Fantasy The War Never Won (Open, limited spots available)\[T]/

[Master Jaster]

The blur of crimson knocked Maddie back on her heel. Catching herself on the bannister, Maddie felt a jolt of pain shoot up from the back of her foot. “Watch that shit!”


The girl was on her and blubbering before Maddie had a chance to follow up.


"I'msosorryandalil'bitdumbbutthat'sallrightsorry, sorry!"


The girl had taken an off balance step forward in an attempt to help Maddie straighten out, but ended up tripping over herself. She regained her composure quickly and stepped back, eyes darting back and forth across the floor while she anxiously rubbed the base of her neck.


"So uh.... not the best way to meet, huh? I'm Ruby, good to meet'ye, sorry.. again.. for that.."


The mess of blood-red hair that covered her head made Ruby look taller than she was. The girl was several inches shorter and a good deal younger than Maddie. Though she was avoiding eye contact, Maddie sensed a genuine gentleness in her. The sword was the only indicator that she was more than a self-conscious teen on a study break. Maddie wasn’t exactly shocked by the youthful face, but it gave her stomach a bitter twist. She’s a child.


She’d seen lesser people use younger minds for violent causes in the past. Children made the most lethal enemies, as war easily became nothing but a game to them. A bored, egoistic demi-god clearly wasn’t above such exploitation


“It’s fine. I’m Maddie.” She gave the girl a reassuring wave, which seemed to calm her a bit. “I just got here. Room 113.”


The girl looked up, her nervous shell faded. Maddie shook the her hand when she offered it. As expected, the girls grip was much more rigid than her awkward looks implied. "Huh, you sure are good- I mean, fresh looking. You look new here, is what I'm saying. That's fine though, we aren't all ruthless killers!"


Ruby gave Maddie a pat on the shoulder as she finished. Maddie grinned back. Clearly her anxieties about the residents here weren't new to the hotel. Ruby took a step back. "Anyway, I'm in room 121, if you want to know. It's likely that if you're hearing a ruckus, you can smack the ceiling a few times and It'll stop."


Maddie glanced down the stairs past Ruby. The silver was humming against her back. “I’m actually supposed to be meeting the guy with the pointy arms down in the lobby right now. If you need anything, feel free to swing by. Girls gotta’ stick together and all that shit… I’ll see you around.”


Maddie slid past the teen and headed down, sucking her teeth at the words that’d just come out of her mouth. Girls gotta’ stick together… She’d become a Twin Peaks caricature. Jessi’d be so proud.


She rounded the final flight, and the landing opened up onto the lobby. Not far from where she’d left him, the pointy-armed man stood talking with two other warriors: a striking older man, and a young woman fresh from a fight. Her gaze switched between the two new faces, but clung to the weathered, imposing figure of the older man. Dried blood coated his hands, but that wasn’t what held her attention. The sluggish vibe permeating the air around him was calm – controlled. That, mixed with the steadiness in his eyes, made her wary. Maddie stepped off the staircase and moved to one of the armchairs set against the lobby’s wall. Leaning against it, she waited for them to finish.


@TheLoneRook @SniperBus @Cajolions @Semblance

 

[Cajolions]

Lyle and Roark had barely entered the hotel themselves when someone bumped into the doors behind them, coiling through to the lobby on a string of blood.


"Well then—" he turned a smile to this bouncier element of the Warrior veterans club, "pleasant evening Xena?"


Already she was spilling banter, fresh from battle, and coming home. A floor like this could only ever be bleached of its stains, nothing else. What a world for young adults, for strawberry-haired, knife-welding girls, all of them on a steady voice. Or was he being too protective? His twenties hadn't been lacking in cuts and bruises either, though it'd been a different time— one of entirely elsewhere.


"I believe I'll pass on the bet," the young woman from earlier was reappearing at the edge of the stairs. He caught her eyes, just a second. "Was today the cards?"


@TheLoneRook @Semblance @Master Jaster

 

[SniperBus]

"I hope you're wearing gloves, Tony." Len let the vague phrase hang in the air, smiling as he thought back to the first time they'd fought. The burns healed fast, courtesy of War, but Tony's face when his Warbrand caught arcing electricity and conducted it into his body was priceless. Len walked to the close side of the field with an easy, slow stride. His own Warbrand started to rumble through his bag, vibrating and shaking his arm. Chill, a second, would you? The fight's hardly started and I don't really want to be rude. Mrrhmhmhr! Damn straight.





Len transitioned his bag from his hand to over his shoulder, pulling tight the second strap that wrapped around his body like a big ol' warm hug. He didn't fight without his bag. It was a fact. He looked down at his left hand, his Warbrand already beginning to wrap around it with long, thin, metal sheets that formed from mid-air. He shook his arm, the metal plates disappearing as quickly as they'd come. I need my hand, you beautifully disgusting machine. Len looked up from his feet, staring across at where Tony was standing. He was off in the distance, perhaps half a soccer field's length away, talking to somebody. While he couldn't hear a thing, Len could feel that the boy with the whip was trying to be some sort of big shot.


Now, speaking of being rude.. He thought, picking up a couple of small rocks. Delaying a fight at the dirt, now, that's- Len pulled his arm backwards, gripping the rock tightly. He twisted his entire body, putting forward his entire body weight and all his strength into throwing the rock. It hit the dirt about ten feet to the left of the boy. Len sighed, rubbing his eyebrows with both hands. He did the same motion, slightly moving his hand to the right before releasing the rock. Two seconds later, the rock cracked into the back of the boy's shoulder, a bit of blood spurting out. "I'm officially out of lucky shots, you tart! Now do me a favor and spare me from walking over there, yeah?" Len yelled over, rubbing his shoulder-blade with his hand.


I must have a chip on my shoulder, or something.. At least there's not a rock in it! HAH. Oh well.




Ruby was relieved when the woman in front of her was quick to forgive her carelessness. Maddie sure had nice shoes, though. Ruby looked up, finally, offering her hand to be shaken. "Huh, you sure are good- I mean, fresh looking. You look new here, is what I'm saying. That's fine though, we aren't all ruthless killers!" She said with a smile, reaching up and patting Maddie's shoulder. "Anyway, I'm in room 121, if you want to know. It's likely that if you're hearing a ruckus, you can smack the ceiling a few times and It'll stop."


'“I’m actually supposed to be meeting the guy with the pointy arms down in the lobby right now. If you need anything, feel free to swing by. Girls gotta’ stick together and all that shit… I’ll see you around.”'


Ruby soured her face at the awful phrase, trying her best not to laugh. "Yeah, have fun with Leo and the gang, then. I'll see you around." Ruby started her way up the stairs, confident in each step.


That motherfuckin' lamp was being turned off.


@Master Jaster @TheLoneRook

 

[TheLoneRook]

Tony sighed as the boy's rage only stockpiled with the hit from Len. Ever the protagonist, he had a bad habit of escalating situations. The whip-wielding child immediately decided that the stone was an act of war and his glare was cold, but his arm was bleeding quite a bit, and it was clear he wasn't about to leave the Dirt with victory on his shoulders were he to retaliate. Finally acting with some degree of intelligence, he left, his firm walk breaking into a jog as he he hit the forest clearing.


Tony sighed, thankful he didn't have to deal with the little mongrel. He turned to face Len on the far side of the clearing, the now open and uninterrupted space bringing the calm whistling wind of anticipation into play. He released his weapon from its latch to his waist, the sheath's blade pointed to the ground, the lock that held the blade within firmly tightened. Releasing the blade wasn't a deathwish anymore, but it still wasn't something you wanted to happen without preparing for it.


He didn't speak, his tone darkening as the gravity of the situation came down. His body tightened, and then fell loose again, his form almost hushed as he sunk into stance. His blade sat low, pointed up, he watched the world around him. He saw Len's fingers twitching in long-standing habit, his sword begging to be released. The dark of his blank pupil flickered with a memory he found so fond. It was always interesting to see how someone stood, and in a way how they felt, on the brink before battle.


"We should get going. Bel doesn't like it when we're out too late."




Leo blinked at the arrival of a third participant in the quiet evening conversation. He didn't see Xena all that often, but he'd heard her quietly tiptoeing her way into 914, and that was enough to give him an idea of who she was. That said, her first impression matched the reports. Bloodied, cheeky, and filled with a desire to live that most either admired or despised. That said, he at the very least appreciated her personality, uppity people were rare in a business such as this.


"I dunno, she seems pretty competent for a fledgling. She's got a lot more experience than most of who we've been getting as of late. Besides, Arceli, you know betting's never a good idea here."


He remembered when the twelve were the only inhabitants of the hotel. It was his sister who told him all the stories, but everyone was convinced that Marcello would be the first to die. Needless to say, no one won that bet.


From the corner of his eye Roark spotted the new girl quietly housing herself in the living room, patiently awaiting the next instruction. That said, she was watching, listening, even analyzing the three of them. It was interesting to witness, such a calculating eye. Pretty eye, too, he thought before mentally scolding himself.


"Well Mr. Simon, Arceli, I have work to do. Cards are with Azel, but I don't think everyone got one this round. Arceli you might want to wash up, Bel's not exactly in the mood to clean....again."


Politely, Leo backed away from the conversation and turned to the quietly observing fledgling. He motioned her towards the back corridor and took the lead, guiding her through the hotel and out the back door, into the quiet gated garden with not a single living plant in sight. Bel was never a green thumb, and no one else had bothered to take up the craft. He descended the small flight of stairs into the garden and twisted on his heel to face the girl again.


"You're gonna want to make friends here. I can tell that's not something you're keen on, but it's the difference between getting asked to the Dirt versus being killed in your sleep, especially for a fledgling. That said, seems like you haven't gotten a card this time around. We don't know if anyone got a clean-card this round yet, so tonight you'll want to make sure your door is shut. Now then, we're gonna want to do an inspection on your schematics. Figure out what makes your brand tick." The statements were all a bit fast paced, but he almost knew the girl could keep up. She came into the hotel meaning business, so Leo would reciprocate.


"Go ahead and draw your brand."


@Semblance @SniperBus @Cajolions @Master Jaster

 

[Cajolions]

Roark was obviously distracted, but polite enough to hide it, so Lyle slipped their topics away: “Well, if the new cards are important at all, we’ll hear about them soon enough...”


Past Roark’s ear, the young woman had chosen an armchair to weigh on and wait. “And the two of you are predicting away at this poor girl! Personally, I won’t pass judgment, for my own sake.” Civil bird this one. Skillful, perhaps, at being the intruder. The unpleasant role of novelty as scandal.


But she was a pretty bird too, and Leo had more urgent matters at hand; Lyle saw him off with a lopsided nod and watched as they disappeared into the garden.


The door thudded behind them. “And there they go..." Wafts of air invited themselves in, brushing against the floor into their ankles. "You know?--” he turned again to face Xena and rubbed his flaking index against his thumb, “I really think it’s a mistake-- how we do this. Habit builds community and in war so often it helps to cope, but a large part of that has to do with agency. The ritualistic is unbearable without agency, and we get enough of that--” A midi ringtone was coming out of his front pocket. “We get enough of that as it is-- I’m sorry.”


He fished the phone out of his pants and slid it open: Grace. Now was not the time. Catching Xena’s periwinkle eyes once more, taking a breath, he cancelled the call and hid the phone again. "Sorry about that,” he gestured the elevator to his left, “are you going up? If you’re out of first aid you’re more than welcome to borrow. I’ll be staying here tonight, for once.”


@Semblance

 

[Semblance]

"Very pleasant. Although I don't appreciate the cut that goddamn boar managed to get off of me," Xena told Lyle when he asked about her evening, her voice almost insulted that she hadn't managed to escape the fight unscathed. Her bright blue eyes briefly darted to the Fledgeling from before who had reemerged by the stairs. "Yes, cards were today. It's rare that I get someone I know, but today was one of those times," she replied when he proceeded to ask about the cards, the image of her best friend's face on the card appearing in her head. Best friend from her previous life, that is. "I hope War doesn't shit his pants," she added, knowing that she was really starting to push the god's buttons by refusing all these cards.


Xena shifted her attention onto Leo when he joined in the conversation, commenting that the new girl seems pretty competent for a Fledgling. "I'll just have to take your word for it then," she replied. "Oh come on, betting is always fun. How do you think I got twenty bucks last week when we found that squirmy boy's body?" she added, knowing that she was coming off quite crude. However, in Xena's opinion, there wasn't any point nowadays to worry about what other people thought. They were all War's bitches, anyway. Betting was one rare activity that didn't involve violence and killing, so Xena partook in it, mainly to remind herself that there was a part of her, however small, that still had free will.


She nodded in agreement when Leo suggested that she wash up. She knew better than to anger Bel. Xena watched Leo head off with the new Fledgling before shifting her bright blue eyes back onto Lyle. "Whatever suits you," she replied when he abstained from the betting. "Although I have to say that it's more fulfilling than you may expect," Xena added with a glint in her eyes.


She listened to Lyle's thoughts on their current situation, nodding slightly as he spoke. "But people need community, regardless of if it's during wartime or not. It's human nature to crave the company of others," Xena replied with more conviction in her voice than she expected.


She waved her hand at him in a gesture to acknowledge his apology when his phone rang. "As a matter of fact, I have been meaning to ask Bel for more first aid, but it seems like she's not in the best of moods tonight. So I think I'll actually take you up on your offer. Thanks Lyle," she replied with a grateful smile before heading towards the stairs.


@Cajolions @TheLoneRook @Master Jaster (mentioned)

 

[Cajolions]

“You’re very welcome.” Already Xena had started up the steps. “Stairs? Okay then.” Slowly, he moved away from the elevator and joined her. “How many cards has it been you’ve turned down so far? Must be getting to be a few, no?” With every passing floor their view of Jericho through the windows flattened into glowing circuitry. On ninth, there was nothing but sky.


901 was first to the left upon leaving the staircase. The handle clicked under his touch. He pushed open the door, flicked on the lights to the left, reached into the bathroom, flicked them on there. Each buzzing lamp grew to a yellow light in which the room was more landfill than studio. The frame of the bed was fit with engine parts, tucked in between long protruding slabs of polished wood, canes almost to the towers of art books that stood and sighed around, altar to the Garuda mask above it. The Corto Maltese lithograph he would have to turn against the wall: if he were to sleep at all, it would be away from the sailor’s eyes.


He considered apologizing for the mess, and moved into the bathroom. From the mirror cabinet he tossed Xena a bottle of disinfectant and a roll of bandages. “I have needles and string if you’ll be needing that. The disinfectant's strong.” His face reappeared in front of him with a shallow squeak. Did he have a razor here? Chances were there was one lost in the silver toolbox. Tomorrow he’d be leaving early, tomorrow he’d have to have planned, he’d have to be ready-- He washed his hands, washed the sink and dried them both.


@Semblance

 

[Master Jaster]

The layout of the hotel’s interior grew clear as she followed. There was no doubt the building had secrets, but unless it’d be expanding on its foundations Maddie was confident she could make an escape if she had to.


She walked in silence as the man lead her through the hotel’s back door. Behind the hotel was a small gated garden. Unlike the hotel looming over it, the square was unkempt and depressed. The gate was rusted and bent outwards, and many of the spokes that circled the clearing were melted, twisted and snapped. Across the stone patio someone had attempted to grow a rose bush, but the plant was decayed into little more than thorns and cracked branches. The moon’s glow mixed with the light emanating from the building, mixing on the old cobblestones that made up the garden’s center.


For a moment, Maddie was caught by the ethereal beauty of the scene in front of her.


The man passed and spun to face her. "You're gonna want to make friends here. I can tell that's not something you're keen on, but it's the difference between getting asked to the Dirt versus being killed in your sleep, especially for a fledgling. That said, seems like you haven't gotten a card this time around. We don't know if anyone got a clean-card this round yet, so tonight you'll want to make sure your door is shut. Now then, we're gonna want to do an inspection on your schematics. Figure out what makes your brand tick."


He’d dropped a few buzzwords she didn’t quite know the meaning of, but Maddie kept up. She liked that the man was to the point with her. Based on the way the three veterans had looked at her while she’d been waiting, she’d worried she might get written off as another casualty of the war. Maddie shook out her hands and pulled the humming sword out of its bag. At her will, the silver molded itself to her hands. From the palm, a warm glow was already emanating.


“I’m not totally sure how they do it, but so far I’ve had these things stop moving objects, let out these bursts – shotgun like” Maddie held her hands, miming a shotgun for effect, “– and shoot a decent range beam projectile. All three seem to just consist of concentrated energy. Or magic, or something.”


Maddie let a hand fall back to her side, opening the raised one slightly to show the light glowing from its palm. It seemed to be concentrated in a small basin centered in the glove’s palm, where it rolled and twisted like clouds.


“They get pretty hot when I fight. I think it makes them pack more of a punch, but it also really kills your arms.” She added, watching the man’s eyes for any reaction.

 

[Semblance]

"Quite a few," Xena admitted when he asked how many cards she had been turning down. "I despise this needless killing that we were trapped into," she said, her voice filled with bitterness. "That's why I'm always running out of first aid. War's not exactly my biggest fan right now," she added as they reached the top of the stairs. "What about you? What happened with your last card?"


She followed him into his bedroom and caught the bottle of disinfectant and roll of bandages that he threw her. "Thank you," Xena replied gratefully. She took a seat on a wooden chair next to his desk and surveyed her gash, uncapping the disinfectant. "Actually I think I'll be needing your needles and string. This cut looks deeper than I thought it was," she sighed. She always hated stitches.


"Do you mind stitching me up?" she asked him over the sound of the faucet, a little embarrassed by her request. One would expect that she should be skilled at stitching herself up by now, which was true, but she always preferred someone else doing it for her if possible.


@Cajolions

 

[SniperBus]

Len grinned as the boy ran off with his tail between his legs, off the field. The wind kicked up, churning the dust from the top layer of the packed dirt and throwing it around recklessly. Len's clothes rippled in the wind, as if coming alive to such a pleasant touch. The sky was as dark and grim as the occasion, and there was only one thing left to do. He walked forwards, his boots making distinct footprints, telling the world as much as himself what was going to happen.


Len stopped, taking his boots off, and threw them out to his side with his socks bundled up inside of them. He rubbed his arms, working them back, forth, sideways, and around himself as he stretched. He unfastened his bag, setting it down. While his arms and chest were free, he took the time to take off a few coats and shirts, leaving only one of them on. Len grabbed the important items from his coats, cycling them to his bag. When he was done, he threw his coats off to his boots, and carefully fastened his bag back on.


Gravity seemingly came in reverse for a moment, and for a few seconds, Len felt light. He felt easy. But as the bitterness sunk in, his gaze set heavy, he stared down the field at Tony, closing his eyes for several seconds before opening them again. When he opened them back up, his right hand was covered in the glinting, glossy metal of his warbrand. Len looked at his left hand, which was wrapped in the dark, thick leather of his glove.


"We should get going. Bel doesn't like it when we're out too late."





"Oh. Yeah. I guess you're right."


Len took out the flask of amaretto, putting it in the base of the pincer of his Warbrand. He raised his warbrand up, and it seemingly absorbed the alcohol. He put the flask back in his bag, and walked forward.


"So... uh.. I'm not really close enough to sprint to you-" Len looked at the distance between them, it was about ninety feet, now.


"You wanna start walking towards me, maybe do something needlessly flashy, then we fight? Yeah?" Len spoke like it was all a big joke- but he counted the seconds, anxious for the fight. He wanted nothing more than what was about to happen.


@TheLoneRook

 

[Cajolions]

“Don’t mind at all.” He tossed the towel back over the shower curtain and reopened the cabinet. “Can you check for vodka in the minibar?” he asked, and appeared holding out a flask of hydrogen peroxide so she could see the needle and thread swimming around in it. “Just kidding-- I don’t even know if there is a minibar in here… Not a bad antiseptic though.”


“Nothing to pick out?” He glanced into the open wound. No pebbles, no boar scraps. "What's your heal rate for this kind of thing usually? Two or three days?"


Circling the bed, he reached over for the second chair. He lifted it over his head, green selectric typewriter and all, set down the chair and slid the typewriter onto the desk. He asked for Xena’s arm. The needle slithered out of the flask like an eel from formaldehyde.


“War has been doggedly trying to--” He secured his rugged grip on her arm and drove in the needle. “Trying to run me out of my shop. Tell me what you think of the depth, I’ll try to be quick.” He tied a first knot into her skin. The dark color of the thread, which was appropriate usually, was unfortunate here. “I had to report someone else’s safe house to the CWI.”


@Semblance

 

[TheLoneRook]

Tony chuckled. Ever the casual soul, the quip got him out of the zone of dark mind he tended to put himself in when he was fighting. That said, they had work to do.


He started walking, admittedly the Dirt always set up a scene for some sort of charge between opponents, but the two of them had been at this much too long for such formalities. He watched him, though, his eyes far, around, within. The hand encased in metal was tense, waiting, the other arm was ready to get the hell out of the way, having learned its lesson after almost being sliced in two once before. His feet shifted in the dry earth, always a bit more nimble outside of his boots, it was interesting watching the way he approached a fight. Nothing but trying to remember steps of a dance he'd almost forgotten....almost.


Tony gave his blade a little twirl as the gap closed. 40. 30. 20. He walked with a stride, never the type to stall out these sorts of things, at least not too much. He choreographed his assault in his head, running the plans over and over, what worked, what certainly didn't. Watch the grip, that's the part that always tends to make things painful. Don't trip on the down swing, whatever you do, do not trip on the down swing. The gap was coming to a point of lapse. 10, 9, 8. There wasn't any time to keep thinking.


Tony went straight for the thrust. Quick, vicious, cold, the blade humming through the air as it shot. The kidneys healed fast with War's curse as it was, he'd be fine if things went that way. It was a simple move, but the simple move was the best way to lead in to these fights. Anything flashy would just be showing a hand to someone who already has bad memory. For now, it would have to work.




Leo nodded as the girl explained, the beginnings of a smirk twitching on the sides of his mouth as he saw just why Azel threw him to her. It was a bit of deja vu, the problems she had with her weapon.


"It deploys on command, the force. It's not a typical command though, there's no word to speak or specific muscle to clench to get it to respond. It recognizes action. If you have an idea of what you want it to do, and that idea is within its capabilities, you can then execute that idea. For instance..."


Leo pointed to the wilted roses at the back of the garden, and then extended his open palm towards them. Slowly, but gradually, a spike from his palm extended all the way until it gently pressed a dead petal. Within a fraction of a second, the spike then shot back into his hand, causing his arm to jerk back slightly. "If you know what you want to do, you can do it. It all comes down to if your body is willing to take it. My recoil probably isn't nearly as powerful as yours, but the thing you want to do with that is try not to fight it. If you need to knock a car out of the air, let the blow send you back. When you try to hold your ground after something like that is when your arm shatters." he explained, pressing a finger to the glossy sphere on one of Maddie's gauntlets. "The heat, that's just something that comes with the territory of these machines. Difficult to avoid without cutting down on your abilities, which you definitely don't want to do, so best just to get used to it."


Leo took a few steps back, his arms crossing over each other as he sized the girl up a second time, warbrand and all. She was confused, but it wasn't the shock and bafflement of most. It was quiet, controlled. "Any questions?"


@SniperBus @Master Jaster

 

[Master Jaster]

Maddie nodded. She brought her hands back to rest by her side. The man was looking her up and down again. Seeing his warbrand in action, knowing that he knew hers inside and out at this point... it made her feel naked. Unconciously, she crossed an arm over her stomach and wrapped it around the opposite wrist. She wasn't quite ready to think like that. The silver of her warbrand slipped from her hands and reformed into its original state.


"No, I think pretty much set." she said, not dropping her eyes. "Thanks for the help. I never got your name?"


The man took pause before responding. "Roark. Leo works too, but that's not a name I hear very often."


Maddie nodded.


"Alright, unless there still isn't time for it I'd very much like to lie in a real bed for a bit." Maddie turned to the hotel, but stopped herself. It was better to get it out now. "... this War guy. There's no chance anyone's got an inclination towards killing the fucker, is there?"

 

[SniperBus]

The distance closed in, and Len sucked in one more breath before it all happened. Tony was in front of him now, moving with purpose. And suddenly, it started. Tony plunged towards him, closing the distance nearly instantly, moving his sword towards him- point first, towards his midsection. Now that's a low blow. Len couldn't imagine how he looked, laughing at a time like this. A thrust is one of the more.. difficult moves to counter with a pair of pincers as the main weapon, which means that Tony probably is planning a follow-up, just to ruin my day and make the fight end. Too bad! Len turned the smooth side of the pincers towards the tip of the sword, disregarding trying to grip the blade. That never ended well.


Let's set this show on fire, then.. Len flicked the match out from behind his finger, striking it against his shirt and raking it across his claw in one movement. Immediately, the pincer burst into a glowing, blazing inferno. The pincer took the properties of the alcohol well then, I suppose. Len shifted his weight, rotating his entire body sideways. Likeliness is, the tip of Tony's sword will slip off of the smooth surface of the pincer and into the gap between the claw and finger. That would be game over, for sure. Otherwise, Tony's sword will miss, going into the space I was just standing. Afterwards, he'll probably do a sweep to get me to trip on my own feet- which are twisted themselves, currently. He might over-swing. He might smack me with his sheath. Play it by ear, prepare to do something unexpected. Move quickly. Maybe the fire will keep him away. Perhaps I'm hallucinating, but I can see it in his eyes. If he thrusts again, am I prepared for that? What if he slices upwards, sending me off my feet and backwards? Too much to account for..


Not enough time.


@TheLoneRook

 

[TheLoneRook]

Tony's poker face in the heat of combat was impeccable, and his awareness probably too keen for his own good. The match was expected, but not this early. Len was on the defensive, but he was trying to pull intimidation tactics with someone he knew all too well, and that was a mistake of his own. Needless to say simple thrusts and wicked swings would do little for him. This was a game of control, not power. Both combatants could easily defeat the other with a simple strike, if given the opportunity. The battle was simply for that opportunity.


Tony's thumb hit the lock that held his blade within its weaponized scabbard. The press was quick, the lock disengaged. The world went red. Wind and angry red aura came leaping from the blade for little more then a splitsecond, the angry magic left Tony littered with little nicks and cuts across his body and clothes, but the massive surge did all that he asked for. The flames brought on by the alcohol in Len's pincer were subdued, and the blow, similar to Len's own actions, was more of an act and less of an attack. The lock was set again, the blade's fun spoiled. Separated by what some would call a combatant's distance yet again, Tony pulled back, wiping off blood from under his eye. Unveiling the true sword was something that had to be done carefully, but Tony was comfortable with his ability to control it. Even still, using it was always a very cautious effort.


If he had continued his assault, Len would have had the upper hand, literally. His ace in the hole was his ability to catch most weapons and quite comfortably tear them away from their wielders, if not with the arm that wields them. Being too aggressive meant giving him more opportunities than he should really be able to have. He checked Len's footwork, he seemed mostly unscathed save for the cuts and scratches that the red blade liked to give at a distance. Now was just a game of patience, he held his sword firm, poised to parry.




"Roark. Leo works too, but that's not a name I hear very often."


...


Leo's casual attitude faded with the question. He crossed his arms, and it seemed like the metal of his warbrand almost stood on edge, the plates shivering up to a jagged ridge. "Everyone thinks about it. Few think they can actually pull it off, and fewer know that it's next to impossible. The thing is, he barely shows himself to begin with. The only time anyone has ever seen him is when he gives out his little presents. No one's ever so much as gotten a glimpse of him otherwise. He's got the world in his pocket, that's why the city isn't being evacuated, that's why the CWI only gets a lead once every few weeks, if even. This is his playground, we're the little ants in his sandbox. The people who work here at the hotel have fought him before, and their...boss...was glad to find them alive. So, I'm sure this is something you've already figured out, but if it were that easy, we'd have been done with this whole thing a long time ago."


He took a deep breath, the idea was enough to make his stomach churn. War made the weapons they used out of what he considered scrapmetal and paperclips. Weapons that to them were godlike, to him were toothpicks. That alone was enough to tell him just how much of a bad idea attacking the head of the snake would be. The plates of his armor settled, and he ran a hand through his hair in nervous habit. Her eyes had that same quiet fire, begging for a shot. Eerily similar, equally haunting.


"You'll want to stay up a bit longer. The fledglings should be asleep soon, which means anyone who wants to try something is getting to the point of deadly courage." he said, leaning back on the brick wall of the hotel. His calm attitude was sliding back into place, but she was still putting him off. That was just what girls did to him, he concluded.





@Master Jaster @SniperBus

 

[Cajolions]

Following the coming and going of the thread through her skin, Lyle listened to the girl comment through gritted teeth. “He had you rat someone out.” She was pulling her focus away from the stitches. “That’s stupid. It's not like he'd need you to…” A tug, and the string came through. “And so-- you did it?”


Lyle stopped an instant, needle in hand. He parted his lips, closed them. “No. I didn’t,” and after that they fell silent.


He tied a knot at the end of the path sewn across her wound and let Xena bandage it herself. While she stretched the gauze around her arm, he went to open the curtains, revealing a dusty sky and a moon, a metal balcony table, a mess of sun-bleached plastic crates, the star-shaped ashtray a child had once made for him, rain-filled and dirty. Xena had risen from her chair.


“So… thanks again.” He nodded in response, already feeling for his zippo. For an instant, he considered offering her a cigarette.


“If you need anything else, don’t be shy. Go heal up,” and he smiled, thinking perhaps he’d been too cold, and watched as she returned her own tight-lipped platitude, and slipped through the hotel door, and closed it behind her. The lithograph continued to smirk at him from behind its coat collar.


On the open balcony, the air was fresh. With one hand Lyle picked at the paint on the railing, with the other he tapped cinders into the garden below to meet the voices of Leo and the young woman fledgling halfway. The expression “new blood” came to mind. He remembered the phone in his pocket, and decided he'd find time to chat with her. He’d been thinking up advice of his own. Over six years, there was time to. In the meantime, he sent ashes.

 

[Master Jaster]

Roark's words rolled about her head as she climbed the hotel staircase. Things were starting to clear up. The concept of forces beyond the physical universe – forces she could now perceive and harness – was still at work dismantling her older philosophical state of being, but this news that War had been fought, that there were those who could reach and influence him… She looked down at the hilt of the silver sword poking from her bag. This wasn’t about survival anymore. She had something to work towards.


As she turned off the stairs through the door that led to her hallway, she caught her foot on a bag lying in the middle of the carpeted floor. She turned to shake the strap from her foot, and realized that the owner was right next to it. It was a boy younger than Ruby, with his head cradled against his knees. He sat leaning against the side of the hallway, shaggy, unwashed hair falling in front of closed eyes. He was motionless besides his shoulders shakily rising and falling with his breathing. By Maddie's feet, some of the contents of the bag had rolled out, and to no surprise, a silver hilt was among those spilling from inside. Maddie stopped there, the door the the staircase silently swinging shut, and watched the boy’s still body.


///


She could hear Jessi talking from her desk. It was an evening in July that last summer, just after they’d finished visiting Jessi’s brother. Jessi’d liked to draw afterwards.


“He can’t help being the way he is. The same way you can’t help being a bad mother fucker.”


Maddie had smiled that. In her head she was tearing things apart; biting, punching – splintering all of it to pieces. “You still think he can change, though. I don’t get it.”


Maddie finished inking the the last frame of the current page Jessi’d passed her, and handed it back. Without looking up, Jessi replaced the page from Maddie’s hand with a new one. It was the seventh page of the comic Maddie had inked out that night, and her fingers were starting to cramp. She started on the top panel without pause, not giving her hands a chance to start trembling. The page started with a wide of the protagonist's pet Nāga (which was essentially a lizard-dog).


“I mean, I don’t think he’s just gonna change on his own.” Jessi looked up from the comic strip and out the window beyond her desk. “The only thing I can do is keep trying. There are monsters out there, but there are people too. People change.”


Jessi had turned to Maddie after this, but Maddie’s eyes were on the comic. Maddie remembered Jessi’s sigh so clearly from that night, as she turned back to her sketch. Tired, acquiescent, but still hopeful. Still patient.


You were right about so many things…


///


The boy was looking back at Maddie from the floor. His darkened eyes had a starved look to them, scared and desperate. “You got a fucking problem?”


Maddie stepped back, watching as the boy hastily gathered his things and stood. He backed towards the staircase door, clutching his bag close with on arm and scrambling for the handle with the other. Maddie watched carefully, tensely until the door as it swung closed behind him. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She stood there like that for a moment, then turned and continued towards her room.


She was tired, and it was late.

 

[Cajolions]

Grace’s voice always seemed to tiptoe out of the phone; Lyle was glad he’d decided to call her. The two of them together were slow speakers, mellow toned. The chip of moon above him seemed ready to open and deliver something in Hainan chinese, distant and familiar, between its teeth. Perhaps, like the two of them it would say it in smoke.


"No… No, I haven't gotten a postcard from her in a while… The one from Turkey I did get. Mine was calligraphy art. Hm." He repositioned his finger over the broken corner of the ashtray, from blue glaze to naked clay. He could hear his brother-in-law watching late night TV in the background. "Right— and do you know when she’ll be back? Oh, Singapore, well! With the symphony orchestra, that’s nice. Real nice. Maybe I should call her sometime and—”


He shifted in his chair, checked the phone. "Grace?” His cigarette was coming to an end. “Sorry, the service is shit here. No— on a walk. It's fine, now's good. No, I'm going to be a bit busy tomorrow, I have... a client who— Grace?” He checked the screen again. “Grace?”


He sighed, and crushed the cigarette, letting the tone go on before sliding the phone shut. There was better reception downstairs. He wouldn’t call back. He had to clean out the bed. All the crap behind him had to go if he wanted to sleep. The mattress was still up against the wall, the gauze and the antiseptic and the typewriter…


The room locked behind him for all the hall to hear in its sleep. The carpet too, would snooze despite the light and attempt to forget, feeling safe under the watch of knots and seashells in wooden frames. Lyle looked around: his axe was not calling to him from inside the walls. He turned a right into the staircase, and a whisper rose from the second floor. He let it pass, continuing his descent down to the lobby.


The concierge’s office was a small room behind the reception desk. Slipping around the counter, he peered through the door window, knocked twice, waited, then knocked again. "Mody?"

 

[TheLoneRook]

Shuffle.


Deal.


An ace and a seven. Darn, not a four.


Pass.


I lose.


Mody grumbled to himself and picked up the cards he'd dealt for himself. He always losed to the dealer, except he was the dealer, which meant he always beat that silly Asmodeus, he wasn't any good at cards.


A knock at the door came. A visitor. He smelled of smoke and ash, the air tasted of iron, devoid of blood for a change. Simonlyle. Lylesimon? Asmodeus was not good with names.


He pulled on his crisp black leather gloves and adorned his favorite bowler hat. He set the monacle he'd been given by his sister onto one of his eyeholes, tidying himself up before approaching the doorway and giving it a gentle swing open.


Asmodeus was 4 inches and 4 feet. He had eye holes in his cloth that were 4 centimeters in diameter, and his cloth had four pointed sections, one in front, one in back, and two on the sides. His cloth was made of silk, a dark purple, almost black, but not black, not quite. He wore it because it helped people see him. He was hard to see sometimes. Death called him a "sheet ghost" sometimes, which he didn't mind, Death was silly.


Mody's hand floated high above his head in an energetic wave, his arm almost impossible to make out, its clear fluid form visible only under the sheen of a distant lamp. "Simonlyle, come to visit Mody while I do the workjob. Very nice, very kind. What can me do for Lylesimon?"





@Cajolions

 

[SniperBus]

Len untwisted his feet and stepped back as soon as Tony unhooked his sword. He could've braced for it, but it would've hardly helped. The massive gust of wind made the fire burn down to just flickering heat going across the claw. Tiny cuts flickered across his pants and shirt, and tiny red lines went up and down his arms as he was given cuts from the sword. Most of them were too shallow to bleed, but the lemon juice as a successful form of combat was definitely seeming viable. Time to do it, I'm not just going to stand around and wait.





Len planted his right foot in the dirt, pressing down on it. I can't just show him I'm going to charge, so I guess I won't. In one movement, the zipper on his bag opened, he feinted going forwards, then the warbrand on his right hand disappeared, and a knife took its place which was quickly thrown at Tony. Following this up, his warbrand took over his left hand, and Len stepped backwards a little bit, making sure his form was kept. The knife might fly into Tony, it might not. It would definitely have a better chance of hitting if Tony thought he'd charge, for sure.


Len took an object from his bag, small enough to be blocked from Tony's view by his hand, and put it into the left pincer. Len then, his right arm crossed across his body, slid another knife into his hand from his bag and threw it at Tony. This is probably more annoying than it is a threat, it was kinda obvious when I was gonna throw it that second time. That pause between throwing it really killed the surprise, huh. I'm too passive to fight someone as experienced as me.


@TheLoneRook

 

[Cajolions]

The door to the concierge’s office swung open, and released Mody’s glinting monocle, riding on a flurry of purple cloth. Lyle responded to the ghost’s billowing hello with a modest wave and attempted first to harbor in its eyes to his own.


“Mody I-” he stopped, and passed his hand over his scalp. “I'm sorry to bother you at this hour, but I’d like to take a look at the files and death reports. There’s something I need to check-- want to check.” Directive speech was significantly harder to maintain with the hard working and disembodied than with his 20-something-year-old employees.


“A warrior should have stopped checking in recently-- maybe a month ago. No more than two years branded. Young, righteous idealist, curly hair, tattoos, chainsaw… You know,” he raised his eyebrows, “the leaving type. Would you have any recollection of someone like that?" He could hear the clock above the reception desk marking away the seconds.


@TheLoneRook

 

[TheLoneRook]

Mody's left hand stroked his nonexistent chin while his right hand flew back into his office, hurriedly opening filing cabinets and rolling its index finger through report after report. Though he did have a hard time with typical conversation, it was his job to be able to identify any Warrior with the smallest glance of a hint. He produced the file within a few minutes, his hand rushing back to his body, opening it for a read himself.


"Rileydaniels. Wabrand listed as "Ripjaw", class C, no recognized development. 4 weeks ago (yes four), Rileysimon was pinned with a Hero's Rule, being the first Warrior to ever receive a rule below class A. Last recorded check-in, five days later. Analyst Asmodeus (oh me) was unable to confirm the specification of the Hero Rule before her departure."


Mody scrolled through the rest of the file details before flipping to the last page. The ghost of a being nodded and turned the report to face Lyle, the only thing on the paper being a sketch of a silver sword, its saving grace sigil emitting a faint red light.


"Blade live, girl alive."


Mody tried his best to focus on the positives, but whoever this person was, they'd been effectively marked for a terrible life.


The Hero's Rule was a curse given to Warriors who managed to obtain immeasurable power. In ancient times, heroes of myth and legend would have rules set for them to limit their potential and lower them to the state of mortals. Same idea. If a Warrior managed to fulfill enough cards to obtain excessive amounts of power, War bestowed them with a rule or set of rules that had to be followed to the letter. Breaking the rule at any point in their life meant death, or a torture that could call itself death and get away with it. Typically, Warriors who were given the Hero's Rule abandoned the hotel and avoided other Warriors, considering the level that they fought at could cause enough collateral to level a city block in some cases with ease. That, or they abandoned Death's good graces and followed War, driven mad with hunger for power, or fighting for some other more personal reason.


One thing was always consistent until that point, heroes were incredibly strong.


So why did this low-ranking girl find herself stuck with a Hero's Rule?


Mody, the keeper of the knowledges himself, was befuddled. Perhaps this girl was hiding her actual potential, or perhaps she'd struck a deal she couldn't keep. Either way, it was enough to stir confusion in just about anyone.




Tony's predictions of the events to follow his lockbreak technique were mostly correct. Len was all to familiar with Psykronis and what it was capable of, and was sure to keep a healthy distance. The paradigm among the two combatants had changed as it was now Tony preparing a means of countering whatever it was Len was preparing. The first knife took little more then a shift to the left to avoid, the second had a more accurate placement and required a gentle flick from his poised blade to remove it from play. Both were distractions, Len knew that, he knew that, the only question was why. Len had produced something in his hand, but was quick enough with the knives to keep Tony's eyes from getting a good glimpse. Of course, knowing was half the battle, and Tony's thumb found its way to the lock of his true sword, patiently awaiting its worst case scenario.


The two had found themselves in a tango of movement, Tony pressing forward while Len jumped back. Now, the direction changed, as Tony began to open the gap between them so as to give himself more time to deal with whatever it was Len was planning. He was never really known for being caught by surprise, but he was also well known for never making assumptions of what an opponent was capable of. His game was patience, caution. It was what made him truly lethal amongst the crowd of anxious and arrogant Warriors he so often found himself pitted against.


That and his sword's only ability was to shred people into bloody dust where they stood, but he tried his best not to dwell on that part of the equation.


@SniperBus @Cajolions

 

[Cajolions]

Lyle almost took the file into his own hands. The sigil --this girl, Riley, her saving grace-- seemed to breathe, a gentle red fern on the hilt of a locked warbrand. "Blade live, girl alive,” the ghost confirmed, and so it seemed.


He barely remembered what the Hero’s Rule meant, what it could entail. He remembered only the face of the girl, a glimpse, the fork tines of eyeliner on tan skin, her tattoo a botanical hand slithering out of her jacket, narrowing around her neck, a distant shot by an amateur photographer, a sliver of paper with the CWI informant number, sent with the red-lettered order to ‘find her place and squeal.’ He’d never once seen the girl in person. He hadn’t done it-- why was he so convinced she’d be dead?


“Hm.” Mody rustled, and Lyle sniffed, thumbing an instant through the rest of the file. “How the fuck did she do that, d’you think?” He caught her age as it flipped by: twenty-two, young like the lot of them, and half-portuguese. Behind Asmodeus, were rails and rails of facts like these. You opened an orange cardboard and you were naked.


He looked up. “Mody, again, thank you. I’ll leave you to your cards. That’s all I needed to know.”


There was a cool wind slipping from under the door when Lyle returned to 901; he could see the open window before he even entered. Nothing had moved, though the hotel curtains were only now scampering back into the room. The card, he found sitting between the keys of the typewriter, embossed as always with his saving grace. He hesitated before picking it up.


“Make her disobey.”

 

[SniperBus]

Len flicked a match into his hand, and as he did so, struck it across his fingernail. The match blazed to life, and he put it in his left-hand pincer. He pushed his feet into the ground, bracing his inner elbow with his right hand. As the loud hissing noise intensified, he ducked his head down and away from his left hand. He angled his wrist slightly down, waiting for the explosion. It hesitated, and just as Len thought it was a dub, it rocketed out, pushing him backwards and jerking his hand away. A brilliant red trail emitted from the firework, a modified 3" 'artillery' shell, and it crashed against the ground, bouncing up and exploding ten feet past Tony on his left. The burning chemicals raced out in all directions, some of them landing on Len's own shoulder and leaving burns.


Immediately, Len ran at Tony, throwing one knife as he started gaining speed. As his hand moved back into position from throwing the knife, his right-hand pincer formed, elongating and becoming thinner rapidly. When it got to about six feet in length, he twisted his body to the right, planting his right foot firmly in the ground. He then brought all of his muscles together and shifted his weight, bringing his pincer, firmly clamped shut, swinging at high speed towards Tony's torso. One day I might be able to put so much force into it that when someone does catch it, I take them with me.. Probably not.


@TheLoneRook

 

[TheLoneRook]

Tony wasn't surprised when the shell was revealed, but he wasn't exactly happy either. Thankfully, it had no barrel from which to fire and ended up blazing off into the distance, the products of its explosion were little more than more burns on his skin that he was already accustomed to. On the other hand, Len was moving now, and quickly. The knife was another distraction, swatted away with ease. Len was still moving however, no plans, now came the action.


His footing was sure, his speed only increasing with time. His claw was forming into less of a tool and more of a blunt-force object, and it was clear his aims were for reach and sheer force of weight. Tony's sword packed a punch that could obliterate the average...well he hadn't quite found the limit point, but it sure as hell wasn't particularly heavy. Attempting to parry a swing at the level Len was readying would more than likely make for an excellent lesson on physics, more than anything. He didn't have the time to come up with a better plan, Len was moving all too fast.


The swing came quick, planted and sure, but the great thing about large weapons was their surefire ability to telegraph someone's moves. Tony's body fell to the ground, as the strike followed through. The bottom of the pincer grazed his hairline by about a centimeter.


The force of the swing sent Len's arm past any sort of recovery and his back was exposed, Tony pulled himself back to his feet and with a simple one two three, placed a well-planted boot on Len's rear and pushed his momentum right into the dirt. He sighed, glad that he wouldn't be healing eight broken ribs that night, admittedly panting from the rush of such a close call.


"Next time.....use the bad liquor for the fire trick...."


He helped Len up with a quick yank and stowed his blade on his hip, and as War shook his proverbial head in disappointment the two walked away form the Dirt with little more than cuts and bruises. Not that either would admit it, but they were both very comfortable with the conclusion of the situation.




Night had taken the city soon enough, and as the Warriors finally found their way into a state of rest, Death himself found himself atop his hotel, fidgeting with his hat as he gazed out at the quiet skyline. Thunderclouds were rolling in, and the beginnings of rain began to dribble against his shoulders until moments later he was soaked to the core, not that being cold was something he ever worried about.


A figure stood next to him, the hood of her raincoat bouncing with each new drop that struck her, a soft smile on her face as she silently enjoyed the view alongside her companion.


"The coat is a bit defeatist, don't you think?" Death said, his spiraling eye stuck on a couple whispering sweet nothings on a street corner. The figure giggled, swaying to and fro with a childish contentment. "At least what I'm wearing is appropriate in places outside of a wedding and an opera."


"You forgot about funerals."


The figure's smile quieted, but only briefly. "Yeah, I guess I did."


The figure took a step closer to Death, her hand gently edging out towards his, taking it and clutching it gently, as if making sure it was still there. "I'm not just going to stop seeing you because you want me to." she said, her voice calm, as if there was nothing more to the discussion past that. Death sighed, and his black hand curled around hers. "I don't have a lot of free time, with work. I know you can just set up the schedules and let them run, but I have to be out making sure everything's taken care of. Not to mention things in the city are changing. Something's happening, something's beginning to happen." Death replied, his grip was tight.


"Your visit might just be a terribly ironic backdrop, my love."


The figure chuckled, resting her head against the reaper's shoulder.


"We'll hope it isn't, for your sake."