// 013. [video]
[Those of you who know her well may recognise the view. It's the home of the elderly blind man who lives below her flat, the one who employs her and from time to time. The rooms are in shambles. Broken glass litters the floor, and the wall behind him is torn open. Claw marks line the interior, flaps of printed wallpaper fluttering in the wreckage.
The screen flickers a moment as the scene comes into view, flickers with a start and a strike because it's been dropped in shock.
The elderly man is not sitting patiently as she reads to him, nor is he muttering over the affairs of his tea shop. In fact, he's no longer a man at all as he turns and shifts and growls.
Thanks to Deneve's post, she knows what has to be done - and that anything else - saving this man - is out of the question. What good is she at saving anything, anyway? She's only good at taking life, not restoring it, not protecting it.
Her eyes close for a moment, arms crossed and fists clenched before they're flung outward, all ten blades at once and shredding as the newly formed hellcat leaps. Flickerflash of ebon spine outward and then inward and then nothing.
What is left of Harland Harrison (Nothing. There was nothing left of that man.) falls to the ground soundlessly, because there's more commotion and more terror just outside.
Lust stares at the remains for a long, distant moment, something hard and cold and awful in her expression when her eyes open again, not just because she's lost her meal ticket and possibly her residence. She's lost the first friend she found in Anatole among the natives. It's one in a long line of losses, and she bears it in stillness and silence.
Only now does she notice that the Forge is on and recording. Redirects her hard stare and:]
This is unnaceptable.
[Another blade shoots out, cutting the feed.]
The screen flickers a moment as the scene comes into view, flickers with a start and a strike because it's been dropped in shock.
The elderly man is not sitting patiently as she reads to him, nor is he muttering over the affairs of his tea shop. In fact, he's no longer a man at all as he turns and shifts and growls.
Thanks to Deneve's post, she knows what has to be done - and that anything else - saving this man - is out of the question. What good is she at saving anything, anyway? She's only good at taking life, not restoring it, not protecting it.
Her eyes close for a moment, arms crossed and fists clenched before they're flung outward, all ten blades at once and shredding as the newly formed hellcat leaps. Flickerflash of ebon spine outward and then inward and then nothing.
What is left of Harland Harrison (Nothing. There was nothing left of that man.) falls to the ground soundlessly, because there's more commotion and more terror just outside.
Lust stares at the remains for a long, distant moment, something hard and cold and awful in her expression when her eyes open again, not just because she's lost her meal ticket and possibly her residence. She's lost the first friend she found in Anatole among the natives. It's one in a long line of losses, and she bears it in stillness and silence.
Only now does she notice that the Forge is on and recording. Redirects her hard stare and:]
This is unnaceptable.
[Another blade shoots out, cutting the feed.]