[closed] for self-aggrandization
Who: silvereyedlion, yetsleeping, and swordofthenorth
When: HELLA BACKDATED because LJ sucks. but during the event.
Where: the ruins. forever the ruins.
Format: action.
What: two formerly former claymores and Priscilla cross paths while hunting. NOW WHAT?
Warnings: Isley and Rigaldo's egos. possibly fighting or something i do not know.
( When I was young I knew everything. )
When: HELLA BACKDATED because LJ sucks. but during the event.
Where: the ruins. forever the ruins.
Format: action.
What: two formerly former claymores and Priscilla cross paths while hunting. NOW WHAT?
Warnings: Isley and Rigaldo's egos. possibly fighting or something i do not know.
( When I was young I knew everything. )
[In this case, the cause is obvious enough. With so many members of the patrol reduced to childsize, the workload for those who remain has been increased by a factor of... who even knows, really? And that, of course, is how she comes to be in the ruins, tracking down something... large.]
[She isn't quite sure what it is, actually. But she knows mauled human corpses and blood trails when she sees them.]
[--it occurs to her, a few steps away from the clearing (she knows that clearing, like she knows all the ruins, by now), that she hasn't been paying as much attention to the energy in the area as she ought to have. In fairness, the mist often plays with her senses... but even so, she should have recognized him. And him. Well... them.]
[Rigaldo, and-- she steps into the clearing and leans against her blade.]
Isley.
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[Of course, it is made all the more gratifying when Rigaldo enters the clearing followed by Priscilla. The pair are just a little too late to have been able to share in the extermination of the mindless beast. This fact serves to make Isley’s smile grow wider and somehow more immodest than ever before. He takes no shame in the blatant display of his conquest much less his own self-satisfaction.]
Rigaldo, you’re late. That’s too bad, but not unexpected. [Half a heartbeat passes and Isley’s silver eyes flicker toward the other Warrior in the clearing-] Priscilla. I suppose I’m not surprised you’re late either.
[Planting one foot on the dead carcass, Isley wrenches his blade free of its decimated body. A simple shake rids the weapon of the blood it has collected; a red spray paints the ground. As soon as he returns the claymore to its casing, however, tendrils of Mist slink toward the remains of the beast and coil around limbs barely attached, others severed.]
[He takes a step back, not to be cautious but to better survey the effects of the Mist on the slain fiend.]
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[He knows that smile well enough. It's so carefree, so smug, and Rigaldo's muscles tighten like tensed springs with the desire to carve it straight off his face. But when he releases the sword in his hand, it's only to drive it tip-first into the cracked stone under his feet as easily as if it was soft earth, and he makes a disgusted noise. Just in case his displeasure wasn't clear enough.]
That one was mine. Take your hunt somewhere else.
[He doesn't even bother looking at the corpse itself.]
[...but he does remember after a moment that they have company, and when he looks at Priscilla his glare practically accuses her of conspiring with Isley.]
What are you doing here?
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[Instead, it comes out as a bit of a scoff.]
Well! I guess I'm doing what I normally do. Hunting dangerous beasts.
...a bit late, this time.
[She glances at Isley, and down at the swirling mist, already claiming the dead flesh and blood at his feet. Such a strange sight - familiar and unfamiliar all at once - the way he says her name, the way he moves. Even now she isn't sure what to make of him, or how to deal with whatever it is she made of him.]
But in any case, we're no longer home. This city has no territories. The thing is dead - that's all that matters.
At least to me.
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[For Isley feigning confusion of the most innocent sort has never been difficult. His expression is a perfect mask of blithe ignorance and compunction when he turns his attention back to Rigaldo. He all but ignores the creature at his feet disappearing at the hands of the Mist.]
If it was yours why didn’t you kill it? Were you making eyes at her, Rigaldo?
[He gestures toward Priscilla with a nod of his head. His smile adopts a most familiar and insufferably smug facet, one that is easily missed should it not be glimpsed at just the right moment in time.]
I realize this fog offers ideal cover for a lover’s tryst, but that’s no excuse for tardiness. The pair of you will never be more than second rate [-a terrible play on words involving their rank-] if you don’t stop making up excuses.
[He steps around the dead thing then and starts toward Priscilla. She is still very much a mystery to him being a female warrior. The way Rigaldo greeted her as well suggests the two have already been introduced...and this interests Isley even more. But knowledge and being the one most in control has always interested him.]
[Some things never change.]
Anyway, that thing wasn’t really dangerous. It died too easily if you ask me.
[Listen closely and you can almost hear the hidden challenge in his voice.]
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[Which is... interesting, but it doesn't exactly make him want to rush into her arms.]
Don't insult me, Isley. I was out here to do my job, territories or no. I don't have time for trysts with foolish girls. That kill was nearly mine and you know it.
[If you hadn't been showing off, you giant git. ...is what he doesn't say. But he steps past his sword and over to the corpse, kicking it over with one swift motion that barely even disturbs the fog around it. The different angle doesn't give any clearer indication of what it was.]
...I thought it would be larger. Maybe it wasn't worth my time after all.
[He lifts his head up to look back at them, then, and his expression is nearly blank now. He eyes Priscilla in particular.]
You're stealthy.
[...which might well be a compliment, but it's hard to tell from his tone.]
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[Whether that last bit was a compliment or not... well. For all she knows, he might be accusing her of being a normal human girl carrying a training sword.]
I don’t like announcing my presence everywhere I go.
[That’s part of it, anyway. In truth, aura suppression is as natural to her as breathing. She doesn’t even notice that she’s doing it.]
...in any case, it probably was larger. The mist eats dead organic material fairly quickly.
[More quickly in some cases than in others. She eyes the creature, only moments dead and already succumbing to the fog.]
It’s funny, though. All three of us hunting the same thing. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
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[The lone word is a penetrating accusation on Isley’s tongue; it speaks volumes when accompanied by just the right inflection and just the slightest hint of an insinuating smile. Nevertheless, to make his supremacy abundantly clear, Isley does not stop there.]
Tell yourself whatever you need to in order to soothe your wounded pride; I haven’t the inclination to be a party to your grand delusions, Rigaldo. The fact remains that you are obviously falling behind. Very far behind at that.
[Like salt in an open wound, Isley knows it will sting Rigaldo to hear those words. In fact, he hopes that it stings a lot, that it burrows beneath the other warrior’s skin, into his brain like some sort of insect. He wishes for it to nest there, to lay eggs and grow there-to become an itch impossible to scratch. Obviously he takes a little too much pleasure in being Rigaldo’s unattainable goal.]
[Following that, Isley quietly observes the exchange between the other two warriors. Rigaldo’s veiled compliment, Priscilla’s tart defense, and the fine line at the very end that connects the dots, painting whole the picture of the three of them.]
[Isley folds his arms over his chest and allows his gaze to wander from Rigaldo back toward Priscilla. It rests there shortly before his eyes close and he exhales inaudibly.]
She makes a valid point. It’s not unsurprising for warriors to be hunting, but for all of us to be hunting the same creature at the same time it is obviously more...noteworthy. I guess.
[Like it was noteworthy so many warriors had gathered here in this place, the city they called Anatole. Or more accurately, it was noteworthy so many had been abducted here.]
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[Next time.]
[It still takes a moment for him to follow the last bit of conversation, though, in between fighting off all the shard of icy doubt that Isley sent his way. Just ignore it. For now.]
Hardly. It was killing humans. Our entire purpose is to prevent that from continuing.
And you do have a habit of showing off for others, Isley.
[...okay maybe he won't completely ignore it.]
In any case, it's dead now. The question is if there are others, and how quickly we can get rid of them.
[He glances over at Priscilla, saying nothing but obviously expecting her to have an answer - she'd been here the longest of them, after all. However long that was.]
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[Priscilla presses her lips together a little, arms crossed over her chest as she glances off into the distance. Visibility is limited by the fog... as always. And by the trees as well, and the broken pieces of what were once buildings - moved here, perhaps, or perhaps the final remains of long destroyed structures.]
The ruins are infested with creatures. They come out of the far mist - past the areas any of us could withstand without death. There seem to be... unlimited numbers of them, sometimes. In any case, they're replenishing.
Big and small, deadly and trivial.
[And then she smirks, glancing from one the other, her head tilted just so, letting her hair fall over her cheek.]
So far, nothing that's been a particular challenge for me, though! At least... not out here.
[In the city there had been invasions - the walking dead, all of whom were easily enough to put down on their own, but more difficult to handle en masse simply due to their endless numbers. Or that massive sea creature - that thing with the siren at the end of its tentacles.]
But in any case. You can't get rid of them. Not all of them.
That's what I've learned in my time here.
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[He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes opening, and his gaze wandering away from the pair before him.]
Like you, I was just doing my job. Unlike you, however, I was doing it much better.
[Chuckling, Isley unfolds his arms and turns his back on the two other warriors. When next he speaks, it is directed at Priscilla even though his eyes roam the foggy depths of the Mist.]
Whether or not we can get rid of them all isn’t the point though, is it?
[His hand rises and his fingers wrap around the hilt of his sword. In one smooth movement the weapon is drawn again from its casing and held out before him. From a distance it would be easy to miss Isley amidst all the roiling white clouds in the ruins. He blends in, white on white on white, the only telltale sign he exists being the gleam off his sword and armor-and his indiscreet yoki signature.]
It wouldn’t be very much fun if they all died out on us. I can only imagine how boring things would become. [He takes a step, and then another, and begins heading into the Mist. Perhaps hoping the other two follow, perhaps not. Either way wanting to sheath his sword in warm flesh once more, to tear something apart and feel the rush of victory (fleeting as it may be) as it washes over him.] All work and no play and-well, we’d all become like Rigaldo.
Can’t be having that, now can we?
[A flash of teeth in a wicked smile is the last thing that is visible as the fog envelopes him.]
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[Rigaldo had come out here to hunt. To do his work as ever, even if the Organization had no way of contacting him. But now he was determined to even the score between Isley and himself.]
It was only one corpse. We'll see how well you're doing your job by the end of this.
[...well he might not be able to see Isley that clearly, but he can certainly follow that obnoxious yoki signature well enough. Priscilla on the other hand... Rigaldo spares just one glance back to see if she's still there or not.]
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[She contemplates that in silence for a few seconds as she falls into step behind Rigaldo, lips pressed into a thin line.]
I'm here! [She tips her head slightly, waving her hand in Rigaldo's direction, following Isley's yoki through the immense ocean of energy that is the Mist. All the time she remains a few steps back from Rigaldo.]
[Rigaldo, whom she knows isn't taking her terribly seriously.]
[It's natural, really - with the two of them coming, as they do, from a time without female warriors, it must be strange to accept them on an instinctive level if nothing else. And while Isley had crossed swords with her briefly before, Rigaldo has yet to have his expectations jarred, so to speak.]
[...truth be told, she isn't particularly inclined to disprove his assumptions. Not if she can avoid it.]
[It isn't that she wants to hide her ability, really. But after all these months with their other selves in Anatole... and all the years she spent with them at home... the urge to see them in action and truly understand what their original selves had been capable of is... difficult to resist.]
[And why resist it, anyway?]
...normally, people don't go quite this far into the mist, by the way.
[Although she does. Perhaps a bit too often, really.]
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[He shakes his head. The thought is not finished aloud, but it does not need to be. It still produces from Isley a carefree and mirthful laugh demonstrative of his ever-present lack of inhibition and superiority.]
[There appears to be nothing capable of disquieting him. Not the challenge uttered by Rigaldo, not the numerous eyes watching them through the Mist, not the Mist itself, nor Priscilla’s absent yoki signature. He is completely unshaken as he explores ahead, a force that few can rival, and even fewer would dare to try.]
[Which is fine with Isley. The fewer that are willing to try means the fewer disappointments to waste his time.]
[It is not as though he will grow bored too quickly, besides. There is no shortage of idiot beasts in the dense fog surrounding them, beasts willing to take up the futile task of fighting him. And amongst them are yoma, creatures it is his avowed duty to abolish. Isley can feel them growing nearer with every passing step he takes, with each bit of ground covered and then put behind him.]
[He is as aware of them as he is his companions, one by his yoki, and the other by her footsteps.]
Priscilla? I hope that you will not allow the Mist to frighten you too much. [Evidently, no one was exempt from Isley’s teasing.] It seems Rigaldo would like to make a competition of killing monsters. It would please me to have you join in.
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[He calls upon it now, following Isley's footsteps and the swirl of fog he leaves trailing in his wake, which causes the mist around them to twist and shimmer and obscure Rigaldo's vision. Even just walking Isley manages to get in his way.]
[It's at the suggestion of letting Priscilla join in that his discipline fails him and he lets out a puff of breath.]
Her? You can't be serious... she's only a girl. What do you expect to gain from including her?
[Wait, don't answer that. He has an idea.]
...Although she'd be less of a pest than Dauf, at least.
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[She emphasizes the word with all the force of someone who wants to kick Rigaldo in the head. Which isn't far from accurate.]
[In truth, she both fairly amusing. And a little fascinating, too. Her footsteps click on the broken rock and hard dirt underfoot, and she keeps her head down, following their yoki and thinking...]
[Thinking how strange it is to meet, for the very first time, the two men she knows best in all the world. Thinking that it must have been strange for them, too, when their situations had been reversed.]
[It's the hair that sticks in her mind most clearly, with Rigaldo. Those golden locks framing his face where she's only ever seen ebony.]
[With Isley, it's something else - the eyes, or the way he walks.]
[And then in both of them...]
[Not for the first time, she wonders what they are to one another. Friends? Allies? Rivals? Even now, she can see the odd outline of the thing they'll one day become... and even now, she can imagine the skeleton of this buried deep in the flesh of whatever their awakened selves became.]
...Priscilla. [She says it again, wrinkling her nose.] And I can handle myself quite well, really.
Dauf is Number Three?
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