept her fists slight raised, making it obvious that she wasn't letting her guard down completely. Her eyes darted across the new person's face as she gave her a very suspicious glare, as if she was waiting for some kind of tell. If her intentions were anything more than asking questions, Alix wanted to make sure she knew what they were. She still couldn't be completely sure of which crew members were schemers, and she didn't even know who this chick was.

"Depends on what you call 'magic'. I can do things other people can't, yeah." Alix said.

"But you first. How do you think I learned my magic, if it's the same as yours?"

She definitely wasn't going to be the first to answer questions for free.

There was something hurtful about not being trusted, and it showed on Rhain's face, but she tried to brush it aside. The mage was incapable of being anything but honest, including with her emotions. Always had been, and as she grew older it became increasingly likely that she always would be. Still, this wasn't the time for that.

Quickly the mage scrambled to her feet and tried to imitate the demeanor of the scholars she had met in Gokhan. Hands folded behind her back, tone even and measured. It worked to the extent that she had known the stuffy book-mage types for years, but it was utterly ridiculous coming from her current form.

"Well..." She began, trying to organize her thoughts.

"If it's like mine- and I suspect it is- you lived your life normally at first, whatever normally was."

Rhain knew by now of course that normal for her had been exceptionally strange for most people in the skies. A simple existence, full of riding, hunting, and celebrations with her tribe. She had grown up happy, if woefully unprepared for the future that had awaited her.

"Then you had a chance to meet your God- or whatever you consider your island's Taruva to be. They take notice of you, and grant you a... Partner, one who helps you realize something that always was. Your aura."

The facade was fading quickly as the mage continued on, growing more excited as memories of her own experiences came flooding in.

"And You realize that this aura has been trying to tell/ you something, but you never had a way to hear it before! And once you can listen and understand and help it to do what it wants- then that's magic!"

A breath, Rhain knew that she was getting too excited, especially for the kind of person that was in front of her now. Still, she hadn't had many chances over the years to talk to somebody like her, at least somebody she thought was like her.

"That's my magic, anyway. Most mages I've met use their aura as a tool, something to be bent or molded. Mine... Feels more like a partner."

Throughout Rhain's speech, Alix's demeanor softened a bit. Her fists went from clenched and still ready for fight to curled up under her arms as she slowly brought them up to cross in front of her. She relaxed her stance from alertness to leaning slightly against the railing; enough to half-sit comfortably. Her gaze went from anger, to a stern curiosity, to something close to interest, though there was still a spark of irritation beneath it.

When Rhain finished, Alix gave it a moment, meeting her eyes to realize it was probably her turn to talk about her adventures. When she spoke, she spoke like she was stating facts; plainly, and without the emotion that Rhain had allowed to slip into her speech.

"Alright, fine then. You've pretty much got it spot on." She shrugged slightly from her leaning position. "It was a normal life at first. Got to meet the Taruva; but he was more of a legend than a full-blown God to me. 'God' is too much of an elevation. They're still just living creatures like you or I. Just...bigger."

That wasn't entirely accurate. Her first view of her Taruva had filled her with so much emotion that she had believed for a moment that she was standing in the presence of Gods. Like she was being accepted by them. She had personally been given a gift by the most powerful creature she'd ever witnessed.

But her feelings had soured over time. They were just creatures or gave out gifts and protected big chunks of floating rock. There was nothing more to them than that.

"But my power has never been anything more than a tool." A slight hint of bitterness crept into her voice as she remembered how those feelings had slipped from her. "There to help me. To elevate me above my position."

A lot of things came from elevation. Power. Reputation. Elevation just made it easier to live, in all the small ways that you could only realize when you had it.

"So yeah. Maybe we do have some similarities. But my aura is meant to be commanded...it doesn't 'talk' to me."

Rhain shrugged in response, not in disagreement so much as ignorance.

“Maybe that’s how things are for you. I know the things my aura can do though, and they’re far beyond anything I’m capable of without it. Can it really be commanding, when the difference between us is so great?”

That would be an excellent question to ask a “real” mage, someone who spent their life pouring over theory. For Rhain though, what was was, and what felt correct may as well be.

“So… Can I see it then?”

The excitement was back immediately, with eyes that were begging Alix to show her what she could do.

Alix let the question hang in the air for a moment as she debated. This chick was just some idyllic crew member who was curious about her power. Probably not some mastermind looking to exploit a weakness; she wouldn't have talked about her own power's origination if she were. That opened her up to too much emotional manipulation.

Plus, it might get the word spread around a little more than she could do on her own.

"Fine. But you'd better be prepared to show yours off." Alix turned as she spoke, tearing a full page out of the book she'd been maiming and holding it up for Rhain to see.

She let the chill pulse through her, her fingers and nose darkening to a unwell black as she did.

Thick plates of ice began to build from her arm downwards, nearly resembling a sleeve of armor as it hinted towards the the flow of magic. When it finally reached to her blackened hands it continued to build, blooming from where she held the page and creeping across the creases of the paper. In moments, where frost had started, it crystallized into ice, and the page itself was frozen solid in seconds.

Alix turned it around, demonstrating its solid nature, before slamming it down into the railing, shattering it into pieces and sending them scattering across the deck.

Rhain watched the display with glee. So she was the same, an elemental mage at that. Rhain had not met too many capable with frost magic during her time in Gokhan, but she had certainly heard of them. It was another of the less common elements, like her own. There were enough mages that could throw around cones of fire, but ice? Lightning for that matter? Time like a certain other mage that Rhain knew? Much rarer.

When Alix finished, Rhain gave her a round of applause.

“Wow! Yeah that’s pretty nifty, I bet you’re as strong as I was at your age!”

The thoroughly youthful shape-changer was grinning ear to ear. She had only just begun to manifest lightning for real when she joined the Fornacis all those years ago. Not the true stuff like she could do later, but the ability to shock things by touching them. This woman’s power seemed similar, at least on the surface. It was downright nostalgic.

“I know joining this crew really accelerated my growth. I… Think I wanted something like power then, and I think if you stick around you might be able to get it too.”

Alix smirked slightly at the applause. Validation was nice, after all, and she wouldn't turn it down if it were being given away for free. However, she wasn't going to get distracted by her own hubris long enough to stray from the important things. There were a couple of points of contention that made her perk her eyebrow up curiously, but she needed her original answers before she started asking any more questions. Plus, she wanted to know how dangerous this chick was before she started poking around.

"Alright then. What can you do? If being part of the crew accelerated your growth so much...it should be pretty impressive, right?"

Nodding in reply, Rhain snatched the thoroughly abused book and tore out a page of her own, speaking as she did so:

“Right. I don’t really have anything I could safely demonstrate this on unless you want to volunteer…”

The mage had warned the watch ahead of time that things might get loud while she was outside. It wouldn’t have been necessary four years ago, but the new crew wouldn’t be used to the noise yet.

“So, fifteen years ago I could give a person a nasty shock, enough to easily give someone a very bad day. Books though? They don’t really play very nice with electricity, couldn’t even tell that I was trying to shock it. Now…”

The feather in Rhain’s hair disappeared and what could only be her aura swirled around her. A thousand streaks of light continuously shooting away from her form before being bent backwards and returning. In an instant they twisted themselves around her arm and disappeared just short of reaching the book.

The book itself was incinerated, quickly crumbling from her hand outward, until the whole form was scattered into the wind.

“That’s pretty boring though, just the same thing I could do then but better. Getting stronger is about finding new thing to do too- cover your ears!”

With that she released her hold on the page she tore out, and let it clear the side of the ship before her aura appeared again, but instead of pulling back into her it shot away.

And then brief crashed from the sky into the piece of paper, followed by the immediate blinding and deafening arrival of a bolt of lightning out of the clear blue sky.

And then the feather was back in the ecstatic mage’s hair. Magic always thrilled her, no matter how often she used it. Despite not covering her own ears she seemed perfectly fine, and indeed she was. In general, her own magic had never phased her, either due to her aura or another reason. Perhaps one day she’s get it researched, but that was about as low of a priority as anything she’d ever needed to do.

“Anyway…”

As she was prone to do, Rhain had suddenly changed tones and moods. Now apologetic.

“Afraid I can’t show you the really impressive stuff, but I hope that was good enough.”

Alix was admittedly a little bit irritated at the destruction of her book; she'd have to find something else to keep her mind occupied when this lady quit bothering her, but that emotion was buried deeply beneath intrigue. The whole disintegration trick was pretty cool. Definitely marked her as a person to keep an eye on at least, despite the low threat her personality seemed to portray. That same intrigue carried on her look as she watched the piece of paper flutter off into the breeze.

She shot a sideways glance at Rhain, just in time to see the sparkling lights shoot off. On the back of her neck, she could every single hair stick straight up in warning. It was a fortunate bit of gut-instinct that she clapped her hands to her ears just in time to watch as the magical bolt came streaking down.

Alix felt the reverberation of the thunderous concussion in her ribcage, and the entire world went white in an instant. Even reflexively closing her eyes still didn't allow the after-image of the horizon to fade immediately; it took a few moments for her to blink her vision back, and when it came back she found herself looking in astonishment at the young girl in front of her.

Alright. A pecking order had been established. This one would have to be kept in mind in the future.

"The hell!?" Alix found herself spouting. "How young were you when you hopped on this ship that you can pull that kind of stunt off?" Hell, this girl looked younger than she was, and she was packing some pretty impressive powers for her age. Sure, there were always rumors of natural-born mages who were just better by virtue of blood, but if a giant lightning bolt wasn't the 'impressive stuff'...

...then maybe the Fornacis would be able to bring all of those ambitions to bear.

Rhain glowed with pride at the outburst from Alix and let herself be caught up in it for a moment. She was damn good, and though darker thoughts tried to creep in about what exactly she had done with her magic and what it would need to be used for in the future, she pushed them back with unusual success. Now it was time to seal the deal on an ambition she didn't even know she had.

"Appearances can be deceiving you know. It's gotten harder to keep track of my age over the years, but I'm sure the other crew can confirm that I'm 40, kid."

An impish grin, almost taunting, but one that was quickly replaced by efforts to appear sagely again. Rhain folded her hands behind her back and leaned forward, looking up at Alix with the most serious expression she could muster.

"It took me a little over two years from being unable to fry that book, to pulling lightning from the sky. Two years of working hard, alone, and struggling every step of the way to get stronger."

Her voice was even and measured, even as she delivered the next part of her little speech.

"I am a stupid, talentless mage who has had to learn magic in her own way and- probably- has clawed my way into being of the strongest magic users in the skies."

A final, deliberate pause for dramatic effect.

"So, how much quicker would I have learned, and how much stronger would I have gotten, if I had somebody to teach me the way?"

There was absolutely zero chance this chick was forty years old. Alix couldn't wrap her head around a reason for her to be lying about something like that, but it was obvious she was. Any idiot could see that much at least. Maybe she was testing the waters to see how gullible she was. It would certainly make the angle it sounded like she was going for easier.

Something in Alix's chest tightened and turned cold at the last sentence spoken by the lightning-mage. She could already tell where this was going, and the attempt was quickly turning her attitude back towards irritation. She crossed her arms again, narrowing her eyes towards Rhain and giving a skeptical glare that looked like it could bore holes in a person.

She'd heard plenty of pitches like this before. People looking to join forces or combine powers or some bullshit. All it ever boiled down to was one person looking to take advantage of another. Just people using each other for personal gain.

"And?" Alix said curtly. She was on guard right now; if this chick was going to be pulling these stunts this early in the ride, Alix wasn't going to put up with it for a minute.

"And...?"

Rhain repeated, blankly. Was this kid really not understanding, or did she want Rhain to sell it harder? Surely it couldn't be the former, which meant...

"What, you paid or something too? Legendary mage of the legendary Fornacis offers to take you on as an apprentice and you don't jump on it? Sheesh."

Rhain shook her head in disappointment, although towards which of them it was directed was unclear.

"How the mighty have fallen, I guess. What else do you need? Vacation days?"

"Keep your vacation days." Alix spat. "I don't do 'apprentice'. You're not going to make me your little errand girl who does all your chores for you just because you're offering some unlimited magic bullshit."

Alix straightened her posture, dropping her arms back down to her sides and clenching her fists in anticipation.

"I built my powers up by myself, and I can keep doing it by myself. I don't need a master."

Incredulous. It was a rare state of being for Rhain, an emotion that she had displayed only a handful of times in her life, but as the woman in front of her continued on the mage couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows in disbelief.

“You… Don’t want to do chores? Are you sure you want to get stronger if you draw the line that early?”

Rhain suddenly felt old. Much older than she looked, much much older than she acted. When she had wanted to get stronger, to learn her craft, she apprenticed herself for years. Sure, most of the real progress had been made while a part of the Fornacis, but that training had been invaluable along the way. Kids these days.

Done with the conversation, and annoyed at her own failure as much as Alix, Rhain shook her head and turned to leave, throwing back with the clear intention to offend:

“All right, kid. Do things your way, I’ll try to bail you out when you get in over your head.”

"Don't waste your magic." Alix snapped. She stood firmly in her spot, watching Rhain intently as she made motions to walk away.

“Then make sure saving you isn’t a waste.”

Rhain hated letting this chick get under her skin, but the feeling was already fading as she started walking. The wind helped, the feeling of moving helped. She had never been one to hold onto anger, and under these conditions it was nearly impossible. She had technically accomplished what she came here to do after all, check out the freshie’s magic and see what it was all about. Maybe that goal had shifted a tiny bit over the course of the encounter, but it was still a victory.

With a sigh, she tried to let the tension fall out of her and threw up her hand in a backwards wave goodbye, not looking to see if Alix was even paying attention. It was time to find something else to do.

---

Sips of Pain

---

Rhain

Kerry

---

Some Hallway or Something

---

Unhealthy coping mechanisms established

Of all things, this ship truly was tiring. The new crew had somehow - somehow - managed to make up for Xander's absence in terms of the pure emotional exhaustion they could inflict upon Kerry. Not that she wasn't used to her role being expanded to that of on-board babysitter.

She shook her head, looking out at the night sky. If nothing else, the familiar noises of the ship were; such things were comforting now and again. Familiarity, even if it struck an all-too-different chord with her. The ship was steady enough, at least: her skills had not left her.

Kerry didn't smile, even now. She did at least relax somewhat as she reached to her hip, unscrewing a flask and taking a swig from it. One of her vices; she'd always had a weakness for whisky. As good a measure as any to ward off the cold, though a small part of her noted the oddness of it. Seemed she hadn't quite gotten used to drinking alone.

"We have a bar, you know. "

The voice from behind was both foreign and familiar. With every new form came a new voice, but always that same faded accent, one that would sound harsh if it ever was mixed with venom. From Rhain though? No. Perhaps harsh words at times, but never with ill intent. The mage was more akin to fairy, impish, inconvenient, infuriating, but innocent. A being that could feel more like a force of nature at times, but was a person. A person who used to consider herself friends with Kerry.

Years ago.

Normally she would have approached the engineer with some kind of trickery. A way to try and break the ice that encased the bitter woman. It seemed to be the only way to get a little of the old Kerry back. The angry part of old Kerry, but Rhain would take what she could get. Still, even Rhain, the most ignorant mage in the sky could read a room at times. There wouldn't be any pranks this meeting.

"And the bar's populated," Kerry turned to look at him with a sigh. Always did insist on trying, huh? Even now. "At least it was the last I checked."

She looked at him. Rhain. Always the same, in a way, no matter how many flashsteps he took. There was something oddly constant about the mage, though Kerry couldn't be sure how she felt about that. Never had been.

"Is there something you're after, or is this just conversation?"

"After? I didn't realize I need to state my business every time we meet."

Genuine hurt, that's what the reply had sounded like. Rhain had always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve, it was the culture she had grown up in. It would be fleeting though. At the very least those who knew Rhain knew that she was genuine, give or take a small deception here or there for personal entertainment.

It only took a moment for her to shake her head in an attempt to brush off the slight pain. She didn't like being offended.

"Populated might be good, you know. Plus the drinks are probably better, if that's what you're after."

"Didn't you?" Kerry raised her eyebrow, "I'm fairly sure I used to ask your business every second time I dealt with you. Not that I'd get much of an answer, but..."

She shook her head, frowning. "Populated is good sometimes. But I don't feel like being on guard; with the new folks, I would be." And for all his flaws, she could at least relax around Rhain. Emotionally, if not practically - her toolkits certainly needed monitoring. "Thinking, you know?"

Rhain sighed and shook her head, taking a place next to the mechanic. At least six inches shorter in her current form.

"No, that's not what you used to do at all. You used to..."

It was hard to find the words. 'Be an entirely different person'? Something Rhain was used to in a way, but she knew trying to steer the conversation that way would be pointless. Probably worse than pointless.

"... I guess you used to think, at least. More than I ever did. So what are you thinking about that needs guarded from the freshies?"

Blunt as ever. A new skin would never change that.

Kerry smiled a little bitterly, looking back out into the sky. Honestly, it wouldn't have surprised her if Rhain already knew exactly what it was, considering, but at least this gave her some kind of control.

She took another swig from her flask, relishing the burn in her throat.

"Laurie left me. Told me not to bother coming back if I listened to the dream." And here she was.

A sigh of relief.

Rhain couldn't help it. Sympathy, regret, and sadness for Kerry were all there under the surface waiting to be let out, but first was an overwhelming sense of relief. Laurie was alive then. It was hurtful that she hadn't come back, had left the crew in the same way she had left Kerry, but at least she was alive. It was something that had been gnawing at Rhain since Kerry's return, but the mage knew better than to ask. Things had been different since the incident years ago, and the couple staying together was never something she took for granted.

Still, relief wasn't what Kerry would need right now. Rhain tried to fight it down while quietly offering;

"Sorry."

And she was. The mage knew that it wasn't enough though. When did 'sorry' and sympathy ever actually do much in these situations? So instead the mage grabbed Kerry's hand and began pulling. She was bad with words, bad with thinking, but good with action. Action seemed like something better now.

"I've never been good with these kinds of things- but come on. You need a good drink and I have some good drinks in a place that isn't a bar."

"If you say so," Kerry nodded, allowing herself to walk alongside Rhain, "I suppose it's better than standing out here, at the very least."

There were worse people to be dragged off by. Not that she'd ever admit it; he was obnoxious enough as it was. Still, Kerry at least tried to be honest with folks. "Thank you. I suppose."

*****

Rhain was wealthy. Not only had she commanded a fairly high price at her initial hiring, but a decade of sharing in the spoils of the Fanocis's exploits had made her wealthy. Those who knew her, knew her past and the circumstances she grew up in, knew that she was not a person with expensive tastes. If anything, she was embarrassingly easy to please when it came to comfort and food. Her room, however, did not reflect this at all. Impressive in size, particularly for one on an airship, the room practically screamed "Look at how much money I have". Comfortable silk chairs arranged in front of a smokeless magical fireplace. A small bar to one side of room, with expensive liqour from every port the Fornacis ever docked at. A that detailed the entire sky laid out across the floor. Antiques lined the walls, and the furniture was all trimmed with intricate lacework and etchings. All of it expensive, none of it matched. It was a poor person's idea of what a wealthy person's room might look like.

And those that knew her knew that she bought all of it because she thought her guests would enjoy it.

It was clear though that guests were something Rhain had few of. Xander was gone, Branka had gotten married, others had died or changed into different people. What used to be a lively room had become covered in dust, made thicker by four years of absence. It's clear Rhain had tried to tidy up since coming back, but motivation was hard. She sought out others to be with, they rarely sought out her.

Tonight was different though. Two wine glasses were out and filled with Blackwater a whiskey in the Ortzi style but made by the distellers of Port Afonbryn in Gokhan. Rhain didn't know or care enough about drinking etiquette to care about the faux-pas of mixing wine glasses and whiskey. Nor did she expect to survive the night if she actually finished hers off. The mage was a notorious lightweight, to extremes rarely seen before. That was back when she was a well-built man, let alone with the comparably tiny body she currently inhabited.

"Sorry if it's bad, I've never tasted it myself, I usually just pour this stuff off the side of the ship."

As she spoke, Rhain set the glasses and the remainder of the bottle on a small table in front of them, before sinking into one of the chairs that was far too comfortable for her.

"You think I'd notice?" Kerry looked at him with a shrug, though she accepted it anyway. "Nice of you, though. I don't suppose the kindness extends to letting me work in peace?"

It was clumsy, certainly. Small talk was just easier, in these circumstances. Easier than talking about Laurie, no matter how much drink she had in her. Still, she looked at the mage, her working eye as focused as ever. It wasn't as though she were foolish, or as though she didn't notice the dust. Perhaps returning to the Fornacis was difficult for all of them, in its own way, even if some could be more than grating in how they dealt with it. Nonetheless, the mechanic at least caught herself, looking suitably ashamed.

"I don't mean to be cruel, it's just the way of things right now. Unsurprisingly, maybe."

Hurt again, but quickly healed by the apology. Rhain was used to being criticized in the moment when she deserved it, but it was harder when she hadn't done anything immediately wrong to warrant it. Still, an apology from Kerry was something to treasure, so she tried to let the matter go. A small part of her was, however, disappointed that Kerry wouldn't be able to tell her how good the whiskey was, Rhain loved being praised for a job well done.

A job well done. When was the last time Rhain had managed that?

"Yeah. I think we all..."

Rhain's habit of letting her thoughts trail off was in full bloom tonight. It was hard for her to keep things in line on a good day, let alone now.

"I think a lot of us have come back worse than we left."

"I hate to agree, but that seems right enough. I wasn't expecting to be in charge of anything," Kerry sighed, "though it helps to be busy. It was easier when we didn't have anything to live up to; the whole 'legend' thing just makes me feel washed-up."

She took a sip of the whisky, nodding a little. It was good, at least by Kerry's standards. And so long as the conversation kept moving, she could think about things that were... manageable.

"How are you doing?"

When was the last time someone had asked Rhain how she was doing? Pain was the answer, but she didn't want to talk about that. Still, she didn't want to lie, and she was an awful liar at that, so instead she looked for a way to answer the question in a way that she wouldn't have to.

To buy time, she snatched her glass off the small table in front of her and took a sip.

Immediate regret.

Rhain hated alcohol, at least alcohol that hadn't been made unrecognizable through being diluted out of existence. Still, she forced herself to power through it and tried to pretend she was enjoying the sensation. At the very least it bought her the time she needed.

"Being back has been nice, I never had any friends outside of the Fornacis. Being a legend is..."

More than the Fornacis itself, Rhain had heard her personally being spoken of. Hearing it had made her skin crawl.

"I actually kinda hate it.

Kerry looked at Rhain, raising her eyebrow but deciding not to comment on the drinking. Not her place, she figured. Being overanalysed was a pain.

"Used to hang onto the story, myself. Didn't really realise I was doin' it."

Her free hand reached up to her face as she frowned, the scarring twisting her expression. Always did, though she'd grown used to the numbness over the years - usually it seemed to bother others far more than it did her.

"I suppose it was nice," she shrugged, "thinkin' I was something, once. Easy to get caught up in that."

Rhain nodded, frowning.

"This ship's all I have, but you've always been one of the brightest and most talented. You could have gone on to something else instead of coming back. If you don't like the legend bit or being in charge."

Rhain sunk deeper into her chair. Those who knew her knew those words had a double edge to them. Kerry was smart, Rhain was stupid. Kerry had talent, Rhain had none. There was always a mix of admiration and jealousy that the mage held for other members of the crew. At one point she had pride in her magic, but she was getting old, and a lot of what she had done was looked back on in regret, not admiration. Normally these thoughts had somewhat of a release valve, but she had been utterly alone and bottled up with them the last four years. Alcohol would have to be the valve now.

Another drink.

"I want to be here to protect my friends, but... "

It wasn't even the effect of the alcohol yet that bring tears to her eyes. Rhain had never been good at holding them back, never knew that men were expected to until she was already an adult and leaving her island for the first time. That expectation had become ingrained in her to some degree though, and she tried to stop as she took another, longer drink.

"... Killing people is my talent, Kerry! So much blood! It's gettingharderandharder-"

Rhain's words began running together and she tried to empty her glass in an effort to stop herself.

To predictable results.

Chocked sobs quickly turned to choking and sobbing as the whiskey burned the mage's windpipe, and the rest of the glass was spilled on the floor, forgotten. To her credit, she tried to hold up a hand to her companion in an effort to say It's okay, I've got this, really., but it was a feeble showing.

Kerry looked concerned; she hadn't realised, she supposed, the burden Rhain ended up carrying. Wasn't sure how to help with this, either, but she stood up to walk over. Slowly, but that was the way of things - she had no choice but to be careful while she moved, to double-check where she was putting her feet.

"Maybe." She couldn't really argue properly, and doubted she had the words to make Rhain believe her regardless. "But you've saved all of us, too. And you keep making the effort to live, not just survive; act or not, it's admirable. To try and do good, holding that burden."

And at least some of it was an act, if this were anything to go by, but Kerry couldn't even guess how much.

"I'm just too much of a coward to leave this ship behind," she shook her head, hand idly brushing over the scarring of her face, "and that's why I've nothin' else to my name. Now, take a minute, and put down the drink: I'll fetch you some water."

While Kerry spoke Rhain tried to regain her composure, at least as far as not choking to death went. The woman's words truthfully meant little to her. The mage had chosen to rejoin the Fornacis already having weighed what she would need to do and live with, but they did help in the sense that it showed Kerry cared, and that's really all she needed at the moment.

"No water."

Her voice was hoarse, but slowly she was catching her breath. Eventually Rhain's hand turned into a single finger telling the engineer to wait, and then finally that finger pointed downwards towards the fallen glass.

"Refill it if you want to help."

"You'll regret it in the morning."

It was blunt, as Kerry turned back to refill the glass. Self-destructive? Perhaps. But she didn't have it in her to fix those urges for Rhain, any more than she had grounds to lecture him on handling his problems.

And so she didn't try. Filled his glass back up, sat back down with her own.

"We got married, you know. After we left. I still remember," her breath hitched a little, but she was never one to lose control, "remember asking her. Didn't even have a ring or nothing; perfect sunset, like no one else existed in the world, and the words just felt right. Like the kind of love from stories, where nothin' and no-one can get in your way."

A pause, the shakiness of her voice more pronounced before it was covered up by practiced, intentional, roughness.

"It was on me, letting her down. Not caring enough about the things worth caring for."

Rhain had enough regrets that this would add little weight to the pile. Still, as she tried to recover from her brush with death, she couldn't help but be glad that the topic had shifted. She had never been good at talking about herself- at least in a controlled level headed way. Kerry was much better at it, but even she seemed to be struggling tonight. The topic was one that hit hard, although it had to be for her to open up at all about it.

"Not caring or not showing?"

The mage was beginning to mellow as the alcohol went to work on her system. It's how drinking usually went for her, starting as the life of the party and quickly mellowing and growing quieter until she slipped into a coma.

"Don't suppose it matters so much now. Of course I cared-- care. But I never showed it, never was there for her. Never realised how I was making her hurt. Stuck in my own head like always."

Kerry looked into her glass, seeming to lose herself momentarily, speaking past Rhain as much as to him.

"Which means it doesn't matter how much I care. Because I didn't care enough not to let her down. She'll find someone to make her happy."

"You've changed."

The alcohol in Rhain's glass was slowly disappearing. One sip at a time, but sips that were becoming more frequent. Her thoughts were slowing down, which in a way strengthened them. Made it much easier for her to think clearly, for the moment anyway.

"I mean, you know that. Since your eye you've been different. You... Do tend to drive people away from you, we used to be closer once I think."

Rhain threw a halfhearted smile the other woman's way, as if to say she wasn't trying to offend her.

"I mean, we're both older now, both different. I'm not saying change back to who you were, but... Maybe try to change into someone else? I don't know, I mind things I've done but not who I am. I think that I would try to change if didn't like myself though. It's happened once, so why not again?"

The advice sounded stupid to her own ears, but it was all Rhain had to give. If nothing else it was the honest truth, like everything else that came out of her mouth.

"Probably." Kerry looked at Rhain. Closer? Yeah, seemed about right. She'd been closer with most people, really. Brighter. Happier. "But I've never really thought about... me. I like things, subjects, stuff that I can evaluate properly. I haven't changed, really."

Had she? Hard to tell. At the core of it all, anyway.

"Well. Have and haven't. But I've always just... reacted to things. Outside of myself. I was happy," Kerry shrugged, "because I was naive, and even with everything we've dealt with, I never thought it'd happen to me. All it is, is... well, the circumstances changed. After that, getting stuck on things has been easy. Imagining what I could've been, what I used to be, anything but thinkin' about the now."

Honestly, Kerry didn't want to look much deeper. Such things were unpredictable, not worth the bother they'd be.

"I don't dislike myself. I just... wish I'd done better. That's not the same thing, I think."

"What was stopping you from doing better if not yourself?"

It sounded like a legitimate question, not a point of attack. It was clear that the mage was slipping away much more quickly than the engineer, to the surprise of neither of them.

"Uncertainty. I suppose there's a safety in staying where I am. Which is still me, Disliking my failures in that regard doesn't mean disliking myself."

"I don't think it's safe staying where you are."

Rhain had been sinking deeper into her chair, and now the small mage was barely visible over the armrest. Her glass was not nearly empty, but she seemed to have forgotten it.

"I could help you drag her back here. I don't know what I'll do to Seriz when I get my hands on him but he'll be back here too."

"I don't think you should," Kerry smiled a little, wistful as she looked over to Rhain, "but I appreciate it. I love her, and... that's why I owe her that, you know? To let her be happy, even if I'm not. Where I'm at might not be good, but it's consistent."

The mage raised her hand and dismissively waved off Kerry's words.

"I'll fix it... Maybe tomorrow though.

"Sure," Kerry looked at him with a slight shake of the head, amused as she walked over and gently took the glass to set on the table. Wouldn't do to go ruining the floors with a spill, after all, and Rhain was barely conscious. Seemed the right call.

Another sigh, this one heavier, weighed down by everything running through her head.

"Sure you will."