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Iziz
Jul 6, 2013 9:28:53 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jul 6, 2013 9:28:53 GMT -8
Eralam took a different path through the manor. His sword was drawn, held in the left hand. The dim light reflected off the silver accents. The last six inches of the blade gleamed brightly, betraying the razor-sharp edge it held. A series of seams ran throughout the sharpened portion, hinting of hidden machinations. The worn walnut and brass grip of his revolver rested in the palm of his left hand. The hammer was fully cocked, finger resting lightly on the trigger. Most people were eager to dismiss the ancient weapon as useless, but only until they saw the devastation it could bring about as it spoke its deadly word.
The former Shard stalked through the empty hallways, eyes half closed, feeling rather than seeing his surroundings. He knew what the icy presence of his target felt like. If she found the women first, he could be there in a flash. But really, he just wanted a few minutes with her to himself. The others could do as they pleased after that. He'd just be there to see to it that they didn't suffer unduly.
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The Major
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Iziz
Jul 6, 2013 16:38:52 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 6, 2013 16:38:52 GMT -8
....On the ground floor with the two ladies.....
The Agent had made her way to covering position behind LT. Mccan, so then where was Dresden? Could he have gotten tagged on the way in or taken down from between the hallway and the mess hall? Hopefully he had just ventured off in another direction, or even abandoned them. She couldn't exactly say why, but the kommando was feeling incredibly remorseful for bringing these two souls here. Nobody deserved to deal with this, well, nobody except the Fascists from Allgemeine. How incredibly selfish, she was too afraid to die alone; was that it? Could the Feldmütze toting copper headed dame just hoping that these two would bear witness to it all and then leave. These muddied feelings were probably a result of the Ice Witch playing tricks. Nullifying her thoughts based upon that rationale, she takes note of the heavy gear the woman behind her had adopted, and decides on taking the shortest route down to the basement.
"Alrigh'ee. It's important we stay together an' calm. I'll walk slowly so th' gap between us cannae grow large while yue carry thon 'eavy guns."
Another quick sweep with the iron sights, and then the trooper takes a tentative step, then another, another, and then they are smoothly walking, remaining as cool and in control as possible. El-tee makes a right at another doorway which leads into a dank corridor. A few paces later, she comes to a halt, frozen in place by vague figure roughly a hundred meters down the hall.
"...........Obersturmführer Mccan.............. Well, look at that; you done come back. It's over now, it's so over now, it is so over now. It's all over now for you. Ahhh ah ah. Bum buhbuhbuhh buhhh bummm. Waking up was such a waste with a perfect day and a pretty picture just to become gone, but every thing is MUCH better now.
The figure steps forth and begins walking towards Margot toting a rank stink that punched one in the nostrils. His voice, clearly gruff and distinct, is misaligned with an icy presence and pentameter not common among the living.
"God in Heaven. Kuno? Is tha' yue? Yue look something dreadful."
Margot takes a few horrified steps backward, nearly unable to cope with seeing her reanimated squadmate in his new gore slicked mess: not only was his visage paper white and afoul with decaying blood, his eviscerated belly had been slashed open, thus causing his entrails to spill outwards. Rather than remove them, the revived Kuno had chosen to drape his intestine about his shoulders and neck like a designer scarf. He raises his half devoured arms, and proceeds to march down the corridor to the women.
"Ja! And now I dread nothing. I used to respect you, but I confess, confess and do protest that I used to dream of throwing you down, down on yonder green field and ravishing you, myself, ourselves, with our bodies. I thought, foolish, harped: tis better to make love than life to take. Blinded then by my imagination with my eyes fixed on a stolen face with copycats all over the place I realize everything is much better now. And it gets much better cause now I'll suck the sweet marrow from your bones and know you like no one else can ever know! "
Not good. He's not just a normal ghoul. Margot screams to her comrade: "Put 'im doon! Et's a Schiff! Dinnae let 'im get close. Fire with tha' big gun. Fire, fire, fire!"
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The Major
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Iziz
Jul 6, 2013 17:08:12 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 6, 2013 17:08:12 GMT -8
...On nearly the other side of the derelict manor...
Footsteps, heavy and slapping loudly with intent draw closer and closer to Dresden's position. You could hear doors nearby being ripped off their hinges or walls busted as many vectors are trodden upon. It was a race. It was a bloody race to see which could make it to the prey first. And while the dust along on the ceiling began to shake off with vibrations, a voice began to sing out in the Force, directed to nobody in particular, just broadcasted as part of the game. One would expect it to be an icy presence, the presence of the Witch toying with intended victims. No, this voice sung out from a very different place.
<< Neerrrrrrrrryarhhhh! The people won't be people when they hear this song, yeah, glowing in the dark on the edge of forever! People won't be people, no, the people won't be people when they hear this sound. Won't you show me what lays beyond the edge of the edge of town when people won't be people forever and ever. >>
And as if mustered onward by the music a dozen schiff leap through glass or burst through a steel doorway with thunderous aplomb. Each was rent apart by horrific violence, a true population of loss fit for the bowels of Hell, but now standing in front of the squishy and blood filled man, grinning widely, glowing brightly with eyes like stars.
"Eat to the bone! Eat to the bone! Eat the man to the bone!" They scream, before four of their number leap towards Dresden with fangs and seeking to grasp upon his clothes with their cold, dead hands.
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Iziz
Jul 6, 2013 22:31:57 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jul 6, 2013 22:31:57 GMT -8
One glance. No blades, no bullets, one glance was all it took. Like the spacers from the bar earlier, the ghoulish...things that sprang at Eralam never stood a chance. They just sort of fell apart. It was a bit like watching a child's tower made of building blocks collapse, if building blocks were made of putrefied flesh. Neat little cubes, two inches to a side, suspended in midair for a moment before falling to the ground with a series of sickening plops. The accompanying deluge of blood and bowels should have soaked the former Shard head to toe, but nary a drop touched his clothing.
Constant regeneration takes an immense amount of focus and the ability to manipulate particles on the cellular level via telekinesis. Without the constant and quite involuntary effort, Eralam would have never survived his first week as a human. He had no idea how he was able to support the necessary regeneration at all times, whether asleep, awake, drunk, stoned, or otherwise indisposed. What he did know was that, as a result, his control over TK was so utterly precise that he could quite literally split hairs with tiny, invisible blades of thought and memory. The only thing he couldn't figure out is why they only worked on flesh. Sure, the former Whill could take down the entire mansion if he chose to do so, but it would have to be done the old fashioned way. But these...things, he could slice and dice and make curly fries out of them, all without a single blade or bullet.
Of course, Eralam remembered the Ice Queen's taste for theatrics. Her name itself hinted at her musical proclivities. Well, Eralam had learned a thing or two since coming back as a human, and had a nice little tune saved up for the occasion. He walked through the hallways, searching for that signature breath of cold that would tell him he had found the bitch, singing all the while in a raspy basso rumble.
"Between the Devil and God Between the first breath and last Somewhere under Heaven with no future and a hell of a past We're in the mud and scum of things, Moaning, cryin' dyin' But at least we ain't Lazarus And have to think twice about dyin' Yeah at least we ain't Lazarus And have to think twice about dyin'"
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Chloro
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Iziz
Jul 7, 2013 0:09:22 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jul 7, 2013 0:09:22 GMT -8
She kept her pace behind the commando, watching, listening. Her swirling green world saw the outline of a man and then he spoke. The reflex was to spray a tight burst of bullets at the voice. There were no friends here, only the soon to be dead. Maybe that didn't happen because she was too inhibited by her feelings, her conscience that spoke as a voice of reason through the madness that seemed to engulf the galaxy. Why would an enemy bother to speak to them? But that was a mistake - you don't sympathise with your targets, wondering how they felt about what you were doing. That was the fastest way to drive yourself into a gibbering wreck. But Chloro felt it, the humanity of war, the senseless death that she dealt. And it tore at her insides.
Now, she had Kuno, in all his undead glory, come drooling at them. She shouldn't have let him speak, because as the ghoul gained momentum, she felt the terrible injustice that had been dealt him. He was a human, just like the rest. Just like she was.The queasiness was not a private hell for Mccan, but shared by Chloro, who saw in him the myriads of men and women she had killed in his disfigured face. She had always wondered the how, where, what, who of killing but never the why - why did she kill? How could she explain it to this shell of a man? Why could she have allowed it to happen once? And do it again?
Thump! Plink! Chooooom!
The HE skipped off the wall before exploding in the vicinity of the Schiff, highlighting his tragic figure before he was engulfed in flames, shrapnel and tumbling masonry. Chloro's mask protected her from having her soft tissues rupture from the explosion and it covered her tears of remorse. It was wrong, she was wrong but she couldn't stop now. Her destructive hands automatically fed the grenade launcher its next round and if her eyes didn't want to see how good she was at it, so be it - they could manage fine without her. Cushioning the Lieutenant from retreating any further, the right hand grabbed her by shoulder and pushed her forward, urging her to find another route to the basement.
"We're not going back. Find us another way.."
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The Major
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Iziz
Jul 7, 2013 22:17:49 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 7, 2013 22:17:49 GMT -8
"Copy tha', Agent. Finding us another route."
At least now there was nothing left of Kuno to stare at. Ignoring any thoughts touching upon his disturbing declaration of affection, the El-Tee turns and walks through a series of adjacent doorways into a area with a massive, rotting staircase. Therein both of the advancing women would hear a scratching and a stirring followed by a series of moans and shuffling footsteps.
Fucking crap. Ghouls. How did the first reports label these fellows? Bah, the proper term wasn't important. She had always thought of these coming monsters as ghouls: shambling, hungry abominations that couldn't even attempt a mockery of self-preservation unlike the higher level Schiff. How did the science of it work? Schiff were a result of being directly killed by the Witch after being drained to internal dryness. Ghouls, on the other hand, were produced when Schiff killed others. Honestly, to Margot, the details were fuzzy, and there wasn't much study upon them other than wild crack pot imginations. How proper: this all was a science of imaginary numbers and solutions.
These numbers were quite real. First two, then five, then ten, then twenty slow stepping down the stairs and towards the living.
"Ghouls! These basterds must've 'eard th' noise. No problem now, Girly. Shots t'th' kill box are all tha' keep 'em doon. Let's sort these poor fellows tua bett'a place."
Single shot thumbed, sights raise, exhale, and then trigger squeeze.
!BHO! BO! BO! BO-BO! BO! BO! BO!
Four of the groaning undead collapse, hopefully put down for good. Things never can be simple though, as now dozens more gasp and lumber out from other doorways into the massive room, along with a troop of them grouping from the entrance Chloro and Margot had just used.
"Dinnae let 'em bite. Et isn't infectious, but 'urts like Jesus resurrected."
. . .Gunshots fill the air elsewhere. . .
"Oh, oh, oh! Who is this overpowered piece of shit?! Is this our death? We dance and fall, but have not even managed a touch! Make him bleed, make him sweat."
!CHUGGAGAGAGAGAGAGDADADADADADAAA!
The vastly improved burp guns based off of the MP40 spec chug out their magazines at withering rates of fire exceeding 800 rounds per minute. The surviving Schiff show a measure of tack against the single man, firing in intervals as to not end up reloading all at the same time, and constantly attempting to suppress and overwhelm him with lead.
"Panzerfaust! Panzerfaust! Bring them up and get them on him!" Hisses a short, rather green looking smiling corpse from within the rank. It was unnecessary for any one of them to be in command. She only was spouting off what the entire group was thinking at the time.
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Iziz
Jul 8, 2013 7:58:25 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jul 8, 2013 7:58:25 GMT -8
The bullets tore through Eralam's body as if it were rice paper, spraying the hallway with yet more blood and gore. They might as well have been shooting at shadows for all the good it did.
"Ooh, a Panzerfaust. What's that do?"
A flash of movement, impossibly quick. One second, the Shard was standing at the far end of the hallway, taking sustained fire. The next, he was leaning against the wall behind the undead soldiers, cleaning his fingernails with his customary phrik dagger and grinning. There was hell in that grin and fire in his eyes. Both the sword and revolver had been returned to their resting places on the leather gunbelt. His pipe was hanging jauntily out of the corner of his mouth, and the smoke began wafting through the cramped corridor. Hanging from the pipe's stem were the safety pins from the Schiff's lovely old stick grenades.
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Chloro
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Iziz
Jul 8, 2013 8:44:03 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jul 8, 2013 8:44:03 GMT -8
More of the dead, deserving death. No time to think how each battle made her a little more tired. Or how it wrung the living thing that lived in her mind called morality that these zombies lived and how it fell upon her to kill them, again. No-one should have to die twice. A ghoul snapped at her elbow. But Chloro had no plans on dying anytime soon. She enjoyed life far too much. Butting the monster in the face, she double-tapped it in the head. Then she joined Margot in the butcher's work of cutting these creatures down to size. At this range, she wasn't even trying to line anything up, she was shooting from the hip and trusting her instinct to guide her tracer bullets. There were fiery holes in the skulls and torsos of those she shot. Usually more than two. She wasn't going to have a competition with the Lieutenant who shot more, but her pile of dead was more than hers. It wasn't long before she was out of bullets and slamming the next magazine in the chamber, sidling behind the Lieutenant for cover.
There was the sound a hundred sheets of bubblewrap ripping as the backdoor mines detonated. Silly ghouls - no one taught them to avoid the pebble-size anti-personnel bombs that had been scattered from her earlier walk through the grass.
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The Major
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Jul 8, 2013 12:42:53 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 8, 2013 12:42:53 GMT -8
Oh, if justice could be done to paint the expressions of the reinvented Einsatzkays as they realized in a group that their potato mashers, stick grenades upgraded with thermobaric cores to cause a much better brand of mischief over the traditional and antiquated concussive force they were based upon, had their pins pulled by a master.
Two of them bare their arms wide open in a stinky parody of wanting a hug, another chuckles, and one more claps his hands in admiration while the short green woman barks and hastily pulls at the belt straps wrapped about her two tone and green splattered coat. The man clapping speaks quickly before his second end.
"Thank you, Sir. Than---"
It was all a joke. They didn't want any of it. Sure, these men and women were monsters in life but they had their memories of finer days regardless if there may or may have not been a rapist, pedophile, audiophile, drug-abuser, woman-beater, hamster-eater, or chronic masturbator or two amongst their ranks. Naturally, they were a truly sad lot -the dregs of humanity dressing up their insanity in promises of better lifetimes for John and Jane Doe, so long as they were human. Being doomed to a gag reel of the human condition and being forced to eat and kill everything from elderly to infant left them one hope: someone to end them before they watched themselves hurt anyone else. How lucky then, in the infancy of their undead walk, that this pipe smoking man was around to grant them that theatrical end.
!PPPPEEHHOOOOOOMMMMMM!
Still, some were slow learners.
The short ex-noncom leaps meters backwards -a slate gray flash that moved faster than the explosion- and lands with her boots firmly planted to continue this dance. Those grenades had blown a grievous hole in the corridor, revealing the sunshine and clouds coming from one side along with the other floors and nearby rooms along the opposite side.
"No! No! I just got this new body and it feels magnificent! Who cares about you -who cares. You're not even a man. You're just another freak part of this danse macabre. No, I can smell heaven and earth like never before and it feels magnificent!"
She and the other surviving Schiff down on either end of the hall begin to smell the breeze, smelling the scents of the planet that touched upon their noses. You could see a whole new world being discovered upon their wrecked faces, and what did they want to do?
"There are people to spill, yea, little women even in this mansion who are ripe for our kind of expansion. And what's this? The world serves fruits and flowers we so very miss and every living thing looks precious like little treats so lively and ready for consciousness!"
They bug out from the fight, fleeing from Dresden once they have determined he was not truly alive. Some dive deeper into the Zoo sprinting through hall after hall looking for a way to the two women putting down ghouls. The green NCO and her cohort leap out from the walls, now weakened due to their recent violence, and streak upon the open fields, laughing like children, hooting while dashing at inhuman speeds towards the city and its people.
Down where non super powered organics took turns refreshing magazines.
The fight was brutally long winded, baring on the patience of the two as the very last of the sluggish and stupid monsters fell. To describe such a fight in detail would surely bore any soul partaking in this historic record to the grave. Needlessly to say, there was much backpedaling and fire guided by areas of effect. There were plenty of cool noises that weapons made as they were worked upon, even clickity-clack ones. Some further spade work once the fell beasts got close left both Margot and Chloro sprinkled in congealed blood, but that was nothing that a shower and flossing couldn't fix if they survived what was waiting in the basement. Besides, women sprinkled in blood and fighting was all the rage and payed its due in fanservice without being overtly sexual, thus pleasing two focus groups in one morbid swoop.
"By th' Goddess, you're a good shot. Look at tha', Agent, you've gone at least three to one in a ratio against me, tho most of yuer kills came from those mines yue done set. I'm nearly jealous. If I could, I'd offer yue a bowl of me favorite cereal, Cap'n Cr----"
!
There was this sickening shear, like the sound of someone sticking a knife into a piece of raw steak. The left-tenant's StG clashes against the cobble stone floor, and the only Mccan here looks down with sudden, shaking horror.
A wooden rifle, a variant of a KAR-98K, has been plunged through her back right where her left kidney would be. It has been propelled by some hateful force which has resulted in the rifle piercing right through her body like it was a pin-cushion; thus the front part of the weapon, slicked in shavings from her innards, sticks out from her belly while most of the trigger, bolt, and stock stick out from the other end. Margot's hands writhe against the slippery barrel, and she tries to speak.
"Haa. Ahhhh. Haa. Hyahhh. Hyahh. Ghyahh. Gu. Guh. Guhhh. Glluckk."
Now in obvious shock, heart racing away to cardiac arrest, she attempts to turn while trying to hold herself together to face the direction the attack came from.
"Verdammt! Missed the spine!"Says the Schiff who was still in the throwing pose.
His comrade, who is standing upside down upon the vaulted ceiling with his arms crossed, nods appreciatively. "Nein! This is a good thing! Instead of flossing her gut with it, we should turn her into a ghoul and see if she can be used as a self propelled gun! Imagine it: there will be the valued Obersturmführer, moaning like a dumb novice in a back alley while passing out fire with each fart between meals. GLORIOUS!"
Monsters laugh as a chorus, and now it would be apparent by how loud and varied the voices were that there were at least a dozen of the wicked creatures standing and witnessing the scene.
!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
The man from the ceiling drops down and lands in the midst of the living and wrenches the stock of the rifle skewering Margot, who could only gasp in her state of hyper shock; he then "aims" LT. Mccan at Chloro. Blue eyes tell a grand tale of unspeakable suffering mixed with abject terror; furthermore, the Schiff's wraps his hand around the handguard and places a cold finger on "her" trigger.
"Tell us: what is your homeworld's tongue? We wish to toast to you before we violate you with our teeth and tongues."
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Iziz
Jul 9, 2013 1:11:33 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jul 9, 2013 1:11:33 GMT -8
By the time the heat and pressure of the thermobaric blasts had ravaged the hallway, Eralam was clean across the mansion, moving faster than anything in nature had any right to. Something in the last encounter had flipped a switch in the former Shard. Gone was the apathy that only moments before had dominated his life. For the first time in a long time, he was having fun.
The place was filled with the walking dead, be they Schiffs or lesser ghouls. It didn't matter to him. His rapier, truthfully closer to an espada ropera in design, but called a rapier anyway for simplicity's sake, cut snicker-snack through the lot of them. The elegant silver-on-black blade lacked the nearly unstoppable cutting power of his lost lightsaber, but more than made up for it with enthusiasm. StabslashriptearslashstabstrikekillkillkillkillthemallohgodtheRUSH. This was madness and beauty and joy and rage, all wrapped up in a high unlike anything else he had ever felt. He would have said it was better than sex, except for the bit about having no idea what that was like and thus no reliable means of comparison. He made a note to give it a try sometime. Maybe Margot would be down for a roll in the hay, assuming the women survived this.
"Maybe I should check on them..."
"You should probably be more worried about how I'm going to violate you."
Eralam stood behind the two monsters, sword in right hand and revolver in the left. His face was flushed, breathing heavy, pupils dilated from the combat-induced endorphin rush, the eyes themselves quite literally aglow with bloodlust. The tip of the sword was pressed at the base of the first creature's skull. The intricate clockwork mechanisms in the blade's tip scrolled the metal aside, revealing the emitter nozzle of a blastsword. The revolver was nuzzled against the same spot on the second creature's skull. The two weapons sang out in unison, the bright blue-white flash of the blastsword illuminating the dirty white cloud of gunsmoke. The reports echoed through the cramped quarters, muffling the sound of the now headless bodies collapsing.
The old Iron Knight stowed his weapons and rushed forward to catch Margot before she had the chance to join her would be killers. He lowered her softly, pausing only to remove the rifle from her gut before it had a chance to do any more damage. One look at the wound said it would be a fatal one. Kidney gone, intestines shredded, and no bacta for miles. It would be a slow, agonizing death, but death was assured. There was still a chance though. He could save her, but only if she let him.
"Margot, listen. Stay with me," he said, trying desperately to keep her conscious long enough to answer. "I think I can heal you, but at a cost. I'll have to give you a bit of my power. Your life will be saved, but I have no idea what it will do to you, to your mind or soul. Humans are not meant to have this sort of power. I'll understand if you say no, and then I'll carry out my promise. Either way, you don't have to suffer for much longer."
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Chloro
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Iziz
Jul 9, 2013 6:58:39 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jul 9, 2013 6:58:39 GMT -8
Chloro's face was splattered in gore, ash, dirt and gunpowder. Some of it recent. Some of it that she had carried since the beginning. She was up to her calves in dead human much, having chose to finish off the remaining ghouls with the sole of her boot. It was nice to have a little weight behind her - it made the whole throat-crushing business easier. Chloro had discovered that zombies had considerable difficulties biting once their necks refused to support them. Mccan bludgeoned, Chloro pulverised and their work was finally done. Chloro had opened the vents on her gas mask, jammed a fag between her lips and was trying to get her gore-slicked lighter to strike while listening to the promises of cereal when a rifle went through Mccan.
For a moment, she wasn't sure if it was the eerie green nightvision that was lying to her brain. But the death-rattle coming from Mccan's lips was a positive indication that, yes, there was a massive stake protruding out of her gut. Probably fatal too, judging by how her body went flaccid. Chloro should have wrenched her attention away from the dying Lieutenant and swept her rifle over the second wave of monsters that were filling the corpse-lined room, but somehow the fatigue and the sudden hopelessness of the situation paralysed Chloro. She was struck like the Lieutenant, her lighter tumbled to the floor with the StG.
She could see it happening now, she was going to die here too. Although she had no handle on the force like some, she still could draw from her impressive well of hatred, fear, malice and transform these materials to give her an almost super-human might. It had carried her through situations worse than these. It could have even been the death of Eralam of Tython. But her mind had denied her access, as it was fracturing under the horror of having to do these terrible things and was self-destructing to prevent her from doing any more damage to humanity. She could feel her mind beraing her, even as her own death was approaching, for not even sparing a thought for Mccan, spending her last moment choking to death on her own blood. Chloro was a vengeful, selfish cancer that was supposed to die. Alone.
But there was something desperate in her that refused to let those sickly soft thoughts melt through. Throwing herself out of the field of the Mccan rifle, her Hands snapped her freshly reloaded assault rifle up and blasted away at the nearest Schiff. She knew that the others would probably avenge the death of their comrade, but, inexplicably, their heads simultaneously exploded. Chloro shifted targets to where she had seen the other monsters and emptied the entire magazine, spraying and praying that the caught the rest of the them.
And it had all gone quiet, except for Dresden, offering a pre-death resurrection.
Chloro moved over to kneel with Dresden over Margot's body. Chloro wouldn't have even wasted a bullet on the Lieutenant - she was expendable in the truest sense of the word and Chloro owed nothing to her, not even an easy death. But only seconds ago, when she was sure she was going to die, she felt regret that she had been so self-consumed. And now Chloro had a chance to do more than give her a thought. Although Margot was dead meat and yet Dresden seemed so sure that he was able to revive her. Well, good for him - but the wound wasn't going to staunch itself. Bunching up her fascist uniform, she put pressure on the wound. Would it buy enough time for the ex-Robot Space Ninja to perform his miracle?
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Flo
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Iziz
Jul 9, 2013 6:58:49 GMT -8
Post by Flo on Jul 9, 2013 6:58:49 GMT -8
Iziz center
::Why is he in such a hurry? Is there a Foeietog coming to town? Heh heh mghum::
The rest of what he said was muffled as the chopsticks assumed that since his mouth was open it wanted more food. The owner/chef/waiter repeated his ardent desire to close his shop for the night and get some sleep. More importantly, the odd couple was keeping family awake too. This merited his ardent and passionate incoherent shouting of this previous ultimatum - he was going to give them five more minutes to finish up or else he was going to throw them out with the broom! He would have done this earlier, but the guns had put him off. But since the vacant female and strangely bendy man turned out to be quite unthreatening, he had unleashed his full wrath. Now for the broom...
While he masticated, Flo worked methodically on the napkin, her eyes fixed on the middle distance, while her hands moved of their own accord, drawing a highly accurate map of the Chateau, down to the "Onderon Defense Force" watermark. She waited for him to finished chewing before handing him the map. He nearly wiped his mouth with it. But thankfully the owner had returned, wielding the broom, as promised. Flo let her and her partner be thrown out onto the street, smiling placatingly all the way. She waited until he had gone back inside before walking over to their vehicle and got in the driver's seat, while letting him climb in the back. Like a celebrity.
"We'll be there in a bit."
Not too far from the Chateau
BLA-RRRRRRR! BLA-RRRRR-R-R-R-R
::Nice. You got both. No, wait, the one's still moving::
BLA-RRRRR-R-R-R
The open fields and her partner's spotting skills made the two fleeing Schiff an easy target for the LMG. Although it was a little outside their game plan to intervene just yet those two freakishly fast monsters were heading right toward them. And they didn't seem like the type that had come to share the rest of richly garlic scented takeaway that the bespectacled spotter was eating.
"Do you see the real monster?"
::Nope::
So, they wait a little longer, watching, waiting, listening...
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The Major
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Iziz
Jul 9, 2013 20:35:07 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 9, 2013 20:35:07 GMT -8
Beauty everywhere; beauty forever lost. Such tantalizing concepts played out on upon the mind as blood loss caused the edges of your field of vision to blur and twinge gray. It wasn't her life played out like a pop film in a cheap drive in theater; it was emotion ranging from deep seated sorrow to boundless confidence with fear as the appropriate response and sprinkles of cheerfulness.
The El-Tee's head rolls back slightly, and for some inexplicable reason her fading eyes peer upwards into the vast shadows of the vaulted ceiling. What. More? Therein stands a spider shaped like a person dribbling its slender, white fingers against a skinny log cradled affectionately in its arms. Ink on murk, black on black, and yet there it shuffles letting light come like orbs where its eyes should be. Slowly a poised finger raises, slowly on its path it moves to rest upon the ebony face. Hush. The thing was telling her to stay hushed. Then it disappeared as if never existing, little more than a hallucination of sorts -or was it? Nor did this thing even leave a mark in the Force.
Oh no. Oh no. There were times to die, and places to fall. But please, don't let her be buried in this accursed place. Don't let her bones rot with the perversity flowing through every millimeter of this house. There was no cost too steep, no soul worth trading -if all only for a few moments to get away and embrace eternity in kinder grounds. Carry that weight, Officer; carry that burden. Kill your guilt or hang yourself later, but by no means stay locked in this terrible mansion. It did not matter if she was a nobody; she would rip the planet open until the universe granted her mastery over her fate.
Margot's arms raise and clasp unto Chloro's side by the ribs, and unto Dresden's thigh.
"Until I pay for me crimes, 'help me stay an' fight. I want to fight."Her entire body begins to shake uncontrollably from hair root to boot sole: a true wreck.
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Deleted
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Iziz
Jul 9, 2013 22:43:32 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jul 9, 2013 22:43:32 GMT -8
"That's all I needed to hear."
Eralam opened himself to the Force, and time froze for all present. Except for him.
"We've got to stop meeting like this," he muttered, exasperation evident in every crease of his blood spattered face. Exasperation gave way to pain and sorrow as the memories of the final moments of his previous life came flooding back.
It is necessary.
"I know, I know, but it doesn't feel right."
Right and wrong are irrelevant here. Speak not of them to us.
"Ordinarily I'd have to rant on the matter, but time is running short. What do you want?"
Time means nothing in this place, but we see your point. Are you sure you want to do this?
"No, I'm not. I don't like using her like this." He gestured towards the frozen body of Margot. "You realize that this will almost certainly make her the bitch's next target."
You sound as if you are starting to like her.
"Maybe I am. Damned hormones... That aside, she's proven herself brave and adaptable for a human. And we're going to use her as bait."
Would it ease your mind to know that this woman is every bit as monstrous as the evil we seek?
"I'm not stupid. I've run into her outfit before. You don't make commission if they think you have anything resembling a soul left. They murder, rape, and pillage, all in the name of creating a thousand year kingdom, and I'd be willing to bet she's enjoyed her fair share of all three. But no one deserves that."
Rest assured, dear Shard. She will not suffer the demon's wrath once she leaves this world.
Eralam chuckled.
"Didn't know you were in the business of forgiveness."
We do not offer her absolution for her sins, merely oblivion for her services. The demon will not have her soul.
"Fair enough, I guess. What about this one," he said, nodding towards Chloro. "Last time we tried this, her twisted little Sithspawn Doppelganger fucked it all up."
We confess that we do not know who or what is pulling her strings. We can see touches of the hands that shaped Kuroro, but no more. All else is veiled in shadow, beyond even our power to see.
"Think there might be Vong involved?"
We cannot say. We know she is likely someone's puppet, but so are the rest of you. Even the demon has someone pulling her strings and making her dance. She is supposed to be our physical embodiment of chaos, and she plays the part well. But she is as artificial and hollow as a doll. Her puppetmaster is exceedingly well hidden as well, but they tipped their hand onboard that ship. We need them to take this bait.
"OK, I smell what you're slinging. So how do I do this? I don't exactly have an easily breakable crystal heart this time."
A shadowy hand formed out of nothingness. In its palm, almost painfully bright, was a very familiar piece of crystal. Eralam's eyes widened in surprise. He barely managed to choke back a gasp.
"No, it can't be. That's..."
Did you really think we would let something like this be lost in hyperspace? The ramifications of such carelessness would be enormous. No, we have saved it for this occasion. It will be well spent.
The hand lowered the crystal onto Margot's wound, where it sank in like water into the earth.
You need to do nothing more than touch her mind. The crystal will do the rest. Good luck, dear Shard. We will only speak to you once more, at the very end.
Time resumed. Eralam grasped the cold, trembling fingers of Margot's right hand and bent over her broken body, placing his forehead against hers. The self-imposed memory blocks were back in place; he remembered nothing of the conversation with his own puppetmaster, save for this: touch her mind, let the crystal do the work. So the former Shard did just that, caressing the fading mind with his own. There was a flash from the girl's torn abdomen as power beyond a human's capacity to imagine spread through the wound, knitting flesh and organs back together. A foul-smelling steam vented from the hole as the shit that had leaked from her ruptured intestine was disinfected and expelled. The agony of losing a kidney would be nothing next to the agony of having it regrown, atom by atom, pieced back together from the very building blocks of matter itself. It would be enough to drive a person insane.
But for that, one must be conscious of one's body. Eralam and Margot were technically in the room, but their minds found themselves in a blindingly white room of seemingly infinite proportions. The room wasn't truly infinite, as it could clearly be measured as 1 kilometer in diameter. Best not to think about why you could walk towards the far wall from the center all day and still have 500 meters to go.
The Shard stands in the center, once more restored to his former glory. The robotic chassis that had served him faithfully for eons served as his avatar in this place.
"Hello Margot," he said. The voice is somewhat distorted and robotic, but it's unmistakably the voice of Dresden all the same.
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The Major
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Iziz
Jul 10, 2013 9:14:51 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 10, 2013 9:14:51 GMT -8
There would have been paragraphs of colorful prose in place to describe how hateful and infinite each second of this dreadful process was. Instead of that, and of cool lines to make her seem worth the effort, there was hushed howling as the woman attempted to choke down her hair raising shrieks and turn them into something not so pathetic, but it was difficult. Sweat formed upon her brow, and that spine would not relent in bending and quivering like undergoing birth squeeze. The whole mess was undignified, but it beat the hell out being reduced to the state of undeath. Let the pain flow then, let it eat at her as every atom of her destroyed kidney regrew. It wasn't even a shaving of the pain she had caused: but it was a start.
"!FFFFFFFFUUUUUCKING HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!"
Pink crystals begin to form in clumps inside and around the womb, rippling like goosebumps as the same refractive material began to take the place of the missing tissue.
Then there was white -what looked like endless light. White? Was she dead? Did the process prove too much and provide emancipation from waging sin? No, this place was too clean for the likes of her soul. This was something different. The machine in front of her wasn't some Judge. No, he was the healer: the one keeping her in regardless of where the grass stood. Didn't he know? She wasn't worth this kind of trouble; she was a nobody, and a cruel version of a it to boot.
Grasping at her side which glowed pink with every thump of her heart, Margot speaks to the figure.
I dinnae even know yuer name, an' still yue gue on an'elp. I've done terrible finks, an' believed in et as well. I 'ave placed alien infants on a pike an' danced under et, because they were not man. I 'ave watched th' glassings, th'rockets as they blasted cities tue nothingness, because they were not man. I've fought an' killed for littl' pieces of ribbon an' metal, because they proved I was a part of man. Here yue are, givin' me a chance tue be free. When I 'ad a chance tue due th' same for Kurt, I killed him. So tell me, wot's this really aboot? There is no such fink as freedom; there is only a mission. So tell me, Greater Being, wot's yuer mission for me?
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Deleted
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Iziz
Jul 10, 2013 9:59:09 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jul 10, 2013 9:59:09 GMT -8
The Shard resisted the urge to cavort about; there really wasn't time for him to enjoy the illusion of his old body. So instead, he settled for laying down on the cold floor, savoring the sensation of solidity against his robotic "flesh."
"I've been called many things over the years. I've been a Shard, an Iron Knight, even a Whill. My friends have called me everything from Tin Can to Rusty to the Robot Space Ninja. The people of this planet know me as Dresden. My true name is Eralam. What you did to Kurt was monstrous. Ergo, you are a monster. But I'm no better; hell, I've done worse in my lifelong crusade to keep civilization afloat. I'm not here to judge you, Margot. I'm here to explain the monstrous thing that I've done to you in the name of that crusade."
An image of the demon, the Ice Queen, the bitch known as Diva floats in midair. No hologram could ever be so lifelike. They could catch the image in perfect color and resolution, but nothing could convey the sheer malice and hatred that radiated from every fiber of her being.
"Your life has been spared because we need her. Something or someone is pulling her strings. I saw her die once, you know. She had just realized something, was a hair's breadth away from becoming something far greater and more dangerous than the thing she is now, and someone pulled the plug. And yet, here she is again. She's not real, not in the same sense that you and I are real. We think that someone makes her and turns her loose when they see fit. So here we are."
The image fades, replaced by a real-time image from the real world of the metamorphosis that was ravaging and repairing the young officer's body.
"That crystal inside of you is all that's left of my original body. I filled it with a bit of my essence and broke it off to sustain an older form of her right before she died. If it had worked, we wouldn't be in this mess. But somebody..."
The image is replaced by Chloro's scarred visage. Next to it was her Sithspawn imposter, Kuroro.
"...had another piece on the board. That piece messed it all up and managed to kill me in the process. Through means that I'm not at liberty to discuss, that piece of crystal was recovered, and is now merrily plugging up that hole in your belly. It'll save your life, that much we know, but no one knows what else it's doing. There's enough energy in that thing to power Coruscant for a week. Humans aren't meant to have that sort of power. If you manage to survive the next few hours, there will likely be all manner of unforeseen consequences. But then again, your chances of surviving the next few hours are pretty slim, because it's painted a target on your forehead. She's smart, you see. She likely won't come at me directly if she thinks she can cause more suffering by cutting down you or Chloro. And when it becomes clear that you're something different, she'll want that power for herself. I'm sorry, Margot. I wish this could have been any other way. The only comfort I can offer is oblivion. Instead of spending the rest of eternity trapped in some wretched corner of the Netherworld to pay for your sins or ending up as her slave, your death will be final. Your soul will just fade away."
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The Major
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Iziz
Jul 12, 2013 10:26:27 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 12, 2013 10:26:27 GMT -8
Think? Who thinks in an otherworld. Thoughts are spoken words.
"I was hopin' yue'd say tha' after this was o'er we could go home an' spend th' rest of our merry little days with cold whiskey, a lonely 'ouse in th' middle of nowhere, some fuckin' of each other's brains oot, an' some kids who wouldn't be as buggered as we were. Ah, but tha' would be a slice tue easy, Eh? Yuer not even technically human, so I guess any 'ope of redemption an'a'appy ending is a shite point. So... I'm bait. Good. If everyone 'ad been this straight forward with me growing up then maybe I could'a avoided this sordid mess. Maybe this, maybe that. Supposition, I suppose. Bait fuer th' bitch. I'm fucking food; I'm goin' to be converted to shite. Tha's et."
Margot shrugs, then gives the laying figure of the robot a genuine smile.
"But yuer sayingk I don't gotta carry me weight with her ever after? Terms offered; terms accepted. Oblivion would be better than these memories of me life anyway. Nothingness would be a better state than my life anyway. I'll try not to make yue look bad before I'm eaten then, alright?"
Time plays again, anything else the Shard might say or do would be something the El-Tee would see as a furthering blur as the world came back.
Margot lets out one final scream as the pink crystal seals the wound, but doesn't fade. It continues to throb with each passing thump of her heart. She rises up to her boots and stands, collecting the dropped StG and beginning to clear out the old mag and reload a fresh one. Her ammo is low, so she quietly begins to scrounge among the corpses of the Schiff and ghouls to replenish -ever glowing pink on one side of her tummy. Walking was awkward, resulting in a gait that was biased to the healed side.
"Is et just me, or is et a lot more cold in here?"
Fog builds and flows form an open doorway that leads down into the darkest expanses of the Zoo.
Down below in a lightless theater a snow white figure appears to be dead, laying on the edge of the stage.
"Diva... Diva... They're here. . ." The accompanying voice is soft. Thoughtfully, it places a hand on the dead girl's brow from just over the edge of aforementioned stage, which causes it to stir and awaken. Like a child, Diva looks so filled with happiness at the figure that stands before it in the darkness. The Witch nuzzles her head closer into the soft hand, almost purring.
"I just had the most wonderful dream about you. I wish it didn't end."
The other presence tentatively withdraws and repeats a warning. "He's here. Our favorite person. Our most hated person. We gave everything to that one. We took everything from that one. He's back and he brings more souls preen for plucking; two women, and one reeks of passions ever sucking. What's more two more on the field do draw closer with purpose unclear but I can smell them clearly from here."
Diva smirks and twists unto her belly, laying her head between her folded hands and drumming her legs up behind in cadence.
"Ooooo, I can sense that all our little helpers have bitten the dust. How useless, no wonder those old guns rust. They call themselves Death's Head because upon death they do trust. Worthless, vile, only good to die twice, such people are a menace to all that's good in life. Prepare a table for eight guests, prepare them for meager festive. That's right, Love, set eight in case that duo in the field do decide to join. Do not wrinkle your beautiful face, the eight place is for Riplain -whom I know will show, because whose play is this if this play is not her show? Please, White Knight, go on and greet our guests -we shall not be rude for this is my old home and I its Countess."
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Chloro
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Iziz
Jul 13, 2013 1:16:31 GMT -8
Post by Chloro on Jul 13, 2013 1:16:31 GMT -8
Margot's shrieking reminded Chloro of her childhood life in a tin shack. When she wasn't being used as cannon fodder in a trench, they had her hold the hand of the dying. Except on one occasion where the screams had brought another life into the world. It was a revelation to her how we entered the world screaming and eventually we'd leave the world, screaming. Yet, through it all, she clung on to life for the sake of life. And it was well within Eralam's ability was able to give it. That was the magnetic attraction that he exerted, being beyond death or life, a broker in either. Chloro was jealous of his ability to be able to decide on a whim whether to give life or deny it. All that she could do was take. Destroy, cast into disarray and devastate. Her jealously turned to Margot, who had the choice to die. And still, she wanted to live. She had reason, whereas Chloro had hers taken from her.
She was hollow. A void that would destroy until she destroyed herself. That prospect was starting to look very appealing. That was the only thing that she left she could give. And if that void could consume a monster in the process, that would be an even finer act of redemption.
Margot had her second chance, just as Chloro got her own. She had knelt next to a broken shell of a human, ready to die herself. And she was made anew.
Now as the cold rolls through the corridors, Chloro unclips her facemask and inhales like she has never had a cleaner breath of fresh air. Pupil dilates.
"It's purrfect.."
Chloro's small, blood splattered frame seems to expand with anticipation, rising and easily hefting the assault rifle with one hand as the previous fatigue dropped away. It was so clear, so simple what she had to do to fix it all. She and her comrades were bound bound together by a purpose that she gave of herself completely over to, without a reservation.
"We're at the gate to her lair."
The blazing green eye stared hard and fast at Dresden, the man let her live to die another day. Was that where Kuroro had absorbed that devotion from? Or was that what seemed to fuel her bottomless reservoir of fire?
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Deleted
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Iziz
Jul 13, 2013 10:15:21 GMT -8
Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2013 10:15:21 GMT -8
The room faded, and Eralam found himself back in reality. Margot was scrounging rounds, Chloro had new vigor, and he was two rounds short of a full load. The Colt chambers six rounds, like most revolvers, but it's customary when carrying older weapons to leave a chamber empty. Since there isn't a safety, this is the best way to prevent a misfire. Well, the Shard wasn't worried about safety or etiquette at this point, so he pulled two paper cartridges from the pouch on his belt. Bite the ends, pour the powder. Place ball and paper down in the cylinder, tamp down with loading level. The paper would take the place of the greased patch of wool normally used for a wad. Grab two percussion caps, fit on the nipples, and done. The whole process took about ten seconds. Loading the whole weapon could take upwards of a minute, but it was worth the extra time. These bullets were special.
The old warrior couldn't help but blush a bit. Truth be told, he had always found the whole bloodlust thing to be a bit juvenile. He'd spent many an hour chewing out some brave but foolish private for some idiotic stunt that, while generally effective, placed the whole operation at risk. The ones he didn't chew out usually died in the process. It was unbecoming of a seasoned soldier to lose their shit like that. And here he was, veteran of so many battles that the earliest ones had faded from human memory, traipsing through the haunted manor like a kid in a hologame. Fuckin' disgraceful, that's what it was.
And then there was Margot."I was hopin' yue'd say tha' after this was o'er we could go home an' spend th' rest of our merry little days with cold whiskey, a lonely 'ouse in th' middle of nowhere, some fuckin' of each other's brains oot, an' some kids who wouldn't be as buggered as we were. The words hadn't meant much in the room where his robotic avatar had as much glandular activity as a month-old corpse. His human body, however, thought that idea sounded lovely. The blush cranked up a few notches. Still there was work to be done. Eralam reached out with his mind towards Margot. If the crystal worked like he thought it would, she should be able to hear him.Hello? Is this thing on? Margot, this is Dresden. Radio check, over.Hopefully she'd be able to pick up on his mental signal. And if he was very, very lucky, she wouldn't pick up on anything deeper than the surface layer of his thoughts. Eralam fervently hoped that she wouldn't be able to see some of the more...athletic possibilities roaming through his decidedly male brain. He was curious on some level as to why Chloro didn't elicit a similar sort of response. She certainly was attractive enough, if you didn't mind the scars. Probably had something to do with his past experience with Kuroro. The Sithspawn had suddenly started spewing fire from every orifice. He'd hate to see what sort of surprises the human version had in store.
And after a moment of considering those possibilities, the blush brightened once more. The former Shard was now more or less a uniform shade of bright red."Oh, fucking hell."
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The Major
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Iziz
Jul 13, 2013 18:19:55 GMT -8
Post by The Major on Jul 13, 2013 18:19:55 GMT -8
Great, it was bad enough replaying voices from the annals of her mind. There was that kid on Bilbringi, probably around fifteen. She heard a noise while storming a building, and rather than risk the lives of those under her command, she turned and fired through the thin door and plaster walls. Those bullets were true, and there he was -laying in a pool of his own shit and blood, eyes gaping in pain. The kid gave off a death rattle, steaming right out of his mouth, and that was sound file number one. Two was Daniel saying, "Yeah, I loved you. But you killed that woman when you signed up to agree to this madness. We're done. You can rot on your own in Hell," before the front door slammed shut. Did he ever manage to get off Allgemeine before the third wave of purges? That would have been nice to know, if only her unit wasn't the group sent to confirm the number of rebels killed. There he lay, pool of blood poured out of his brain. The guy who did him said he tried to surrender once his machine pistol was dry. The guys made him kneel, cracked jokes about his sexuality and his affinity for male genitals -which, Margot could attest, was not true. Still, they shoved a luger into his mouth and then Daniel didn't exist anymore. Hell was the last word she heard. Guess he didn't realize he was going first. Last was the Ice Bitch's song, going on repeat. That one didn't need an narrative.
"Aye, Sir. I can 'ear yue ringing in my mind, true as a song. Bloody 'ell, et's like I'm not human anymore. I'm just a freak like these poor dead sods; I can 'ear so much, an' I can smell th'ormones telling yue tue blush. Et like a musk: not bad, nue. Pungant but pleasant. Huh. I'd worry aboot me likin' yuer scent, but since I'm devil food, all bets are off. 'ell, how does th' Agent's breath smell tha' clean? "
The main problem was that Margot had just said all of this aloud. Figuring out how to work mental communications on a dime was a pipe dream at best. And it got even worse, because that little speech not only echoed dully against the vualted walls, filling Chloro with that sap, but spreading out to places darker, places beneath.
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