So Unless you're Built Different Like Kali/Geb. You have to have Monochrome hair to get anywhere... Welp Good thing Kai's got Monochrome hair and Lily's Literally Built Different with the whole resurrection thingy.
Speaking of ressurection, I'm lowkey wanting Lily to die in this fight just to see what Twice-Beating Heart will look like. Will she regrow her head? Rewind time? Morph into goo and then back into a human?
Speaking of ressurection, I'm lowkey wanting Lily to die in this fight just to see what Twice-Beating Heart will look like. Will she regrow her head? Rewind time? Morph into goo and then back into a human?
No no no, you don't get it! After death camera moves on to other scene and after that back to Lily, where she is already alright and not dead. Like manga panels
No no no, you don't get it! After death camera moves on to other scene and after that back to Lily, where she is already alright and not dead. Like manga panels
Ruina is a game tho, not a manga, so going by videogame rules it's clear that Lily will make the Gmod death sound and respawn in the Scarecrow Office after 30 seconds have passed. Leaving her ragdoll physics corpse lying around.
Ruina is a game tho, not a manga, so going by videogame rules it's clear that Lily will make the Gmod death sound and respawn in the Scarecrow Office after 30 seconds have passed. Leaving her ragdoll physics corpse lying around.
Two problems with that. One, that would bring Lily out of combat, which is just terrible.
Two, by Ribbon shenanigans, the better respawn location is right beside Kai, which also allows for much better dramatics. Imagine Kai taking a shit-ton of San damage from seeing her love interestpartner killed before her, and right as the enemy tries to cut her down in the middle of dispairing, we show up and tank the hit before wrecking their shit.
Under Silence, She Blooms, a Flower as Black as the Darkest of Nights
Part 1 of maybe there will be more lol
The cycle continues.
There is a fog of madness clouding the man's mind. It is clear in the way he talks and in the way he thinks. The jerky movements of his limbs and the raspiness of his breath. The manner of his behavior and the code of his conduct.
He is not alone in this madness of his. The Pianist has taken its toll on the City and despite having been slain in return, the lost and the damned continue to flock under its unhung banner to perpetuate the great work, to witness the melody, to hear the music, if only one more time, even at the cost of their miserable lives.
But where their minds have abandoned reality in pursuit of that ethereal wonder, his rage at the injustice, the audacity to steal his chance at true happiness has kept him grounded. He remains astray, but not completely lost.
Even now he is ever so slowly regaining his wits. The unstoppable rage cools, the murderous anger wanes. Ennui rises in his mind, inevitable.
In time he will welcome it.
Use it to hide the perpetually smoldering embers.
But for now, in the Backstreets of a Nest, the letter of which he could not care any less about, the black-clad, black-masked man quietly disappears into an alley inside the maze of poorly maintained buildings.
What followed a minute later was anything but Silent. The cycle continues.
The Color of his mask, his suit, his hair, her gloves was black. And it will be again. When all of the gore covering them is gone.
The Fixer does not care for the looks and shouts given by the people he passes on the street. There is a destination in his mind, and his body moves as if on autopilot, ignoring any and all distractions. His mind stews in the misery of his pitiable existence.
Minutes later he reaches the poor, run down hotel. Entering, he disregards the gaping face of the receptionist, a girl who was just starting her adult life. The man climbs up the stairs, taking no notice of the blood he's tracing on the cheap, already halfway ruined carpets. Reaching the rented room, he fishes the key out of his pockets and opens the scratched door.
He is... not Home.
His steps falter for just a second as his fists clench white under the gloves of his passed lover.
The moment passes and he slams the door shut, just barely avoiding damaging it. He makes towards the bathroom, and, not even bothering to undress, steps into the shower letting the cold water clean the blood and guts of his attire.
He leaves ten minutes later, clothes drying in the moments it takes him to get to and collapse on the bed.
The mask never leaves his face.
A dreamless night claims him.
And the world never sees the tears welling up in Roland's eyes.
The cycle continues.
The people still speak of the Color gone mad. The rampage is fresh, new, still the talk of the lips in the City. It is admired, how a single person can butcher their way through a Finger with such ease.
He has not yet run out of those targets. Has not yet turned to look at others he perceives to be at fault.
The Black Silence is admired and very few know of the slaughter he will visit on those he judges guilty. Regardless of their allegiance.
The man does not care for it.
He only seeks to lash out at the injustice of the City.
The cycle continues.
The Middle is nearly gone.
It is impossible for one single Man, however exceptional, to eradicate such an organization completely.
The still remaining Managers have their cells go to the ground, ceasing activity and ceding their authority, their Control. It hurts their already tarnished reputation but it pains the men and women in charge even worse.
The clear targets have dried up.
The man clad in black disappears into the Backstreets of District H.
The cycle continues.
The Black Silence wanders aimlessly throughout the darkened passages. It is late evening, not yet the Night or even a night.
Listless, confused.
The Fixer found no Middles today. No one to impart his justice on.
His mind is in ever greater turmoil and close to snapping, revealing the true nature of his hatred to the City.
"Stop!"
He just barely hears a sound. A voice.
Young, girlish, scared.
The man tilts his head.
That's That and This is This.
The mantra breaks through the feverish fog clouding his judgment, telling him to dismiss it. To not care. It is not his problem. That it is most assuredly deserved, that the voice is guilty, Guilty, Guilty.
"Someone please save me!"
And yet...
The child's voice is alluring in its desperation. Akin to a siren's call, it tempts him, lures him in with the hope of new culprits to punish.
"Help!" The last cry, louder than every previous one, both heard and unheard tips him over the edge.
The Color moves.
Sprinting down the winding paths, taking sharp turns, left, right, left, left, straight, right straight second on the left then straight down the alley and-
He sees them.
A group of Rats thirtee- no fifteen. Two skulk in the shadows acting as lookouts for the main event. They haven't seen him yet, his attire blending in well into the long shadows of the darkened passage.
The man sees thirteen men and women, ranging from teenagers to full grown adults, beating a still struggling, bloodied, blonde haired slip of a girl. There is desperation in the air, borne of both her and them. But whereas the child is fighting for her life, as if possessed by a demon, to run away and live, the Rats naturally exude it. Humans barely holding on, more akin to a bug you'd squash under your boot than actual people. They skurry away at the first sign of trouble, disappearing into nooks and crannies of their surroundings and attack only when they perceive themselves as having an advantage, most commonly in numbers. Just like their namesake.
Months ago he would laugh at the black eyes, bruises and broken bones this girl gave them, and how they could barely even hold her down without shying away in fear of hurt from her tiny fists. Selfishness was their nature; instead of working together to disable their victim with relative ease, each of them tried to protect themselves from the slightest bit of retaliation.
It was so pitiful; so contemptible a mindset that even the half insane Fixer couldn't help but snort in derision upon seeing it in action.
The lookouts turn at the sound, and the first one to react to his presence- a brown haired girl barely past her teens, pales, her purple eyes going wide, pupils shrinking into pinpricks. 'Color', he sees her mouth breathlessly. Second later, she turns tail and runs off, nary a word of warning to her companions. Though given her reaction she must have not considered them anything else than a crowd to slink in and attach herself to.
Still, the girl made her stance clear. She made no sound of alarm, didn't do anything to alert the violent crowd.
Courtesy dictates letting her go. This is not a request. Not a job where he must fret over every detail. Wipe the targets out to the man.
But the Black Silence does not think of etiquette at the moment.
Under the Perception-Blocking Mask black eyes linger on the path she took.
To run is to admit guilt.
She will be last.
The other lookout, a man in his thirties, doesn't appear nearly as aware of who the man in the neat black suit is or what he represents.
He flashes a cruel grin and it is repulsive, a jaw filled with rotten and missing teeth.
"Oi, ya lot! Lookie what came here t' us!"
In perhaps the greatest display of unity this particular band of Rats ever committed, all of them stop and look at their executioner. Their reactions are split; Some look uneasy, some eager, as if he was a foolish lamb to willingly walk to slaughter. None appear to recognize him as the first lookout did.
That is good. Less chasing and tracking before he can excise the rot.
The child instantly redoubles her efforts, breaking free momentarily before catching a nasty kick stealing the air out of her lungs. There is a silent scream as she collapses and curls in on herself, sobbing quietly.
The Fixer clenches his fists.
"You ain't goin' nowhere kid." A dirty blonde harsh-faced woman spits on her victim.
"And you!" She barks out, turning to him, confident. "Whaddya want?"
Not saying anything he begins walking towards them at an almost casual pace.
"Tch!" Her facade breaks, but a new one appears just as fast. "Well your parts will fetch a good price. Get him!"
There is hesitation, however brief, on the part of her minions as they brandish their shivs, pipes, knives and clubs before they charge forward in a disorderly line. Two particularly reckless guys take the lead, vicious smiles on their faces.
The Black Silence breathes in.
His next step stalls for a split second as he gathers himself. With a thought, the gloves manifest dual blades within his hands and in a single bound he places himself in the middle of the crowd too fast for them to react, his swords stained red with the blood of the men who haven't yet realized they were dead.
Shock, surprise and horror hadn't even yet begun to show as he spun, weapons disappearing into thin air as a new one, a katana almost as long as he was tall, took their place. The following spinning slice caught three more Rats, with air shimmering and the sound of dozens more consecutive cuts reaching his ears. He paused, giving them time to react.
Curses and terrified screams filled the air as the group, now reduced by a third realized what he'd done in a single second.
And then the upper halves of the five Rats he'd cut in half fell to the ground with the latter three not making it there in a single piece.
The terror turned into outright panic and three of the nine instantly abandoned the rest splitting in three different directions, trying to leave them behind, to get away from him, to escape their punishment.
The katana dissipates and a lance forms in his right as he chases down the first deserter, catching up within a mere second. The man dressed in rags doesn't even get the chance to avoid, much less yell anything as he is impaled through the heart and raised high in the air in one smooth motion, dying instantly.
A filthy hand lands on his shoulder, ineffectually trying to turn him around or pull him down, he couldn't tell. Without a second thought he grabs at it with his free hand and pulls over his shoulder, the owner screaming in agony as he tears their arm out of it's socket. The man, whom he now recognizes as the second lookout after he flips him over his head hits the concrete with a dull thud, dazed and angry looking.
The body held up by the lance in the air falls limply to ground as the weapon dematerializes, a heavy, massive club taking its place.
There is no scream as the body is pulped to mush, exploding in a shower of gore, splattering everything nearby.
The Fixer straightens up and turns, utterly dismissive of the carnage at his feet. The two who began to run previously were near the end of his line of sight. The club vanishes, replaced with a rifle.
CRACK
CRACK
Two more corpses fall, chunks missing from their backs, blown out by the bullets.
Five left.
"What are you waiting for? Move!" The Rat leader barks an order and when they fail to move, paralyzed with fear, she kicks a teenaged boy forward. "Ya think he's gonna let ya go after that? Go or I'll kill ya!"
The leftover three reluctantly follow after the boy, hesitantly moving in his direction.
The Fixer slowly walks forward, the rifle he holds disappearing. They split up, trying to surround him and he lets them, coming to a stop. He waits for them patiently, motionless.
A moment passes where nothing happens.
Then the stalemate is broken, the same kid rushing in desperately, hoping for a lucky blow.
The Fixer stares as the pipe heads towards his mask. In an instant his right hand is clad in an armored gauntlet, a gleaming, wicked-looking silver knife revealing itself alongside it. Lightning quick, the blow is blocked with no real effort given, the green pupils of the next to fall widening as the knife lodges itself in his heart twice, before his throat is slit with a spray of fresh blood in the next half of a second. A kick sends the falling body flying away, and the tools, having served their purpose, are dismissed into the gloves.
The hammer appears just in time to parry the second strike, aimed at the back of his head. He turns and now facing the resigned looking woman, caves in her skull without hesitation.
The remaining two underlings, a pair of men approaching their thirties, move in on him from both sides in a flanking attack. The first makes a massive sweep with a sharpened piece of rebar, the second thrusts at his chest with a rusty knife. The hammer is long gone when black clad man ducks underneath the metal pole, an axe and mace manifesting in its stead. The rebar, hooked by the axe behind its blade and pulled down to the ground, knocks the man off balance just in time for his jaw to catch the blunt half of the pair and explode upon contact.
The thrust having barely missed and the man wielding the knife looking terrified out of his mind as he whirls around to see the Fixer brandishing a long sword in his direction.
The man steps forward with a single upward slice, cutting the last minion open and spilling his guts.
Silence falls.
And the man named after it turns to the last Rat.
She stands defiant, holding up the crying child with a shiv to her neck. The blonde girl has several more stab wounds than before. The makeshift shank had found purchase in the skin at her throat, drawing a thin red line. Not lethal. Not yet.
"Ya think yer hot shit, huh? Well let me tell ya, Samantha don't lose." The Rat begins her tirade, as the Color stops and stares. "Bet ya were hired to bring this lil' shit back home to her folks, huh? Paid millions of Ahn for this lil' flower, huh?" She shakes her head a little, matted blonde hair swaying slightly with her movements. "They'll want 'er back, hmm?" The woman smiles cruelly. "Well tough fucking luck!" She shouts and blood flies as she lets the child go with a push in his direction. The girl grasps at her throat in futility as her scared breathing turns to retching gasps. She gurgles and chokes on her own blood and her green eyes look up at the Fixer in terror.
"Now you ain't getting paid shit! Fuckin' choke on it like the kid here loser! Like I said, Samantha don-"
CRACK
The gunshot echoes across the alleys and the Rat falls over backwards, head exploding in a shower of bone, blood and gray matter. The pistol in his left hand fades away as he looks down at the dying child.
That's That and This is This.
His wife's voice reminds him. He can almost feel her reassuring pat on the back, that resigned shake of her head, the faux sad tone-
The Black Silence walks off quietly, confused with nostalgia and hurt by loss, in the direction the first lookout left for.
Behind him, the child suffocates, brain failing without oxygen as the heart makes a futile attempt to deliver it, only accelerating her death.
There is a pang of guilt. This time... His own.
The man falters for a single step. He resolves to come back for the body before the Night.
The cycle continues.
The hunt was unsuccessful. The first lookout to run away put in too much distance, laid too many false tracks. Too smart, too agile by a half.
She was not a Rat. She had been infiltrating the group for some reason. Distanced herself from the violence given her position as well.
He would cease the chase for now.
But if they crossed paths again…
The punishment will be rendered.
The Fixer turns back towards the site of slaughter.
He has an hour to spare yet. There is no rush.
Leisurely, he makes his way back. Clears the last corner. There he sees it. Her.
He stops in disbelief.
The child is laying in the pool of her own blood. And she is breathing. Almost completely bathed in the red fluid. But her chest is moving up and down slowly.
The man clad in the fine suit hurries to examine the impossibility.
The girl is… fine? All of her wounds gone. Clothing still damaged, still stained red.
"How?" Roland whispers the question. His voice is rough, unused for a long time.
She lays there, unresponsive. Dead to the world, yet alive.
His mind searches for an answer, wonders about the course of action and-
The City stole happiness away from him.
What if.
What if... he stole it back from the City?
The cycle is... broken.
For the first time in a long while, Roland's mind is not consumed by thoughts of revenge. He isn't scanning his surroundings for the next targets. No, he remains focused solely on the girl sleeping in his arms.
What is she?
And perhaps more importantly, who is she?
Roland does not know. But he will. In time. He will make sure of it.
The girl stirs awake.
He slows down the pace slightly.
"What is your name?" He questions, wincing at the unkind tone he unwittingly used.
He looks down at the same time she looks up.
The girl seems confused but, biting her lip, answers anyway.
"Lily."
The gi-Lily looks around.
"Where are you taking me?" Her voice is wary, almost scared.
"Safety. Unless you wish to tangle with Rats again, Lily?"
The girl blinks in confusion, shaking her head slightly.
"I didn't? I was just going back to home before… before… umm," Lily stops, thinking hard for a moment. "I-I don't remember seeing any Rats." And gives up, offering a lame excuse.
Roland snorts. Amnesia. Sure he could roll with that. Pretty light as far as side effects go. There is a tiny bit of relief rising in the back of his head.
"Family?"
"Mom and Dad are gone," Her eyes tear up a bit. "The only person I know is Landlord Lin and he makes me do things to stay at the apartment."
"Oh?" The man was suddenly very interested. "What things?"
"Cleaning out rooms of people he kicked out. Dumpster diving to pay rent." She sniffs. "It sucks."
Tension escapes from his body, unnoticed to the girl.
The conversation stalls for a while.
"Say Lily," He began slowly. "Do you want to live without having to do that?"
She looks up to him questioningly.
"If this Landlord Lin is a bad man who makes you do bad stuff, would you rather live somewhere else?" With someone else, Roland didn't add.
Green eyes blink.
"Sure, I guess. Where though?" She asked, before a massive yawn had her going a bit more limp in his arms.
"Well, we can start in that hotel I'm renting a room so you actually get your sleep. I'll buy you a night in a separate room to mine, how about that?"
She gave him a glowing grin.
Too innocent. He thinks, looking at her earnest expression. No, he corrects himself. The City hasn't broken her yet.
"Sounds awesome!"
Under the mask, Roland smiles too. It's a brittle, unsure and fragile smile.
But it is a smile. Ayo fellow thread goers it's ya boi, Whiskas, coming with the gift of words as promised! And this time it's 4:30 AM when I finish this My sleep schedule is in ruins!
Short rundown before I literally fall asleep at my desk, not exactly happy with the last portion but I wanted this posted before I go to sleep. My man Roland straight up just kidnapped a child, though is it really kidnapping when the child is willing and you have good intentions? I had more clever comments, but I am literally yawning every 20 seconds lol.
Hope you enjoyed and all that. Same as before this section may be expanded. I appreciate any and all feedback.
Signing out, Whiskas!
Last Second Edit before I pass into the Aether: As you may have noticed the timeline of this is shot to hell and back. The first game already happened and the Pianist destroyed as much as in canon. However, here, it will still be years before the Library surfaces and Roland infiltrates it under slightly different motivations. This is time for him to be a Dad to Lily and her to grow and attend the same Fixer exam as Kai. Overall, please suspend your disbelief, I know it's bad but also this particular story is nigh impossible otherwise. I can only hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. This time, bye for real.
Few Days Later Edit: Corrected a fair few mistakes, missing words and fixed up some messy wording. Also the latter half, going from after Roland is done with his little trolling but has not left yet has some new lines. I already forgot where I put them all but they're there. They are not super crucial or anything, rather they serve to enhance the feel, elaborate a bit more on the mindset of people on question.
I heckin' love this. Though, admittedly it may be contradictory to the timeline since Roland is still in his rampage when Lily became a fixer, and the encounter happened when she was a kid. But whatever, we need more Dad!Roland. I mean, he's probably still gonna be stripped of his rank but at least he has something to look forward to at home.
...And now I'm imagining a Smoke War Era!Lily, and Kai cause Lily needs a friend.
Edit:
It is probably still is kidnapping. Ooh, and imma nickname this AU Lily, Solomon's Lily.
[] "… I miss you. I love you."
[] "… Are you still alive, out there?"
[] Write-in: "...You think, I'll ever learn to be okay on my own?"
[] "… Where are we?"
[] "Why did you leave me?"
…
Quiet. There is only quiet.
Silence, escorted by the beating inside your chest – the beating inside her chest; your breathing, and her breathing, air entering and leaving your lungs. The tip of your tongue burns with a question. With questions. With not-questions. Your mouth opens, then closes, and as you lock with Mom's electric blue eyes, waiting, ever patient, you lean away from her, sliding your head back to the wall with a dull thud.
Still, there is quiet. Quiet, there is stillness.
You avert your eyes from her, and stare at the ceiling, at the room, at this apartment, taking it all in. It really is small, ain't it? You know that, 'course, no shit; you've spent years in it. But those years were spent on your lonesome, and now it's with mom, and once upon a time, it's with your mom, dad, and you. A square room with a square table, and a stray, almost random piece of mattress on the side; there's a shelf, sitting right under the window looking outside, filled with few books, knicks-knacks, and a radio resting atop it. You don't remember that being there, but then you don't remember a lot of things. There are the pictures, and lists and words on papers and such, plastered, not nailed or hung, on the walls; on the one right where the mattress is, and the one right opposite of it. You find your eyes nailed on a piece of drawing, and it is the only thing the remains in the present, in your apartment. There's the kitchen; sparse and could barely fit more than one person; a tight narrow spot that if you stretch your arms out, you could touch the wall from one end to another – and the less said about the bathroom the better. If you could stretch your arms out in the kitchen, and then you could barely just do that in the bathroom: a toilet, a faucet, a hose, a bucket, and plastic cup and nothing more, crammed all together.
It could be worse. It could always be worse, and for just you, it sucks shit for more reasons than just the room, but it's more than good enough. But holy shit, how the fuck did the three of you fit in here? You open your mouth, and then closes it. That's a stupid fucking question. You make do, that's how.
Quiet, still – here, in this room, in this… place, there is only the two of you. You and mom. You and… whatever she actually is. You let out a breath, and it comes out with a fucking shudder. You're losing it. You've already lost it. Because you don't give a damn. You're in here, and they're out there. You should be out there.
You don't want to.
Knots form inside your throat, choking you from within, squeezing the pathway tightly. Words try and fail to take shape.
There's still only quiet – a grunt of surprise escapes from you as mom's hand takes yours, squeezing it. You stare at it, at the limb, your limb, like it ain't yours, like it's some kinda thing you found at the side of the road. Her hand feels rough, rougher than you expected; calloused, and hardened, more than yours; so tough that it might out-toughen your own uniform. You shift from your limb, to hers, and you notice the burns, and scars, and the patches on her broken skin. There are her fingers, splayed open, and her nails, chipped and split, bitten and chewed.
Somehow, this, more than anything else, sends a jolt of something into your spine. Instinctively, your hand closes around hers, and in turn, those fingers close around yours. Despite the roughness, it feels warm. Despite the unreality, it feels real. You look up, and see her. Blue eyes filled with electric sparks, narrowing slightly, curving up into a smile with her lips.
"Take your time."
You don't. You can't.
"Why –" you let out, and choke. You look away from her, back to your hand, clasped together with hers. It lets you focus. "Why," you repeat again, whispering under your breath, and it hangs there, for along moment, making you sound like some piece of shit cunt. There's so many whys you want to know, but there's only one that's important: "Why did you leave me?"
You want to look her in the eyes, but you couldn't. Her hand twitches, squeezing tight, just for a moment, before it relaxes. That tells you enough. "I didn't," and when she says that, it's as quiet as your own whisper, and twice as hoarse "No. I did," she corrects herself. "And I told myself, that it was for you, that whatever happens, it'll be for your benefit, to spare you from suffering, that it would all have been worth it – but in the end, it was all for nothing. In the end, it was all too late."
For a flash, there's rage – you want to scream at her, to strike her, but it's only there for a flash. In a moment, it's gone, extinguished, before the moment you act on that rage, this would all be over. You know this. Your hand squeezes tightly, and you focus on it alone. "You left," you start, and it shakes, your voice, and memories begin to shape as you recall them. It's like smashing through a door. Everything spills out: "So fucking suddenly – I woke up, that morning, but I didn't see you. I thought, like the little piece of dumb fuck I was, that if I took a nap, you'd magically appear," you snort quietly, trying to hide the shakiness in your voice. Your grip tightens, until the colors leave both your hands, till it's red then blue. "So I did, and you still weren't there, that afternoon, and you weren't there, that night. There was nothing. Landlord Lin came, explained it to me, and I didn't believe him, and I waited, and waited. Every day, every morning, every night. Hah. Fuck, I was such a goddamn useless piece of shit spineless kid. But you never came back. I took everything down, broke anything I could break, and when it was all over, I… realized that I was alone, that none of you would be coming back, that there'd be your shit-awful cooking to eat, that there'd be nobody to wake me up, or tell me good morning or good afternoon, that it was just a dream-nightmare, that it's about time to wake up. And then I stopped waiting. I… stopped."
"I'm sorry. I –"
You shake your head, relaxing your hand, forcing you to relax it; color rushes back, and this time, you look up. You see tears in her eyes, the smile gone. Guilt. Hurt. This time, it is her turn to look away. Twistedly, it makes you a little happy. A little relieved. "You… you didn't just leave me, mom. You abandoned me."
"I know. I'm sorry, but –"
"It's… fine," you manage to force out, even if you don't wanna. You gotta be fucking real with yourself for a bit here. "Ain't like I was immediately thrown to the wolves. Was lucky. Lin helped," you mutter. "And… I hafta learn, how to stand on my own two feet, how to walk without stumblin', how to run – how to live, on my own."
"We could've been the one to do that, to teach you instead," Mom mutters. "I…" she starts, then trails off, looking down to her hand. To your hand. "I failed, I suppose. Simple as that. As Mother, as Fighter, as Human," there's a twitch in the corner of her lips; self-deprecating. "I can only imagine how she would react if she sees me like this. After how I talked big game too…"
You look away from her and lean back against the wall. You feel spent. Blankly, you stare at the door; dark and brown with a handle. Of all the things in this apartment building, the doors that lead outside the room are the most that Landlord Lin put his money into. They're sturdy. Sturdier. Sturdiest. Sturidiestest. It seems to taunt you.
Quiet. In this place, you think, there is only this room, and there is only you and mom. There ain't outside here.
"Where even the fuck are we?"
"We're…" mom starts, then trails off. "We're in the Betweens – in the Gap of dreams and reality, the City and Beyond, the Past, Present and Future; nowhere and somewhere and everywhere, the living and the dead," then she lets out a sigh. In the corner of your eyes, you catch her small bitter smile: "Much closer to the dead."
A spike pierces your chest; cold, and frozen, and numb. "I ain't dead," you mumble, shiverin'. "I was…" you start, then trail off, recalling: "Was fighting."
"You're not dead," mom says, and you flinch as her hand squeezes yours hard. It hurts, and reassuring; her voice, hard as steel. "You're alive."
Suddenly, a thought; a knot, formin' inside your throat. No, not a knot: a ball, or something like vomit, or maybe more like shit, dried and constipated and gigantic log of shit, but instead of going down outta your ass, it's goin' up through your mouth instead, and strugglin' hard. You've felt – no, not felt, seen this before, a week ago, when you babysat that girl. It's bloomin' inside, and it's fragile and painful. It wants to go; it doesn't want to go, and it's fuckin' you up either way because it's already there, churnin' in your guts, and it's too late by then.
It's hope.
"Are," you start, then pause, gulping. You tilt your head at her, looking at her. Mom looks back, eyes wide, and in them, you see your reflection. You look like shit. "Are you? Out there?"
She blinks, then giggles, but there's nothing giggly in her voice. It sounds tired, and sad. Mom looks away from you, and stares forward, towards the door. "I am not alive," you close your eyes – "But I am not dead either," your eyes shoot wide open. She shakes her head. "Half-dead, half-alive. No. Less than. Quarter-dead, quarter-living, and two-quarters missing. Don't…" she starts, then trails off. A hitch. "Don't look for me, flower."
Another spike. This time, it burns, breathing fire. This time, you don't reign it in. "Don't fucking tell me what to do," you growl, and Mom twitches, looking at you in surprise. You glance away. "I do whatever fuck I want, and… and if you're out there," you say, then trail off. "If… if you're still fucking alive –"
"You shouldn't," mom says, soft, barely above a whisper, tiny rocks inside her throat. Despite that, it cuts you like a blade. "You really shouldn't, flower," she smiles, chuckling, even if there's nothing to chuckle at. "I don't want you to."
Your hand – her hand, they're squeezing each other, grinding bones. You clench your jaws. "You don't got a say in it."
"I –" she starts, then pauses, then exhales. Several things run behind her eyes, and for the first time, the sparks dim a little. You flinch, and the corner of her lips twitches up. "I suppose I don't, huh," the hand squeezing you relaxes, and so do yours. You've won something but you don't feel like you've won. "But I also hope you won't."
"We'll fucking see," you growl under your breath.
Mom hums.
The fire dies down, leavin' behind an emptiness, and this fragile glass-thing called 'hope'. It doesn't matter if it's fake, and it probably is. All of this is. But you hold it tight, because it's there, and once it's there, you don't have any other choice but to hold it tight and hope that it's gonna come outta your back end all wet, painless, and smooth-like. But you know that'll never be the case – what mom said made sure of that. Yet all the same, just as food is food, however rotten and poisonous, you feast upon it.
And then, just like that, quiet again.
"You think I'll be okay?" you throw out the question, without thought. You cringe, feeling another know lodged inside your throat. "Out there, I mean, on my own."
Mom tilts her head slightly, smiling sadly – the same smile she wore when she talked of lost time. "You already have, haven't you?"
Your mouth clicks shut with a grimace. Right, stupid fucking question, seriously. "I have," you mutter. "And I don't need your fucking answer."
Mom giggles. You glare. She looks away 'innocently'.
Then, quiet. And more quiet. And quiet, and more quiet, and quiet and more quiet –
"You know Adil?" you blurt out, throw out.
Mom blinks, startled, eyes wide in surprise – for the first time, she's truly off guard. She recovers, almost as quickly, with a twitchy smile. "Yeah, I know her."
"Oh," you fidget, unsure where to go next. "I know her too."
She suddenly looks worried. "Oh."
Quiet –
"What was your Grade?"
Mom blinks. She looks at you – opens her mouth, and then closes it, a complicated expression on her face. "Flower, darling, I wasn't a Fixer."
You scrunch your face up, brows furrowed. "Wha? But –" you start, then pause, confused. "That doesn't – wait, huh? But I thought…" you trail off. It feels like you've been staggered, leavin' your head empty. You look back up to her, eyes narrowed at her amused smile. "Then what did you do?"
The amusement vanishes. "Uh," she coughs, averting her eyes. "Stuff."
You narrow your eyes. "Mom…"
"Look," she mutters, eyeing you. You sit a little straighter. "It doesn't matter, okay?"
You stare at her for a long long moment, but she's as sturdy and flat as a stone. You ain't getting shit from her. Grumbling, you look away. "Fine. I'll find out on my own."
"Probably… better that way," Mom mumbles softly.
You grumble again. "Whatever."
Quiet –
Mom sighs, leaning her back against the wall. Her eyes fix onto the door, and she's smiling. Sadness, and melancholy, yet – yet satisfaction. Joy. Your heart squeezes, clenches; bile threatens to vomit. She glances to you. "… It's about time we end –"
"No," you say, force out, bite out – she startles, but wait. Your hand grips hers before it could slip, and you open your mouth, and closes it, and open your mouth, and closes it – and for the first time in your life, you curse at the fact that you, Lily, are you, Lily.
There's so so much you want to ask, so much that you want to say, to know, but you're too fucking slow that you don't even fucking know what you want to ask, say, and know. You try to find the words, to cobble them up into anything, but your brain's way too smooth to even do that, and your tongue's too numb, too tied up, that anything that comes out might as well be gibberish nonsense and and and
And you don't want this, none of this, all of this, to end. It has. It got to. It's fake. It ain't real, but –
Mind failing you, your body moves on its own. You leap up to your feet, and face her, and she looks up, slightly startled, and you pull her up, and she picks herself up, and – and you slam your head against her face.
"Ow," she says, muffled, startled, wide eyes staring at you. She looks surprised more, than actually hurt. "Flower?"
You stare back, glaring, lips pulled back. "I hate you," you spit out, growling, cursing, and Mom stands still – you try to stoke the fire, but it ain't there. You slam your head onto her face again, and she takes it; a crunch, followed by a cracking thud as her head slams back against the wall – and something tells you that you're hurting yourself more than hurting her. "I hate you," you repeat, and you rear your head back, and – and you pull her into an embrace. "And I miss you, mom. I love you. I," your voice cracks, into a pathetic, pitiful mewl as you bury your face into the crook of her shoulder, of her neck. "I forgot about you, all those times spent together, I forgot about it, but now I remember and I shouldn't have, because it's fucking awful I fucking hate you and – and I don't want to go."
"I," mom starts, then you hear her exhale, soft, as she puts her hand around you, around your head, and you remember those nights of being tucked into bed, her lying next to you, waitin' for sleep to claim you. "It's hard. I know it's hard, flower," she whispers. "But you're tough. Super tough. And you will struggle, you will suffer, but I know you'll break through – the world will shatter before you do, and," her hands wrap around your arms, painfully. "And that's why you don't need me – and that's why you can't stay here."
Her hands unlatch your grip on her with ease. A gentle push, and you fall back, eyes wide. You reach out for her, her smile soft and gentle and warm, and
And you fall
And farther, and farther, and farther
And there
[Ego Check: Easy. Pass.]
Welcome… back?
A twitch. A snap. A spark, in the back of your head. Your feet touch the ground. Or no, it has always been on the ground. You open your eyes to the concrete floor –
[Instinct Check: Easy. Pass.]
Look up!
On instinct, without looking away from the ground, your hand shoots out – and catches something. Squishy, and wet, slimy, and sticky, and leathery – and warm. In your hand, it throbs with life, beating, pulsating like a heart. It wraps around your wrist, circling, almost reassuring, comforting.
"Ah," you mumble, realizin' that something's welled up in your eyes, trickling down to your chin, and ya can't really see good thanks to that. You try to wipe it, but you can't – your hands are too full. "Fuck."
[Melee Check: Easy. Pass.]
Better than too empty.
[Endurance Check: Easy. Pass.]
Just see through the blur – lil' water's not gonna hurt, sister.
[Endurance Check: Medium. Pass.]
Besides, eyes are overrated, sister. You don't need eyes, not when you got this body.
[Instinct Check: Easy. Pass.]
There is more to you than just eyes.
You blink, and the well breaks, water trickling down your cheeks, and you look at the thing you just caught. Red on blue on red on blue, like those threads you saw in Karrion's boutique, strung up, and bundled together. They don't throb, you realize, don't beat, not really – they gurgle, surging, and pumping, a lump appearing, travelling along the trunk, and quickly disappearing with an audible thud, like water being swallowed. It's alive, wriggling bonelessly within your grip, staining your hand, your arm, with red sticky liquid.
[Melee Check: Medium. Pass.]
Blood. Sweet and warm, old familiar, blood. So much that you can swim in it.
[Melee Check: Hard. Pass.]
It's not a suggestion, by the way.
[Insight Check: Easy. Pass.]
You've seen this before: the red and blue tubes on the heart.
[Insight Check: Medium. Pass.]
Vein and artery.
[Insight Check: Hard. Fail.]
The blue one's the artery, and the red one's the vein.
And it leads somewhere, away from you, as you trace it; further, and up, growing thicker, and larger. Dimly, you realize that it's not a simple bundle of blood vessels; it might be a part of something bigger, the limb which belongs to someone, and –
[Instinct Check: Hard. Fail.]
Don't look –
And then you see them, and you feel your breath taken away from you, tears welling up from the sight:
[Lily's Current Sanity: 7/25. To Love and to Cherish.]
Veins, and arteries after veins and arteries, red on blue on red on blue, lined over each other, tightly wrapped, and bundled together, blooming into a hundred – countless blood-moon blossoms. Lips, of all shapes, line around them like petals. So full and plump, smiling and laughing and smirking, crinkling; one of them licks itself, enticing you. One grins, fangs poking out, and another flattens, the corner twitching ever so slightly.
A lump appears inside your throat, and you find yourself taking a step forward.
[Ego Check: Hard. Fail.]
What are you…?
In the center, nestled within each one of the blossoming blooms: eyes, the color of rainbow, from red to purple and white. They watch you, and look at you, and gaze towards you, and behold upon you with care, and love, and warmth; half-lidded eyes beckoning you forward, puppy-like eyes beg at you, narrow curved eyes challenging you, and flat cold emotionless eyes that are anything but that. They're so expressive, and open, and wide and vulnerable.
[Ego Check: Very Hard. Fail.]
No, stop. Snap out of it!
You take another step forward.
Hair, strands of reds and blues, old blood and new blood, sit like a crown, like a veil-headdress, entangled together, swaying impossibly with the unfelt wind in this enclosed space. Noses, carved and etched, cute and beautiful, and ears, tiny as the tip of your fingers, and large as an elephant's.
[Ego Check: Improbable. Fail.]
You can't… you can't lose now. Not after…
You take another step forward and behold her in their entirety.
Your heart stutters, skipping a beat, then two, and then several. You vision swims, blurring together, as you try to breathe, and they come out in tearful gasps. You are drowning, and before you, is the very surface; is love, promising salvation.
[Ego Check: Improbable. Fail.]
you promised
her
The hand of red and blue slips from your grip, and you cry out – you reach out for it, but it's beyond you. "Wait," you force out, choking. You can't breathe. It twitches, waiting – baiting, luring. You take another step, and – but something slips from the cook and cradle of your arm.
[Instinct Check: Medium. Pass.]
Your arm shoots downward, just in time to scoop – to scoop mom up. You stare, affixed. That's right. You remember now. You killed her. You flinch as her eyes, empty and without sparks, smile warmly at you, and you let out a shuddering breath. "R-right," you say, smiling, chuckling, as you bring her up close to your chest. "You're here now, with me."
[Item Activated: Mom's Head.]
'Welcome back, flower.'
You snort quietly, before glancing back up. "That's our way out of this hell – we'll go together, 'aight?"
You couldn't hear her, and she couldn't really move, but you get the feeling that she's nodding at you.
Sighing, you pull yourself together – you can't fall apart now. Not when you're this far. Taking a deep breath, you meet the hundred and dozen eyes, and, and all you need to do is… what?
[Instinct Check: Easy. Pass.]
What's natural, remember?
Right. That's right. What's natural. And what's natural right now is – you take another step forward, and the red-and-blue tentacle curls ever so slightly, a come-hither motion, and you scoff, smiling despite yourself. Just you and mom and them. Together. All the three of you. One big happy…
[Insight Check: Medium. Check.]
Orgy. Gangbang. Threesome.
You'll take threesome – because you're three, and you're all quite something. One big happy threesome.
Hah.
[Ego Check: Improbable. Fail.]
this isn't funny
"How," you flinch, as a hundred thousand voices sing, assaulting your senses, sending your body shivering. Husky, and whispering and shouting and giggling, all at the same time. You lock eyes with the hundred and thousand beautiful eyes, and his attentions bring tingles all over your body. "No. Why? I offer you all that I am, deliver you all that you want," a pause. You stand still, mesmerized. "Why did you resist?" it asks, mournful – a woman dressed in black. "Why do you reject mee?"
Why… why did you? You pause, and open your mouth – it's there, at the tip of your tongue, but you can't find it. It's like a bone stuck inside your throat, and the only way it could go is down, not out. You've forgotten. Forgotten again. Something important. Something you shouldn't have, that happened when you 'slept'. You try to remember, try to catch the images, and the memories, and the vague statics, but you can't; they speed past you like sand trickling past your fingers.
Only impressions left behind, only – your eyes break from her, and towards mom. Your lips twitch ever so slightly as you stare deep into her empty blue eyes, her blood caked onto your outfit, bits of her flesh stuck underneath your nails.
Maybe it's for the better that you did forget.
[Vision Check: Easy. Pass.]
But that's fine, no? The past holds nothing for you, only the future does. And the future stands before you.
[Negotiation Check: Hard. Pass.]
"There's nothing free in this world."
"… Is that why you refused me? Why you refused my love?"
[Empathy Check: Medium. Fail.]
You grimace, feeling a headache coming. "Charity is fucking overrated."
"Charity?" the eyes blink, the lips echoing. "Even though it's I give them so freely: my love, my compassion?"
[Instinct Check: Medium. Pass.]
"Love's a business transaction," you echo – echo? Where did you hear that from? Mao? Where's Mao? "It's a two-way street that involve give and take," you grit out, flinching. They tilt his head. Your eyes are drawn to the guntlet in your hand, the knockbar in your other. "And I don't like getting into more debts. No more than I already do."
[Instinct Check: Hard. Pass.]
There, look slightly next to you – leaning, slumping against the wall, is Mao, her eyes closed, arms embracing her rifle; a tendril of red-and-blue sticks out from her left ear, wriggling, shivering. She twitches slightly, then smiles as she nestles into her rifle.
Not just her. You see another four, shrouded in darkness, surrounding him, standing, red-blue tendrils going through their ears. They stand with a peaceful smile, and hearts for eyes affixed on the lips and eyes and ears and hair and smiles.
[Vision Check: Easy. Pass.]
And soon, you could stand with them – what a future that would be.
[Ego Check: Impossible. Fail.]
Is that really what you want?
[Repression Check: Easy. Pass.]
Look at them: free of trauma, free of the past, free of the City itself. You could be happy.
[Ego Check: Hard. Fail.]
…
"I see," the lips whisper, and you flinch, snapping your attention back for them. Hundred eyes lower in sorrow, in pain, for you. "That is… how sad. But come here," her eyes curve upwards, inviting, lips twitching. You stand still. "Accept my offer, for a better way to see the world, away from such a miserable view."
You stop.
The tentacle retracts, her eyes tilting, lips frowning. "… Flower?"
"How… sad?" you echo.
[Insight Check: Very Easy. Autopass.]
That's…
[Empathy: Easy. Pass.]
That's pity.
[Ego Check: Medium. Pass.]
How sad?
[Vision Check: Very Easy. Autopass.]
A BETTER way?!
[Ego Check: Easy. Pass.]
How SAD?!
[Repression Check: Very Easy. Autopass.]
MISERABLE?!
[Ego Check: Very Easy. Autopass.]
HOW SAD?!
You gnash your teeth and slam your foot to the ground. The concrete below you cracks. Heat enters your chest, fills your heart, and your lungs, send your back curling – they travel up to your eyes, setting them ablaze. Standing there in the hallway of the apartment building, facing Landlord Lin, his eyes looking down at you – standing there, in the open streets, looking up to those high-rise buildings as they look down at you – running, and stalking, and scurrying, keeping your head down as they, those Syndicate fucks look down on you, as those fucking Rats gang up on you, as those fucking Fixers sneerDOWN at you!
"Dooon't!" you snarl, spittle flying. Something cracks, and shatters, and gore and brain matter splashes over your body, enters your mouth. Mom's – no, that's not hers. It's Lin. Hah. You spit it out, drop him down to the floor. It flops like deflated balloon, skin sagging over shattered skull. "Fffucking," you push the word out, and you feel something burst inside you. Your eyes feel as though they might pop out. Your foot slams against Lin's head, turning it into grounded smear. "Loooook doowwn!" you growl out, guttural, and low, as you bring up your knockbar to arms, swinging at the fucking tentacle. It flinches back. "On me!"
[Melee Check: Hard. Pass.]
Kill!
[Endurance Check: Hard. Pass.]
Murder!
[Instinct Check: Hard. Pass.]
Dea -
[Ego Check: Very Easy. Pass.]
DEATH!
Your scream echoes, and travels like a shockwave. It flinches, and warbles. Your heart beats to the song of the piano man, and in that instant: clarity. Before you, the sneering eyes and lips and hair and skin and ears and noses, they're all sneering and looking down upon you. Landlord fucking Lin, and those Syndicate fucks, those fucking Rats and those fucking shop owners kicking you out because of how you fucking look and those fucking Nest Dwellers laughing and giggling and pointing, watching you like a fucking entertainment while they drink and fuck and eat and laugh and fuck and shit and piss cock fucking shitting fuck shit at you! Fucking look at them just standing 'round with a dumb shit-eating look on their face!
[Repression Check: Easy. Pass.]
Rip!
[Vision Check: Easy. Pass.]
And tea -
[Ego Check: Very Easy. Autopass.]
TEAR!
"You're all. Fucking. Dead," sliding it against guntlet, sending sparks flying, you point knockbar at those sneering looks. "Asshole!"
Silence, as a hundred eyes look down upon you – you stand there, breathing heavily. Your heart twinges, tears at the corner of your eyes, your muscles twitching, flinching. This is wrong. You shouldn't be doing this. Ask for forgiveness – no, what the fuck are you even thinking? Motherfuckers looked down on you –
[Ego Check: Medium. Pass.]
And they're not getting the fuck away with it!
"Haah," they sigh, petals shifting, shaking. You flinch, knots in your throat. "Why do you keep being unreasonable, Lily? Even though I'm doing this for you, why must you remain so difficult and stubborn?" a pause, and many shapes begin to sprout from his. Hands. Fingers. Tentacles. Tendrils. Strings and strands of veins and arteries layered and rolled and bundled together. They wriggle in the air, slick with blood; blood slimes drip from them. Two. Four. Eight. Ten. Dozens. Might be hundreds. They all rise, its tips pointed at you. "Fine," it finally says, sighs, and it sounds mournful. "This will hurt me more than it hurts you, but if it would mean you'd understand my love, so that you'd see things my way… fine, be that way: I shall not spare you the rod."
The words, they feel like honey, taste like honey; cloying, and sickly sweet. It fills you with guilt, heavy against your shoulders. No wonder you were left – you spit in disgust, lips pulling back. "Fuck. You."
The hundred lips sigh, sneering. "So it shall be," it mourns like a two-faced fuck.
Article:
For this Battle, Sanity Levels Changed into: For Better, For Worse - For Richer, For Poorer - In Sickness and in Health - To Love and to Cherish - Till Death do Us Apart
Current Status:
Lily. Health: 25 + 14 (Temp)/30 (Healthy). Sanity: 7/25 (To Love and to Cherish To Hate, and to Abhor). +4 Armor Resist. +1 Mental Resist. +1 Damage. Perk: Life Sap: Gains 5 Temporary Health upon Killing an Enemy. Twice-Beating-Heart: Upon Death, Revives to an 'Injured' State. Usable only once per Week. Knockbar – Off-Balance: On Hit, Enemy's Next Physical Action receives -1. Red Ribbon: Improved Coordination with Kai. Guntlet: Adds +4 Damage to your Attack, Costs 1 Bullet (1 Bullets Available). Seven Seed(Consumed, In Effect): For the next 5 Turns, +7 to Mental Resist, Armor Resist, and Damage. Iron Pills (3): +2 HP upon Consumption – immediate consumption after another is not advisable.
Mao. Health: 23/35 (Lightly Injured). Sanity: 8/35 (To Love and to Cherish). +3 Armor Resist. +2 Mental Resist. +2 Damage with Machete. +6 Damage when Ranged. Perk: Mao, Vice-Chief Fixer of Scarecrow Office: +4 to Ranged Roll, +2 to Melee Roll, +3 to Evasion and Block Roll. Amber Alert: By Sacrificing 1 HP, Successful Attack Ignores Armor Resist. By Sacrificing 2 HP, Successful Attack Ignores any Damage Reduction. By Sacrificing 4 HP, Attack Ignores Any Roll Against It. ???: ???. A Beautiful Dream: Will Not be Able to Act Until Woken Up. Unless Woken Up, Will Receive Damage from "Till Death do Us Apart". Damage taken from this source goes through Armor. Each Round Spent Under this Effect, receive 1 Sanity Damage. Cat Nap: Mao will wake on her own in 5 Turns.
Enemy Status:
Skaimounnm Liblayaley, the WeepingHeartstrings. Health: 55/142. No Sanity. Attack Deals Only Sanity Damage. Can Attack both Ranged and Melee. +3 Physical Damage. +3 Armor Resist. Perk: Distorted by Love: +2 to All Combat Roll. Till Death do Us Apart (Phase 2): When Damaged, All Damage Dealt is Distributed to the Bridesmaids and Groomsmen. Will Not Receive Damage Until All Bridesmaids and Groomsmen are Dead. Hurts Me More than It Hurts You: When Bridesmaids and Groomsmen die from the Effect of 'Till Death do Us Apart', +1 to Combat Roll. You're the One Making me Do This: When Enemies' Sanity State changes from 'Love' to 'Hate', Deals Pure Physical Damage.
Bridesmaids and Groomsmen. Health: 9/20, 9/20, 9/20, 1/20. No Sanity. +1 Armor, +1 Damage. Do it for Him: Will not Attack for the Rest of the Battle. Do it for Her: Any Damage Taken through 'Till Death do Us Apart' will Ignore Armor. Do it for Them: When Attacked Directly, Will attempt Block, and +2 to Armor Resist. Information: What is left of Victor's Office.
…
We've Reached the Final Destination!
Make Plan!
[] Tickle the Sleeping Cat. First thing's first, you should wake Mao up – ain't like you couldn't handle these smug motherfuckers on your own, but you got the gut feelin' that you gotta wake her. (Will Take 3 Turns to wake Mao up. You will be Defenseless (No Blocking and Attacking).).
[] Take those Grinning Fuckers Out. Those smiling assholes gotta fucking go, they're pissing you the fuck off just standing there, looking down on you. (Target the Bridesmaids and Groomsmen)
[] Kill This Motherfucker. Fucking looking down on you – they're gonna be the first that must go. Fuck them up. (Targets Weeping Heartstrings)
[] Write-in
Note: the votes provided above are general idea/starters/goals. You can add/do write-ins like the previous vote, if you want to do something specific, or something else.
Extra Note: I'm putting a 24 Hour Moratorium on the vote, at the advice of many people! Considering the nature(?) of the vote, I'm unsure how much it's gonna affect things -- but it can't hurt to have one. Allows for more breathing room, at the very least, and maybe further discussion/planning.
bit of a pain of a chapter to write -- not super sure if I nailed it either, but if I spent more time with it, I don't think it'll ever see the light of day rip lol fug
Ah, right, before I forgot, I'm putting a 24 Hour Moratorium on the vote, at the advice of many people! Considering the nature(?) of the vote, I'm unsure how much it's gonna affect things -- but it can't hurt to have one. Allows for more breathing room, at the very least, and maybe further discussion/planning.
We should definitely wake Mao, while Moon has lost the sanity damage perks Mao will wake at 3/25 sanity if left to her own devices and that's not exactly what I'd call a comfortable sanity buffer...
"I see," the lips whisper, and you flinch, snapping your attention back for them. Hundred eyes lower in sorrow, in pain, for you. "That is… how sad. But come here," her eyes curve upwards, inviting, lips twitching. You stand still. "Accept my offer, for a better way to see the world, away from such a miserable view."
You stop.
The tentacle retracts, her eyes tilting, lips frowning. "… Flower?"
"I am not alive," you close your eyes – "But I am not dead either," your eyes shoot wide open. She shakes her head. "Half-dead, half-alive. No. Less than. Quarter-dead, quarter-living, and two-quarters missing. Don't…" she starts, then trails off. A hitch. "Don't look for me, flower."
Now this could be a bunch of things, but something about it tickled me. I forgot how long Iris is missing exactly, but the time may, may line up with when Lobotomy Corporation started. She may either be in the main branch as an Agent, or have been turned into an Abnormality.
What makes me even throw this into the room is the fact this conversation apparently really happened. And such a connection forming at all feels like a Collective Subconcious kind of thing.
Edit: This also would make one strong hook for visiting the Library.
Hmm, since we'll have an effective +11 armor resist and it is doing only Physical damage now, we can probably tank it long enough to wake Mao.
Incidentally, we should definitely make time to talk to Adil next week. The more we learn about Lily's past, the less we actually know, seems like.
We should definitely wake Mao, while Moon has lost the sanity damage perks Mao will wake at 3/25 sanity if left to her own devices and that's not exactly what I'd call a comfortable sanity buffer...
The question is, is it worth waking her up if she'll be a Bridesmaid anyway? Either way she's waking up at the last sanity bracket, unless Moon lost his mind control in this phase that might just lose us 3 turns worth of buffs and place Mao on the board as a enemy.
@SoothingCoffee Is Moon still able to turn others into Lovers if their SAN hits the last bracket?
So Iris probably wrangled abnormalities at LobCorp. And since she's "one quarter alive" right now, that could mean she's become an assistant librarian. Going looking for her really is a bad idea, huh?
And wow, WH is even more repulsive-looking than I imagined. That's some Love Town level nope.
Concerning strategy for the fight, I'm confident we can tank his attacks for three turns, and we would struggle with that +3 armour bonus without Mao.
Therefore, I'll vote for a plan that prioritises waking her up.
The question is, is it worth waking her up if she'll be a Bridesmaid anyway? Either way she's waking up at the last sanity bracket, unless Moon lost his mind control in this phase that might just lose us 3 turns worth of buffs and place Mao on the board as a enemy.
Doesn't that happen when San hits 0(Till death do us part) , not last bracket (To love and to cherish)?
EDIT: Went back and checked. It happens at zero. Mao won't be brainwashed.
We have 5 turns till seed buff go null. Need to use this advantage and deal as much damage as possible. Be it 8 sanity or 3 Mao already on the death door and the best thing she could do is deal fatal damage and kill WH with one shot.
My sleep schedule is in ruins!
