Death is Pretty Undefinitive, I Guess

[muttwithasword]

Who: sitsinarmor and muttwithasword
What: Waking up in Luceti.
When: Pre-dated a little to whenever their intro is.
Where: The magical forest of Luceti~
Summary: It's not every day that you wake up in one piece after being dead. And all that considered, these two probably have some talking and tomdickery to achieve by the end of the day.
Rating: PG? Just some cursing,

Comments

[sitsinarmor]

The last thing Martel remembered was metal. The cold metal of Alphonse's armor and then the hot bite of one of Bradley's swords. It wasn't the scents of the surrounding area that roused her from unconsciousness, but instead the pains that were making her ache in ways that made her think the most ridiculous thing. I guess I can't be dead, it ain't supposed to hurt...The main pain radiated out from her shoulder blades, like someone had hit her solidly there, though the smaller pain on her neck was more familiar and was got most of her attention. Sitting up, she gingerly touched the back of her neck. Someone had inked her while she was out. That in itself was disturbing enough, but when her fingers brushed the base of her back where wings protruded she recoiled, feeling sick

[muttwithasword]

Aha. Just what the dog chimera ordered: a familiar female voice echoing very faintly through the forest. Good to know his ears were still working for him; as much as he enjoyed his nose, hearing a voice was far more rewarding. He pushed aside a throng of tall grass, pointing intently toward his destination like a bloodhound on the hunt. That was definitely Martel. He stomped across that annoying thick grass until he finally stumbled into a bright pocket of gold-green land, groaning at the effect the sun had on his vision for a fleeting moment.

But no time for that. After a beat, there was the sound of rustling ahead-

"Martel? That really you?"

He approached a few steps more cautiously.

[sitsinarmor]

Once she'd adjusted and a cursory limb check. Two legs, two arms and some extra pieces she refused to acknowledge. Looking around and vaguely wishing for that stupid sense of smell Dorochet was always bragging about. No time was wasted admiring the scenery as she got down to starting her search. That her yelling hadn't gotten any responses was only slightly discouraging.

Cautiously, Martel began to make her way through the grass and brush, keeping low in case she was in some sick test the military was running. Absently she picked up a small rock that fit into her hand comfortably. It wasn't a knife, but it was better than nothing and made her feel a little less naked.

When she heard movement up ahead she tensed up, until she heard what unmistakeably Dorochet's voice. All she could think was 'Thank god I'm not the only one.' Losing the tension in her shoulders, she moved into his line of sight.

"Yeah, it's me."

[muttwithasword]

He sighed a big, relieved sigh at that, before walking with his hands hanging, shoulders looking as though he'd been carrying a heavy weight on his back. By the time he'd gotten to her, he was disgusted by the wings-and then quickly over them, as his ability to even growl at the thought waned with the weariness in his legs.

Feels like I just ran a marathon.

"Shit, it's good to hear someone else is around, at least."

Did that mean she died...? Because he was pretty damn sure he couldn't've been alive alongside her; he wasn't a moron, and those wounds were pretty grim to even think about. Instead, he stood awkwardly for a few seconds, unsure of how to even begin to question or speak.

...

"Nice dress."

[sitsinarmor]

He looked tired, something that wasn't a familiar look. She knew Dorochet and his usual limits, unless he'd been going for miles he shouldn't have looked that way.

"Then Law ain't with you either?" Sighing, she resolved to accept that finding one comrade was better than none, but she wished she could have known Law was with them. Having the big man on their side was a comfort.

As the awkward silenced descended, she contemplated asking if he was okay. Then Dorochet went and ruined it by opening his big fat mouth. Dropping the rock along with all the worries she'd been carrying and punched the dog chimera right in the jaw.

"Asshole! You shoulda stayed dead!"

1/2

[muttwithasword]

What was his life. What was it.

[muttwithasword]

He fell backward with a hearty THWUMP, grabbing his jaw with a look on his face that whispered 'I expected that'. Frankly, it was nice that they were tangible and she could punch him; made the whole 'dying' thing made him on edge about everything. Even so... He carried a frown, even as his jaw thumped with heat and pain. As glad as he was to see her, there were more pressing matters. Too much to address. Where were they? Where was Law? Greed? That asshole who killed him? Why did they have wings? It was all just wonky. Dream-like, even.

"Sorry. I don't think I had much choice about it..."

He doesn't bother getting up just yet (actually, the cool earth feels pretty damn good), but he does lower his hand.

"Haven't seen Law, either."

[sitsinarmor]

Shaking out her hand, Martel found she appreciated the familiar pain that came from a punch. It was natural and more importantly, a familiar pain that she knew the origins of. No mysterious pain from the wings on her back or the sting of a tattoo she didn't remember getting.

Which reminded her. She stomped over, daring him to make another comment about the dress. "Gimme your head." Then, without waiting for permission she forced him to lean forward until she could see the base of his neck and... there it was, a fresh tattoo that she'd bet anything was a match to the one she had.

"Law might be the lucky one if he ain't here. We're marked."

[muttwithasword]

Hurk-ah, great, so that's what that was. If that was the case, then he can only assume...

"Subjects again, huh? Fantastic... But how?"

He rose to his feet, working his shoulder blades with a look of disdain. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, at least, having your body modified without your say so. Made it easier to accept it and move on to how the hell they get away from the bastards who did it.

"This place is all wrong-where ever we are, it's not Dublith; I don't smell a damn thing that would let me know otherwise... But there are scents..."

People. The smell of human beings, or at the very least what separates them from the usual bear or dog. Perfume, deodorant, sweat, hair gel, food. Food would be pretty great right now. But focus-focus on the people part of it.

"There are people around here. Their smell's all around this place."

[sitsinarmor]

It was tempting to suggest maybe they hadn't died, that maybe it had been like on the battlefields near Aerugo. Martel didn't remember very much between the time she'd stepped on the landmine and woke up in the middle of a body horror. Only problem was, she had seen Dorochet and Law being cut down. There was nothing 'near fatal' about the way they'd been cut down.

"Then lets go find 'em and hope they ain't the ones who did this."

Or if they were, maybe beat some answers out of them. She stretched a little, not beyond the natural length of her limbs, still trying to adjust to the new weight on her shoulder blades and absently wondering how much the change would effect the way she fought.

It was by accident that she found the journal, her foot colliding with it and scuffling it through the dirt. Crouching down she picked it up.

"What's this...?" And then froze when she noticed her own name on the cover in a clear script. "The hell?!"

[muttwithasword]

Dorochet looked over her shoulder at the sound of surprise, brow furrowed. It wasn't shocking to see why she'd gone fiery at the sight of the thing; was that a journal or somethin'? And with her name, to boot. Reaching over her shoulder without a word, he holds it up to see, it being not quite out of her grip.

"Well, shit, look at that. Maybe it says somethin' about why this is happening...? Crack 'er open, Martel."