[Mostly Closed] When it's your own blood you bleed, and your own tears you cry
Characters: Yami (flyfrommyself ), Kanda (sobaisnice ), Gwendal (
knitter_gwen ) and anyone else who decides to head down.
Content: Some of the Silvie's crew have deemed it past time to go pull their never-back-down mechanic out of ground effing zero his engine room before he gets himself killed.
Setting: Engine room of the Silvana
Time: Um... No idea, Yami's completely lost track of time. TT~TT
Warnings: None I can think of. Maybe some swearing?
Notes: For those not familiar with what they look like: Dark Magician (here, and here), Elf Swordsman (dub name "Celtic Guardian" - here, here), and Kuriboh (here, here). Summoned, DM and ES each stands close to eight feet tall (unless Yami "wills" them shorter), and a single Kuriboh is probably about two feet across.
The engine room was a disaster area. In...more ways than one. Never mind the physical state of the whole space - though it was hard not to think about the extensive damage that had been done! - Yami had been forced to order out the other mechanics and tell them to isolate the entire area once they realized exactly what the cause of the problem was. Thankfully, he'd been able to hand over Horus and Khnum, his kittens, to one of them to care for for him while he, as a Shadow mage as well as mechanic, stayed behind to deal with the problem.
That had to have been hours ago now, and he'd really not made much headway. For all as powerful as he was - even taken after accounting for the majority of his energies that were bound up in maintaining the seal - he really wasn't equipped to handle a poltergeist, though he'd exhausted a fair number of ideas, things he could try. Woefully, all to no avail.
He was currently tucked behind a barrier of loose sheet metal and a flock of floating Kuribohs. He put away his electronic journal, with which he'd been monitoring the state of the rest of the ship, and looked up to his two offensive guardians. Dark Magician sensed his master's attention and shifted to look over his shoulder, giving a nod even as worry registered in soft blue eyes. Yami knew what it was the tulpa noted, not having to look down at himself to know the extent of the damage. He'd managed to avoid any truly serious injuries - well, "immediately life-threatening" might be better wording - but over the course of the last gods-knew-how-many-hours, he'd been battered pretty thoroughly - bruises, lacerations, cuts and scrapes, electrical burns . . . he suspected his left arm, his dominant arm, while not outright broken, might have a hairline fracture to the long bone from a failed attempt to deflect a particularly heavy piece of flying machinery. He could still use it - carefully, if he had to - but it SCREAMED of pain and wouldn't function quite right. The thing that was most alarming to him, however, was his rapidly-waning mystical strength. After the sealing he'd performed - gods, was it really only a matter of scant weeks ago?! - he had found himself left with a fraction of his mystical power left usable to him. He could only summon up to three of his Shadow-born friends, and only maintain them in this world for a finite period of time.
He'd finally been forced to summon the last of the three, Elf Swordsman, at least an hour ago, plus Kuriboh had multiplied himself to create a barrier, which drew more energy to maintain than just one chocolate-colored hairball.
But Yami only had to hold out a little longer. Someone - he thought he remembered the guy's name was Gwendal - had said he was on his way, and had reported that there was a second person coming as well. He only had to hold out for them to get there . . . which meant he . . . didn't have to fight anymore. He'd stand his ground, but he was spent - there was no more he could attempt offensively to combat that gods-cursed spirit. All he could do now was wait, hope he didn't lose consciousness before they got there, and pray that someone would be able to do something about this monstrosity once and for all...
knitter_gwen ) and anyone else who decides to head down.
Content: Some of the Silvie's crew have deemed it past time to go pull their never-back-down mechanic out of ground effing zero his engine room before he gets himself killed.
Setting: Engine room of the Silvana
Time: Um... No idea, Yami's completely lost track of time. TT~TT
Warnings: None I can think of. Maybe some swearing?
Notes: For those not familiar with what they look like: Dark Magician (here, and here), Elf Swordsman (dub name "Celtic Guardian" - here, here), and Kuriboh (here, here). Summoned, DM and ES each stands close to eight feet tall (unless Yami "wills" them shorter), and a single Kuriboh is probably about two feet across.
The engine room was a disaster area. In...more ways than one. Never mind the physical state of the whole space - though it was hard not to think about the extensive damage that had been done! - Yami had been forced to order out the other mechanics and tell them to isolate the entire area once they realized exactly what the cause of the problem was. Thankfully, he'd been able to hand over Horus and Khnum, his kittens, to one of them to care for for him while he, as a Shadow mage as well as mechanic, stayed behind to deal with the problem.
That had to have been hours ago now, and he'd really not made much headway. For all as powerful as he was - even taken after accounting for the majority of his energies that were bound up in maintaining the seal - he really wasn't equipped to handle a poltergeist, though he'd exhausted a fair number of ideas, things he could try. Woefully, all to no avail.
He was currently tucked behind a barrier of loose sheet metal and a flock of floating Kuribohs. He put away his electronic journal, with which he'd been monitoring the state of the rest of the ship, and looked up to his two offensive guardians. Dark Magician sensed his master's attention and shifted to look over his shoulder, giving a nod even as worry registered in soft blue eyes. Yami knew what it was the tulpa noted, not having to look down at himself to know the extent of the damage. He'd managed to avoid any truly serious injuries - well, "immediately life-threatening" might be better wording - but over the course of the last gods-knew-how-many-hours, he'd been battered pretty thoroughly - bruises, lacerations, cuts and scrapes, electrical burns . . . he suspected his left arm, his dominant arm, while not outright broken, might have a hairline fracture to the long bone from a failed attempt to deflect a particularly heavy piece of flying machinery. He could still use it - carefully, if he had to - but it SCREAMED of pain and wouldn't function quite right. The thing that was most alarming to him, however, was his rapidly-waning mystical strength. After the sealing he'd performed - gods, was it really only a matter of scant weeks ago?! - he had found himself left with a fraction of his mystical power left usable to him. He could only summon up to three of his Shadow-born friends, and only maintain them in this world for a finite period of time.
He'd finally been forced to summon the last of the three, Elf Swordsman, at least an hour ago, plus Kuriboh had multiplied himself to create a barrier, which drew more energy to maintain than just one chocolate-colored hairball.
But Yami only had to hold out a little longer. Someone - he thought he remembered the guy's name was Gwendal - had said he was on his way, and had reported that there was a second person coming as well. He only had to hold out for them to get there . . . which meant he . . . didn't have to fight anymore. He'd stand his ground, but he was spent - there was no more he could attempt offensively to combat that gods-cursed spirit. All he could do now was wait, hope he didn't lose consciousness before they got there, and pray that someone would be able to do something about this monstrosity once and for all...