Rider 1
Evenstar
Triple Jump Unlocked
- Location
- Canada
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Rider, 34578/3/1, 16:00 OTC
You squat atop the highrise, gritty concrete beneath your boots. Your shoulder aches dully, grey bandage poking through the claw-rips in your leathers.
The sun lingers on the horizon, smog dyeing it a deep crimson. You gauge its position with a thumb at arm's length: the day length here is the same as most Earths, so it's about another hour before nightfall. A little bit of luck amid all the shit you've been dropped in.
Your hand lingers on the obsidian knife on your hip. Some of your other selves prefer higher-tech weapons, but you have yet to meet the plane where sharp rocks stop working.
Drawback: Honestly, kind of a shit weapon.
Advantage: Keeps you sharp.
The best assets you have are your eyes, your ears, and your brain. Better to stay a little scared, a little on edge, and relearn how to survive here rather than stomping in in a mech suit and getting hijacked by an unexpected technomancer.
You shift slightly, and the cuts in your shoulder take the opportunity to stab you. Ow.
It's hardly the worst pain you've ever experienced -
(- light, light everywhere, light, light, light, glorious and terrible and - )
- you shift the memory aside with decades' practice. What were you thinking again?
Your gaze flicks across your camp, its scavenged tarps and tossed-together packs. It's hardly the best one you've ever made, but considering your injury and the bad-luck hex that's been following you ever since you landed on this plane…
You allow yourself one moment of pride, then open the violin case at your feet and take out the AK-47.
(Amazing the details that stay the same across worlds. There are AK-47s, so there was a Soviet Union. There was a Soviet Union, so there was a Russia and it had Soviets and Communism existed and this universe's Lenin is somewhere back a few hundred years ago at most -
All that, from one convenient gun.
It's not even your history, and you still find it fascinating.)
[ ] 1.25x Fortify for the night and hold until help arrives. The hex will probably make more attempts on your life, and you don't intend to go down easily.
[ ] 1.00x Try to collect more information on the plane. You don't even know who cast this damn curse on you yet.
[ ] 0.75x Try to break the bad-luck hex on you. You are a witch, after all.
[ ] 0.75x Fork yourself even at potentially-ruinous cost. You need someone to watch your back, and you can't wait for help to arrive. Who better than you?
[ ] 0.50x Send Prime another message, even at ridiculous expense.
[ ] Be a different Eva. (Specify which.)
You squat atop the highrise, gritty concrete beneath your boots. Your shoulder aches dully, grey bandage poking through the claw-rips in your leathers.
The sun lingers on the horizon, smog dyeing it a deep crimson. You gauge its position with a thumb at arm's length: the day length here is the same as most Earths, so it's about another hour before nightfall. A little bit of luck amid all the shit you've been dropped in.
Your hand lingers on the obsidian knife on your hip. Some of your other selves prefer higher-tech weapons, but you have yet to meet the plane where sharp rocks stop working.
Drawback: Honestly, kind of a shit weapon.
Advantage: Keeps you sharp.
The best assets you have are your eyes, your ears, and your brain. Better to stay a little scared, a little on edge, and relearn how to survive here rather than stomping in in a mech suit and getting hijacked by an unexpected technomancer.
You shift slightly, and the cuts in your shoulder take the opportunity to stab you. Ow.
It's hardly the worst pain you've ever experienced -
(- light, light everywhere, light, light, light, glorious and terrible and - )
- you shift the memory aside with decades' practice. What were you thinking again?
Your gaze flicks across your camp, its scavenged tarps and tossed-together packs. It's hardly the best one you've ever made, but considering your injury and the bad-luck hex that's been following you ever since you landed on this plane…
You allow yourself one moment of pride, then open the violin case at your feet and take out the AK-47.
(Amazing the details that stay the same across worlds. There are AK-47s, so there was a Soviet Union. There was a Soviet Union, so there was a Russia and it had Soviets and Communism existed and this universe's Lenin is somewhere back a few hundred years ago at most -
All that, from one convenient gun.
It's not even your history, and you still find it fascinating.)
[ ] 1.25x Fortify for the night and hold until help arrives. The hex will probably make more attempts on your life, and you don't intend to go down easily.
[ ] 1.00x Try to collect more information on the plane. You don't even know who cast this damn curse on you yet.
[ ] 0.75x Try to break the bad-luck hex on you. You are a witch, after all.
[ ] 0.75x Fork yourself even at potentially-ruinous cost. You need someone to watch your back, and you can't wait for help to arrive. Who better than you?
[ ] 0.50x Send Prime another message, even at ridiculous expense.
[ ] Be a different Eva. (Specify which.)