September Catch All

[distant_one]

Who: D, his Left Hand, and anyone
What: September Catch All for D
When: Throughout September
Where: Various places.

Content Warnings:: Blood and gore, purposely slow death



Knowledge Is Power [open]

Learning something sounded easy. Even after finding out what it was he was supposed to learn, it wasn't truly that arduous a task. Simply one D didn't want to engage in. Many lesser prizes would have simply been abandoned as there was little enough that D actually needed. But this was something with a benefit that was hard to duplicate and hard to quantify.

'Knowing' someone was a bit subjective. D would just have to pick someone a lot more open and outgoing than himself.

The Great Hunt(er) [open]

D could easily be found visiting areas where the Bugge had died or been sighted during the day. His nights were otherwise occupied, but during the day he had time to investigate. When he wasn't stalking its trail or trying to lure it into a preferable area he could be found taking samples of soil, freshly spilled blood, or pieces of plants near where it had been killed.

When it came time to kill it, D deviated from his usual method of a quick painless kill. Shallow slashes as part of a running battle let blood spray everywhere except onto D himself. Only when the Bugge began to slow or its roars turned from anger to pain did he go in for the kill

Wildcard

Comments

Party Planning [Closed for Gaia] cw: vampire bite

[distant_one]

It would be a lie to say D hasn't been avoiding Gaia's house. He's polite and calm when they see each other at the outpost or staging point, but he's been distant. Time is different when one has lived as long as he has, and his time in trench has been so brief.

It might as well have been yesterday that he'd been inside of Gaia's house. But he was here again, and let himself inside rather than knock. It's what he would've done before he'd attacked her, and he knew she wanted to return to that level of familiarity.

The memory of his fangs sinking into her throat was still fresh, and D was extremely grateful Gaia was a darkblood rather than a warmblood or paleblood. It would be more difficult if he had to remember the taste of her blood as anything other than extremely unpleasant.

Faulty Memories [closed for Duty]

[distant_one]

It isn't the first time D has felt this sensation, when he and Duty are suddenly pulled from reality into a memory.

This memory. One D has already had shared against his will.

It starts with him staring up a three-hundred foot, high tech cylinder at himself and a young woman. Except this time they have a spectator. A man whose resemblance to both Ds is undeniable

"Hey." The figure wearing D's face calls in D's voice. "I'm coming down now, but first I want you to throw down your sword. Have your friend disarm, too." Unlike D's usual emotionless voice, the figure standing in the vision is visibly and audibly cheerful.

Unlike in the real memory, D's hand is silent. The one they would talk about is here after all.

I need to stall him. play along. D says without moving his mouth. It's a little-used skill, one he rarely has reason to use and prefers to keep to himself unless it's necessary.

The Fake D standing above them is impatient, and pulls the sword from his back to hold it at the young woman's throat. "Hey, what's the holdup? If you don't lose the sword, the girl dies!" Despite his ominous words, the threatening D's face and tone are both extremely cheerful. Even with that jovial expression and voice, he's no less dangerous.

The sound of a sword being drawn has an almost musical note to it, D pulling his sword while he stares up at himself.

"Sheath and all! And I want the sword guard secured to the sheath, too." The cheerful D calls from above. D wastes no time doing as told before he drops the sword to his feet.

"Kick it away."

D complies with that, too, though the sword doesn't go nearly as far as he could kick it away.

River of Regrets [Closed to Usagi]

[distant_one]

It wasn't the first time D had wound up in this boat. Literally. D had been steadily avoiding ravens and feathers, but in a fight his focus was not on something that would be otherwise harmless.

This time, however, the boat was less crowded.

But D might have preferred another boat with more people to one that might prove to be as awkward as this one. His omen materialized on his shoulder to peer at Usagi and caw quietly.

Their last meeting had been awkward and uncomfortable from beginning to end, and D could smell the corpses. Who would it be this time? His mother? More of his siblings? People he failed to save?

Rather than offer any words of greeting, D merely nodded at her solemnly.

Clever Manipulations of Decay [closed for Mercymorn]

[distant_one]

The abilities possessed by John Gaius and people from his dimension are some of the most flexible and powerful D has encountered. Palamedes is knowledgeable, but he lacks the raw power that most of the much older ones possess.

D is curious about both their limits and their utility. Duty he can't ask much directly, too much a perceived conflict of interest for D to be willing to ask. John Gaius likewise is completely off the table for such a discussion. There are other necromancers, but Mercy has been agreeable enough.

He suspects that she'll be interested in answering his first question as well, which is why D arrives with a seemingly dead cow.

It's not breathing. Its heart isn't beating. None of its biological processes are functioning at all, and yet it isn't decaying. Its soul is still there. He'd thought about bringing a person, but D hadn't come across anyone on any kind of corruption fueled rampage in need of stopping.

D had made a cut through it without breaking its skin or spilling a drop of blood, impossibly fine and precise, disrupting its ability to live without killing it. Across the body, through the heart and lungs and spine, causing a slight disruption.

Vampire Resort [closed for Sharon]

[distant_one]

D recognized the feeling of dropping into a memory. He even recognized the place they were at. But it wasn't how he remembered it.

What should have been decrepit mansions were instead in perfect condition and thriving with life. Instead of mid morning, it was night, with a moon overhead and a sky lit up with the frequent light of sub-atmospheric and orbital transports.

D was also not dressed as he had remembered, instead of his usual coat was a heavy cape with an elaborate mantle, clothes much finer and more luxurious than anything he'd worn in a very long time. The only thing familiar was the weight of the sword on his back and the blue pendant around his neck.

There was also a familiar presence. Just in front of D and to his left, a figure with taller wilder hair and a furious aura. Only a couple inches taller than D but built more broadly and in a heavier cape. It's summer, but the air is cold enough that D's breath is fogging in the air and all the plants around them have wilted and died.

But not from D's anger, but from his.

Even the several dozen vampires arrayed across from them seem frozen in fear of him. Except for the one standing at the front of them, who is snarling in defiance.

"If you won't obey, then I'll bury even your memory." He is saying with a voice so very similar to D's. If D sometimes speaks with the voice of the night itself, then his is the cold darkness and endless void of space.

The ground rumbles, and with a gesture of his hand the largest structure in view, a huge castle of a mansion and everything within a mile wide circle simply drops. As if someone had carved a circle in the earth and allowed everything to fall into it.

That moment breaks the stillness. He and his Noble foe are suddenly clashing, and most of the rest are scattered. In the space between one moment and the next D had grabbed Sharon with his left arm to sling her over his shoulder and flee across shaking ground, away from the sea.

Five of the Nobility are in pursuit.

pale imitations [Closed for Alucard]

[distant_one]

[Even though D is opposed to destroying knowledge, he's coming very close to deciding to hide away all of the books causing people to relive memories.

The sprawling space port is miles and miles long and wide. Hangars, space ships and aircraft sitting unused, control towers shining up into the sky.

And across from them a figure who greatly resembles D, but taller and with wilder hair. This is the one D didn't finish off himself. The one they'll either have to kill together or wait for help to arrive.

Red eyes shine from a face that is very similar to D's, but the killing lust that makes the air heavy is tinged with uncertainty.]

The real thing won't try to harm us. This one will kill us if we let it.

[Said for Alucard's benefit. The sun outside is shining, but inside it's as dark and comfortable as if it were night.]

[acidjail]

For the purposes of rendezvous like this one, Mercy has set herself up with the scantest scrap of a cleared shop at the outskirts of the Lumenwood, tucked well out of the way and riddled with her most subtle and treacherous wards. The tools she has kept there are an eclectic assortment, at first, second, and third glance - spools of gleaming wire, a scattering of lunar orbs, lead glass decanters, opaque vials, and other, less identifiable things shrouded under draped cloth. It's an ugly little place for ugly little purposes, and when she first spies D approaching through a filthy window, her lips are set in a slash of annoyance at the bulk of the thing he carries.

But then she reaches for it, and the first glimmer of the thing is enough to have her waiting at the door with a glossy sheen of anticipation illuminated by the pale light of distant street lamps.

"Come in," she says, without preamble, her interest as raw and unalloyed as every other feeling she's expressed around D to this point. She pulls to one side and gestures him in, where she has cleared a wide, bare patch of floor and laid out a tarp already, for practicality's sake. (Just because one can evaporate any number of organic fluids does not mean one should rely on that skill to substitute for simple, common sense precautions.)

[martyrofduty]

Without moving, Duty takes everything in about the scene. Two versions of D, each with one companion, and a spectator. If Duty is supposed to be someone in particular, it's not quite how the other memories have worked. His weapons are his own. They've known each other only a few months, but the figure up top reads wrong. He may look like D, but his body language, his voice, everything it wrong.

He doesn't react to D's voice, words just for him. He moves slowly and deliberately, keeping the rapier in its hilt, and gently setting it on the ground. It's ten thousand years old, maintained in good condition with love and devotion beyond its tactical value. He kicks it away lightly with his hands open in the air. Not a threat, it says.

Remaining are two pistols at his waist and a baton made of bone with a metal tip. One gun is loaded with bullets of Coldblood, the others regular. Not knowing what role is most useful—besides buying time—he doesn't say anything yet. Just a friend, ally, lackey, whatever anyone thinks of D's and nothing more. Certainly not the greater danger.

[distant_one]

Maneuvering the steer inside isn't a simple task. Not for the weight of it, but for the geometry of getting a limp animal many times his own weight through the door.

Once that minor hurdle is crossed, D sets the not-completely-dead animal on the tarp carefully. She is either much more eccentric than D thought or she can tell he's done something unusual to it.

Rather than ask that, instead D gets to the topic at hand. "I can't reverse it if something changes shape, but I thought you might be able to even if its internal organs no longer line up."

Trying to reverse the cut after parts of the cut moved would be impossible for even D's considerable skill. Reversing it at all takes a level of inhuman precision outside the margin of error for even most machines.

[distant_one]

Bullets, even the unusual kind, are less of a threat to the D's than a sword is in the hands of a skilled swordsman. They'd both been caught in a spray of them well before they made it this far and had ignored the automatic fire in favor of the bigger threat; one another.

"All right. I'm coming down now. Hey, stick out your left hand." The cheerful D calls from above, earning a quiet 'that son of a bitch' from Left Hand.

D, still silent, holds out his left hand.

"Perfect." The cheerful D says before he leaps down headfirst, bringing the girl with him. The copy lands well within reach of D, and all that's visible of the sword slash that removes D's arm at the elbow is a flash of light. The cheerful D gives D, who is now holding his dripping wound, a playful wink.

Unless he draws blood again don't engage. I need to get him worked up and angry first. Angry enough to make mistakes

"Sorry about that. There's been a change of plans. You must know that by now, eh?"

"Did he put you up to this?" D is just as emotionless as ever.

"Bingo! I find it all pretty repulsive myself, but when I heard I was his sole heir, I had to make a move."

"So you want to be him?"

"Hell yeah!" The fake D says, scratching the tip of his nose with an almost bashful expression before gesturing at the man silently watching them. "You know who He is, I mean, He's the ruler of the whole world! And what's what I'll get to be."

"His kingdom has all but collapsed."

"Hell, it can be built back up again. There are still feudal lords doing well out on the Frontier. Band them all together and I could make a drive for the Capital in short order. The Humans' balls will shrivel up as soon as they see what Nobles can really do."

"Which are you? A Noble or a human?" It seems that even without showing emotion, D knows how to push the more emotional counterpart's buttons.

"I refer the same question back to you. Of course. I already know the answer. You were the top of your class."

That draws the first sign of emotion from D, as it seems they both know how to get under one another's skin. "If I was the top of my class, you must be too." D sounds amused, but he's still as evasive as ever.

The cheerful D laughs, broad and mirthful. "Well, you've got me there. Since it never hurts to ask, wouldn't you like to join forces with me? The two of us could take on the Capital together! And the surviving Nobility would accompany us. Even if some of them resisted or other trouble came up, we'd be fine if there were two of us. We could solve any problem just by glaring at them. After all, we're his-"

"Go to the Capital alone."

That had the previously cheerful D squinting at him and smiling sadly. The fake turns away, but it's a feint, and D only barely dodges the lightning fast sword slash.

"I'm sure you already know this," The armed D says, once more cheerful and grinning. "But I was just sizing you up."

"There's no way around it," The fake D says, cheerful demeanor given away to purely murderous intent. "Things have gone too far, and both of us being one and the same has become a problem. In the end, it's every man for himself.

D, unarmed, still has a sharp tongue and takes the opportunity. "You're human, then?"

That's enough to have the previously cheerful D howling in uncontained rage as he swings at D.

[ananym]

[ well. this is not what he expected. aircrafts? space ships? alucard knew a little of the science and he'd been putting in the work to catch up, but this is so far beyond the country of wallachia. and anything in the world. ]

Is that him?

[martyrofduty]

Ignored, Duty waits. Though each moment stretches out long and slow, it's hardly a handful of breaths.

His left hand reaches his waist and frees the baton. In a smooth move, Duty lunges forward and extends both arm and weapon. The spear extends to its full length, and the metal point stabs between the opposing D's ribs straight to the heart. Metal, not wood.

He pulls the spear free before it can get stuck, retraction speeding the process up. It returns to full size, as Duty slides to avoid the angry rebuttal to his attack. His right hand clasps the hilt of his rapier as he goes past, drawing it from the hilt. The move leaves him a short ways away from the main battle.

Three things catch his eye. The spectator—D's father—watches, a god among even his children. D's left hand isn't where it landed. It not only speaks but moves on its own. Its path takes it toward the sword D's opposite so carefully separated him from. The mistake is leaving D's left hand intact, whatever that means for it.

Duty smirks and circles around the fight, so his attack keeps that action in their opponent's blind spot. He's used to being the distraction, and his heart sings at the combat. Fully armed with his primary weapons of the myriad, he isn't a dhampir, but he stops thinking and moves faster than conscious thought.

[hammerbearer]

Gaia has been respecting the distance D keeps. Not, mind you, that she doesn't engage him in a friendly way, but she doesn't try to force him to stay or make up excuses to keep him there past the natural flow of conversation and she isn't 'more friendly than usual', as if she has to put great effort into it.

She acts as she always does with any of the people she calls friends. Of course if he had kept up the 'avoid Gaia's house' for much longer, she might have gone to track him down and have a few pointed words. But honestly? They'd both been busy, both the previous month and this one. The fluctuation of her powers, keeping the bloodtypes preserved and.... memory problems. Again.

Even if D didn't just have a way of finding out where she is, most times she's not at the outpost she's at home or near it, though it's not a matter of isolating herself from the latest problems. Winter is approaching and she's constantly learning how to or engaging in the last tasks of gardening and work to preserve and stock up the cupboard.

When D enters, she's in the kitchen, bottling up slices of fruits in a few forms she's been taught by the locals. Things are smoother there. Uri is- or was- napping on a bed made for him in the corner. The one thing of note are paper signs posted at each exit to the room which amount to Gaia telling herself where she is and what she's currently doing.

Nothing to worry about at all, D. Especially as of late, she's gotten into the habit of keeping a weapon of some type by her side. Bows and her hammer might not be great for indoors, but the dagger laying within hand's reach is most certainly not a paring knife.

The door opens and shuts and Uri is immediately restless.

"Hm?" Gaia is in tune to the canine's responses; a necessary survival trait for Trench's underlaying threats. But that has also come with a familiarity of what those responses mean. And there's only one (maybe two if you count Nico) for whom Uri reacts in this particular way. Only one of them would be so bold as to walk in.

Her heart beats a little faster. Not fear exactly, but she's not about to just go on faith that a certain dhampir is the only possible visitor in this scenario. Of course, most dangerous individuals wouldn't use the door. Much less have a key to use the door.

Honestly she wasn't even sure how many times D uses the actual door versus showing up but that's a whole other story.

"...D?" Gaia's voice calls out from right where she is if that's all the same to you, thank you very much. And her hand is resting on the hilt of the dagger, in case it proves her visitor is most decidedly not someone she recognizes.

...Which is another problem all by itself because why is everything Darkblood about memories, really.

[fogsong]

There's so much to absorb and Sharon spends several heartbeats doing so. Her cool gaze takes in the night sky and how the transports sporadically light it up like little stars; how the plants have wilted away; how the vampires around her are dressed and seemingly frozen with fear, their attention on a menacing, towering figure whose very presence demands everything. She burns the images into her mind but it's the wild, imposing figure that takes up most of them.

She shifts back a half step as something in the air shifts. When the man speaks, it almost sounds like D. He speaks like D. It's impossible not to see the similarities between the two. But she doesn't have the time to catch them all. He speaks and his voice makes her heart flutter with fear; drains her of her boldness; makes her want to uncharacteristically shy away.

And then it's as if the world is falling apart. The ground begins to shake and rumble and a building crumbles and D sweeps her up. He tosses her over his shoulder like she weighs absolutely nothing and she lets out a tiny, choking cry that gets cut off in her throat.

"What the fuck what the fuck——D, what the fuck," her words become shrill the more she repeats them. Her mind is racing and she can see them, the Nobility. Vampires. She feels an instinctive terror and clings to D; she doesn't try to pull away, doesn't try to get a better look at the surroundings, and just lets herself be carried away. She wants to do something, anything, to help but feels ultimately helpless to the the flow of this memory.

[distant_one]

No. Just a failed copy.

[The figure stares at the pair of them. D doesn't move just yet, waiting for the right moment.

The fanged mouth on the failed copy opens and a voice rusty with disuse asks, "Why... did you wake me?"

Whatever unseen cue D is waiting for happens, and between one moment and the next he has launched himself forward. Several feet away still and D suddenly pivots, flinging himself to the side as the figure brings one hand down in straight-handed chopping movement.

Even though he was several feet outside the figure's reach when he swung, D still dodged and the reason became apparent as chips of the polished stone floor were flung upward: Several feet of stone were gouged out of the floor where D would have been if he hadn't changed course. Several feet beyond the tip of the figure's sharp fingernails.]

Ghostly Existence | Wildcard [Closed to D]

[offinventory]

It happens on instinct. One moment, Murderbot is attempting to trigger its memories to return, the next an oversized fauna leaps out at it. It nearly fires the energy weapons in its arms, but they're no use against something like that. Murderbot doesn't want to explain scorchmarks in its sleeves unless its has to. It sprints out of sight and reaches for the code that keeps it off security cameras.

Are there security cameras? No. Do those matter if something regains line of sight? No. Does that measure help against noses or ears or any other sense? No.

The fauna, which it recognizes as the bugge now it takes a moment, stalks around the corner, sniffing. It approaches Murderbot, and Murderbot curses the lack of a bigger weapon, like the gun it brought back from a murder memory. This is going to end badly. For the second month in a row, it's sure, it's going to end up a squid. In a last ditch effort, it tries to send a message to 2B via its feed connection to the network.

Network connection unavailable.

That manages to quickly become second priority because the bugge walks right through Murderbot. It tentatively reaches out a hand to grab the animal. Its hand goes through the creature. Is this a squid thing? A magic thing? A magic squid thing? The bugge leaves because there's nothing here to... see? Feel?

Murderbot returns to The Entertainment Feed, pinging the network via its feed regularly. They go unanswered. It also still fails to interact with anything or anyone. Murderbot goes through the first four stages of grief and loops back around without passing acceptance.

It spends a day and a half going around Trench trying to get anyone's attention. It tries everything it would think to do, naturally, on its own. Like it is. Alone. Then it runs through the useless company training modules it hasn't deleted yet and follows those. Given the level of technology in Trench, they aren't much help. Then it queries its media (internal) for plotlines of this nature. As dumb as the scenarios are, they're something to try. It refuses to be abandoned alone on a populated planet!

In a fit of desperation, it even tries to make eye contact with people. A revolting process, even though no one looks back at its eyes. That'd be stellar if things were normal.

One source has the protagonist, magically shunned, seek aid from some beneficent monks. Murderbot, obligingly, goes to the next closest thing to a monastery. It isn't quite at "get a Pthumerian's attention" level of seeking aid, even after this long. Sanctuary. Thankfully the protagonist has a temper like Murderbot's at the moment, thoroughly tested and over everything. It shouts at everyone it sees, getting right up in front of them. It shouts at the animals, which it's pretty sure are omens.

Eventually, it spots a man sleeping in a tree, with a hat over his face. It's a suitably ridiculous choice of place to sleep that Murderbot decides if it has, for some alien-remnant contaminated reason, ended up in a serial, that's a marker of a significant plot character. Playing its part, it approaches the tree, about as close as it can get to SerialSleeper, and shouts, "HEY! WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD!"

[acidjail]

Mercymorn is already hitching up the skirts of her robe to crouch down by the steer, tucking a wisp of hair escaped from her strictly braided coif back behind her ear, when D speaks. She doesn't look up at him, but attentive focus is to be found in the cocking of her head as she listens.

"So you did this," she says, half-marvelling, as she rolls her sleeves up to her elbows. She holds her bared forearms up like parallel bars before her and does something that flashes subluminous and incinerates the faint pink hairs on them.

"Don't tell me how." The Saint of Woe does not tremble or shiver, but there is something about her that gives the impression of carrying current anyway. "There's copper wire on the side bench. Bring me that and the wire cutters - and third left vial in the blue painted rack, the clear liquid."

She holds her palm out flat over the stilled animal, a hair's breath from its hide, and a short, hot breath puffs out of her flaring nostrils as her eyes widen a single degree.

cw: anticipated gore

[distant_one]

This is not the reaction D expected, but perhaps he should have expected the Saint of Woe to have a very unexpected reaction. His most likely bet had been on mild annoyance or scorn for doubting her ability to heal something. Most other people reacted disapprovingly in some measure to his very practical and safe method of incapacitating a corruption victim.

The smell of burning hair is milder than D expected after Woe does something with her magic to incinerate the hair on her arms. There's only the faintest moment of wonder about why she did that before D arrives at the conclusion that he's about to watch her stick her arms into the cow's chest cavity.

While he's not her assistant or errand boy, D is interested enough to do as asked, bringing the wire, cutters, and vial.

[distant_one]

Losing memories for dark bloods is a double edged sword, but so far they've gotten lucky. Gaia has either forgotten equally or forgotten more of D's memories than he own. If she had thought she was him, he would have found out already.

"Yes, it's me." D answers, still unseen. He can smell the scent of fruit and other foods, but still no garlic.

[distant_one]

D can stop and fight, or he can keep Sharon safe. They're too fast for him to do both, and her horrible-smelling blood means she won't simply be a bite victim, she'll be a corpse or a vampire.

"Their pets will be here soon. Set anything you can on fire." D has to raise his voice to be sure he's heard over everything.

The greenery that's around isn't dense, and the humid air means it won't burn easily, but they don't have a ton of options in the moment. D can hear the large paws and breathing of the children of night.

The air is split with what sounds like repeated concussive bursts from the direction they fled, sounds felt more than heard.

[distant_one]

D's senses remain sharp while he takes his nap out in the open. He doesn't hear anyone approaching, or catch any scent of someone close by, but that sixth sense tells him he's being approached.

It spikes suddenly, and D lifts his hat to look where there should be something. Someone. A Sleeper from the feel of it. He waves his left hand through where there should be someone. There's definitely something there, and also not there. He doesn't feel any hostility.

"Having fun?" Is someone testing out their magic to see if they can get past his senses?

[distant_one]

D can't beat himself in a straight fight. He's too fast to react. The Fake D managed to twist at the last moment, the spear strike still hits, still sinks in, but damages lung more than heart. It's not enough to slow him down and the furious slash turns towards D as Duty maneuvers.

D follows along in Duty's wake, dancing out of the way of his twin's blade slowly enough that they don't overtake Duty before he gets his sword. It costs D a small injury, blood drawn from his left shoulder as he twists to avoid taking a lethal hit to his heart.

Once Duty is armed and upright D pivots and leaps to his side, trusting that Duty will be fast enough to cover him in the moment it'll take to land and turn again. For all that Duty is the one who is still armed, D's twin keeps his focus more on D. D keeps his focus on his twin as well, he doesn't dare even glance at his own sword.

A moment of inattention could get him killed or give away the game. The Left hand works quickly, he already has the sword and is untying it. An awkward action for a hand by itself.

[fogsong]

There's not a lot to burn, not enough foliage to make setting the ground aflame anything more than a flashy show for the vampires to dash through, but everyone could burn. It takes her a moment to get started but it doesn't take long before fires begin to spark in the air——pops of orange and red and brilliant white light trail after them like fireworks.

But then it spreads. It grows. It shifts and takes shape in the air behind them. Every tiny spark in the air stretches out, thin, lengthy, and glowing white hot; a hundred thin glowing ropes line the stretch of space behind them like a fucked up fence. One of the vampires is foolish enough to try and barrel through. At first, they just tangle around the limbs and the torso like any other rope but then they tighten; they wrap them up and tighten. And tighten. Their clothes begin to smoke as the wires continue to tighten.

At the same time, she continues igniting spots in the air behind them, creating more wires. She pushes heat and fires out and it makes her heart pound with the effort. She tries to throw some of them back with telekinesis. She does whatever she can to create more distance between them.

[offinventory]

Murderbot glances around after it sees SerialSleeper's face. It hadn't realized people as pretty as were in serials existed. Perhaps they are all this pretty? It's not like actors come to mining installations. If it somehow magicked itself into a serial, an actual serial, it's going to be so pissed. And PrettyFace can have a fist to it or nothing at all.

Relax, it's not a serial.

"Fun," Murderbot grumbles. Like this could constitute fun. Invisibility might be useful. Not being able to even climb a tree or interact with anyone at all is not fun.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Murderbot shouts back. It steps closer, however, because SerialSleeper has more of a reaction to it than anyone else it's shouted at. "OVER HEEEEEERE," it shouts toward the hand the guy is waving around. It isn't sure if that's required to sense it or more like decorative eyes on bots with visual sensors all over their bodies.

[lightthedarkness]

Oh.

Joy.

Mr. Barely Apologizes and Bolts is in a boat with her.

Where was her inability to see NOW? She supposed she was mildly (okay, extremely) grateful it was her lack of smell this week. Usagi took a deep breath, turning her head as the boat moved and wondered what awaited them.

Already with the silent treatment, greeeaaat. She loved corpses and silence, it was her favorite.

As the boat started to move along she didn't immediately recognize anyone so she glanced back to D.

Should she even ASK? She already knew she was going to be met with stoic silence.

"You know," she said idly, not really looking at D. "Since I doubt you're actually going to talk to me, that or you're going to jump in the river rather than sit with me, I think I'm going to just talk to your Omen, or ya know, if that proves to be another wall of silence, I'll talk to myself." She was silent for a solid second before she glared over to him. "I don't know what I did to apparently piss you off considering your crap apology and the way you just fled," she looked over to him, scowling. "So why don't you just fall into the river now so you don't have to be near me again?"

Even sitting down he was frustratingly taller than her. She scowled and crossed her arms over her chest.

They were going to die on this boat, she was sure of it. He could barely talk to her so whatever working together they needed to do was clearly not going to happen.