Multiple Settings Interest Check to End All Interest Checks [fxf, samples included]

[.quietus]

Yeah, yeah, I have a request thread already, but it's old, so I'm making a new one. I'm gonna copy + paste the intro section from the old thread, mostly because it's still very relevant and I don't feel like regurgitating the same points all over again. I'll put it under spoiler for you guys and you can either read it or not -- you probably should because it contains important info re: who I am as a writer and what I expect from potential partners, but it's not like I can force you, lol. Just know that if you make it really obvious that you haven't read it, I will likely be displeased and not reply.

Spoiler: Intro

About me:

+ she/her

+ 30

+ pretentious and edgy, if you couldn’t tell from my username

+ only willing to rp gay shit, but NPCs can be of any gender/sexuality

+ able to play multiple characters at once, an avid worldbuilder, and a certified Makes Things Happen Plotwise kinda person

+ ready to smother rp partners with (appropriate amounts of) affection

+ OOC (and sometimes IC) clownery

+ okay with doubling

+ fantasy, sci-fi and horror enjoyer; romance is great, too

+ have samples, just ask!

About you, hopefully:

+ over 18

+ ready to vibe with pretentious and edgy people

+ all over that gay shit

+ happy to plot and contribute ideas, doesn’t mind juggling their own NPCs

+ speaks up whenever they’re unsatisfied with where the story is heading so that we can come up with a solution together

+ a fellow clown (non-negotiable)

Still here? Then I’m going to assume you’re at least mildly interested, otherwise you’d probably stop reading at this point.

So, let me talk about what I’m looking for in greater detail.

Do you remember that one roleplay that you couldn’t get out of your head? When you just couldn’t wait to write a response and spent an embarrassing amount of time daydreaming about all the new plot points while waiting for a post? That's what I'm after. I’ve been able to connect with a few people that made me feel like that in the past, but life interfered and we no longer write together. I miss it, though – when two writers really click, it’s amazing! Rainbows and fireworks!

So, the main thing I want is initiative and enthusiasm. I would also like to write often, so if you can handle back-and-forth posting from time to time, that would be great. If not, that’s fine -- I’ll still be happy with a couple posts per week. Generally though, the more the better. I can handle it!

I’d describe myself as lazy lit. That means that my posts range from 300 to 2k+ words, depending on what the scene needs. I’m not awfully concerned with the length of your posts, as long as a) your writing has personality, b) I have something to respond to.

As a writer, I enjoy the following:

- conflict

- enemies-to-lovers

- terrible people being terrible, but also not

- ambitious storylines

- comedy relief is great, though

- characters being true to themselves, even when it isn’t convenient

- action, adventure, things actually happening in between posts

Now, what is this all about? Me having enough time to come up with plots and wanting to give them a try! Welcome to my Best Of thread, full of storylines I've been craving but have been unable to actually set up. Some are old, some are new, and some are something in between, but all of them need a partner and that partner can be you. Note that I will be picky : ) I do have awesome roleplays going on, so I am not starved for stories, and I only realistically have time for one more.

Now, without further ado:

The King is Dead; Long Live the King Queen

Genre: Urban fantasy

You may be interested if you’re into: Juggling a lot of side characters and dabbling in fictional politics. Murder, revenge, and all the charming stuff like that. Vampires and other brands of supernatural nonsense.

Plot summary:

Spoiler

A kingdom is only as good as its king, and this is no less true when the kingdom in question is but a city.

For decades, the city was ruled by a certain vampire Prince. People didn't love him, mostly because love is hard to come by in such circles, but they agreed he was good for them. He knew how to keep everyone in check, after all -- and what is peace if not holding the biggest gun and having the balls to actually use it?

Except that someone else used their gun.

Yes, the prince was killed. Murdered in cold blood, in his own residence, along with this closest family. Whoops?

To say that the resulting power vacuum caused problems would have been an understatement. Clans blamed one another; others seized the opportunity to go after their enemies; others still followed different, more long-term goals. The city's foundations are crumbling, along with everything its inhabitants have ever held dear.

And as the undercurrent of it all? The investigation of who killed the Prince.

CH1, an exiled fae, has the dubious honor of being the main suspect. CH2, a vampire, strikes a deal with her -- she will help her prove her innocence in exchange for that sweet, sweet fae blood. That is just the power up she needs, and possibly the ticket to the higher society!

Notes: I want a lot of fuckery for this one, such as the characters doublecrossing one another. Gimme all the sweet drama! Their initial relationship can be very antagonistic, if you'd like. Also, I want the reason behind CH1's exile to be significant because exploring fae court politics sounds sick. The vamp should also have strong personal motivations.

Winter (Not?) Eternal

Genre: Cyberpunk, fantasy, mythology

You may be interested if you’re into: Greek mythology, but with a twist. Enemies-to-lovers. Drama, drama, drama! Hope as a theme, but buried at the bottom of the proverbial Pandora's box.

Plot summary:

Spoiler

The world isn't what it once was.

Not that our protagonists remember. When they drew their first breath, the planet was already all but dead, buried under snow and ashes. The stories of warmth, fire, and the magical period once known as spring? To them, they are just that -- stories. Something to tell to children, and those foolish enough to buy into them still.

Regardless, both CH1 and CH2 are fortunate enough to live in one of the Cities.

Of course, every coin has two sides, and what one may consider fortune is considered a curse by another. So, sure, they do have food to eat and don't need to worry about freezing to death -- but they also live under the rule of the mysterious mob boss Sito, who keeps everyone on a tight leash. The word 'dystopia' doesn't even begin to cover it.

CH1 leads the rebellion against the system; CH2 works to uphold it.

A simple configuration, right?

Well, not quite.

What they don't know is that they are more connected to what happened in the past, and to each other, than one might expect... and the connection might either doom or save them.

Notes: Yep, the two are reincarnated gods who basically triggered the whole eternal winter thing because they eloped together and CH2's mother, also a goddess, threw a tantrum. Whoops? Most gods died in the cataclysm, but the mother didn't. She is still looking for her daughter now, unaware that she already fucking works for her. Loosely inspired by Hades x Persephone -- by which I mean I just liked the vibes and reinvented the story because the original rapey connotations weren't cool. Anyway, I'm happy to work in more Greek mythos-related things!

What Is Dead Can Die Again, Actually

Genre: Dystopia, fantasy, gods. Is gods a genre? Fuck it we ball, now it is

You may be interested if you're into: Uneven power dynamics, mythology, uncovering secrets and court machinations. Forbidden relationships and prophecies.

Plot summary:

Spoiler

It is said that the greatest poison is human greed.

It is also said that it was that very greed that led to the world all but being torn apart during a great cataclysm only known as The Flowering, but is it really true? CH1, a human living in a world tightly controlled by the gods who had stepped up and decided to protect mortals from their own foolishness, is asking herself exactly that -- and no, that isn't a good question to be pondering over.

Not when it could get you killed.

Needless to say, CH1 isn't a fool (or so she thinks), and before you ask, yes, she has a plan. That plan is to a) infiltrate the celestial court, b) pretend that she's one of their human pets vying for a comfortable position, and kill them off one by one, giving the world back to those who had it first.

And who is CH2? A goddess who, for one reason or another, also thinks that the gods need to die and decides to help when she accidentally reveals CH1's epic plan. Can they commit genocide together and find love?

Notes: A lot of worldbuilding to be done here! This is an old plot of mine that never went anywhere, so I do actually have a lot of thoughts, but I want us to build entirely new lore for this. Just ask me about it.

Out of the Ashes

Genre: Post-apocalyptic, epic journey, sacrifice & mystery, psychedelic. Religious guilt? Religious guilt! Medieval fantasy.

You may be interested if you're into: Fucked-up dynamics (sensing a theme?), being pretentious, heavy-handed atheist propaganda and, of course, lesbians overcoming the odds. The hero(ine)'s journey.

Plot summary:

Spoiler

Long ago, the world was drowned in blood.

Humans now only cling to the memories of what they had, though, being humans, they are also trying to improve their situation somewhat. It was a great sin that had cost them everything once; now, they must appease the gods if they ever hope to earn their forgiveness.

CH1, the only living descendant of Alfric the Cursed, is their ticket to exactly that. Born and raised within the walls of the Convent, her only purpose is to die for the sins of her forefather and buy everyone their precious salvation. It is the only fate that she knows - the only fate she can imagine - and she's more than happy to do so, only it isn't as simple.

In order for the sacrifice to count, she must die at the summit of the mountain Eyharnjar, the very same place where Alfric had betrayed humanity and doomed them all. Needless to say, it is the source of all corruption now and no human has been able to as much as set a foot near it for centuries.

However, CH1 knows what she must do.

The journey is about to begin and CH2, a paladin assigned to keep CH1 safe until that very moment, is accompanying her, armed only with her trusty sword and her faith. But what will happen when they actually set out? And is everything truly as it seems?

Notes: Obviously, I want CH1 to not die and possibly turn against humanity??? Idk though, I am open to a lot of things including the gods being lying, scheming bastards who want This Special Girl to die for their own nefarious reasons. Also, it would be really cool if this was both a physical as well as a spiritual journey, with the two of them learning not just about the world but about themselves as well.

I Can't Believe This Isn't Gundam

Genre: Mecha, sci-fi, psychological

You may be interested if you're into: Creating our own Gundam/Evangelion knock-off, duh. Note that this is mostly about the creepy mecha angle rather than the religious imagery, but I am not opposed to including that, either. Cosmic horror!

Plot summary:

Spoiler

It has been centuries now since humanity was lifted to the stars, but that changed little about their nature. Wars are still being waged; people are still suffering; the cogs of capitalism are still turning.

The only noticeable change is the scenery -- well, that, and the fact that humans have cool space robots for warfare now.

CH1 and CH2 are, rather predictably, pilots. They are pilots from opposing nations and thus bitter enemies, but they are lucky enough to live during the times of (relative) peace, when actual peace treaties are being considered rather than getting you laughed out of the room. The two are even going on missions together!

So, what goes wrong?

Everything.

Our characters end up being framed for the murder of an important politician, plunging the entire sector of that galaxy into chaos all over again. There's no better thing for them to do than run -- and so run they do, hellbent on proving their innocence and finding out just who orchestrated the events. That they still lowkey hate each other is the smallest of their issues, especially once their mechs start a) malfunctioning, and b) transmitting odd, disconcerting memories of what seems to be their past lives into their heads.

Notes: This one is pretty straightforward, but I really need you to be okay with disturbing imagery here. I am also okay with taking this into many directions, so come at me with ideas

Aaaand I am getting tired, so this is it for now, but I do have some other ideas I want to flesh out later. Feel free to ask me about them if the key words sound interesting:

- a lost princess who doesn't know her own identity and the bodyguard that finally finds her after all the years she was missing;
- strangers share dreams and maybe also pasts;
- being cops for an oppressive regime in space!;
- finding Atlantis but whoops, it's mega cursed;
- what do you do when you need to marry someone to preserve the peace between your nations and he has the gall to die? You marry a changeling that can wear his face and investigate the murder, duh

PM me and we can talk. Ideally, come with something more than just: 'hey, wanna RP.' Obviously, I do? That's why I'm here, Sherlock? If you only send that, I'm not going to respond. Samples would be nice! Also open to your ideas if you think I'd like them.

 

[.quietus]

Decided to include samples because why not, you should see how I actually write.

This is the opener to one version of What Is Dead Can Die Again, Actually.

Yes, this was a thread before! I'd love to revive it and this is what it can potentially look like:

Vicmira was not one for pretty dresses.

She was... not one for most things, if she were to be entirely honest with herself. Maybe she was broken; maybe the rest of the world was. Either way, nothing had felt quite right for a while now.

But, as she caressed the robe Uwila had brought her, enjoying its silky feel under her fingers, she did have to admit to herself that it was, indeed, beautiful. Striking. Easily the most eye-catching piece of clothing that she had ever so much as caught a glimpse of in her life -- and she had only had to sell her soul to get it.

Oh, how cheap Gahnaisto was.

"Thank you," Vicmira turned to the other woman, not letting any of the thoughts show on her face. If anything, she smiled all the sweeter for it; after all, the foulest of poisons had to be masked with the sweetest of scents. "It is truly stunning. Tonight, I shall turn everyone's heads."

Tonight, she mostly wanted to sleep. She wanted to lie down, hide her head under the pillow, and pretend that she was a little girl again, with little girl struggles and little girl worries. That Vicmira had never really been that little girl couldn't stop her, of course -- but her hatred could.

Unfortunately.

"Do you think," she batted her long eyelashes, "that anyone will match me in radiance when we are to dance? I don't really see it happening, but..."

Uwila gave a long-suffering sigh. It was Vicmira's understanding that she had taken care of Gahnaisto's candidates for as long as anyone could remember, and was likely tired of each of them thinking themselves to be special. She did have that look to her; the look of someone who wanted to, and very desperately at that, tell her to shut the fuck up.

She couldn't, which was what made it so very fun.

"Certainly not, my dear Vicmira," Uwila rolled her eyes, "you will be the star of the evening. Gods and goddesses will ruin themselves just for the chance to kiss your dainty little hand. Why would you ever think otherwise?"

So you can at least be sarcastic. Vicmira noted that not with bitterness, but with a twisted sort of satisfaction; the kind of pleasure that, perhaps, one could feel upon finding out that the wolf they had been hunting for days did have some fight left in it, and was now baring its teeth. For that alone, I might spare you.

Probably not, though. Might was as much of a promise as a slap was a caress, and Vicmira wasn't feeling particularly merciful besides. Not here, and not now.

For what they'd done, they would all die. One by one, they would be swallowed by the nothingness they'd come from, and she wouldn't so much as wave them goodbye.

"Oh, Uwila," Vicmira all but giggled, "you really are too sweet. Rest assured; once I am a goddess myself, I will remember all that you've done for me."

***

It had been five days, and Vicmira still didn't feel like herself. Five days since Gahnaisto had finally chosen her; five days since she had walked through the temple gates, leaving her old life behind. Maybe I never again will, she thought, It could be part of the price.

As if it already wasn't high enough. Her pride; her dignity; her everything, offered to Gahnaisto on a silver platter. She'd paid, paid, and paid, and just what was it that she'd bought with all of her sacrifices?

Hard to say.

In truth, Vicmira hadn't seen much of the court yet. None of the new followers had. Supposedly, they had to get used their new circumstances first; Uwila had blabbed something about their minds 'not being ready yet' - whatever that meant - and the best solution they had was to blindfold them, lead them each to a separate room, and leave them to their own thoughts. "It is only for a little while, my flower," Gahnaisto had patted her head, "You shall bloom soon, but first, spring needs to come."

It had been a challenge not to scratch his eyes out right then, and the only reason why Vicmira hadn't done it was that her nails weren't nearly sharp enough. So, she'd spent those five days in complete isolation, teetering somewhere between dreams and nightmares. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see things -- images that blended into one another, the way watercolors might if you weren't careful enough with them.

Her mother's face, distorted beyond recognition; the sun hanging high on the horizon, blood-red instead of the usual orange; snow falling from the sky, burning the places where it landed.

Vicmira didn't know whether there was a point to it all, and didn't much care. She just wanted it to end -- which it did, the day before the celebration. 'The rite of spring,' Gahnaisto had called it. She doubted it actually had much to do with that, but, to be entirely fair, Vicmira had the tendency to doubt pretty much everything.

She simply was that kind of person.

But, the one thing she couldn't quite get out of her head?

Uwila's first words, shortly after the feverish haze subsided.

"Now you are ready," the woman had said, her voice ringing with something that, to her, sounded like a distant sort of sadness, "You've taken the first step, my dear."

***

Vicmira put the dress on. Some things, it seemed, didn't change, and it was as true here, among the gods, as it was among mortals that you had to dress for the occasion. A quick look into the mirror told her that, yes, she did look fine. More than fine, actually; the blue of the fabric paired well with the blue of her eyes, and the cut... well, she wouldn't have picked it for herself, but she supposed it did make sense for it to be so form-fitting, given what Gahnaisto was.

Given what she was pretending to be, now.

That she had to play nice was yet another disappointment, but her life had been so full of them that it was likely for the best. Had things actually gone well for once, the shock of it might have killed her on the spot.

It was time to go out, then. Already, the candidates were gathering outside -- a flock of colorful birds, each with different feathers. And of course they were; the point was to stand out.

"Vic! Heeey, Vic!" It was Primula's voice that welcomed her there -- and, because it was Primula, also her hands around her waist. She was a short, dark-haired girl a few years younger than herself - a native of her own village - and Vicmira's heart hurt that she was even there, but it wasn't like she could spread such thoughts much. So instead, she sighed, "Yes, Prim, that is my name. Let go of me, will you? This dress already makes it hard enough to breathe as is."

The look in Prim's big, green eyes was as disapproving as it could get, which, admittedly, wasn't a lot. Even Vicmira could admit she was too cute for these things -- and that became even more true when she puffed her cheeks like that. "How can you sound so bored? Tonight, of all nights! The beginning of everything."

With some luck, it would be the ending.

"I still can't believe we're here together," Prim prattled on happily, "Me, a goddess! I never thought--"

"Sounds on brand for you," a man Vicmira didn't know rolled his eyes, "You clearly don't think much, do you?"

Prim deflated visibly, and, right then, Vicmira decided to add the bastard to her list. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing," he said, in the tone of someone who obviously thought he was much better than them, "Some of us would just like to focus on the task."

"And some of us," she replied pointedly, "Can walk and speak at the same time." That was all the task really was; The Path of Flowers, it was called. If Gahnaisto loved anything more than the sound of his own voice, it ought to be his stupid metaphors. "We will be celebrating spring," he'd said, "Because that is the time of new beginnings. A time for new gods, and new loves alike. And what better way to greet that with than new flowers? Gather some as you go, so that you may bring a suitable gift for your... companion for the night."

Ah yes, companion. That was one way to call them. Vicmira had no illusions regarding just what it was that most of the gods expected from Gahnaisto's candidates, of all people, and 'companionship' seemed fairly low on the list.

Not for the first time, she wished she was strong enough to attract Hamarr's attention instead, but... well, you had to work with the tools you had. Vicmira's smile was one of those, so she did put it on and, indeed, knelt down to pluck a blue winter rose growing near the winding path. There's so many of them. How come?

The spring had barely started; Vicmira could still feel winter's cold kiss everywhere on her skin, the same way she could taste it in the air. And yet, everything here seemed so very much... alive? Of course it does, she reminded herself, Don't fall for their tricks.

It all came down to sweet scents and foul things, in the end. All divine gifts were poisoned.

Vicmira held onto the belief even as she entered what had to be the ballroom, along with everyone else. It was... huge. Huger than most houses she'd been in, with pearly white columns somehow reaching further than an eye could see, and the floor, despite all logic, covered in flowers. The music was light, the melody of it swirling lazily in the air; many couples were dancing already, while others sat behind tables heavy with food. Others still were watching the newcomers unabashedly, half a million questions in their eyes.

'What is it? New toys?'

'I wonder, how long will these ones last?'

'Anyone... interesting, this time around?'

It sent a shiver down Vicmira's spine. This was real; it truly was happening. Her golden chance. All of those people? They really were gods. Gods, like the ones from the stories her mother had told her by the hearth until her mouth was dry and her eyelids heavy. Their hands had shaped the world, nobody else's. She might not have realized it fully before then, but now she did, and--

"Welcome, sweet ones!" Gahnaisto's voice always carried itself well - it had that rich timbre to it - but magic must have helped him here, because, despite him standing on the stage, Vicmira could hear him as well as if he was whispering into her ear.

Ugh! Not a pleasant mental image.

"Welcome to your true home. Drink, eat, and be merry -- whatever your heart desires tonight, it shall be yours. Trials may await you tomorrow and all the days after that, but," he showed a row of perfect teeth, "today is today, isn't it? The only rule is to enjoy yourself... and to bring joy to others, as well as you can. After all, what is a joy that isn't shared?"

More unpleasant mental images. Or, well, not necessarily unpleasant, but in this context? They very much were. The rose suddenly felt like a red-hot brand pushed into her hand, and Vicmira wanted nothing more than to throw it away. That actually getting rid of it was her one fear in this situation was, too, one of life's cruel jokes.

"Go and mingle," Gahnaisto finished, "and choose your companion well."

Ah, there it went. Of course he had to mention it!

Breathe, Vicmira reminded herself, It won't be so bad, just... choose someone who looks disgusted with your very existence. From what she understood, the gods couldn't very well refuse; it wasn't proper, and proper was the name of the game here. If she could help it, she also wouldn't tie herself to a man for a night, but--

Drat!

Perhaps she should have paid more attention. No, she definitely should have; had Vicmira not been so absorbed by her own thoughts, she hardly would have collided with the red-haired woman, as if she'd somehow forgotten that that wasn't how walking worked. "My apologies, lady," Vicmira batted her eyelashes. "I wonder, wherever did I keep my eyes?" That might have been the end of it, but then the voice in the back of her head asked: 'And why the hell not?'

And, indeed -- why not? Whoever the woman was, she certainly looked unfriendly enough. Cold. Unapproachable.

So, Vicmira curved up her lips in a cheeky little smile, "No, don't answer that. I think it might have been your beauty."

With that, she held out the rose -- half a wish and half a challenge.

This is a vampire princess having a normal one:

Francisca D'Ors was familiar with her clichés. 'Be careful what you wish for' might have been her favorite out of the bunch, though -- and not because she thought there was some inherent wisdom in it, but rather because of just how stupid it was. Unlike some other fools that she wouldn't mention (hello, Callum), she knew what she wanted. She knew what she needed, too. How could it be dangerous, then? How could it bring her anything but the deepest of satisfactions as she watched, word by word, as her destiny was being written in front of her eyes?

And let me tell you, that Katie Black would teach her that lesson had not been on her bingo tonight.

Francisca saw the movement before it truly began, courtesy of the vampiric ability to notice even the slightest twitch of muscles. Even so, she felt frozen in time; she felt frozen in space; she felt frozen in her own body, compelled to sit and wait for what she knew was coming. This, the princess figured, ought to be what prey felt like? And it might have been the distant memory of just that, from back when she'd still been human, that kept her in check now, helpless before Katie's... mouth.

Their lips crashed together, turning all of that cold into something that was very much hot. Later, Francisca would tell herself that she only did what she did because she wanted to yelp, but a) that still meant she opened her mouth for the other woman's tongue, and b) if there was any way that could explain the way her hand gripped the fabric of Katie's dress, she would love to hear it because her self-respect was kind of riding on it now. She, uh, supposed there was something appealing about this?

About Katie just... going for it, instead of the eternal 'may I's and 'please, princess's.

About the heat of her body pressed against hers.

About how sharp she was, all rough edges and questionable angles, easy to break your skin against and easier to get addicted to.

The crowd that had formed around them gasped; they would have gasped more had they known that, for a single damnable beat of her long-dead heart, Francisca D'Ors was kissing back.

Dammit! An unexpectedly sharp thought for one who was usually so refined, but perhaps she needed that proverbial knife to cut herself free. The whispers in the background were suddenly all Francisca could think of as she pulled back in a frenzied hurry, all too aware that she had, indeed, fucked up. That there would be consequences. That the human - the infuriating, stupidly kissable human - would never let her live this down, and that, no, not even being dead could save her from this particular kind of death.

Oh. Oh, she was going to faint.

Fine, she wasn't, but she wished she could!

"What are you doing?" the princess finally hissed. She hoped she was all righteous fury, but in truth, she looked more like a kid who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, an impression of which was only strengthened by the fact that she couldn't hide behind her armor of icy perfection anymore. Her hair was disheveled; her cheeks had the faintest hint of pink to them.

And Amelia, being Amelia, naturally burst into laughter, which did not help things at all.

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

And this is one of my characters casually taking down a golem:

The creature may not have known it, but in that moment, Aemilia's sword was her promise to it. 'You'll die,' it said, and it didn't fucking matter that she was dangling on its back via willpower alone or that she didn't have the faintest idea how to do it because she was Darius, and Darius always delivered on his promises. My... weight, she realized somewhere in the back of her mind, Gotta use my weight. Weight was a strength of sorts, too; it was only all too easy to swing her legs and then use that momentum to drive the sword deeper, into the flesh that was waiting under the golden plating.

The flesh that was nice and soft, just like her flesh was.

Not so different in the end, were they?

The golem let out an ear-splitting shriek, but Aemilia didn't hear it. Not really. Rather, what she was hyperfocusing on right now was her wife's voice, reverberating throughout the chamber and saying all the wrong things. 'Over here, you prick! Leave my hot-ass wife alone! Yeah, I'm talking to you!' Gods, that was... painfully Kiri. Aemilia might have laughed, but that was hard to do with her entire life flashing in front of her eyes, along with bonus scenes that hadn't happened yet but would. Kiri, crushed under the mass of gold; Kiri, bleeding out on the floor; Kiri, dying in all the ways that she could imagine and some that she couldn't, all because she'd decided Aemilia could use some help.

When have I ever asked for that? She hadn't! And now the giant was turning around, far too quicker than what should have been possible for something of his mass. The force behind that movement yanked the sword out of the wound and for one breathless, terrifying moment, it almost seemed that Aemilia would follow suit, but her legs knew what to do better than she, herself, did. Somehow, she managed to stay on the creature's back, as stubborn as a rash that just wouldn't go away -- and now her sword was free, ready to strike again.

I have one strike. One strike before the thing reached Kiri. One strike before all her victories turned into ash. One strike before fucking game over, and dammit, that flavor of despair was so familiar Aemilia could have sworn she'd drunk it instead of breastmilk as a child. At least the conclusion was obvious: I need to make it count.

If you asked her right then why she did what she did, the general wouldn't have been able to answer. Later, she would probably tell you things such as: 'Well, I knew that that was where Efthali was,' though as for now? The thought was buried under adrenaline, shining like a constellation in the darkness but no less incomprehensible for it. Regardless, that tiny thread of not-quite-logic was all she had and so Aemilia couldn't help but follow it, driving her sword into one of the cracks surrounding the chest with a high-pitched, horrifying cry.

"Hands off my wife, you bastard!"

Clang!

The gold, its integrity heavily tested, finally gave out. What had once been an impenetrable fortress was now falling apart; golden flakes were raining everywhere, only ever punctuated by the occasional splash of that terrible liquid here and there, and the chest itself--gods, the chest all but slid down the monster's back, with a sound that was somehow both wet and not but 100% disgusting all the same.

The effects of that were immediate. Remember how Aemilia had thought the thing might have been controlled by a puppeteer? If that was the case, the fucker had for sure been hiding in that damned chest because the moment it fell off, her foe paused. And no, it wasn't the 'I need to think for a bit' kind of pause; it just stopped mid-movement, suspended somewhere between life and death, similar to a car that had just run out of juice.

That was it? Seriously?

With her pupils still blown too wide and her heart all but threatening to jump out of her chest, Aemilia did the only thing she could have in that situation, meaning that she canted her head and laughed, till her shoulders shook and then some. No longer needing to focus on staying right where she was, the general's focus wavered and so she did, in fact, fall on her ass pretty much immediately, but that couldn't spoil her mood as she looked up at her wife with stars in her eyes: "That... fuck, that was crazy, Kiri. How are we still alive?"

 

[.quietus]

Bump!