![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
- #event,
- arthur stuart (velvet goldmine),
- aymeric de borel (final fantasy xiv),
- jace herondale (shadowhunters),
- jughead jones (riverdale),
- kenzi malikov (lost girl),
- kurt wagner (xmcu),
- loki (mcu),
- marcus wright (tsfb),
- mikaela hyakuya (sote),
- nico di angelo (chb),
- private joker (full metal jacket),
- rafaello d’este (oc),
- will solace (chb),
- wyatt lawson (oc)
War with D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.
Characters: Ensemble cast, any/all characters of Xistentia!
Summary: D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. comes to Xistentia for the first time, bringing with it violence and havoc. Combat against enemy agents, healing, emergency sanctuary, and "Drift Compatibility" happen here. Refer to the OOC plotting post and the mod announcement!
Date(s): November 4-18
Warnings/Notes: Violence, death, psychological themes, trauma. Please warn for anything else in your subject headers!
Everything is, in short, super fucked. Era Ra's warning came at the right time, forewarning of some of the weapons and fighting styles that could be expected from D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.'s agents, but still, the people of Xistentia have not faced a force like this before. The ragtag combination of fighting styles and tactics promises both versatility and confusion.
For better or worse, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. is in similar chaos.
The first to come are ships from the Western sea, bearing a mix of warriors in and monsters. Some wield old-fashioned steel swords and others bear laser blasters, and their armor is just as varied. Some creatures appear domesticated, while others are feral and snap at their own. However, one primary feature identifies the enemy: their war color is red, which adorns flags and uniforms. Interestingly, the sea and sky of Xistentia seem to be fighting back in their own way, massive waves and a storm, even animals pestering them as they attempt to land the beach. However, it's only a matter of time before the mainstay of their forces reach land, some two hundred fighters. It's then that sentient fires start to whirl into the forests, leaping from tree to tree. You have the home court advantage. Even the foliage itself seems to cooperate with you, aiding in efforts for stealth by keeping you downwind, twigs failing to crack when you misstep. Soon, you're joined by Xistentia's other forces-- a handful of battered ships taking air, an odd assortment of elves and talking dogs, demons and aliens from outer-space, coordinating counter-attacks.
You're locked in combat with a woman who seems oddly familiar, though you don't know her face and can't think of her name. You hit her in the head, and now a narrow slice of her face shows through her red-rimmed helm. She wields a rifle tipped with a heavy blade, though it crackles with electrical energy. She is a proficient swordswoman, deftly parrying and striking against you, her face eerily expressionless. Her blade has a switch that, when activated, will send out a net that numbs your limbs and drags you to the floor. Here's hoping you won't face this demon alone.
She's not your only problem. You may have noticed, that in every epic battle with evil wizards, there's always some kind of a problematically gigantic elephant. This is one of those days. At least, there's only one, its trunk as wide as a car, its feet moving slow, so that it might crush the trees rather than trip over them.
Fight one or both, or fight the hordes of nameless minions around them. Either way: there's plenty to do. Those of you who thought things were too quiet here? You'll be busy today.
Fighting isn't for you? Well, you'll want to get out of the way, then. The "wards" protecting the city are failing, and people are heading toward The Temple where the protections remain the strongest. Here, the injured need healing in the stone beds. The civilians do their best, comforting children, cooking food, trading intelligence, repairing weapons and armor where possible. Feel free to pitch in; they need all the help they can get.
And here, you've reached the Temple, you've laid yourself down on one of the many glass-and-stone beds within the safety of its stone walls. You know what the other Xistentia residents have told you about it— this is the next phase, after the memory share had raised shields against the psychotropic rain. This is the PsyLink. Through this bond, you are said to be able to activate special defenses. No one seems to know exactly what they are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And beyond the Temple walls, times are desperate indeed.
Each drift requires at least two people. Your daemons will find and connect you, seemingly at random— and you may find yourself with the unlikeliest of partners.
The Kissing Booth participants find it easiest. Everyone else-- it's a wild jumble, finding yourself caught up in a firehose of not only your own memories, but that of someone else. Everything they think, everything they feel, is intertwined with your mind.
You can't get caught up in it. You have to let the memories of the past, your predictions for the future, and the terror of war flow in and out of you, without neither resistance or pursuit, gently tuning them out. And in this serenity, this psychic silence, this acceptance of not only yourself but the other other, you find perfect connectivity— harmony with your PsyLink partner.
In this space, you find yourself having strange conversations. You and your partner will share ghostly images, some of which seem to be images from the past— while others seem to be present-day moments from the battle outside, fighting the enemy, as if you are somehow in two places at once. You must find traction and stay in the now and stay calm, but it's harder than you think.
The instant you latch onto that memory or emotion, it's a mistake... but you forget.
Your shadow is here. Whether out-of-context, or right here where it was meant to be, it's trying to kill you.
But you're not trapped here alone. Someone is calling your name, a familiar voice in the pandemonium. That voice comes from your drift partner. It's up to them to pull you back, remind you of who you are, and balance you. Hold on to them - they're your anchor, but you'll have to do the same for them. A successful drift means helping each other. Do it well, and you'll help to power the temple's defences. Fail, and there'll be trouble for everyone seeking sanctuary here.
Summary: D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. comes to Xistentia for the first time, bringing with it violence and havoc. Combat against enemy agents, healing, emergency sanctuary, and "Drift Compatibility" happen here. Refer to the OOC plotting post and the mod announcement!
Date(s): November 4-18
Warnings/Notes: Violence, death, psychological themes, trauma. Please warn for anything else in your subject headers!
WAR WITH DESTINY
By headsman's blade or battle-axe
Fight For Your Life
Everything is, in short, super fucked. Era Ra's warning came at the right time, forewarning of some of the weapons and fighting styles that could be expected from D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.'s agents, but still, the people of Xistentia have not faced a force like this before. The ragtag combination of fighting styles and tactics promises both versatility and confusion.
For better or worse, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. is in similar chaos.
The first to come are ships from the Western sea, bearing a mix of warriors in and monsters. Some wield old-fashioned steel swords and others bear laser blasters, and their armor is just as varied. Some creatures appear domesticated, while others are feral and snap at their own. However, one primary feature identifies the enemy: their war color is red, which adorns flags and uniforms. Interestingly, the sea and sky of Xistentia seem to be fighting back in their own way, massive waves and a storm, even animals pestering them as they attempt to land the beach. However, it's only a matter of time before the mainstay of their forces reach land, some two hundred fighters. It's then that sentient fires start to whirl into the forests, leaping from tree to tree. You have the home court advantage. Even the foliage itself seems to cooperate with you, aiding in efforts for stealth by keeping you downwind, twigs failing to crack when you misstep. Soon, you're joined by Xistentia's other forces-- a handful of battered ships taking air, an odd assortment of elves and talking dogs, demons and aliens from outer-space, coordinating counter-attacks.
BATTLE MODE: ATTACK
You're locked in combat with a woman who seems oddly familiar, though you don't know her face and can't think of her name. You hit her in the head, and now a narrow slice of her face shows through her red-rimmed helm. She wields a rifle tipped with a heavy blade, though it crackles with electrical energy. She is a proficient swordswoman, deftly parrying and striking against you, her face eerily expressionless. Her blade has a switch that, when activated, will send out a net that numbs your limbs and drags you to the floor. Here's hoping you won't face this demon alone.
She's not your only problem. You may have noticed, that in every epic battle with evil wizards, there's always some kind of a problematically gigantic elephant. This is one of those days. At least, there's only one, its trunk as wide as a car, its feet moving slow, so that it might crush the trees rather than trip over them.
Fight one or both, or fight the hordes of nameless minions around them. Either way: there's plenty to do. Those of you who thought things were too quiet here? You'll be busy today.
SEEK SANCTUARY
Fighting isn't for you? Well, you'll want to get out of the way, then. The "wards" protecting the city are failing, and people are heading toward The Temple where the protections remain the strongest. Here, the injured need healing in the stone beds. The civilians do their best, comforting children, cooking food, trading intelligence, repairing weapons and armor where possible. Feel free to pitch in; they need all the help they can get.
BATTLE MODE: SUPPORT (PSYLINK)
And here, you've reached the Temple, you've laid yourself down on one of the many glass-and-stone beds within the safety of its stone walls. You know what the other Xistentia residents have told you about it— this is the next phase, after the memory share had raised shields against the psychotropic rain. This is the PsyLink. Through this bond, you are said to be able to activate special defenses. No one seems to know exactly what they are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And beyond the Temple walls, times are desperate indeed.
Each drift requires at least two people. Your daemons will find and connect you, seemingly at random— and you may find yourself with the unlikeliest of partners.
Drift Compatible
The Kissing Booth participants find it easiest. Everyone else-- it's a wild jumble, finding yourself caught up in a firehose of not only your own memories, but that of someone else. Everything they think, everything they feel, is intertwined with your mind.
You can't get caught up in it. You have to let the memories of the past, your predictions for the future, and the terror of war flow in and out of you, without neither resistance or pursuit, gently tuning them out. And in this serenity, this psychic silence, this acceptance of not only yourself but the other other, you find perfect connectivity— harmony with your PsyLink partner.
In this space, you find yourself having strange conversations. You and your partner will share ghostly images, some of which seem to be images from the past— while others seem to be present-day moments from the battle outside, fighting the enemy, as if you are somehow in two places at once. You must find traction and stay in the now and stay calm, but it's harder than you think.
The instant you latch onto that memory or emotion, it's a mistake... but you forget.
Your shadow is here. Whether out-of-context, or right here where it was meant to be, it's trying to kill you.
But you're not trapped here alone. Someone is calling your name, a familiar voice in the pandemonium. That voice comes from your drift partner. It's up to them to pull you back, remind you of who you are, and balance you. Hold on to them - they're your anchor, but you'll have to do the same for them. A successful drift means helping each other. Do it well, and you'll help to power the temple's defences. Fail, and there'll be trouble for everyone seeking sanctuary here.
no subject
She can't find her voice, she can't stop trembling to save herself. And tears well up in her eyes when the witch mentions Bo, mentions the fact that her best friend is dead, more than likely. She couldn't have been stuck in the void for that long. ]
S-Screw you, you old cat lady without cats.
no subject
[The old woman's voice is the crackle and rush of fire eating forest, the rumble of an avalanche caving in the mountainside. Age-old power, shaped by the human concept of cruelty; not amoral, as the real paradigms of nature are, but evil. Her eyes glow as she advances. She snatches at Kenzi's wrist— viper-fast like you'd never expect a creature her build and stature to be. Too strong, her fingers pinching in the small bones of Kenzi's wrist like steel bars. Her breathe reeks like scorched hair and dirty dishwater.] Shall I practice skinning my cats with you?
[She raises a knife. And then her hand disappears, blade and all, in a starburst of blood. A pistol shot echoes in the stone room, rippling past rustic doors and empty cages. Behind Baba Yaga, Barclay stands there. He allows himself one second to look utterly and idiotically surprised that that worked.
And the next, Baba Yaga is screaming— and the pirate lurches forward. He grabs Kenzi, freeing her from the distracted fae's arms. He jerks his head away when arterial spray catches him in the face.] My love, [he shouts, pulling her.] Do you know me? Do you know yourself?
no subject
A scream rises up in her throat, threatens to claw its way out just as she lifts the knife and bam the old crone's hand is gone, splattering Kenzi's front with blood. She looks as shocked as the witch but she doesn't fall to the ground when the witch lets go of her wrist. That's when he pulls her close, the man who saved her, the man who shot Baba Yaga's hand clean off. And he speaks. He calls her his love, he asks if she knows him, if she knows herself. She blinks up at him, partly in shock.
For a moment, she doesn't know him, although there's something about him that reminds her of... someone.] I... [ She probably looks shaken as she tries to think clearly with the screams of a pained witch filling her ears, she glances back at her, distracted, forgetting him once again. The little, helpless girl comes back just the kick-ass woman slowly made her way to the front of her consciousness. ]
I need to get out of here.
no subject
Her arms are so small in his hands-- fine bones and pale skin. His fingers meet around the turn of her upper-arm, the tip of his thumb and his forefingers. He has enough strength to help her up, to guide her forward into the stony gloom of the hallway ahead. He doesn't recognize any of the doors. Coarse wood and bolted metal, rough-hewn frames.
He has a sinking certainty in his chest, that the answer lies somewhere in Kenzi, the break between the frightened girl she thinks she is now, and the fiercely brave-- not unafraid— woman that he knows. He risks a glance over his shoulder. They have a few turns on the monster. She's not in view, but he can hear the clank and dragging of her shackles, the grunts of agony, the pitchy little curses and squeaks, like a tortured animal trying to crawl its way near.]
Stop. Kenzi! We need to stop. This-- it's an illusion, and one that feeds off the fear in your heart. [His callused fingers move for her hand. Even in this screwed up fiction world, his palm is warm, his fingers gunsure.] It's me. It's me.
[There's more he could say. He doesn't know if what stops him is the pounding adrenaline from the creature coming up behind them, which ties up his tongue and makes his throat close, or if he's holding out for a hope she'll come to the conclusion herself. But he'll find the words if he has to.]
no subject
Her name. That's her name.
He goes on speaking and she looks up at him like a frightened child, he tells her that it's him, like she should know-- Something sparks in her memory. Those hands on her face, the warmth of them on her lower back, the way those callouses feel when the run down her back and--
She lets out a breath, her brow furrowing instantly.] We need to get out of here, Sven.
no subject
Sven.
Fucking Sven.
Then, of course, he thinks— just for a moment, but not entirely uncharitably, Fucking Vex.]
My name is Barclay, [he tells her, because!! that actually kind of seems like relevant information at the moment. If the goal is to get her lucid, then he should hardly be striving to inhabit the identity of a fictional pirate. Right? Right?] And if your instinct is to run, I think it's possible we should defy it. This is an illusion. And part of that illusion--
[— he's just saying,]
—is I'm not that sort of pirate, I'm afraid. Though I do like to keep my hair long.
[Wrang. Wrang. The creature's footsteps fall closer, and then a hulking shadow appears against the side of the doorway there.]
posting the comment might help.
Oh, wait, no there's a monster coming her way and this guy named Barclay is telling her to stay put. She can't help but look at him like he's insane. And then talking about hair. His hair.
When she hears the footsteps and then it appears, she grabs at his arm, suddenly terrified. ] What? Are you crazy? It's right there. It's not an illusion! [ She looks behind them, the opposite way of the monster.] We need to run!
welcome to having posted the comment <3
[Barclay actually believes his completely when he says it, but the ringing steps of the monstrous entity are getting closer-- and that snatches at his attention, makes him question what he's doing. Sure, maybe before they're out of here, Kenzi will have to confront her demon-- goddess?-- witch?!— but he's tempted, right now, to buy them a little extra time with a temporary retreat. He doesn't know if they can die here, or how much pain they might suffer and remember.
He almost takes a flinching step backward. He leans in his shoes, fumbling between the urge to fire off another pistol shot, which he had prepared in some interim, and finding the words to bring her back to herself.]
Mackenzie Malikov. [He speaks her name loudly, to remind himself as much as her. And that turns out to be enough, an evocation, an anchor in his mind, to center himself.] You are a fighter. You have been a fighter every moment of your life since I met you. Human or fae. Even when you're painting our home purple or trying to-- wear your raccoon daemon as a real fur shawl, you are a fighter. Everything you do is a testament to all that tried to kill you and failed. If you believe we should run, we are still in this fight-- I am in this fight with you.
But if you're ready to strike... [his fingers shift and tighten on her hand.] If you're ready to strike, I'm here with you.
no subject
She is Kenzi Malkiov, Meow Meow, Toni Soprano. She is ex-human, new fae. She is Dyson's fun. Hale's partner in ridiculousness. Vex's real friend. Bo's heart.
She's in love with the man holding her hand. In love with him in a way that she's never felt before. The sort of love that sappy shit that's in the dime store novel trash she reads can't ever quite get right. Simply put, she's gaga for him.
Her expression changes, from one of absolute terror to one of a sassy sort of calm that only Kenzi can make. She turns towards the beast as it makes it's charge and she speaks.] Cover your ears. [ She lets go his hand then and with every ounce of power she's got, she directs a piercing scream towards the creature as it dives towards them, sending it flying backward. They are in a narrow hallway and while she's not directing her sound attack at him and it won't hurt him, it will be loud.]
no subject
And now
he has his hands clamped over his ears, and his eyes big in his head. He watches the air ripple, concentric circles distorting, shifting, moving the light and shadow. He sees it -- frame her slender figure as she runs down the corridor, growing out of her like a nimbus from Christian paintings he had seen in cathedrals and churches before. He had never been a religious man, but it moves something in his heart, in step with love, a wonder like reverence.
In other words, he's pretty gaga for her too. As an ordinary man might be, in all the myths where they fall into the strange world of the fae, prey to his own desires as much as to her strange magic.]
Bloody Hell.
[And in the meantime, Baba Yaga howls, her chains smashing against the wall. She falls, a ragged heap. Claws at it to try and regain her feet, although her body is already badly broken-- and there are seams of light cracking through her skin, unlike anything that Kenzi had seen of the real faerie in her homeworld. But very much like other terrifying lights she had seen in her world before. She knows what it means. It promises ending.]