Anna Amarande (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hauntedsavior) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-11-02 03:26 pm
hauntedsavior) wrote in deercountry2022-11-02 03:26 pm
fall for me from reality [open]
Who: Anna Amarande and you
What: November catch-all!
When: Throughout November
Where: The Entertainment Feed; Anna's usual club; other locations TBD
Content Warnings: Manipulation, blood + oil, lacerations, restraints
a. hold shut the wounds of the past [for murderbot]
An android walks into the Entertainment Feed. Stop me if you've heard this one before. She's wrapped in a heavier coat than usual, black fur around the collar, and she's wearing a new-looking pair of black jeans with no holes in it except for the ones that the guy who made them put in there for her feet and torso. Her boots are the ones she used to sail with, and her jeans are tucked into them. And, because she's committed to her own brand, she's got a white t-shirt with a faded picture of yet another robot on it.
"Anna Amarande," she says to one of the drones, identifying herself like she'd been asked. "Fantasy Twitter user rin should be expecting me? We have some things to discuss."
b. to the rhythm of eternity [open]
Anna usually limits her performances at the bar she's taken to calling her home in Cellar Door to three nights a week, but lately, she's felt a little more inspired than usual. She's chalking that one up to the Tower's influence, and she'd feel a little ungrateful if she didn't bump it up to five nights a week for at least a little while. She's playing most of the songs in her repertoire over a given week, her voice and her bass on full display with any other instruments covered by backing tracks from the glowing projected screen of her Omni.
Of course, maybe you didn't walk into this bar to listen to Anna play music. Maybe you're here for a conversation—maybe something important, maybe just catching up with old friends. If that's the case, she's glad to wave you over to the booth that she's stolen for herself in the back, dimly lit but private. She's got a bottle of beer in her hand as she does it, and she tilts it towards the bartender as if to say "one more for my friend".
"Hey, glad you could make it. C'mon, let's take a load off for a bit. What's been up with you?"
c. there are burning cathedrals [for makima]
This is going to be interesting, she thinks. She'd met Makima online in a curious conversation about godliness, and she wonders very much whether it's going to play out the same way in person. Right now, she's dressed as normal; it's a little bit colder this morning, so she has her thick, fur-collared coat over those new black jeans and Hatsune Miku tee, and she's looking around the coffee shop for anyone who looks even remotely like a Makima.
"Hey," says the woman with more souls than eyes once she's pretty sure she's got the right person. "Sorry, usually the places I hang are a little... grungier than this. Hope I didn't keep you waiting long. You're Makima?"
d. turning the skies into glass [friend of mine]
"All right," Anna says, in the heavier coat she's been wearing this whole time. She shrugs her shoulders up to wrap the collar around her neck properly, and she adjusts the strap over her chest that secures her katana to her back. "We're here to find something to help the Tower. Thanks for coming along." She turns her head towards her companion and smiles appreciatively. "I'm not in the business of walking into danger alone anymore. So—"
She reaches into her pocket and slips the crescent necklace she'd gotten from the Reckoning over her head, around her neck. "This can make sure that at least someone already knows where we are, in case there's an emergency, but how are you with tracking? I don't think a lot of us have been out this deep in the woods before." She looks back out ahead of them; the trees might be starting to die off, but that doesn't make the thicket of branches before them any less intimidating. She rolls her neck until it cracks, then starts walking forward, because there's nothing else for it. "Let's save a god's life."
e. i cannot pretend that i never think of you [for ange]
She's lost track of time. The zealots didn't seem to enjoy what they found when they'd cut into her side very much, and she can still feel the blood and oil oozing out of her very slowly. If nothing else, she thinks, they know how to keep people alive enough to actually treat them like a farm. She would find it funny if there were anything to laugh about, that this is the second time this year she'd ended up strung up and in restraints waiting for something mysterious to return and do whatever it is that they want to do.
Right now, Anna feels woozy. Half-awake, really, with her head lolling and her white hair streaked with red. The zealots, from what she can remember, had left her alone for the moment to try to figure out what exactly it is she has inside her. She remembers frenzied talk about how the Tower can't accept any of this because it's not flesh, it's not real, and she can only assume that they're waiting to commune with whoever, whatever to get a real answer. Her thoughts are going in circles right now. She misses her friends, her loved ones, her family. She wishes that she weren't here. Hell, she doesn't even have her katana with her, so even if she found some way to get out of these chains holding her upright, the ones on her wrists spreading her arms wide and the ones on her legs binding them together, she wouldn't be able to do anything but tap into the teachings of Sensei Lawrence.
She laughs dry into the darkened, empty room. Someone's going to save her. Right?
What: November catch-all!
When: Throughout November
Where: The Entertainment Feed; Anna's usual club; other locations TBD
Content Warnings: Manipulation, blood + oil, lacerations, restraints
a. hold shut the wounds of the past [for murderbot]
An android walks into the Entertainment Feed. Stop me if you've heard this one before. She's wrapped in a heavier coat than usual, black fur around the collar, and she's wearing a new-looking pair of black jeans with no holes in it except for the ones that the guy who made them put in there for her feet and torso. Her boots are the ones she used to sail with, and her jeans are tucked into them. And, because she's committed to her own brand, she's got a white t-shirt with a faded picture of yet another robot on it.
"Anna Amarande," she says to one of the drones, identifying herself like she'd been asked. "Fantasy Twitter user rin should be expecting me? We have some things to discuss."
b. to the rhythm of eternity [open]
Anna usually limits her performances at the bar she's taken to calling her home in Cellar Door to three nights a week, but lately, she's felt a little more inspired than usual. She's chalking that one up to the Tower's influence, and she'd feel a little ungrateful if she didn't bump it up to five nights a week for at least a little while. She's playing most of the songs in her repertoire over a given week, her voice and her bass on full display with any other instruments covered by backing tracks from the glowing projected screen of her Omni.
Of course, maybe you didn't walk into this bar to listen to Anna play music. Maybe you're here for a conversation—maybe something important, maybe just catching up with old friends. If that's the case, she's glad to wave you over to the booth that she's stolen for herself in the back, dimly lit but private. She's got a bottle of beer in her hand as she does it, and she tilts it towards the bartender as if to say "one more for my friend".
"Hey, glad you could make it. C'mon, let's take a load off for a bit. What's been up with you?"
c. there are burning cathedrals [for makima]
This is going to be interesting, she thinks. She'd met Makima online in a curious conversation about godliness, and she wonders very much whether it's going to play out the same way in person. Right now, she's dressed as normal; it's a little bit colder this morning, so she has her thick, fur-collared coat over those new black jeans and Hatsune Miku tee, and she's looking around the coffee shop for anyone who looks even remotely like a Makima.
"Hey," says the woman with more souls than eyes once she's pretty sure she's got the right person. "Sorry, usually the places I hang are a little... grungier than this. Hope I didn't keep you waiting long. You're Makima?"
d. turning the skies into glass [friend of mine]
"All right," Anna says, in the heavier coat she's been wearing this whole time. She shrugs her shoulders up to wrap the collar around her neck properly, and she adjusts the strap over her chest that secures her katana to her back. "We're here to find something to help the Tower. Thanks for coming along." She turns her head towards her companion and smiles appreciatively. "I'm not in the business of walking into danger alone anymore. So—"
She reaches into her pocket and slips the crescent necklace she'd gotten from the Reckoning over her head, around her neck. "This can make sure that at least someone already knows where we are, in case there's an emergency, but how are you with tracking? I don't think a lot of us have been out this deep in the woods before." She looks back out ahead of them; the trees might be starting to die off, but that doesn't make the thicket of branches before them any less intimidating. She rolls her neck until it cracks, then starts walking forward, because there's nothing else for it. "Let's save a god's life."
e. i cannot pretend that i never think of you [for ange]
She's lost track of time. The zealots didn't seem to enjoy what they found when they'd cut into her side very much, and she can still feel the blood and oil oozing out of her very slowly. If nothing else, she thinks, they know how to keep people alive enough to actually treat them like a farm. She would find it funny if there were anything to laugh about, that this is the second time this year she'd ended up strung up and in restraints waiting for something mysterious to return and do whatever it is that they want to do.
Right now, Anna feels woozy. Half-awake, really, with her head lolling and her white hair streaked with red. The zealots, from what she can remember, had left her alone for the moment to try to figure out what exactly it is she has inside her. She remembers frenzied talk about how the Tower can't accept any of this because it's not flesh, it's not real, and she can only assume that they're waiting to commune with whoever, whatever to get a real answer. Her thoughts are going in circles right now. She misses her friends, her loved ones, her family. She wishes that she weren't here. Hell, she doesn't even have her katana with her, so even if she found some way to get out of these chains holding her upright, the ones on her wrists spreading her arms wide and the ones on her legs binding them together, she wouldn't be able to do anything but tap into the teachings of Sensei Lawrence.
She laughs dry into the darkened, empty room. Someone's going to save her. Right?
no subject
A bleeding cough chases the vitriol from her mouth, and when her coughing fit is finished, she wipes her mouth clean of a thin trail of blood at the corner with her mechanical arm. Maybe she doesn't have the presence of mind to remember the present because she's focused so clearly on her own past right now. This was a gift from one of the friends who had tried her hardest to reintroduce her to the world after Anna had lost her eye. One of her more consistent friends, even if at first she'd only recognized Penelope for her extremely buff and hot girlfriend. Someone who cared in ways that Anna never felt like she fully appreciated. Losing this eyepatch is tantamount to losing Pen, and she will never, ever be able to afford that. Not then, not now. Even the smallest things still add up into the sum of a thousand lives that is Anna.
"You have one chance to drop the eyepatch and turn the fuck around," she warns, but she can already see that the zealot is still approaching, and that her threats aren't going to do anything. With fire in her chest and clenched teeth, red lines filling the cracks between them, she tells Ange, "Do it. I don't care."
cw: gore, death
After all, Ange wasn't holding back here for her own sake. It was purely for Anna's, not wanting to lose favour with someone so important to her. But if Anna is telling her that she can do it - then who would she be not to? She's got her sister's permission.
And with all the resentment towards these zealots that has been building up within her after seeing Anna this hurt, having to try and limp out of this building, it all comes hurled out at once. Ange raises her hand, glowing with golden magic, the blood pollution in this place starting to return even more of her powers to her, feeling them practically boiling in her veins.
She knows exactly what she wants to do. And after envisioning it in her mind, it slowly starts taking shape in reality - huge tools apparently in the air, some not unlike the ones the zealots use themselves. They grip at the zealot, starting to tear chunks off them before discarding the flesh and hair and limbs onto the ground haphazardly and returning for more. An eye for an eye, one may say, or a tortrous death in this slaughterhouse for a tortrous death in this slaughterhouse.
(Or maybe it's just something very familiar, a thing Ange's own resentment has never fully gotten over--)
The tools continue even as the zealot screams in agony, moving fast, until the figure is reduced to little more than a pile of minced meat on the ground of the sleeper farm.
Ange, having been silent the entire time throughout it, steps over towards the pile to fish Anna's eyepatch out of it, looking down at the object.
It's only then that a hint of emotion appears on her face - something akin to disappointment, perhaps even a bit of guilt. ".. Sorry, I got it dirty."
Like that's the most important thing here in the face of what just happened.
no subject
She's not sure that she can, even with anger and apathy boiling up inside her like oil and water. She wants to preserve her mental image of Ange as her little sister—not Ange the vengeful, not Ange the murderer, not Ange the Golden Witch. So she listens. She listens to the screams and the way they echo through the hallway in a way where this zealot feels as much a part of the scenery as everyone else. She listens to the cracking and crushing of bones, the ruin of soft tissue. The harsh reminder that humans are, at their core, nothing but meat. And there is nothing special about meat with names, meat that sings, meat that loves.
She doesn't know whether she should be relieved that she isn't human anymore.
Her eye opens, and she reaches for the eyepatch silently, and she raises both hands over her had to put it back on. It's only when it's over the socket, reunited with the memory of Violet Geteilt (or was it Violent Gestalt?) underneath her eyelid, that she feels safe enough to speak again.
"I'll clean it off when I get home," she says, her voice forcibly deadened. She doesn't want to feel, but she truly wishes it were as easy as she once thought it was. Fuck it, keep her comatose. "I just want to get home, Ange. Both of us. There's nothing left to find here."
no subject
If she is, then she doesn't mention it. The girl instead slowly exhales, and then speaks up with: "The exit should be right up here."
Right up the stairs that last zealot came down from, right ahead of them.
There's no protest about Ange wanting to go back and cast the same fate upon the remaining zealots as she did on this one, at least. Instead she steps around the pile of meat, over towards the stairs, and then turning her head back to look at Anna.
Ange's eyes are faintly glowing golden as she does.
".. come on, we'll get out of here."