If God Was In Hell We Would All Be Dead [OPEN | MINGLE]

[inconsequence]

Who: Who wants to kill some slavers? You do! Of course you do!
When: May 15th and onwards
Where: Slave trade outpost in the Runoff
What: The slavers that targeted the crew of the Moira in July are overdue for some justice. Chara breaks some regulations to make that happen. THIS IS A MINGLE LOG; anyone and everyone who wants to get in on this and kill some slavers is absolutely free to do so! Chara is relying on there being some chaos for this to work.
Warnings: PROBABLE DEATH. Probable references to slavery, trauma, and also death. Chara.


The Ingress opens to a spilling wash of gray and white, a monochrome cast of shadows and hard angles. The Runoff, it seems, is not a place of many colors; every inch of it is drab and washed out, cold and impersonal as the people who would employ such a place for their own twisted ends. A swirled nebula of stars glimmers overhead. It is night.

Knives are useful tools, but their reach is limited. A quiet transmission to the network, a select few messages delivered to a select few individuals, the hissing strike of a match igniting on the edge of a box. The place is angular and looks to be comprised of some sort of galactic equivalent of asphalt, likely inflammable. Still, it is entirely too dark. Too gray. Too poorly maintained. Tents and shabby establishments line the streets, places where, evidently, personal agency may be bought and sold on a whim.

It does not take long to find a structure of cloth and wood, and the whole of it soon emanates the rank, coppery tang of some interdimensional brand of gasoline.

Knives are useful tools. But they did not come with knives.

Or rather, they did not come only with knives.

One of the stalls is alight in a matter of moments. Red and gold tongues of flame gobbling the establishment whole, filling the place with both the color and light that it so lacked. Knobs of wood harvested from the wreckage form handy torches to set anything else aflame, to thoroughly raze the entire area to the ground, every stall and ship and vendor that supported and enabled the inflorescence of slave trafficking and slave keeping. Armed guards begin to converge on the disturbance at once. But small as said disturbance is, there is no guarantee that it will not come to grow.

That is, of course, where you come in.

One child alone cannot possibly take the entire place down, and flame can only take things so far. It is hardly enough when their aim is one of total destruction, however unrealistic an expectation that might be. They'll need help. Lots of it.

So won't you join the dance?

Comments

Liquid Snake | ota

[saveyourserpent]

[A. SLOWLY WE SUFFOCATE IN THE VEIN OF ETERNITY]

One child is certainly not going to take this down alone, because one adult is absolutely right there with them. It's been a while since Liquid had been taken to the runoff to fight other slaves, soon becoming a particularly prized fighter among them. It's been a while since Ocelot of all people had helped him escape. He still remembers the look on his 'owner's' face when he'd got the chance to murder him in his own damn pit.

It's a good memory. Killing has never been anything strange to Liquid, after all, but that's another story. It's about time the others got the same treatment.

"So," he says to anyone who happens to be nearby, far too conversationally considering the fire that's starting and the people who are heading out for battle. "Where do you think we should start?"

[B. AND YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE WORST]

The fire really does make for a good distraction in the first place. Not that Liquid has any problem, of course. He's fought around far worse distractions... but they seem to be very unpleasant for the people he's fighting.

Of course, he's picked himself up a new skill since he'd found himself on this part of the runoff, and these guys get to experience it firsthand. If there's anyone near him, he grins at them, and then he disappears.

He disappears, and the smoke from the nearby fire helps to hide the smoke that he's become used to dissolving into. Not much later, he reformulates right behind one of the confused guards.

And that's when he socks them in the face.

"Not so entertaining now, huh?"

[C. WILDCARD]

[FIGHTING TIME. he's just gonna be fighting anyone so you can just have the fighting happen with anyone. also wanna plot out some murder? liquid definitely has some stake in this considering he was one of the people taken. he had to do MURDER. how TERRIBLE. but yeah for anything else hit me up here or at agentkaz! this is my triumphant return to doing shit!!!]

Laura | ota

[coercive]

Laura isn't entirely herself as she arrives. Her thoughts are lost in what she used to be, and where she had been made. She remembers the feeling of captivity, of being tortured and prodded. She knows what it's like to be little more than a slave, a being made to be someone else's weapon. She's lost in those thoughts, Chara's call to arms triggering her to slip back into her more feral state.

She wants to be good.

She desperately wants to make her father proud.

But she also needs to do this. She needs to stand up for other children, to make sure they aren't exploited and used. Her face is a blank mask, void of expression apart from a dark and animalistic anger in her eyes. She moves through the establishment quietly but precisely, claws extended and ready to go. She's come here to kill.

Fire;

The fire that's started spreads with an alarming speed. Laura ignores it as best as she can, moving through the chaos to hack and swipe at anyone that carries themselves like they dare to own another being. Screaming as she leaps and tackles them down, she makes quick work out of hacking off limbs. Instead of straight up murder, her instincts scream at her to make them suffer. The cruelty she was shown growing up has shown her what torture is, and what it can do to someone in a position of power. How it can knock them down enough pegs to make them beg for you to take their life in order to end the pain.

In some twisted way, she knows that Pierce would be proud of her here. The thought makes her sick and panic, and she winds up running away to try and hide. She ends up on the second level in a structure that's quickly burning down. Her skin is being charred by the flames but she heals right away. She still whimpers and cries, attempting to wipe all the blood on her hands off onto her clothes. There's just so much of it that she can't get it all off.

As the floor beneath her feet burns and gives way, Laura crashes through it and lands roughly on the ground level. Smoke inhalation combined with being knocked so roughly on the head make her see stars, and she's a little slow to get back up to her feet.

Capture;

Eventually she's caught by the slavers here, ones who are much larger than she is and who realize her healing ability. With a metal rod through the chest, Laura dangles up in the air, grunting and screaming in pain as she's carried at a far enough distance that she can't reach anyone. Her hands are secured tightly behind her back, and without the option of hacking at the metal through her, she sharply screams as she tries wriggling her way free. It hurts so badly, but she's worked up enough that it's not really registering.

There's still blood on her hands, and she's in a blind rage as she tries to free herself. She has to make it back home.

fire

[greyate]

Jean saw the message on the network. Saw the conversations and videos and knew she couldn't just stand back when Laura was getting involved. She cares about the little girl too much. And, in truth, there's a small part of her that is burning with fury at the thought of children being in such a situation.

If that really is on the other side of the portal, Jean will make damn sure it won't stay that way after she's done with them.

She mentally tails Laura until she goes through the Ingress. Her mental signature is lost but Jean knows where to go from there. Catching up with her, however, is a challenge. Jean opens cages for people and sends guards flying several yards away. By the time she finds Laura, the fire has consumed the building. She can feel Laura's pain and fear.

Jean tries to calm her own fear and closes her eyes, concentrating. After a moment, she opens them and they are glowing as she moves her arms and it's as if the fire and building are peeled away. She pushes the smoke away with it. She keeps going until she can see Laura.

Teeth gritted from the effort, she mentally picks up Laura's form and moves her closer while holding the rubble up.

capture;

[el_paso]

He doesn't want to be here. He would have been content to let it all lie, preferring to mind his own affairs in the end. The dead are dead- what is he supposed to do for them now? Vengeance has a price, blood has a price, something he thought he had taught Laura.

Logan is nauseous with fear when he emerges from the Ingress point, the blood pounding in his temples so hard he can't see straight, led on by his ears and nose, the world tinged red.

A man cries out for help, a voice he doesn't recognize. Dismissing that, he sets out for the scents pulling him across the bleak grey and fiery landscape: Sweet hay. Sweat and sunshine. Blood. Adamantium. Laura's screams over the conflagration spur him into a sprint. Any slaver that tries to stop him gets left behind in a pool of their own innards.

He returns her scream as a snarl, harsh and ferocious, a feral rage that pours out as he comes upon the group. Something hits him in the chest, something that should hurt like all hell, that should have staggered him, but he has momentum and adrenaline and a berserker fury on his side.

It's a sick satisfaction he feels when the first slaver, the one who had turned and fired on him, flinches, the look of fear adding weight to Logan's own savage enjoyment. He catches one of the slavers bearing Laura's horrific metal rod in his claws next, the group erupting into pandemonium.

They've taken his child. They're all dead.

fire it up

[inconsequence]

It seems the other child saw fit to arrive after all, a display of commitment they cannot help but admire, albeit from a safe distance. Whatever she is, she cannot possibly simply be human - the way her skin knits together after the sparking blaze chars it black, the way she moves with a reflexive ease, none of that is what Chara would call reminiscent of humans.

Though she looks well enough like one. They're not the sort of person to help someone to their feet, even another child, but Chara can, for the moment, ensure that nothing attacks her while she recovers.

So Laura picks up a shadow in the meantime, a child in a striped shirt with a Knife in hand, scarlet eyes watching her six.

fire

[frankensteinian]

Of course Erik's here. There are people here who think it's okay to use children like this, and adults too, although it's the thought of the children that makes the anger rage. Mostly he's here because of the chance to fight something. He feels better when there's a target for the anger and the pain.

It doesn't surprise him when he catches sight of Laura in the distance, not after the conversation they'd had about things being done to children. He still doesn't know many details, but he knows that she had used the word "made" to refer to herself, and he'd used that word in reference to himself in the past. So it can't be good.

He hears her crash through the floor of the building more than he sees it, and he comes hurrying over. He doesn't have any abilities to heal her or anything, but he can at least get her away from the fire. When he speaks, it's in Spanish, in an attempt to be slightly more reassuring.

"Just relax and keep still and I'll get you out of here."

capture

[ventifact]

Rey remembers. She remembers the hell she'd been put through the last time she had been on this planet. She remembers the blood on her face and the grit in her teeth every time she'd been knocked to the ground for disobeying the gelatinous alien who had claimed her as their own. It had made her feel so weak, and on Jakku, weakness had meant death. But she hadn't been ready to die, had forced herself to persevere and live.

She knew that not everyone who had been taken to this planet had, and the thought makes her stomach turn in a way it never would have a year ago.

She knows there are people who had listened to that child's words and had taken them too close to heart. It had been stupid of them, of the child, of the people at the Ingress to let the coordinates to the Runoff be found. But Rey can't just sit idly by and let it all happen. Since leaving Jakku, she hasn't been good at that sort of thing, especially not with her Jedi masters whispering in her ear. You have the power to change this. She knows, she knows, but fear of this place sits heavy in her gut. Still, she makes herself travel through the portal, set foot on this damned ground again.

Everything is chaos, everything is screams.

But one scream sticks out above all--a child's, enraged and in pain. Rey forces herself to move towards it, dodging the flames and ducking out of sight when she senses someone approaching. When she finally reaches the group with the girl, she wants to vomit. The child is skewered like a bloggin over a campfire. Horror turns to rage, and Rey doesn't think before rushing forward, lightsaber already drawn and ignited with a hiss. She throws her arm out, sending two of the girl's captors flying without even touching them.

Asriel Dreemurr | ota | cw: awful slaver npcs

[pleasereset]

[A. Back Again]

Asriel had nightmares about being back here. Frequent nightmares. Ones that he's sure he's woken up Frisk and Chara a few times with, and yet... he's back. The sight of the Outpost was so familiar, so unchanged, that it sends a wave of panic through him. He could just turn back, he could go home, it wasn't too late-

Chara was still around, somewhere. If they haven't got caught already, and that alone makes him try to swallow the fear threatening to overtake him and make him run. He doesn't know Mettaton also came along, but Asriel's attempts to contact him earlier were just as unsuccessful.

So here he was. Every sound, every movement has him on edge, enough that if anyone so much as talks to him, they'll see him turn suddenly with a wide-eyed look and fire flickering in the palm of his hand.

[B. Recaptured?]

It doesn't take Asriel very long to run into trouble. He's an escaped slave after all. And even if the slavers around didn't know it, they did see a small, weak animal that could be a potential sale.

He ran from two slavers that spotted him and gave chase. A human woman and some kind of tall alien creature with several eyes splashed across its blue face. They corner him when one of the alleyways turns out to be a dead end. Asriel tries to lunge forward, to force himself past - but the woman wraps a whip around his leg and forces him violently into the ground. The alien places a foot on his back as Asriel lets out a horrible, animal-like wail and struggles in wild panic.

The woman looks at her alien companion.

"What do you think we should do with it? Doesn't look like it's behind the attacks. It looks like some kind of animal."

The alien stomps his foot down on Asriel, to stop him from shrieking so much. It doesn't really work, but there is a cry of pain.

"Just muzzle it and we'll figure out what to do with it later. We can always sell it off to someone off-planet. Someone will probably buy it as a pet."

The woman nods, and leans down to Asriel's level while staying out of reach of his claws and teeth. When he sees her pull out a small coil of rope, he starts to desperately beg instead. But it doesn't matter - it's never helped him before. The rope loops around his snout and tightens, silencing his cries.

If no one interferes, she's going to try restraining the clawed hands that keep trying to swipe at her and her companion.

[C. Confronting a Boogeyman]

As Asriel looks around for anyone he knows, he's trying his best to stay out of sight and out of anymore danger. He had a close call with some slavers that wanted to take him... but he got away, for now.

He feels sick. This whole place... he really wishes he had the power to destroy it all, and every awful person in it.

Despite his attempts to be stealthy though, he hears a voice that forces him to freeze in place.

"Well, well! If it isn't the little rat that got away! Came crawling back here, did you?"

Asriel turns, and he's faced with a man straight from his nightmares - his owner, the man who bought him on the Outpost and dragged him into a hellish place of chains and dark cells. He was always taller in Asriel's nightmares, but that didn't make his presence any less terrifying. Asriel opens his mouth, but he can't speak.

(He'll get hurt if he speaks.)

The man smiles cruelly at the stunned, horrified boss monster.

"You were a waste of money from the start, but I paid for you and I reaaaally hate losing money. I'll tell you what though, if you come quietly, I'll think about not making your punishment worse than it's already gonna be.

After all, I've got several months worth of punishment I'm gonna fit in for you runnin' away. You'll be begging me to go back into that cell after I'm done with you."

Asriel tries to look around, desperate for help. The man slowly reaches for something behind his back while Asriel's distracted - a stun gun.

c chara. c chara run. c chara stab a fucker in the fuckign face. (cw decapitation)

[inconsequence]

He came anyway. Of course he came. He came because he had to, because he was worried, because he felt obligated, because perhaps this would be in the interest of some sort of closure on his own behalf. To confront his demons (ha), and see them all laid to waste. To see all those nightmares put to rest one final time.

The man who speaks to him does so with an artless familiarity, a lazy confidence that itches beneath their skin, burns sickly in the back of their throat. Someone who has never been told no in his entire life, who's unused to being faced with the reality that the world does not revolve around him, and never did.

The worst of them. The very, very worst. The proof of how much they've come to hate of this world, of every hideous smear of a living creature that blights it.

He receives no warning.

He reaches for the gun behind his back in a slow creep of fingers around the grooves of the handle.

The next moment, he howls.

A pale, spidery shape spins to the ground, flaring crimson behind it like the tail of a comet. The gun clatters not far from the puddle of red gathering beneath. The Knife cuts through its targets easily - through skin, through muscle, and even through bone. Rending flesh is as simple as inserting a hot knife into butter, cleaving through and lopping the unwanted detritus aside.

Their eyes burn to match the conflagration eating at the slave posts behind them, to match the swirled, red patterns on the Knife, now stained even redder.

The man's disembodied hand twitches on the floor, once, twice, and lies still.

Chara smiles.

"You were saying?"

B is for BYE ASSHOLES

[mttbrandlegs]

"Pity, that. Looks as if you've made a grave error."

The voice that comes from behind the two slavers is practically subzero, and should they turn in time, they might see the crackle of electricity emanating from above a seven-foot robot's head, crackling in a web that circled a heart-shaped glow. Then the bolts are unleashed, rending the air with such overwrought power that the scent of burning ozone practically permeates the surroundings.

That...and likely the smell of seared flesh.

Mettaton is aiming to kill. No one will take Asriel, not as long as Mettaton has any say. Not as long as he's still alive to rend them to bits for their discretions...

B(ITCH GET AWAY FROM MY BRO)

[gainedlove]

It's the screams that draw Frisk to him. They'd thought that the fear would keep Asriel home, that he would stay behind and wait. He should know how dangerous it is for him here, that Chara and Frisk are far more suited to this.

But he hadn't stayed, and he's here, and--

The woman doesn't get much farther than grabbing his wrist before a small blur of movement slams into her, streaks of white slashing across her face and arms as she cries out in shock and pain. Frisk swings their disk with furious energy, a startling contrast to their usual timid manner.

They let Asriel down once before. Never again. Never.

kurt wagner [nightcrawler] ❧ ota ❧ cw: nasty slaver stuff

[preciousblueberry]

❧ my power's turned on (fire)

[Kurt's impulsive - far more than he'd ever like to admit, considering it usually gets him into trouble that he has to fight his way out of. In this case, when the coordinates are given, he's waited long enough and gathered plenty of information about these slavers that he can't ignore the fact they'd captured Moirans-- people that he knew in this case.

He uses the smoke of the fire to his advantage, teleporting between the rolling smog and licking flames, intentions deadly, if the weapon at his side is any indication.

It's crude, but it will get the job done.]

❧ starting right now, i'll be strong (heads will roll)

[Darting, twisting, bending, lunging-- it's all things that he's been taught before; his time during the circus had been well spent and not only with cute little tricks, but with real, purposeful fighting skills. He's lethal with the sword, swinging it in upward motions to lop off arms, dropping to all fours at some point so he can sweep the blade in an easy circle and take off legs, watching bodies crumple around him. Sometimes, he even goes for the occasional head, watching it tumble away like a weed in the wind. They're the lucky ones.

Most people might let the others suffer, but Kurt is more humane in all sense of the word. He never wastes time lording his victory over them, preferring to stab or slice into a vital part of the body and let them be ended quickly and once they have perished from exsanguination, he moves on to others without fail.

There might be a chance where he does stop, although it's simply to help out anyone he might recognize during the fight.]

❧ i've still got a lot of fight left in me (captured)

[And it only takes one time for him to slip up before he's caught.

It's not a large group, but they're enough to overpower him, knocking the weapon from his hand and grabbing him from behind. He struggles any way that he can, kicking out with his strong legs and even going as far as snapping at them with his teeth if they get close enough. Imagine the man's surprise when he clamps down on his throat, applies enough pressure to tear flesh off, screeching and spitting like a wild animal with a thirst for blood.

There's an agonized cry, a spiteful shout of 'you little shit!' and Kurt can't fight the smirk that lifts his lips. That is, until something loops around his neck, effectively cutting off oxygen fast enough that he begins to see stars.

'Not so tough when you can't breathe, are you?'

Ruby-red irises dilate, the effort it takes to fight becoming two-fold, considering the slavers have taken advantage of that long appendage by wrapping it around the blue boy's neck. How screwed up can someone be to use the kid's tail against him like that?

He struggles for breath, feet stretching for the ground in an attempt to slacken the makeshift noose around his neck. They're taller than he is and things are starting to get dark and muddled, a sign the air loss is beginning to set in, no matter how much he fights it. He's able to break an arm free, reaching up to clutch at the trunk of muscle and pull, but to no avail.

The man that he'd bitten grabs up the sword, shouting something that makes the other two hold him tighter, forcing his fingers against his neck to keep that hand in place as well. His eyes somehow widen even more as the tip of the blade is pressed against his abdomen and slowly forced forward, sinking easily past the skin, heading toward muscle, intent on running him through, although it won't include anything vital. They want him to hurt, but he has to stay alive for profit.

He doesn't have to see their faces to know they're smiling.

It can't end this way!]

❧ wildcard

[ooc: if none of the other options tickle your fancy 8')]

capture; why are you children like this

[el_paso]

[ And it won't, because one of the outermost men suddenly gurgles, as a set of adamantium claws emerge and disappear from his throat in a wet 'snikt'. Logan pushes him forward as he scrabbles at the wound, the blood running thick and hot into his shirt, and uses the man as a shield against his allies, darting and stabbing, rending and ducking, until that sword comes at him.

The bitten man has too much to say as he swings the sword wildly, trying to be clever, hoping for a hit. Logan has no patience for this shit- he catches the blade in his claws, bringing the slaver in closer, and slams his forehead into the man's nose, shattering cartilage and bone with a sound that thrills him.

Kurt's big, meaty assailant, the one who's using the boy's tail as a garrote, watches his compatriot fall. He drops Kurt like a sack of potatoes, turns tail, and runs like the devil's on his tail. ]

Get up.

let's not get a(head) of ourselves

[inconsequence]

[They've no notion of what he might be - undoubtedly not human, though they cannot truly say if he counts as a monster, either. Whatever he is, he's more than capable of handling himself in a FIGHT, twisting and maneuvering about the battlefield with a deftness and grace Chara cannot help but envy. They're little more than a prepubescent child cutting at the ankles of adults with an abnormally sharp blade, but no matter how just their intentions, they will never be anything more than that.

A disembodied head rolls across the red-soaked floor as Chara bats it aside with one foot, ducking low to avoid the harsh stutter of gunfire as one of the guards opens fire in their direction. Knives are useful tools, as frequently they've stated, but their reach is somewhat - limited.

They'll have to get closer to the guard to eliminate it, and at the moment, all they can do is scramble to get behind some cover before a bullet perforates something vital.]

so many heads are rolling right now

[frankensteinian]

[It hadn't taken much to get Erik to decide to come here; pretty much the mention of enslaved children and the opportunity to fight had done it. He had at least thought to bring a knife with him as a weapon, not having access to anything else in a hurry.

He's been slowly making his way through the crowd, sending his knife flying into the fleshy parts of some slavers, sending other slavers flying through the air into each other (they shouldn't be carrying metal if they didn't want to make it easy for him) when he finds himself standing by Kurt.

He holds his hand extended until the knife flies back into it; he clutches it for a moment while he looks at Kurt.]

You go that way, I'll go that way.

my power's turned on

[carltoaction]

[Impulsiveness is something they say all youth share, and in this instance it's true. Carl, like Kurt, has come to put a stop to the slavers in his own way. He intended to capture them and turn them in, but the circumstances quickly get out of control forcing him to count on his gun for protection. He has it out, held up, finger just off the trigger for if he actually needs it.

With the smoke thickening though, his sight and depth perception make it harder for him to feel confident in knowing whats around the corner, so he moves slow, becoming hypervigilant of everything. He can't say how he spies anything when a second ago he swore nothing was there, but his senses soon pick up the slightest shine of a blade and he reacts the only way he knows. Pointing his gun in that direction as the weapon, not person, becomes clearer.]

Don't move, don't do anything stupid, and I won't shoot.

chara | ota | will match formats

[inconsequence]

purge; i will also ritualistically remove The Taint Of Sin from any stolen good you bring to my office

Chara intended to move from stall to ship to craft with a brusque, businesslike intent, torch in one hand and Knife in the other, setting afire that which they can and abandoning that which they cannot. They intended for the whole place to burn, plain and simple, for the entire practice to be driven from this world, this universe, this life. Incense those that would have been affected, or have a clear enough sense of Justice to never let something like this stand. For the moment, it works.

For the moment, there is nothing but the blaze of fire, and the flaring arc of red as they slash at the half-circle of armed guards that attempt to surround them - intent, no doubt, on taking them alive. They are a sturdy specimen, after all. They would make an adequate puppet.

That will be their mistake; their grin is a flash of white, and the Locket, while not perfect armor, is enough to keep them from fully succumbing to the bruises and aches.

They came here to rip this place asunder, piece by piece, slaver by slaver.

And god help anyone that gets in their way.

cornered; tto the fucker who donated me a heart. im glad youre dead

[No matter how reckless or vicious or unexpected they might have been to start with, they are, in the end, little more than a child. A child with a vendetta the size of Mt. Ebott and a vicious, vengeful, contrarian streak a mile wide, but a child nonetheless. One of the guards has them in his reticule, gloved finger resting easily across the trigger.]

"Put the weapon down, you little freak," [growls his partner. There's a ring of something bright and metallic clasped in her hand.

A collar.

Chara's grip tightens on the Knife, their lips curling back in a grin that can really only be described as savage. It's clear that, no matter what happens next, they'll not be coming quietly.

Why should they?]

cornered aka dreemurr sibs fuck people up part 2?

[pleasereset]

[It's exactly the kind of scenario Asriel had imagined in his head when he sees Chara, cornered by a slaver holding a collar meant for them. It's the reason why the moment Chara had disappeared to the Outpost, Asriel went chasing after them. Regardless of Chara thinking they didn't belong in his family, they did and he's not about to let them get ripped away by the same people who made his life a horrible, living hell for weeks.

Unlike the alleyway, Asriel doesn't stumble out, shyly calling out to Chara. He knows what kind of people are here, and he's been in fight or flight mode the moment he stepped onto this planet.

There's no panicked biting this time, but there is a hum and glowing circuitry. Asriel wasn't that experienced with his disk, but he didn't have to be. They're distracted enough that they don't see him right away, and a red-orange disk sails through the air, aiming to slice the guard nearest to Chara.]

Get away from them!

jean grey | various | cw: violence, slavery, child abuse

[greyate]

fire (open);

[ Jean knows she shouldn't be here. Knows it's pretty damn stupid all the way around. The creepy kid on the Network could just be lying and trying to insight violence for his own reasons. And yet, Jean knows her friends are going to the outpost. And she isn't willing to let them go and not do anything about it.

She didn't say anything to anyone. Just kept track of their mental signatures and followed them through. What she finds there is nightmarish. It makes her sick to her stomach but she already knows she has to do something. What good are her powers if she doesn't help people who need it?

She isn't sure when the fire started but as it spreads, she's using her powers to keep it from spreading to the people trying to escape. Everyone but the guards. She tosses them a good few yards away whenever they start running over. ]


fight the good fight (open);

[ It's when she finds the children chained up that Jean can feel that fury in her grow. She gets the chains and restraints of them. Many are thin and she can see bruises on them. Cuts that have barely healed. She motions for them to leave, tries to tell them they are free but they stay where they are. She can feel their fear and she tries not to let her patience run out.

The light from the door is blocked and before she turns to look, she knows who it is. And she's ready for him, fists clenched. He moves toward her, a sword raised. She remains where she is in front of the children and sends him right back out of the door. And into the wall of another stone structure -- so hard his head is left bleeding.

She steps out of the door and looks this way and that, ready for anyone else wanting to stop her. ]


capture (closed to close cr);

[ Jean doesn't know when it happens. Just that she was in the middle of a fight when she feels a sharp prick at her neck. Not a moment after, she's going down and hitting the ground hard. A dart, making her limbs go numb, her mind dark. The next time she comes to, she has bruises under her clothes, a nasty bump on the side of her head. Dried blood. They wanted to make sure she was out, kicking her a few times after she was out. She can feel the side of her face throbbing.

But it's the bars around her that cause her to burn. A fire spreading all through her as her mind slowly wakes up and realizes what has happened. They caught her and put her in a cage.

No one cages her. A hiss, a roar of a thought in her mind that starts at the back and flies to the front. Her heart beating so fast she's sure she will faint.

It's almost like she isn't even there when she grabs the bars and screams. The bars and cage dissolve, the roof explodes off of the structure and the walls crumble to the ground. Fire consumes her. The dust billows and swirls until it too is consumed by light.

Next thing she knows, Jean is in the air, pulling one of the slavers to her, out of the rubble and holding him with one hand by the front of his clothes. The voice that comes out of her is not hers. Or it doesn't sound like her. ]

Who are you to put chains on me?!

capture; as long as it's safe to assume kurt is close cr? haha

[preciousblueberry]

[He hadn't expected any of his friends to get captured, let alone someone like Jean, but he supposes there's a first for everything, which is exactly why he has no trouble slicing through enemies in search of her.

Kurt'd seen them drag the telepath off somewhere to one of the nearby buildings and if he'd been faster, avoided getting caught himself and allowing some of the slavers to injure him, maybe it would have been easier to find her. He's worried about what they are going to do, since he knows none of them have any good plans for their captives, though nobody within a two mile radius could have ignored the sound of that scream.

The blue boy rushes toward the noise as quickly as he can manage, sword in hand, the other one clutching his abdomen where he'd hastily bandaged up the wound to continue his onslaught. He skids to an abrupt halt when the structure he's headed toward disintegrates, gaping up at the fiery entity that he can't believe is--] Jean!

[Calling out may not be the safest thing he's done, but he can't simply stand by and hope that she's okay; it's something he has to know.

From the corner of his eye, he spots one of the slavers, bringing a gun to his shoulder to ready another dart. Kurt growls low in his throat, swings the blade in his hand up and around then throws with all his might, effectively skewering the man straight through his side with ease. The gunman falls and he breathes a heavy sigh, averting his gaze back to his friend(?) in the sky.] Jean! [he repeats, shouting with more emphasis this time as he rips the sword from the dead man's body.

This is the first time he's ever seen the phoenix up close and admittedly, he's somewhat frightened, but that's still Jean, no matter what sort of ... form she might be in.]

Mettaton | ota, will match style

[mttbrandlegs]

A. Returned

Mettaton had never wanted to come back here willingly. Even now, he hesitated to return. But for better or worse, he had to keep the promise he'd made, that Chara would have his hand in this matter. Furthermore, he had not been lying when he said he had business.

That said, walking through the Ingress and watching the familiar surroundings phase back into existence...it was overwhelming. Mettaton felt a coldness emanating from his center outward, freezing him in place for a few seconds, until he managed to break away and find a discreet location in which to hide.

No. No, he's not hiding. He's spectating.

The look of fear on his face was just an act. The heave of his shoulders and the way his hand reaches to the front of his throat--not holding, just gripping in a fist before his segmented neck--that's just a front. He's not frightened. Mettaton doesn't frighten!!

Hah. A lie. The biggest one. He wasn't going to be able to do this yet. He just...had to gather himself. Once the anxiety bled away, he'd be fine. Til then, if he's approached by anyone, he'll likely startle badly.

But if it's someone from Thisavrou, he'll be more than happy to accompany them all the same.


B. FIGHT (cw: gore [burning, detailed physical violence, evisceration])

Once he's found his stride, Mettaton lets the murderous intent he keeps bottled run rampant. The fires Chara starts are, of course, very helpful in scattering the vermin into Mettaton's path. He wastes little time on any single slaver, though he makes each death very personal. It could be something as simple as using his unusually sharp nails--claws, in fact--to gut them. Innards will be left to dangle as he looks deep into their eyes, smiling coldly as he watches the fear and life slip from their eyes. He relishes them going limp in his grip at that point.

Another might have their sight gouged from their head, forced to die crying tears of blood and begging for forgiveness as the robot chokes them.

Mettaton's current victim struggles viciously until the moment he breaks their arms. Then they scream, and oh god does that satisfy him. Funny, they used to love this when he was doing it to other slaves. They'd demand it of him! Oh yes...

But now, as he slowly presses the slaver into the fire, they scream for him to stop. They shout for mercy and forgiveness even as their skin blisters.

"I'm sorry," Mettaton hisses, forcing them deeper into the flames with a manic look in his eye. "But I do not owe you such a service! None of us do, not a single one of us. At least you're not wearing a collar, right?! At least it's not a fight to the death!! This is truly as much mercy as one can give!!! Haha, I'm a downright saint, darling!! A SAINT, YOU HEAR ME?! I'M GIVING YOU A GIFT!!"

Mettaton shouts over them, almost in desperation.

"You'll be free soon! Endure it. Just a little longer, won't you~?"


C. Inescapable (cw: mind control, some suicidal ideation)

So it seemed Mettaton wasn't going to be allowed death today. In the midst of murdering a slaver, he'd lost himself to the catharsis for just a moment too long. He'd let his guard down, as he had the first time, only this time he wasn't freshly brought to life and at a low, unusable Level of Violence. No, now as he stood there, a collar weighing heavily on his neck again, Mettaton is a sentinel of utter violence, given only a directive to kill, kill, and kill again.

To be fair, it hadn't all been his fault. At least, not for letting his guard down completely.

No, the reason why Mettaton was shackled again was because his dealer--the one who provided him with his only real release from day to day--was not just in the business of drugs. No, the distributor of his drugs also dabbled in other businesses, and had sold him up the river for a pretty penny.

Back to his owner, of course. It's a good reward, after all, to return an escaped slave from across the stars. Good pay indeed.

Anyone from Thisavrou who might approach Mettaton will find him expressionless and quick to attack. There's nothing of the robot left to fight the collar 'round his neck, although from the inside he's screaming, begging for forgiveness and absolution. He's ready to die at this point, should anyone dare to rise against him. But...unfortunately, he won't go down easy. That's not what Mettaton EX was programmed to do anymore.

D. Wildcard

[OOC: None of these prompts work for you? Respond how you like and I'll go along with it. :3]

c

[pleasereset]

Asriel feels like he's spent the past few hours hunting down anyone who looked familiar, keeping track of his family, and ending up with a lot of human and alien blood on his hands. It's fine, he tells himself, it's fine if they all die. They're the bad guys, they're hurting his family, they're the source of all of his nightmares and worst fears, and why he feels like he's losing himself more and more everyday.

It's fine, because they can all die, and he can finally be set free.

His face is twisted in a half-smile, teeth barred like a dog as he stumbles through the violence and wreckage going on around him. He's gotten into too many fights, some he had to be rescued from, but he's not in great shape. His eye is closed, fur matting it shut. There's a slight limp to his walk, as well as little injuries here and there that didn't quite kill him but probably should have.

He stumbles into Mettaton's path, his whole body going rigid and fur bristling at the sight of someone there. It takes him a second to recognize him-

"Mettaton...?"

And then his eyes land on the collar, the design and function of it a little different than the one Asriel used to wear. And suddenly, everything around him feels a little less real.

Oh no. No no no...

Wanda Maximoff | will match format | cw: violence, awful people, maybe a side of death

[seeingscarlet]

i. I can't help this awful energy [ota]
[Wanda is extremely late to the 'party' - she wasn't going to go at all but the mansion is a little too empty and it doesn't take much investigating to realize what's happened. Her friends meant well, but this was stupid. If the slavers here could contain Peter and Billy of all people, she doesn't want to know what they've likely done to someone like Kurt. So she runs through the streets with the sole intention of finding her friends and dragging them back to safety.

She's flinging the slavers out of her way without a second thought. Careful - if you're not one of the people she's looking for ducking might be necessary.]

ii. goddamn right you should be scared of me [closed to Lorna]
[Wanda rounds the corner to see exactly the thing she'd come here to prevent. She can feel pain and a host of negative emotions radiating from Lorna, but she can't see more than little hints of green behind the group of slavers.

She was too late. She waited too long, and now people are hurt, and if she'd been five minutes later it might have been too late.

Being in the slavers' heads is a particularly nasty variety of Not Fun but she can't risk a fight, not when she can't see what they've done to Lorna but can feel that's bad. So she reaches out until she can get a good feel on their minds, binds them in scarlet, and shoves them down until the slavers go still. They deserve so much worse than being pushed into a fugue state, and they might still have it before Wanda's done, but right now her priority is getting to her sister.]

Lorna? Lorna!

iii. who is in control? [closed to Erik]
[It's only a matter of time before someone thinks to use electricity against her. She's too distracted by the fire and trying to shout over the noise to a friend she thinks might be in earshot. Most of the people here have fled the blaze...except for one man Wanda arguably should have just killed.

This is the same man who'd tried to sell Billy as a pleasure slave, who Wanda had slammed into the ground and bound in scarlet until bones broke under the strain and then left with enough nightmares hat she hoped he'd stop. She didn't want to kill anyone in front of Billy, after all, as awful as he was. Billy had been through enough; he shouldn't have to live with watching that too.

Wanda realizes her miscalculation as pain courses through her and all the scarlet evaporates around her. What did he hit her with? Some sort of super-taser?

It's a great irony, she thinks as he hauls her up by the hair, that she's survived an Infinity Stone and HYDRA and her own city breaking apart under her feet but has finally lost to a freaking taser. The scarlet is a whirl of chaos in her mind; she can't focus it into existence at all right now.

'Bitch,' he snarls at her, throwing her back to the ground and shooting her again for good measure. He knows all too well she's too dangerous to leave conscious until he can get her properly restrained. 'I've been waiting a long time for this.']

[geomagnetically]

[She'd been so wrapped up in her own fighting, so laser-focused, that she -- stupidly -- missed her own vulnerabilities. Everyone who had taught her back at the mansion in her own universe would be ashamed, probably. One minute, she was slinging slavers around, the next she was hit with something unpleasant -- a chemical or something that made her nerves feel like they were on fire and shocked all at once, and before she could try to get it out of her, she couldn't get herself together enough to. And then she's in some non-metal restraints; clever. Blood on her face and arms -- some if it hers, some of it not -- and in her state that's, uh, well she could have been better -- she uses any energy she has to focus on trying to remove the restraints on her arms behind her (this is proving to be difficult), when Wanda has the people incapacitated.]

Over here. [Her voice is weaker when she speaks, and she may look like she's on the verge of not being conscious, but she replies to Wanda's calls as best she can. Maybe she'll pick up on that louder psychic-ly.]

Lorna Dane | open & will match format

[geomagnetically]

{cw; nothing that isn't already on this log -- ie, violence/injury/death possibilities, terrible-ness from people, etc.}

⌁ one ⌁

Lorna thinks you're all fools. But she's here to help people who need it, and to try to make sure that anyone else who came along aren't going to get hurt on some poorly planned out thing. She's using her powers to try to throw the slavers against the nearest hard object, or trying to make them pass out, and other various effects she can do by messing with electromagnetic fields in and around a body.

This allows her to be able to fight from a distance -- she doesn't have to be right up in an enemy's face to do this. But that isn't to say she couldn't use some assistance from either someone else who can do the distance fighting, or some help from someone who needs to be closer, working with her form than angle. feel free to help her out, or get out of her way, because there are going to be flying bodies here and they won't be in the best shape when they go flying around.

⌁ two ⌁

She tries to not inhale too much smoke from the fire, and it stings her eyes, but she's here to help make sure no one who shouldn't be in the path of the fire isn't in the path of it. She may also try to use it as cover for more slinging around of slavers while she can.

⌁ wildcard ⌁

[ooc; do a thing! I will go with it! (Later on, Lorna is getting in over her head and found by at least Wanda, though.) ]

one

[modelsixtythree]

Natasha's been accused of being impulsive a time or two(thousand), but this is a level of clusterfuck she doesn't think she's ever been capable of. Between the fire and the fighting everywhere, it's hard to figure out exactly what's going on, even from the air. She's mostly been confining herself to breaking any restraints she finds and getting the injured free of the main melee, but she can't help keeping her sensors open for anyone familiar. Screw universe differences at this point.

A flash of bright green off to her left catches her attention, and a quick mental connection with a recognized TAB confirms it and Natasha's heading in that direction before query has finished. She doesn't bother to check her speed as she cuts through the air. Lorna of all people will be able to feel her coming.

She announces herself by way of repulsor beams slamming through a few of the figures trying to rush in Lorna's direction, then pulls herself into a hover a little ways over the other woman's head. "Status?" She shouts down, the helmet's speakers turned way up to make herself heard over the mass of noise.

solas | ota

[dirth]

A) OPEN TO ALL.

[ Solas does not, truly, go out of his way to allow himself to become tangled up with violence - not really, anyway, despite his position in the Inquisition, despite his close relationship with its leader. He was not a truly violent man, and sought, more often than not, to find a means of avoiding it, to partake in study and sleuth rather than the obvious. Sometimes, however, there is nothing to be done but sink into the realms of violence - and, it seemed, this was one of the cases where Solas would allow himself to add more blood to his hands.

Even the lowliest peasant may find freedom in the safety of her thoughts.

... freedom is preferable to mindless obedience... A slave will always fight for freedom...

Solas had seen his people, as they had been before. He had seen them now, city elves captured and rounded up, living in slums, forced to be slaves and worse, treated as lesser and lesser by virtue of their blood. He remembered the People as they had been before Fen'Harel had truly appeared and he came, now, to those that dared threaten the people near him with the very whisper of slavery. They had captured these people, taken their liberties, their freedoms, their rights, and now... And now...

There were children among them.

As the flames light up the site, Solas walks through; any man that comes near him with a raised sword find themselves petrified, turned to stone and held in place. He casts out blizzards to silence any flames that lick too close to innocent hands and he moves, an intensity in his gaze that betrays his anger, his rage, the sheer danger of a man who had seen people torn apart, had seen people with freedom ripped from their hands, had seen people fall to pieces for a chance of a future - and he was a man who would suffer it no longer.

If anyone approaches him he will turn, danger in his eyes, and assess them - but should they prove to be nothing close to the slavers he has been so careful to track down then he won't attack. He'll simply wait, and watch. ]

B) CLOSED TO NERIEL LAVELLAN

[ After his rage falls upon the heads of the slavers... Solas is exhausted. He feels the weight of it in his bones, dragging him down towards the ground, and all he wishes to do is to sink into Dreams and allow himself to float away on them - but he can't risk it here. With the slavery so present in the landscape, the people so hurt by what they had suffered and been through, the memories shared of this place would be nothing short of horrific. He had seen slavery close before, of course, and even spoken to those that might call him their people, hearing their words and stories, but to relive the memories? To allow himself to witness them first hand? He's not entirely sure his mind nor his heart is capable of it tight now.

Instead, he leaves the wreckage and the danger behind him, abandoning anyone and anything he left petrified, his feet silent and step as silent as the wind as he moves away. Exhaustion is clear on his features and he wants to get home, wants to find his quiet room with his paintings and the wood around him, but it seems so far away. He has to get back their, first, and the journey seems agonising right now. It has been a long time since he had fought - truly fought - and his anger had gotten the better of him.

Not even the Qunari priestess had drawn such anger from his veins, and she had been truly of the Qun.

When he stops it's only so he can move and settle down, to sit and cross his legs under him. It makes it easier to lift his head to look up at the sky and, when he does, he realises that he's not entirely alone. The company is not at all unexpected and, careful, Solas turns his attention to the man that has come to join him, expression softening the barest amount as he bows his head, nodding once. ]

Lavellan.

C) WILDCARD

[ Solas will be around, fighting and protecting people - he has protective magic! - and will do his best to make sure everyone gets out. If you want to run into him before/after or even during, feel free to wildcard or contact me at aziraphale! ]

[lavelly]

[Lavellan knows Solas's opinion on slavers, of course. It's much the same as his own. That was why he'd asked Solas to come with him; he remembers how Solas had reacted to the mages, when they'd gone to help his spirit friend. He'd stood back and let Solas done as he wanted, then, and he'd expected much the same to occur here.

He wasn't wrong. But there's a strange disquiet in the aftermath.

Solas has never been particularly emotive, but it's often clear what he's feeling nonetheless. Lavellan stands there and observes him for a moment before he speaks, and suddenly wishes he'd never asked Solas along.

He'd thought maybe something like this could help Solas, help him feel like he's making a difference, even trapped here. But it seems that all it's done is hurt him.

Lavellan could hate himself for that.

Finally he settles beside him, close enough that they can speak quietly but not close enough to be intimate. Not close enough to touch. He's much less graceful, less composed than Solas, and he can't help but marvel at how different they are. Wonders, again, why Solas gives him any thought at all. Solas is striking, in the dim light, his pale skin standing out like marble, his posture belying a dignity that's at odds with what's just happened. And Lavellan is... Lavellan. Rough, unkempt, uncoordinated next to Solas. Ordinary. Subpar.

Lavellan sighs and forces himself to direct his thoughts elsewhere. It doesn't matter how he feels, as long as he can give Solas what he needs. He watches Solas's face intently for tells as he speaks.]

Are you all right?

Hawke | OTA

[otiosity]

come a little bit closer you're my kind of man| open

[Hawke likes to claims he doesn't get wrapped up in things. Things just end up wrapping around her. So when she has to kill people who get in her way, well that's just part of what happens. It's not purposeful, just a result of how things seem to flow.

Having a grudge is kind of new. Especially the kind where she's suited up in the battle armor she hasn't worn in months and gotten on a space ship for the sole purpose of fulfilling that grudge. It's unusual and she doesn't like it. But she can't fight it either.

She takes her staff and gives it an experimental spin. Wielding it is as natural and easy as ever and there's a thrill to it that's hard to deny. Her eyes glance down at the scars on her left arm from the stadium and then up at the bullet hole in her upper arm from the first time she arrived on this outpost and then up at the person next to her. She looks cheerful. Maybe a little too cheerful.]

Don't forget to destroy all their ships and communication thingies. They've got their nasty little hands all over the galaxy with those. So let's cut off the fingers at least, hm?

so big and so strong | ota

[Hawke flings herself into the chaos with something that can really only be described with "glee".

Cutting down these men that once held her, violated her, made her violate the code of ethics her father taught her because she was so desperate to stay alive fills a hole that she's been trying to pretend didn't exist. They'd managed to hurt her. Something few people actually can. And so she's just going to fucking kill them for a return favor.

She leaps in and out of visibility using her fade powers, leaping on top of slavers and forcing them to turn their gun on their fellows before swiftly bringing the bladed edge of her staff through their skull. Then darting away when they try to fire on her causing the spray to hit other slavers.

Of course, she uses magic too. Electrocuting large groups or controlling the fires as though they were an extension of her body to burn through their protective gear and their flesh. The way she moves so flawlessly between magic and her blade and her enemies is natural. It's like she was born to fight. Perhaps it makes sense, she'd been fighting since she was born.

If she ends up fighting by your side, back to back, she'll acknowledge you but it's just a formality. She's much more engrossed in killing as many slavers as she can than making conversation. But Hawke is Hawke and can't resist a good quip all the same.]

So, I'm thinking if I froze their feet to the floor and then you killed them in some way that was needlessly over the top and brutal, it might make for a nice bit of comedy don't you think?

come a little bit closer i'm all alone and the night is so long | closed to Tony Stark.

[So if you're a one woman army, people tend to notice. And if you're someone trying to fight against a group that has a one woman army, you probably out to kill her first or else you're gonna have a bad time.

So when Hawke turns around to face a slaver in unusually heavy armor with an unusually big stick, she's not really surprised. In fact, she regards him like someone might regard something mundane, like bird in a tree. Armor is a pain, but not enough to stop her. That is until he raises the stick, and instead of swinging it at her, he raises it in the air.

Hawke pauses at the unusual move and then stumbles as a high pitch screech fills her ears. It's a horrible noise like metal grinding on metal and the shrieking and wailing of something unspeakable. It stops her in her tracks as feelings of confusion and nausea overwhelm her. She can't reach to the fade for her magic. She can't move. She can't even vomit like her body feels the urge to. She's frozen.

But her opponent isn't. He clubs her over the head with the stick, seemingly immune to the noise that's rendered her immobile. Her body drops to the ground but it seems distant in her head. Like she's watching it happen to someone else.

The slaver sits on top of her. The weight of his metal armor crushes at her ribcage making her struggle to breathe. She struggles blindly even though she can barely tell what she's trying to do and what her body is simply doing. The slaver says something to her. She can only catch a few words between the ringing in her ears. "Bitch... last year... killed... my men".

Suddenly there's pain in her neck and she connects the sensation to a needle being pushed into her throat by the slaver. She wants to struggle, she tries to struggle. But for all good it does, she might as well be a normal woman who can't fight and weighs about 125 pounds soaking wet.

Being normal kinda sucks.]

come a little bit closer you're my kind of man

[carltoaction]

The radios?

[He knows he doesn't particularly her, but he is the closest person to her when barks the order to destroy their communications which is why he responds. And it's a good idea. He likes it as he can only feel encouraged right now by how they're advancing and the slave traders are in a bit of a panicked state. A small smile forms on his lips, his gun held high, finger just off the trigger, as his intentions is not to shoot anyone unless necessary. A nod follows.]

Sure. Radios are easy. But how do you destroy a ship?

Back through the Ingress-- Closed to Asriel and Frisk

[notglitching]

It took Rinzler long enough to find some of the allies he'd come through to help. By the time their group ran into Frisk, the cacophony of violence had started to subside. Former Moirans and their allies both were heading back: injured, but apparently alive. The platform was awash with bodies, too burnt and burst and broken to discern whether they belonged to the combatants they had fought, or the belongings in this place. Not that slave and weapon were entirely distinct, of course.

...

Redirect. Refocus. Most of the active threats had dispersed, but there might be some still strong or clever enough to be waiting, and there was no point in letting his guard down. Rinzler keeps his disk in hand until they reach the exit, and when Chara shifts to cover their retreat, he eyes the user, but makes no effort to object. Frisk goes through. Asriel goes through. He does.

The Ingress is a liquid churning, light/heat/sound all coiling inside his core, pressing at the old aches where then and now are joined together. The world snaps into place with a wash of signatures, a proliferation of armed users filtering arriving functions through their line. Rinzler's noise ticks up in a snarl when one reaches out to touch him, but he allows himself to be waved through with the rest. Submits to their scans, ignores their questions. Takes a little satisfaction in the stammer of the adjunct that tries to tell him where to go.

He's not the only one in the area. Frisk and Asriel are earning similar treatment; Shepard is, for some reason, being held off to the side. He angles his mask slightly in her direction, but the user's gaze is fixed ahead, where the light of the Ingress swirls to a blaze, depositing—

Chara.

Chara, who draws a flurry of motion, lines tightening and weapons up with better discipline than he's seen in this place yet. Chara, whose grip locks rigidly around their knife, frame coiled and bloodstained.

'Rescind your weapons and stand down.'

This could be bad.

[gainedlove]

Frisk barely notices the passage through the Ingress, the discomfort and twisting of reality around them. The only points of focus in their mind are greenyellow and blackred, everything else blurred and indistinct, not of consequence until pieces break apart and move forward.

They are inspected, questioned, but Frisk has no words for these. Whether due to their age or an urgency for something else, they are moved past over to Asriel. One hand still clutches around their disk but the other reaches for his paw, sticky with red but they don't care. He's alive, he's safe; they made sure, they made sure and that's all that matters.

Until another spark of red reappears, and the pieces sharpen into focus.

The words don't parse, but the meaning does. They can see Chara's clenched fist, the stiff smile--it's a FIGHT, stacked and unfair, ready to take their Partner without a single thought. It's only Asriel's presence that makes Frisk pause, tense and ready to spring but not yet, not quite yet when their brother still needs protecting.

Not again. Not again.

closed to ronanithy; cw: hella gore

[deconstruct]

[ he'd warned ronan that this won't be pretty. told him bits and pieces of the things he'd done to people like this at home. 'dismemberment' came up. 'bloodbath'. 'massacre'. told him it'll be ten times worse than seeing him suddenly start strangling kavinsky, which had disturbed ronan enough. but he'd been insistent on coming with.

that's how they find themselves here, stalking the burning streets of the runoff slave trade post, andyr's once clean armor (made for him from ronan's dream magic, to keep him safe) soaked in dirt, blood, tissue and carbon dust from explosions going off. this is exactly what he'd said - a bloodbath, a massacre, vengeful chaos let loose on this settlement, unbridled, and there's an intoxicating thrill pounding in andyr's veins. like the adrenaline that screams through his veins in the arenas he'd been sneaking out to fight. this cruel, awful, savage, vicious energy that fogs up his head and his senses, fed with each neck he snaps, each skull he caves in, each arm he rips free from a too delicate, too humanoid body.

another building cleared out, and andyr comes stalking out with fire and smoke left inside, screams still sounding out, and something clutched in his hand. hair - attaches to a head, no longer attached to a neck. with a sickeningly wet sound, he slams it down on the doorstep. a decent signal that this building's been taken care of. ]

Next. [ a growled proclamation, not a question. there's very little of the loving, childish boy that plays in the pond and chases cows back at st. monmouth in front of ronan now. ] Coming?

[nightmarist]

[Ronan had thought he was prepared for this. He'd found his own father dead on the ground with his skull caved in and brain matter scattered around him like a bloody halo. He'd exhumed corpses from graves and watched Adam exact brutal revenge on Noah's murderer. In his dreams, he'd sawed body parts off children and created another self as a blood sacrifice to his nightmares. They'd been surrounded by mutilated bodies at the Midway Hub. He'd nearly murdered Kavinsky with his own hands. He hadn't thought there was any softness left in him.

He's ashen-faced when Andyr reappears. Not retching or cowering, but standing very still because he finds himself trembling whenever he tries to move. Intellectually, he's known what Andyr was for a long time. He witnessed Andyr's prowess in battle with one of his night horrors. It's different now, somehow, to watch Andyr tear off heads with human faces.

At the prompt, Ronan steps forward to join Andyr. As before, his legs shake when he walks.]

Do you need anything healed?

[Andyr regenerates quickly but not quickly enough. Ronan's come prepared with supplies for emergencies.]