the littlest edgelord (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
inconsequence) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2017-05-15 11:37 am
inconsequence) wrote in thisavrou_log2017-05-15 11:37 am
Entry tags:
- *event,
- dragon age: marian hawke,
- dragon age: neriel lavellan,
- dragon age: solas,
- marvel 3490: natasha stark,
- marvel 616: lorna dane,
- mass effect: commander shepard,
- mcu: wanda maximoff,
- metal gear: liquid snake,
- original character: andyr prince,
- star wars: rey,
- the raven cycle: ronan lynch,
- the walking dead: carl grimes (crau),
- tron: rinzler (crau),
- undertale: asriel dreemurr,
- undertale: chara dreemurr,
- undertale: frisk,
- undertale: mettaton,
- x-men movies: erik lehnsherr,
- x-men movies: james "logan" howlet,
- x-men movies: jean grey,
- x-men movies: kurt wagner,
- x-men movies: laura
If God Was In Hell We Would All Be Dead [OPEN | MINGLE]
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?
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?
no subject
It's too late. She raises her hand towards him, ]
You should've left.
[ It won't be a mental push this time. She means to send fire. ]
no subject
[ Moments like this, there's no time to think, just move. He's already singed from the shimmering heat, the melting soles of his boots sticking wetly to the grey earth.
Logan tackles Kurt, dragging the boy to his chest, and presents his back as a shield to the Phoenix's rage. ]
no subject
Kurt snaps to as soon as he hits the ground, upturning his face toward Logan then wincing his eyes shut and huddling close to his chest, both hands clutching at the front of his shirt. He can't ignore the scent of singed flesh or burning fabric and he certainly isn't able to forget the fact that had Logan not reacted when he did, he might have been turned to ash like those slavers before him.
Jean, you're stronger than this! Make it stop! She probably can't hear him, but it's all he can think to do.]
no subject
In the opposite direction, she sends a shockwave through more stone structures, destroying them and making the fires rise. ]
no subject
Get the fuck out of here. It won't let up again.
[ Pain sizzles up his back, in his feet and his hip, ignored as he sets off to approach her again, this time with a limp. Holding his side, he exhales sharply through his nose, straightening before her. ]
I know Jean's in there, Phoenix.
no subject
And I know of the metal that resides in you.
[ She turns back to him, eyes burning like her hair, ]
Fire can melt metal, can it not?
[ It's a final warning. One that the Pheonix can't believe it is giving at all. This stupid human and her attachments. ]
no subject
A long time ago he accomplished the unthinkable at Alcatraz, because he was the only one who could. Now, he can't. Those claws slide away, and he opens his arms, reaching for something else in quiet desperation. If she's still fighting it, then maybe... ]
If that's what it takes to bring Jean back. If it'll sate your anger. Do it.
no subject
It won't.
[ And he will start to feel some of his skin start to burn his along hands and arms. It will start on his face when it suddenly, abruptly stops. She flinches back, her expression contorting into one of pain and shock- ]
--what are you...?
[ There's a strangled noise from the phoenix and then the fire is gone. Jean's hair and eyes return to their normal state as they roll to the back of her head and blood starts to run out of her nose and both ears. The heat has disappeared and the winds have gone silent. Jean goes limp in the air before she starts to fall from the sky. ]
no subject
Jean almost wrenches his shoulder out of socket when he catches her, driving him to his knees. Immediately he gives her a shake, trying to wake her, to get her to show some sign of life because she has to be alive, she has to. ]
Jean. Jean. C'mon honey, don't do this, wake up. Wake up! Jean!
[ Is that a heartbeat? He quiets, cradling her close, listening. Yes. Yes! She's still breathing.
The air he sucks in could very well be a sob of pure, undiluted relief. ]
no subject
He's being told to run, but can't seem to bring himself to move away, even when Logan urges him aside with that rather ominous statement. At least, that's how he feels about it, scrambling to his feet and watching him confront the entity again.
Jean wouldn't let the Phoenix hurt them-- he was sure of this.
The agonized expression on Jean's face demands that he do something to help her, though as the fire fades and she returns to normal, all he can manage is a panicked shout at the sight of his friend falling from the sky. Thankfully, Logan reacts faster than his brain can.
With both of them safe (from what he can tell), there's a relieved breath then he teleports over, reaching one hand out to rest on the old man's shoulder.] ... s-she's okay, right?