never had no chance (out comes the sun)

[faceblocks]

Who: vi and various people
What: a catchall for september feat. vileblood things, memshare things, outpost things, tattoo things, non-event things. starters will be in the comments. ping me at eisdamme or eisdamme#7495 if you would like one.
When: throughout the month of september
Where: wherever in Trench so specific, i know.

Content Warnings: tba but probably parental death, violence, prison, drugs, disease, murder, mental/emotional/physical abuse.

Comments

tattoo things [open: all month]

[faceblocks]

[two days during the week (a perfectly respectable every other day tues & thurs situation) vi can reliably be found at ursula's ink. she's in and out at other times when the mood suits, or if she has an appointment: she always shows up early for appointments.

presently, one will find her in her corner station next to a large window, her inks and tools carefully set out, and a (still growing) neatly bound portfolio on the other end of that table. it's full of mostly blackwork, a few color pieces here and there, some similar to what's on her skin, as well as geometric shapes, and an assortment of creatures both of trench and not. fancy a nightmare steed? she's got several of those in various stages of completion, and a few pieces of portraiture that are not compiled in the book scattered about. you might recognize some of the portraits. (it's d. they're all d.)

vi will busy herself until she sees a face, familiar or strange. don't worry, if you're afraid of needles, she's got that covered, too: she's a vileblood, and she doesn't charge extra if you need a bit of numbing up. she's got a small sign that says as much, but it also comes with a warning. best not to lie about broken skin, etc. - because you could die. and she will not be held responsible for that. there is a form to sign. it is very professional.

this month, though: you may find that you don't need that numbing up, as vilebloods are easy to talk to, easy to let go around, and just generally cause one to be a bit more chill. because of this, she will be extra chatty and perhaps a bit more affectionate than usual.]

[azurestar]

[Lance has eyed Ursula's Ink whenever he's in the neighborhood ever since he arrived in Trench months ago. Tattoos were never something he had in his mind as a high priority on his list of things he wants in his life. Mostly because his mother would probably have a heart attack about it. His brother Marco came home with a heart on his shoulder and she gave him hell for it for months.

But now his life has been upended and he will likely never see his family again. He's also been through a lot and had a tattoo back in the dream for years. It kinda grew on him, both in looks and as a concept, and someone he was especially close to also had art on her arm. The idea of using body art to commemorate people and things he's lost has been more and more appealing as the losses pile up.

Though he's not set on getting inked right here and now, he decided that it couldn't hurt to just go in and talk to someone there. Get a feel for the place. He spots Vi and his brows go up. He'd been under the impression that she left a few short months ago, but then saw she was back when Jinx leapt on the network not long ago.]

Oh, hey Vi. I didn't know you were an artist. [He squints at her body art and points.] Youuuu didn't do your own, did you?

[faceblocks]

Hey, you.

[the standard greeting for someone whose name she didn't catch, or doesn't remember.]

You know what? I did. [it's easier than it looks. and also harder. guess it depends who you are and how much time you have on your hands - and how much mobility. but she smiles when she says it, proud of her work, and extends an unwrapped arm to show off a new addition - a pipe.]

Got this one just after I ..."came back", I guess. I didn't do this one, Saeri did. She works here, too. You thinking of getting something, or did you just stop in to say hey?

[either answer's equally cool.]

I have a whole book you can look at.

[she will just ...remove the drawings of d. those are not for people to decide they want on their skin, even though they should be, because he would make the most majestic of tattoos. it would be a fitting tribute if someone...

...no, he would not like this. it would make him uncomfortable, that kind of attention. so thank the old ones, thank janna, thank luck, those are yanked out of her portfolio and tossed aside atop other sketches.]

[survivalthroughhate]

[Maul walks into Ursula's Ink mainly because he's got that Vileblood desire for companionship this month and knows there's usually a few people hanging around there. Of course he likes tattoos given the Nightkin culture he comes from. He just doesn't have a lot of real estate left on his body for them.

Instead, Maul's gotten more interested in piercings. In his left ear, he's got a a space-themed industrial piercing and in his right ear he has a single ruby stud. When he sees Vi, he comes over towards her, glancing at the drawings. He realizes with a start that she's drawn D. He looks at her, wondering just what the dhampir means to her. He says to her:]

The real challenge would be try and draw him smiling.

[faceblocks]

[she'd thought about moving those drawings, truly she had - but those thoughts had been sidetracked in favor of just staring at the drawings, picking at the little flaws and reminiscing over watching him, how he'd stood, just where the light had hit, and how her heart had raced when he---

---oh, hello. didn't see you there, too busy staring off into space thinking about d. is it obvious? is the grin she's wearing really as ridiculous looking as it feels. cool. cool.

she is going to play this cool. but what she does is imagine how that might look - and she's wordless for a moment more, mouth open and slowly nodding at the suggestion.]


You're right. What would that even 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮---

[it's rude to stare into space when people are in the shop. and talking to you, vi. she clears her throat, huffs a bit of a self deprecating laugh and turns her attention away from that thought - it's easier when she isn't in d's presence.]

Right. Hey. Hi. What's up?

various memshare things from vi's pov [open: all month]

[faceblocks]

[these are some of vi's memories. they are not all completely terrible, but they can all certainly go that way if you don't play your cards right. even if you do, they don't exactly turn out well. all of them have threat of harm and death, even if you have to slightly alter events. it does not matter who gets what. handwaves are fine, hitting vi's inbox is also fine, and threading it out is cool, too.]

Fight #1 vs. Sevika + a bonus! Cait saves Vi's life

Fight #2 vs. Sevika

Teamup w/Jayce vs. Chemguards

Super Awkward Tea Party in Four Parts ONE TWO THREE FOUR

Teenage Streetfight

Vi has a short POV here when Vander gets arrested and if she busts a door or a window she could possibly see this.

Vi reunites with Powder/Jinx and then Cait shows up and then a fight with the Firelights!

Teen Vi + co Breaking out Vander

Teen Vi vs. Silco's goons before shit gets Real Bad.

Teen Heist Gone Wrong

Teen Topside Enforcer Chase

Silco Reunion + a bonus flare and a Powder/Jinx reunion

this is mostly Powder but Vi has a short POV here for the Very Bad Aftermath that comes before abandoning her little sister.

Vi abandons Powder for a moment to cool off and oops she can't come back.

fight (#2) with sevika

[asas]

[ shoyo has never died so many times. actually, he's never died at all. who knew you could die from getting beat? oh, he knew, and it wasn't forgettable. shoyo knew, now. so many broken bones, bleeding livers or spleens or kidneys, fractured ribs and punctured lungs in the process of being in the way of this massive woman— each and every time shoyo opened his eyes after he only knew crippling, bleeding pain, he was back where he started: at a bar, with gauntlets almost too big for his stature hugging his hands, and this woman, a mechanical arm in tow that seemed unstoppable.

it's not like he doesn't try to fight— he does, to protect himself. his swings do little compared to the ones he takes. the problem had always been his style of fighting. this wasn't it. he gets walled at least once or twice by the ugly sensation of defeat and dislocation. he doesn't belong here. he can't do this. he regrets trying to read a book on what seemed like combat applied in real-life circumstances. there's something after the third or fourth beat down, that after, shoyo keeps rising, keeps approaching, and keeps fighting with a surge of moxie each more aggressive than the last.

i wish i could say it gets easier, kid. but, i'd be lying.

he keeps getting beaten down to less than a pulp, into nothing but a useless pile of his own warmblood— he doesn't know the voice who talks to him.

what i can say is, she still needs you. they all do. so, what do you say?

it wasn't for him, but it still resonated. who didn't have people to go back to? a home, a family? he has to change things. the gauntlets are off in a mechanical drop of bolts whirring and steam yawning from its wiring. sevika scoffs at him. he needed his hands, and his speed. most of shoyo's offense is defense when the lights are off, using balance, jumping power, acrobatics— a puff of fire in a stream that has been in the making for months. it's not even large, or dangerous, but, it's certainly a deterring jutsu when blown at one's face. he still gets kicked far into a downed table and loses his breath, but now there's distance. she's coming again. with everything gasp he made to attempt breathing, he searched for something, anything, quick—

The gauntlets were still on the floor, glowing a lovely blue. he scampers to reach for its interior, to slip his hand in and try to pull it up. oh she's coming in fast and he screams his hardest, uses every once of strength still in his battered muscle to pull the weight over his head, protect himself—

and what a show it was when the gems within its outer shell activate, tilt gravity— and blows her to the splintered roof. the breath shoyo takes is tattered, hoarse and relieved. he could still feel the blood wetting his lips, bubbling at his nose and invading his mouth with a sharp taste—

he's deposited back where he had picked up the book, and covering a single hand still . . . was a gauntlet, shut down and cold.

he never wants to see this book again, but limps painfully about in search of an arcane scholar. he's keeping the gauntlet, and has a hard time adjusting back to himself; he's still breathing coarse and ugly, he's still wide-eyed with rushing adrenaline and alert with sounds and movement. picanha returns to him, and worried, she begins to whimper and heel.

shoyo is uncharacteristically late or perhaps even missed his scheduled hours. oh, boy. ]

text un: vi

[faceblocks]

[and speaking of missed hours]
hey u okay
i thought my dumb ass was the one that missed stuff

dont tell me you had a flaming shot experience

srsly tho
u good?
we can reschedule

Teen Vi + co Breaking out Vander

[icanhearscreams]

[It starts innocently enough. Jun picks up a book and starts reading it. Nothing unusual about that - he's read a lot of books.]

[This one, though... this one is bad. He finds himself drawn in, suddenly in a cramped room that smells frankly awful.]

[He runs and hides himself in the shadows behind the chair, using his black shirt and hair to help him blend in a little more than he otherwise would. Vi and the others that run in seem more interested in the man, so he only hears rather than sees most of what goes on.]

[It's when the smooth voice cuts through the chaos that he peeks around. There's... some sort of man. Something feels off about him though, and he frowns. He definitely is talking like he's evil...]

[There's armed goons that appear near him, and Jun bites his lip. It looks like things are about to get violent -]

[He feels himself being yanked again, and suddenly he's just sitting in a chair with a book in his hands. He slams it shut with a loud snap and takes out his Omni. There's no doubt who the memory was of - she looks pretty similar now.]

Vi? I want to ask you something.

voice: un: vi

[faceblocks]

[she assumes this is about jinx, or maybe training, or maybe manabu has told him the murder horse story. anything other than what this is - she's only just experienced king's landing.]

Sure, what's up?

Tea Party

[offinventory]

Murderbot gets that it's some kind of unhappy unhealthy possibly murder-y family reunion before it falls into the book. It groans, even as it happens, because almost everyone is tied up, and what are the odds it ends up the one that isn't?

About 1:3, and it isn't Murderbot's lucky day. It cannot even talk, and BlueBraids is all 'kill your girlfriend and you get me back' like that's a fucking thing that's possible. You make someone you love kill someone else, nothing is 'back.' It also makes a weird sound because no no no it is not anyone's girlfriend. Not the priority, but its repulsion is instantaneous and strong. It's not immediately shot which would make for the shortest and dumbest memory share ever.

It works to free itself because hostage situations suck even when it is not the hostage! Broken glass. Broken glass works. This is only rope, and if it were itself, it wouldn't even take this much effort. Though, actually, props to the rope tying. Not bad. Blah blah monologue blah. Murderbot mostly pays attention to getting itself free and the large weapon near it.

Look, these are 'learning experiences' or whatever, but Murderbot is 'learning not to die' for the umpteenth time, got it?

It gets free, grabs the rocket launcher or whatever it is, and points it at BlueBraids. Gasps of shock all around. Vi is all 'no no no.' So Murderbot is nice. It says, "Drop the gun."

Does BlueBraids drop the gun? No, she starts trying to shoot. Murderbot pulls the trigger, and the three barrels fire. Its aim was always on BlueBraids, and they go right through her because no one is wearing any decent fucking armor. Perhaps the topsiders have it all. It doesn't know. BlueBraids is down fast.

It closes the distance at a mindnumbingly slow human speed and checks for breathing. It's too late. "She's a fucking kid," it swears, though it also picks up the gun so no one gets any ideas. That gets placed on the table, and it looks between the two people still tied up.

"So what happens next?" it asks.

[faceblocks]

The Violet in this memory stares at Murderbot in mute horror, not comprehending what's just happened for a fraction of a moment, the words spoken bouncing off her as if they don't resonate - as if they don't belong.

And they don't.

Violet doesn't hear the man's scream, though she sees his mouth open, watches him struggle against his bonds and as yet unable to free himself. He is wiry, and he is wily, but BlueBraids had tied him well and tight.

Her own ears ringing with the sounds of gunfire that's already seconds passed, with blood rush and adrenaline as she snaps the ropes around her, screaming as she does, although she doesn't hear that either.

What she does hear herself say, panting, as she moves, crawling toward the crumpled form on the floor is "Powder!" as she gathers up the leaking, motionless kid that had been her sister, bright fuschiaviolet running rivulets onto the dirty floor and mixing with chalkdust.

When this Violet finds her voice beyond a scream it is a shattered, broken thing, and she looks up at Murderbot with a maelstrom of confusion, grief, fear and a surge of hate that ebbs and flows.

"You.... You didn't have to..."

She's quiet a moment, long enough to look down again, to glance toward the father figure, to clock the gun on the table and the one still in Murderbot's hands.

"What happens next is that you go. And you make it fast before I change my mind."

More protests from Dad - more screams - he has struggled so hard he's tipped his chair.

Violet's eyes are leaking clear liquid, and there is betrayal and bloodsong in them.

Should it take its time to leave it will hear the shot of a pistol as before it is unceremoniously dumped from the pages with its prize.

coldblood questions [semi closed to duty: midlate sept]

[faceblocks]

Vi waits for a break in her shift - it's not even her shift, really - she's taken another early morning because she figures she will find Duty here. Which, she does, and she has both a thank you and a line of questioning she'd like to pursue.

The work itself has gotten easier, but she's tense just now (might be tenser still if she weren't a Vileblood), but all she knows is that she's eager to talk, more than she'd been when she'd asked for that frozen beer - only recently tossed into the ocean to rest with the ships, and whatever statuary wasn't dredged up. It had felt good to do that, but it also ...dredged up a bunch of feelings on its own.

She finds herself several times re positioning herself to be a little closer to other sleepers, even if only to have them in her sightlines. The few times they fall out of sight she's edgy, and her omen sticks close, wordlessly and without snark, which for Fang is a bit of a feat.

The break comes, and she will approach with a wave and a weary smile, "Hey. Do you have a couple minutes? It's not a frozen beer this time, but I wanted to thank you again for that."

She'll sit if there's space.

[martyrofduty]

Though the autumn chill slinks past his skin, through his flesh, and into his bones, Duty works all the same. He sips hot tea from a thermos for what little effect it has. This too will pass, and it hardly compares to the cold of space. Nevertheless, it's easier to carry that burden now that Vi—a vileblood, as the effect attests—is near.

He motions to a space near him to hear her out. Duty always works to have time for the crew during the day, and Vi's part of that team. Even if it were about a frozen beer again. No stipulations. "You're welcome," Duty says and waits for her to continue.

it's crab fighting time [open: all month]

[faceblocks]

early in september

[strongroots]

[ Have you ever gotten ready to take on three feet high crabs before? That's apparently Robby's life this early morning.

He didn't forgot his word to Vi the other day - a word made with less a frame of reference about what Trench figures crabs to be, and perhaps a little in over his head, in the moment. But Robby's rectified that, equipping himself with something that'll do for a weapon to deal with the issue of pincers you don't want to get close to, while being wholly inexperienced in using any weaponry for actual fights.

Is a fire axe a cool-looking weapon? No, but is he probably going to have a better time with it than waving around a sword? Pretty likely.

He's as prepared as he's going to be, whatever the case. He keeps close between the boardwalk and where it leads off onto the beach, taking a spot where he can be out of the way of those traversing between the two, be visible, and have an easy view of the redhead when he decides to look. It's early, and they hadn't spoken about a time; but that lets Robby prepare, debating whether to test his wits against the smaller of the crabs that scurry closer along the waters.

But warm-ups come first. He holds the axe at an angle with purpose, testing his footwork - deliberate, body turned at an angle and strength given into some low kicks usually meant for lower legs, ankles, but now adjusted to work on a low-to-the-ground opponent instead. A kick meant to temporarily paralyse, and then a swing of his axe following suit: one that allows him to rise back up, knees bent and then rising with ease. Then, the same move again with a stronger swing, but his move back shakier - slower - due to balance.

His leg work is easy, the more controlled of his movements, and it's easy to tell that he's working to get a hang of the weight of his weapon, and how to move with it. A guy who doesn't know what he's doing, but also does - because he doesn't let up on a few goes, isn't easily satisfied.

And it makes his whole 'looking out for Vi' thing be not as checked on. ]

exploring trench [semi-closed to jinx: early sept]

[faceblocks]

[the day begins with a little monkey - it's made of brown and blue paper - a casualty of vi's last minute indecision: make it look like jinx the monkey or mr. bananas the monkey - so in the end it is a mashup of the two. it holds a little note that once unfolded says: meet me at the lamp outside of the rookery. the one by the crooked building with the funny statue. bring your bag and make sure it's got everything. leave most of your fucks at the door. -v"

should jinx turn up by that lamp, vi is waiting - she's got her own bag, too - it straps to her back and is accompanied by a small belted pouch that matches it. the only bits of brown against all the black. she's decked out in fairly recent additions: the hunter gear sansa reinforced and made her, and she's got a bit of a nervous grin going, though she's trying her best to look casual. chill, even.]

Hey hey, you ready?

[opheliac]

(while they discussed how they will not keep secrets from one another, there is... one thing jinx is hiding from her sister (well to everyone really) is almost every day, she wakes up in her own sweat. it's a mixture of for some reason feeling way too hot but also her monsters taunting her. they've worsen since singed surgically mixed her with shimmer and it gets... difficult for her to sleep.

and as she sits up from her bed, panting and frantically searching around -- it takes her a few seconds to realize just where the hell she is. her face is in her hands as she tries to ground herself and squeezing her eyes shut as the imagery of silco tied to the chair is swirling for her. that the same hands were once on his cheeks and desperately pleading with her eyes for him to hang on. but he fades off to the next world as he leaves her behind to wander zaun... alone.)

(exhaling out a shallow breath, jinx tosses herself back down on the bed -- fingers combing through her locks then using her forearm to wipe away a single shimmer tear. looking to the right of her, she sees the brown and blue paper monkey and a note attached. she scoots closer to the gift with her fingers unfolding to read the message. bring her bag? what for? she isn't sure what her sister has planned but she can't keep her waiting. so pulling herself together and shaking it all off, she gets up to get ready.)

——

(as instructed, she is dressed and her bag over her shoulder. and when she is outside, jinx doesn't make her way to the lamp immediately. she takes her time getting there so she can really take in the atmosphere she's in. it's still very surreal she's in a place that isn't covered in smog and creakin' pipes and machinery. it makes her feel a little out of her element. still though, she pushes along and approaches at the lamp.

it teleports her and there stands her big sister all geared up. it takes her a little by surprised but not in a large way. readjusting the strap, she walks on over.)

Y-Yeah, I'm ready. So, uh... what exactly are we doin' again?

it's a wildcard hit me [open: all month]

[faceblocks]

[there are many places one can find vi around trench. on the beach looking for particular squids, strolling the boardwalk looking for people having a particularly hard time of it - those are two. this month she is trying to learn to mend nets - she she herself having a hard time getting it. the beach is also a place she likes to spar, and it's not unusual to find her playing (practicing) volleyball there - she's trying to get good. there is a small chance she can be found tossing a frozen beer into the ocean, or pouring out a drink into a spot of black sand with very mixed emotions.

rooftops are a training haunt, as well as an introspective one - namely cellar door and willful machine, but she isn't limited to those two districts. she's reliably found at the outpost, and at the sanctuary, mostly patrolling, but she sometimes hangs with the orphans ...or even just the local kids.

if it's a place one can find food of any kind then it's double your chances. maybe ursula's ink. maybe odd end or another shop. or the entertainment feed.]

your various memshare things for vi HIT ME [open: all month]

[faceblocks]

[link me here! or point me elsewhere. i am cool with: handwaves, inbox messaging your character to talk awkwardly or not at all, and threading it out is cool, too.]

[opheliac]

i. mid-september — ❝so you wanna go to war with me?❞

You're talking like you think you're royalty
You think that I'm afraid?
But I don't break.
I heard you question my stability
You think I'll fall just a guillotine
But I am here to stay
Won't look away.

❝Have you forgotten how she left you?❞

(ooc: i'm using amazon fire tablet thingie and it won't let me time stamp the clip but you know what i'm referring to so its whatev. more to come later obvs.)

cw: murder, death : sansa's memory : king's landing

[faceblocks]

"the longer you keep him waiting, the worse it will go for you"

[it's what the large armored man with the burned face had told her, and she is fumbling at her buttons, unused to the complications of such garments, everything hazy, fuzzy as she tries to get her bearings.

a moment ago she'd been reading that line, hadn't she? she'd been staring at a book, hand to page as the words had whirled and swirled around her - a flurry of paper wings. now she is brushing out her hair. (wait, what?) and when she bows her head to look down, her hair is ...long. no sooner than she sees it she feels the weight of it, a sick dread in her stomach that is and isn't hers.

she's in and out of this, herself and not herself as someone's legs carry her out of the room and into the path of the tall (?) knight. when violet speaks it's sansa's voice she hears, and what she says is more or less correct, but the phrasing and tone of it gets an odd look from the man. what escapes her lips is, "what the---?"

"it's your kingly brother, that's what." he says, and they are walking down a corridor and into a lower sort of courtyard.

"my what?" violet says, her feet becoming more and more her own, and her tongue along with it as she huffs a breath in a dress that's too tight, and slippers that feel inexplicably ill fitting and strange. and so she stumbles. there's ...laughter?

her gruff escort catches her before she hits the ground, giving her a rough tug upwards and back on her feet, to which she manages a "thanks" that again makes his face ...unreadable almost, but it looks like surprise.

he leads her through the assembled crowd, all dressed similarly to she and one another - illustrations from a storybook - and they move aside - some averting their eyes, a few leering, to which she returns there gazes with a confused glare - which one of them had laughed at her? at sansa?

was it you?

you?

maybe it was---

---and suddenly she's stepping around a cat that's been shot through with a bolt. "no" is the next thing she says, but it's anything but timid. it's annoyed - disgusted, and she wrenches her arm free of her companion only to be assailed by another one - friendlier seeming, and riding a broomstick horse - a child's toy. "be brave" says the hobbyhorse man, and squeezes her arm as she steps into the center of

...something.

a pretty blonde boy with a pouty, self important expression holds the bow that killed the cat, even though the cat's not dead yet and she can hear it mewling behind her. he is crowned in gold and clothed in the same (with crimson) and flanked by two armored men in white capes - two more self important assholes, she guesses.

is this sansa's story? is this the place she'd had to escape? which one is that guy? is it this fucking kid? no, no, it's coming to her. "that guy" had been older, this kid - is this the one that---

am i supposed to kneel for this? are you fucking kidding me?

she rolls back a shoulder, eye to eye with the blond, feeling not the strength she's used to - no real muscle - and she's still assessing this when he speaks, his voice imperious, but behind his smile are a coward's eyes - she knows that in an instant, when he says: "you're here to answer for your brother's latest treasons---"

vi laughs. this part she knows. he means robb. the one that sansa had compared her to - sansa's brother who was clearly no traitor, and she feels an anger rise up in her that's just about the only familiar thing here. on the heels of that laugh she shouts "shut the fuck up!" and it's futile, probably, but someone's got to do it, and if this is a dream then fuck it - she may lack the strength but she can make a proper fist and she has just about enough time to leap forward - striking the little fuck with every bit she's got - and there's a satisfying crunch - screaming - shouting.

the king isn't saying anything now because she's likely broken his jaw and it feels fucking great until she realizes that some of the shouts are her own, and there are mailed hands upon her - she's kicking uselessly as she is dragged by her arms, and partially by her hair - feels some of it tearing from her scalp which fuels another cry of "fuck you, asshole!" before the wind is knocked from her and she can no longer get air. the burned knight's mouth is open, head tilting as her own vision tilts, and she's surrounded.

she fights her assailants every step of the way, beyond what her body should have the strength for, and before she's unceremoniously shoved to the ground and beheaded, she manages to choke this out to her executioner:

"eat shit, motherf----"

she doesn't regret it. but it's a while before she moves from the spot she drops to, and a longer while before she touches the book. with her foot. to kick it away. her cheeks are wet and a green tinge has risen up - her breathing's rough, but when she gets up she finds that next to the book is a sword. it's the same as the one she looked at through sansa's eyes before she'd----

---well, died, she guessed. okay. she'd just ...died?

at least she got a cool sword. and eventually makes a call.]

cw: genocide, death

[icanhearscreams]

[The TV is on. A reporter is on screen, frantically talking about the... thing that's appeared in the middle of the city. The camera pans to show an abomination of metal and lights - lights that are shooting out and raining down on the city.]

[The lights are ripping through metal, through concrete, through glass and wood in order to strike people. You look outside the window of the living room to see pockmarks in the street, items dropped in a rush to escape - but there's no escape. Once one of the lights heads for you, there's no running away.]

[The reporter screams involuntarily as the TV camera gets dropped, the picture sideways now. The monstrous machine, still visible over the tops of the buildings on screen, warms up its lights - its lasers - once more. Then it fires again.]

[The reporter is talking about estimated death tolls. Already reports are coming in from Canada, from Russia, from Australia - the death toll is already estimated to be in the hundreds of millions, approaching a billion. It's hard to imagine such horrific death - but at least it's fast. If the world has to end, at least it's not going to last long.]

[You look to the sky and see a bright light coming for you. You open your mouth to scream but it's too late - it has found you. There's nothing but light and you see it envelop you and -]

[For a moment, your perspective shifts. There's a pure white space, with chairs floating there. A young boy with black hair sits in a strange chair. There's only the briefest of glimpses before you are ejected from the book, but...]

[He's definitely crying.]

[CW: Blood/gore, scared children, general unpleasantness happening to a child]

[imaglyphwitch]

[A blink and a rest in chair. The smell of blood. A clanging noise in the distance.

Sometimes those were all it took. Just one of those, and Luz was back here.

The smell of blood had been faint when she'd arrived here before, at least in one piece. Now as Luz blinked her eyes, she swallowed a scream. At her back were the harnesses that kept her in place, at the same time cutting into her back so the blood could leak out and be gathered. Luz blacked out, woke up, felt the pain, blacked out one more time. The next time she was up and it was pain at first, and fear. It swallowed her up and took every bit of sense from her. She whimpered and cried, thinking nothing was worse than this, being a crumbling mess because she had no idea when she'd be OK again. She might DIE like this. The pain was screaming, her mounting anxiety building and reducing her to a mess.

That was the first hour.

After that, everything just seemed to feel like agonized minutes. Nothing to do, nothing but the unpleasantness of your own thoughts, and the darkness of the factory. The smell of blood became familiar, unpleasant and horrifying but constant, stinking the air. But Luz knew, even here, she couldn't let her fears conquer her, or she'd corrupt and there was no way she'd have a chance to stay alive then.

"Hello," she croaked. "Somebody. P-please help?"

cw: murder, fighting, bad parkour : maria's memory : funeral of majd addin

[faceblocks]

[for a very short moment, vi thinks she's back in king's landing for a second go round - but the surroundings are ...not the same, it's a different style of dress, different set of armored people, many more of those this time - and as her senses settle, she realizes that she's one of them. it's a bit of a comfort. she's grateful to have her face hidden behind a helm, as it hides any confused expressions that pass as she gets her bearings.

it's ...a funeral ceremony, that much is obvious once she listens - and having learned her lesson (mostly) last time, she stays quiet. so far, there's not much reason to speak. she does, several times, peer down to examine her hands, which are also well-encased in armor - and she takes that as a good sign, too. vi manages to stay still as the scene plays out, though she does curl a fist to see how it feels - and it's better than her experience in sansa's book, perhaps not quite the strength she's used to, but this ...she thinks she can work with. unless it's all a trick and she needs to rely on words to get out. again. then we might have a fucking problem.

but the words belong to a sole speaker, and praise a dead man, there's talk of paradise and ...well, suddenly murder. it sure sounds like---

he stands among us

---okay.

she recognizes a man here, she thinks - in the same white hood as in trench (the guy who'd tapped the screen and been so cagey about his name) - and her own sense of self gets the better of her - she forgets she's in a book, in someone else - and she takes a step forward to get a better look at him.

mocks us with his presence and must be made to pay

and raises her hand in a wave, which ...might have been a mistake? oh yeah, it's definitely a mistake, because seize him is now the order of the day, and people scatter as the rest of the warriors (guards? soldiers? she thinks it's soldiers) rush forward - but hoody's got the headstart.]

I guess we're doing this.

[vi finds that she can run pretty well in all this clanging metal - not as good as the man she's pursuing, but this is fine, she can roll with this. wait. can she ...roll with this? she attempts a leap and it's not exactly a success - it's neither high enough or wide enough - but it's given her an idea of what she's got to work with.

she has no idea what she's doing, but maybe if she can get to the man first - maybe that's it? maybe he's trapped in here too. wouldn't that be fucking something?

the ladders are a breeze - and yeah, she's weighted down, but this body is used to running, to climbing, to fighting. finally something she can navigate through and maybe ...survive.

vi's mind races - what if he is trapped and trying to get out? what if he didn't kill that man? what if this was a setup? what if the dead man was bad and deserved to be killed? she has no way to know what side she's on - and if she even should be chasing this person - and what she's going to do when she catches up. a reasonable discussion seems out of the question.

it's not long before hoody's cornered, but he's fast and good with his blade - making short work of ...her fellow soldiers. she appreciatively watches him slap an opponent off the ledge before trying to shout at him to stop, to find out what he wants, and what the hell is happening.

another of her comrades is impaled - and soon it's just them - this is the moment that vi finds she can (???) use a sword - and there's a swing and a block and then she jumps back without fully knowing how good of an option that is. it's ...not the best, because he's down instantly, and they're clashing again.

yeah - it's the same guy, but her yelling isn't getting through to him, and as he swings again - holy fuck she just remembered to block (this body reflexively blocks?? what is this??) but she can't keep this up, and she is not going to be responsible for killing another sleeper, even if it is just in a book.

so instead of leaning in, she uses every bit of her focus to leap out - to leap again - more aware of what she can and can't do - and parkours her armored ass right over the walkway and onto another - and another - so that he'll have to chase her if he wants to continue this. she clambers up and over another ladder, pulling off her helmet and readies herself - takes a running leap to the farthest building she thinks she can make it to.

and finds herself on the streets of cellar door, out of breath but otherwise unharmed. the book she'd been reading lies inoffensively at her feet, doing its best to impersonate an absolutely normal book.

oh, shit. there's a sword in her hand. that's two books two swords. three books two deaths. this particular book? unfuck this book. because no death and a sword to boot? that's a win.]