... Is joke.
You said sorry for tickles, so...
Unless that wasn't supposed to be Rachel saying "sorry can't help it" in which case the forgiveness was never brought up in the first place and she just dried her hair and stuff.
"Nah, like I said, it works my orange hair into the outfit. Thanks, Mintbalm."
Kate seems slightly awkward for some reason. It's nothing horrible, but just slightly awkward.
Maybe it's the fact that Mintbalm just changed into a short black dress which would be immensely overdressed even if this was some kind of romantic outing. You can tell it's not a romantic outing because Kate isn't abandoning ship faster than you can say "Antidisestablishmentarianism".
"Er... Mintbalm, that's a bit overdressed."
See? She's not even so awkward that her social skills are breaking down. That means that she's less awkward than most times she meets a stranger.
"Huh?" Mintbalm looks down curiously, then shrugs, "I guess, but it was just easier to make the robes into this instead of splitting them up into pants and a shirt. Breaking things apart like that never goes right, and I'd have to hem them as well... Bleh, it's just a mess. It'd be less frustrating just to make new clothes, but making them at this size takes up a bunch of energy, and I don't want to be nodding off in the middle of the movie." See? Minty didn't want to make you uncomfortable Kate, she was just doing the quickest and easiest thing she could come up with so that they could go out.
"I could cheat and multiply some dust I guess, but I'd rather do that outside. Making so much pixie dust in an enclosed space can cause build up, and then all kinds of weirdness can happen."
"Just general fey stuff. When pixie dust evaporates, the magic doesn't disappear, it just turns into gas-stuff and floats off. If there isn't room for it to float, then it'll just build up like any other gas and get more and more dense. You remember all the bright colours in the Land Between where I used to live? That's one example of really dense magic. All your senses get sharper while you're in it, even if you don't notice at first. Oh! And manmade stuff tends to kind of naturalize itself if it gets really bad. The only electronic stuff that was normal in the Land was all protected by the upside-down clouds, remember? Even your leg-thingies got turned into crystals and stuff." That's about all the pixie knows about fey magic buildup, besides the obvious "turns things into fey eventually" that pretty much everyone knows.
Once they get outside, Mintbalm will draw a little circle in the air with a pinch of dust, and force a single mote of the sparkling magic through it, multiplying it a thousand times from one side to the other. The cheated dust quickly solidifies into a pair of beige shorts and a forest green tank top.
"There, want me to go back real quick and change?"
Mintbalm may be interrupted by the RooMag suddenly zipping past and landing on top of a table lamp.
"I wonder if I can take that into Eliza... well, maybe I can figure out how to re-start it and see if that fixes it."
"It's still cleaning stuff, right? So long as it doesn't hurt anyone zipping around like that, there's probably no harm in leaving it be." Live and let live says Minty, as she heads into the bathroom to quickly change. She tosses the black dress over the silk outfit as she leaves, coming out in something that more closely matches her usual attire.
In many ways, Riv is a better boss than you'd think. Constantly yelling, perpetually angry, unimaginably unreasonable and a truly worthless human being, yes. But at least his employees don't have to face an eternity of being torturously butchered and then dragged back to their life of servitude. If I was stuck doing grunt work for either of the two, I'd pick Excelsior over AMEN any day.
That said, don't mistake any of that for kindness on Riv's part. He's simply too apathetic and drunk to devote more effort than a slew of curse words or spiteful kick in tormenting his minions.
So no, being turned inside out and disassembled alive is definitely the worst thing to over befall poor Lawrencium and Borium, and they scream wretchedly for as long as they have the lungs to do so.
Riv, Riv just starts running like all hell's at his back, a more or less accurate assessment of the situation. He's heading for the huge steel door to the airlock, which has already begun to creak open to facilitate his escape. Which in turn would indicate other eyes on the scene looking to help their 'fearless' leader. Clarissa might wish to finish her business here ASAP. Reinforcements are on the way.
And through all this, Day's been slowly recovering from taking the brunt of a lead hailstorm. Already the shallower of his wounds have vanished, leaving only streaks and splotches of red on otherwise perfect skin in their wake, while the steady flow of blood from his more serious injuries is dwindling to a halt.
Doing grunt work for AMEN or Excelsior... Yuck! Isn't there a third option? Like, I dunno, filching everybody's stuff or smashing a bunch of dudes and living at GLoG as a villain in the redemption program?
And Riv isn't running away! Oh no! He's bravely advancing in the other direction! Charge, Riv! Charge!
I remember Riv before Excelsior. He battled in that arena-thread all day every day. He was pretty darn social too! What happened to the good ol' days, Riv? Where did all that time go?
Riv is free to escape! Lawrencium and Borium, on the other hand, aren't even free to die! Nope! Clarissa attempts to reform into her humanoid vessel, effectively reversing her transformation, before attempting to weave a powerful healing spell and cast it on what little remains of Lawrencium and Borium. She desires Lawrencium and Borium to live on to tell the tale of what befalls people who shoot at her and people she favors. If all that transpires does so according to her design, Lawrencium and Borium should heal slowly over the course of a week or two.
And now it is time to lend Day a helping hand! Clarissa attempts to cast a rapid heal serious wounds on Day and slip a key into one of his pockets. A key to the chocolate truck!
And she attempts to whisper a sentence or two to him in a soft voice that might be fly under the radar of the eavesdroppers and be registered as inaudible. Then again, it may not. It isn't magical or anything special. It is simply quiet.
"If you're ever near Inside and require assistance, you know where to find me. AMEN."
Clarissa will be porting out in my next post, probably!
Oh, plenty. The loss of his powers, his arm, then his memories. A failed attempt at actually helping people. A million little indignities agitating an already dangerously instable mind. Phil. The worsening of an already severe drinking problem.
But let's not worry about him. It's Clarissa who should be worrying. 'cause porting outta here? Not an option. The whole base past the airlock is under the effects of an high-powered anti-teleport field, keeping transit in or out limited to the old fashioned, out-dated method of walking.
Or flying. Or, say, diving into an elevator shaft and using your wings to slow the descent at the last possible second, allowing for a landing that might not qualify as 'graceful' but still keeps both legs intact. And any landing you can walk away from is a good enough landing in Icarus's book.
The winged supersoldier crashes onto the lift between Clarissa and his younger brother, staggering slightly before righting himself into a fighting stance. A variant of muay thai if you want to be specific. And slung over one shoulder is the most curious weapon, somewhat like a flamethrower, a canister clipped into a metal frame and hooked up to a nozzle by a series of clear plastic tubes. However, it lacks the 'pilot light' used by flamethrowers to actually ignite the fuel.
The Cat Burglar by Ghar. Thanks!
Oh yeah. Phil. He was the catalyst for Excelsior's isolation and isolation policy, wasn't he?
... Khaaaannnn! Phiiiillllll!
Dangit! Icarus actually took the time to read Day's reports on Clarissa! That's...that's frightening. Clarissa's weaknesses might've been spelled out therein but...why would anyone waste their time reading or even skimming a report on a combatant that he/she probably would never-ever face? Because that's a freeze ray/freeze cannon/ice thrower he's armed with! And that's bad news for Clarissa! Very, very bad news!
So... That leads me to the conclusion that Icarus is...reading reports...for...fun? Yikes!
Time to gum up the works! Clarissa attempts to sling a glob of thick, viscous black adhesive up the barrel of the ice thrower.
"Do we really have to do this or can I gift you a key to a chocolate truck and take my leave. You guys shot first, and I could try cutting through your lines, but I'm not in the mood right now, y'know."
Clarissa isn't being cheeky like Spiderman. She's being fantastically sincere! But if it is a fight Icarus wants, it is a fight Icarus will get.
Or, just maybe, Day coulda read the reports while he was studying the sample of Clarissa Prometheus sent him. They're still a hivemind y'know.
Not that I'm saying Icarus doesn't read reports for fun. He might. He's crazy that way. On the other hand, he might not, being a man with little time to talk and even less to say. Fr'instance, his response to Clarissa; An extremely concise and to the point argument, consisting entirely of a lightning-quick snap kick aimed at her jaw.
And I do mean 'lightning-quick' in as close to the literal sense as it can get without tearing his leg off. While Icarus isn't as strong as Prometheus was, what he lacks for in strength is more than made up for with speed and finesse. He fights with an almost robotically perfect form, every last inefficiency shaved away over hours, days, weeks, even months of training.
Oh, and did I mention he's wearing steel-toe shoes?
The Cat Burglar by Ghar. Thanks!
Bleh! I'm happy that I don't have anyone talking to me every single minute of every single day! I'd go crazy! And I wouldn't remember half of what was said. Then again, I can't even remember what I had for breakfast this morning. >.< But maybe that's due to breakfast being breakfast and nothing that carries much weight.
Anyway, Wrath takes a step back as her jaw is viciously kicked. It helps that her jaw doesn't have a single bone in it apart from teeth. Doesn't stop the practiced kick from hurting something awful, though! As though it were a rubber band, Clarissa's jaw elastically bends as Icarus strikes it.
A (mentally) sore Clarissa attempts to retaliate with a devastating kick to a region that should really, really hurt Icarus if Icarus is able to procreate (or, if Clarissa lands this attack, possibly was able to procreate ).
She's a honorless villain! It is perfectly acceptable for her to fight dirty!
Ah, the groin kick, a classic tool in the arsenal of any dishonorable cad of a villain. Effective and ruthless, but easily countered. All Icarus has to do is turn and Clarissa's foot hammers into the side of his hip instead of certain far more vulnerable... parts. That's still a solid hit, forcing him to shift his weight to the opposite side or fall, but it's better than the alternative.
A half-step forward and Icarus is back on offensive, snapping out his right wing to strike at the side of Clarissa's noggin, then following up with a strong right hook towards the guts. Trading blows with a being considerably more resilient than he isn't ideal, but Icarus isn't trying to pummel Clarissa unconscious. Just force her back far enough for him to employ the freeze-ray.
And by the looks of it, he might not be fighting alone long. Although Riv has fled and Lawrencium and Borium have mercifully lost consciousness by this point, Day is beginning to stir, wounds gone with only bloodstains and tears in his clothes to remember them by.
The Cat Burglar by Ghar. Thanks!
Last edited by ThirdEmperor : 10-30-2012 at 06:52 PM.
Icarus brawling like a pugilist who boxes with his feet prompts Clarissa to close the distance between herself and Icarus. It is much, much harder to accelerate to breakneck speeds (or, more suitably, breakleg speeds) over an arc length of an inch compared to one of two or three feet! That kick was painful, man! Clarissa hopes her next move will cramp his windup and cushion his pitch! When Icarus dares to smack Clarissa with his wing thrust, Clarissa attempts to snag his wing before he can pull it back to his side. It might connect and the hook to her gut might hit its mark, but Clarissa won't let go of Icarus's aperture if she can do anything to prevent it! It helps that she doesn't need to breathe unless she wants to talk, strictly speaking, so forcing the air out of her "lungs," while an altogether unpleasant punishment, doesn't stagger her as much as it would your average human being. Doesn't stop her nausea from spiking either, which isn't fun for her by any dictionary's definition of the word! And Icarus using Wing Attack on Clarissa's head riles her up like nothing else! That's insult and injury! Most wings aren't offensive weapons to open with! They're humiliating finishers at most! Most of them are supported by a framework of hollow, fragile bones! And feathers aren't the most aerodynamic structures under the sky...generally...I think!
She'll spend a split second recovering before trying to tackle Icarus at this point if she hasn't captured Icarus's wing, but if she has successfully seized his wing, she'll attempt to tug it toward her and attempt to force it to bend in the direction it isn't designed to bend, maneuvering behind Icarus if he offers her an opening with which to do so.
She only wants to escape from this madhouse! She refuses to be caged like an animal by mortals...she hopes!
Oh, I dunno. Hollow bones can still be pretty tough when they're bolstered by stuff considerably stronger than plain ol' calcium. A lead pipe is hollow, but you don't see those being called painless. You have to understand that these aren't wings which were ever meant for real flight. The aerodynamics and weight of a humanoid body structure, much less a giant one, rule that right out. What they're for is maneuvering, fighting. At best Icarus can glide a ways if he gets a running start.
But they're still brittle. Clarissa grabbing hold of his left is enough to finally get Icarus to let out a sharp exclamation of pain, gritting his teeth as he forces himself to follow through with the threatened hook in vengeance. And now he's where he doesn't want to be. Grappled by and in close quarters with a dangerous shapeshifter. The normal tactic of trying for a clinch, trying to force her to let go by sheer force, wasn't going to fly. The best he can do now is make sure she can't get behind him or lock him in a hold.
And so the gloves are off and the claws come out, curved metal blades sprouting from his fingertips. He slashes at the offending arm, aiming for the tendons on the underside of the wrist, then turning his crooked arm to an elbow strike, trying to stay on the offensive and keep his opponent off balance even still.
The Cat Burglar by Ghar. Thanks!
Last edited by ThirdEmperor : 10-30-2012 at 11:48 PM.