Who: Everyone. Every single character in
dissideo so far.
When: Midnight, Friday morning.
Where: The Archylte Steppe. (Details below.)
What: For the first time, the forces of Cosmos and Chaos come together on the battlefield. AKA: Round 1, ding!
Type: Either log or action-tag.
Notes/Warnings: There will be fighting. And probably swearing, too. Who knows.
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River was used to losing control of her body. To find herself whisked here and there on the planet was not distressing. She had watched herself before from somewhere far away, lost herself in a haze of nothingness and woken in blood and Simon's arms, given into the cues her limbs took from herself that wasn't herself. This constant vanishing and reappearing was much less invasive. It simply pushed things along.
It was the voice that was driving her beyond sanity. She knew the voices that were meant to belong inside her now--almost silent but never gone, not anymore. There was herself. There was what was left of her. And there was the fractured piece of work that the voices sometimes dragged screaming into action. The Cosmos was different. It pleaded instead of ordered, coddled instead of demanded. It left her floundering in herself ( ... )
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River Tam, however, was a genius who could kill things with her mind.
Her legs relaxed a hair, one pulling back and the other sliding forward, not unlike a dancer preparing to spring to life at the top of a number. The fingers on her khopesh remained light, almost idle, a delicacy to her grip mimicking the apparent fragility of her long girlish limbs. For a moment she simply stared, eyes out of focus, at the creature before her.
And the voices were screaming, more than usual, the sort of endless cacophony of a million deaths, of a million lives swarming in a single point and it was so much worse than her arrival here because it was not the humming of a hive of people it was a hive a hive that was screaming and angry and more ( ... )
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JENOVA wanted this one. Yes, it was a unanimous decision from the chorus of voices. This one would make a nice puppet, warrior, wave of madness.
"Which means you don't yet have a purpose," she replied simply. Slowly, she purposefully slipped into a crouch before the young one, mismatched eyes focusing on such a young doll face. "Would you like to know our purpose?"
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River's body was in a state of rebellion. Her self that was still herself that was still a girl who lived and breathed and cried and bled was straining, jerking at her muscles to move back, move away, get far from this thing that was giving her the same look the men with blue gloves gave her when they were close enough to be seen. The animal in her fought back with a calculated rage, the curious need to see what colour this particular anomaly of a creature bled. So her fingers closed tight around the axe-sword and her weight shifted back. Then she was frozen, ready, breakable, in ambush.
"...you collect."
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A girl and a monster? What a wonderful combination. It was far more effective than that useless scientist.
"We harvest and destroy," she corrected simply. Without warning, long tendrils of silver hair whipped out from under her arms in an attempt to slam into the girl's sides. "Shall you be a puppet, a monster, or a weapon? Perhaps all in one?"
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And then, for one perfect moment, everything stopped and there was just the words and once again River knew.
She didn't scream. A little girl would have screamed, but her body forgot to completely. Instead she simply moved, faster than her frail body appeared able--not fast enough to stop the silver ropes that sought her to lash down hard on her body. She didn't cry out in pain or surprise (but she could already feel it that it was going to leech inside of her that the battle was over before it began that this was so much worse than the cuffs on her wrists and the scalpel above her because the doctors who freed this into the world were stupid stupid horrible ( ... )
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The sinking didn't hurt at much as she expected, but she cried out in rage and pain anyway. It helped that her attack found purchase, offered the brief sick satisfaction of rending flesh, but then the waves began to hit her. She became acutely aware of her side, of bruising muscle, of something twisting and turning and defusing inside her that was beyond her control and taking control ( ... )
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