War with D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.

[spoofer]

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!

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.

Comments

alec lightwood ( ota )

[helical]

A. FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE
UNTIL YOUR LEGS GIVE OUT

( alec was glad, infinitely so, that he and jace had taken the time to test their new runes before this. the sea was reacting, and alec guided it, encouraged it in the right directions, the right places, to slow down the enemy, to buy the others in the city time to get organized or find refuge. the turmoil of the water matched the turmoil in his chest, but he kept his mind clear, his thoughts focused. one mistake and many could die.

his feet dug in the sand, water splashed at his feet. he stood his ground, barking orders to anyone who would listen, telling people to watch their backs, to get the soldier that washed ashore a few feet on the left. jace was next to him, the two of them using their prize powers together. magnus was nearby, so was clary — and the four of them watched each other's backs. it was too familiar a situation for alec to feel out of his depth, but the new powers and the lack of knowledge about their assailant were a toll.

he didn't realize how tired he was, until he closed his eyes for a second and opened them in the temple. he must have passed out and been taken there by the others. instantly he's sitting up, looking around for the exit. )

I'm not — tired. I'm fine, let me get back to — ( as he stands he knocks over his quiver, cursing under his breath in frustration with himself. he is in control of his body, he is not so tired that the edges of his vision is swimming. in fact, he just needs to reach for his stele and give himself a boost with a rune or two. he can't stand the thought of sitting here and resting while this is going on. he wants to break something, but he feels the tension in his hand as he curls it into a fist. he can feel the cuts and scrapes there, the cracked blood from too many arrows fired too fast. ) I've got to get back out there. ( he says, his voice a hoarse whisper, bringing a trembling hand to run it over his face. )

B. SEEKING SANCTUARY
LAY DOWN YOUR WEARY HEAD

( alec wants to get back on the field immediately, or at least get out there to the citadel, but he's been advised he should get something to eat before even thinking to step out into battle again. he knows it's wise, knows that a nutrition rune might help but that eating will help him remain focused just from whatever little pleasure he can get out of it right now.

so he's thanking one of the civilians who prepared food as he piles a ton onto a plate, making his way to sit off to the side so as not to be in the way. he looks in bad shape, covered in sand, dust, blood from already healed scratches and cuts. his hand no longer hurts, but still he flexes it idly as he chews on a piece of bread, staring off into space, lost in his thoughts. he's trying to think of a strategy, worrying about magnus, jace, clary, rafa, vex, janus, rosie — isabelle back home, max, his mother. it eats at him as he sits here, losing appetite rapidly, looking down at his plate with distaste.

without looking at the closest person, he holds it out. ) Here. You take this.

C. ANYTHING GOES

( prompt me with a starter or PM me to plot something out! )

juno steel / ota

[monologue]

i. fight for your life / @ ota

[ there's hot plasma fire that comes from an unseen direction. one shot. and then another. each of these has a deadly aim that doesn't miss. juno is hidden downwind from the fire, as is the forest's will, hidden among the foliage and undergrowth with a rifle in both of his hands. first things first, xistentia is not mars, it isn't hyperion city, it isn't the crowded population and winding neon streetlights that keep him company at night. no. it's lush, green, alive, breathing, singing. it's a promise to keep his home safe so long as he holds up his end of the bargain. and juno tries his best not to break promises these days. the last one he broke? well. that was just something that was unavoidable in the end. but he won't betray the trust of this place, not when mars is hanging in the balance once again.

juno is positioned on one of many thick boughs in a tree, leaves move slowly over him, provide cover for him. while he really doesn't like heights, he's going to stomach them in this case, swallow down the fear because this is some great cover. the theia hums to life and softly whispers to him in her voice that she's calibrating his aim, locking onto targets, steadying his heartbeat, his muscles. so it begins. he lines up shot after shot after shot, aiming to keep both warriors and monsters at bay. if there is one thing that's certain here, it's this, juno plans to take a page out but one of his namesake's great epithets: sospita, savior. protector. shoot alongside him, or join him under the cover the forest provides at least for a brief moment if you want. ]

---

[ it's not pretty, war. hell, juno's never had to see one this up close before, never felled so many people at once. there's no stun setting on this rifle, and maybe he's thankful for it because none of these bastards deserve that kind of mercy with all the havoc they're causing. but because of it, he's pressed up against the trunk of a tree, looking pretty green around the gills. one second he looks like he might be okay, the next he's vomiting straight onto the roots of the tree he's clinging to for dear life. the theia's influence is a burst of adrenaline and focus that he rides with every concussive blast of the rifle, but now that he's not staring down the sights of a gun, the world's spinning.

the tree itself seems to reach a bough down just a bit, brushes the space between his shoulder blades like some kind of consolation. there's blood on his hands from an ambush, blood on his shirt, his skull. ]

Yeah, uh, sorry, Mother Nature.


ii. seek sanctuary / @ ota

[ here's one juno steel on the ground with a small basin of water in a relatively empty corner. he looks relatively freshly bandaged up, some butterfly bandages holding a nasty graze on his temple together, a few on his arms from where he took the brunt of a couple of bad falls. he's crouched in front of a rather large peacock who is looking... unnaturally pink, feathers a gradient of white to red. it seems rather patient, resting a small head against juno's shoulder as he cleans her feathers with a shockingly slow and careful hand. ]

I'm not uncomfortable, [ she says, voice pitched feminine if you listen closely enough. which is weird because that'd make her a peahen wouldn't it? but she's far too magnificent. ] Please don't wet your bandages.

[ juno snorts at her, but his voice is barely above a whisper. ]

Shut up, you're not cute, Dahliad.

[ the gentleness of his motions, however, seems to betray his urgency to get dahliad clean, combing through her feathers with his rough fingers trembling. ]


iii. battle mode: support (psylink) / cw: eventual mention of child abuse / @ janus lefevre
( see ooc drift planning: andromeda and the dragon's peak for more information. )

[ so drifting isn't easy, but at least DAHLIAD chooses someone that juno knows a bit about. staying stable shouldn't be hard, there's a lot riding on it, so clearly sheer determination and focus should win out, but there's a soft voice that seems to tear its way through juno's brain, something that makes him stop dead, blood going cold like an ice floe. somewhere mid-drift, juno feels that sharp tug, like a noose around the neck yanking him back sharply, jostling the entire thing. ]

Now, Juno, [ that same voice slurs and suddenly juno is pretty sure he's on the ground looking up at a very real andromeda, chainmail warrior standing a few feet from him with her sword drawn. she shambles forward, her blade cutting, sweeping, painting tainted silver arcs in the air. ] Just hold still, this will only hurt for a second, I p͍̘͠-p-p͍̘͠r͔o͇m̟̣̫̲͞i̵͕͚̟s̞͕̪̖e҉̪̰.

[ her voice glitches, stammers and stutters and sparks seem to fly from strange plating pieces in her armor. she takes steps slowly like a cat that knows she's got her prey precisely where she wants it. she's just playing with him it seems, and it's definitely not a fair fight by any means. juno's weaponless and on the ground, sprawled while andromeda's voice is warping, a register that's striking off all the discordant bells in juno's head--sarah steel. she sounds exactly like sarah steel.

now, it isn't as though juno isn't trying to stand up and get the hell away. god, he's trying to grip the grass to get some traction and stack himself upright, but for some reason he's stuck on the ground like his legs don't work, like someone's gone and slashed the muscles at the backs of his heels and left him to crawl like a goddamn worm. which is exactly how he feels the more she talks. when he tries again, he just falls, and there's a panic low in his gut that says he can't outrun her, he can't outrun sarah-goddamn-steel because she's all over him, in his blood, in his brain setting him on fire, eating him alive from the inside out like a parasite over three decades old. juno looks like he's trying to say something, anything, but it's deafened by the roar of a dragon in the distance, of a great, booming narrator's voice glitching over and over the same words nightmarishly. ]

Now be a good boy and hold still for mommy so she can f̧͇̥̲̖̼̦̜į͇̗n̫̘͈͓̠i̠͍̱͙̤͉̝s̛ͅh ̫͓t̝̺͕̮͓̟h̡̼̫̩̬̹e͓̖ ̙͔̥̲j̠̘o̞̲̦͈̕b͈̰̞̩͜. Don't you want to be a good boy?

Era Ra ☘ OTA

[astralera]

☘ fight for your life

Era had known something terrible was going to happen, though she hadn't known what or when, exactly. Just that it was going to be bad.

The Blessing of the Light thrums through her, granting Era the strength that comes from pushing past her limits in battle. She hits harder and brushes off attacks that might otherwise have made her stagger despite her heavy armour. She has people to protect and she won't let them down. Flash. Rage of Halone. Total Eclipse. Ultimatum. Despite her small stature she is skilled at making opponents pay attention to her and only her. A Paladin is meant to be a living shield; a protector of those unable to defend themselves. And Era does just that, felling swordsmen and gunmen alike without pause.

Her movements seem effortless and unbearably quick - like she knows what her opponent is going to do a few moments before they do it. Sometimes the Echo fails her however, for not everything can be dodged even with her speed, and not everything can be blocked, even with her treasured shield. Occasionally she's forced to throw herself in the path of a blade or bullet or bite to prevent another comrade from falling, yet still she doesn't stop.

Perhaps you're one of the ones Era leaps in front of to protect from a particularly nasty attack. Sword planted in the ground behind her heel and shield held in front, aetherial blue wings spread out behind her like a warm embrace, protecting anyone in their range from taking the full brunt of any attack. Passage of Arms is a flashy ability, but it's powerful.

☘ battle mode: attack

There was only so long Era could say on the defense - eventually she needed to flee the battle in order to change her method of attack to something with more... fire power. As a Red Mage she sacrifices her immense defensive abilities for more mobility and overall power. She shoots alternating jets of violet lightning, green wind, and explosions of white-to-black. Leaps into close range with a Corps-a-Corps to attack with her rapier before backflipping away to a safe casting range.

She's more vulnerable as a spell caster and needs to rely on Aymeric and her companions far more to keep her safe as she tries to literally blast her way through the enemies.

There is no confusion as to why someone such as Aymeric would treat her with the highest regard as a warrior after seeing her fight - there is no mortal being on Hydaelyn currently stronger than her, and it definitely shows. She exists as a living weapon, and she's good at her job.

Her skill is even more apparent after the fight has gone on long enough for her to draw upon the energy built up by her party members, casting the immensely powerful and blinding Vermillion Scourge. The downside to channeling such a massive amount of aether is that she's left open to attack while casting, and stunned for a precious few seconds after the light from her spell has died down.

☘ wild card

{ Era Ra#4916 / froakie for plotting shenanigans. or feel free to just throw a starter at me and I'll roll with it! }

meeeee

[bangitybang]

[a terrible monster, janus thinks. terrible monsters are nothing new, but most of the ones that they've encountered and slewn, in their own world, were not so personal. maniacal vampires, homicidal clowns, diseased werewolves, legitimate zombies, demons that could derive no sustenance except off the flesh of thinking beings younger than eighteen. they've met all sorts, but their relationship with these creatures was always decidedly impersonal. they guard mankind, and all creatures that mean no harm to peace-loving folk, having spent their life fostering a sense of kinship for the vast worlds of innocents they'll never be a part of. but that's different.

different to seeing the substance of somebody's soul peeled back like the flesh off a skinning victim, their surprised flesh and muscle, vessels exposed and squirming to the exam table light. the biological nightmare of the anatomy of someone else's mind. the components are in and of themselves familiar to janus— they've smelled people burning, they've seen swords meet and sparks fly. they've been in the dark and hunted by neon light. they've even been to carnivals. but this is about nothing they've ever done.

this is juno's. janad had told them so.

and out of the dark, the hunter descends. or rather, they ascend, swinging their sword up, lunging to meet the chainmailed woman weapon-first. metal shrieks against metal. they're stronger than they look in reality, and it reverberates into the substance of the psylink— half a ton of strength bursting up to deflect the blade.] And a fine lady, [they tell her, because it didn't seem right not to say something when nightmare words cut juno so.]

[servomotor]

a} labyrinth; (steve, whomever!)

[Tunnel after serpentine tunnel of stone give way to random, shitty chambers cluttered with STARK-labeled crates and boxes. It smells acrid in here, not of fire but the kinds of contemporary chemicals that are supposed to fuck you up on a cellular level with enough exposure, even at a low grade, over enough time. Outside, it's a barren wasteland of sweating, arid heat, but in here it's cool, lit only by electric bulbs coarsely embedded at intervals in walls, the ceiling, rotting on the vines of exposed wire work.

Tony doesn't have a suit. Not a big, lumbering one of alloy parts and scrap, nor the polished, aerodynamic masterpieces of irreplicable modern technology that he machined inhouse in Malibu. He has a gun. No, he doesn't have a gun, because the Winter Soldier just slapped it wholesale out of his hand, and now it's rattling away across the floor, spinning like a plastic toy.

He's forgotten this isn't real. All he can feel is the pressing terror of warlords shouting in the distance, their voices echoing in the corridors.

All he can look at, is the Winter Soldier's countenance. The eyeliner-- which he can't even get his shit together enough to make fun of right now, the ragged hair. The metal arm, segments shifting and tightening in melodic segments as he makes a fist and swings. All he can think about is his parents dying in the dark. The Soldier clips his shoulder and sends him spinning, sprawling against the wall, his eyes huge in his head, sweat pouring down the collar of his idiot Led Zeppelin shirt, but he's winded by the impact. He can't move. Not yet.]

b} closed to loki;

[Tony has never been to Asgard. It's pretty, in a baroque kind of way, like Tony never thought that the dozens and dozens of stories of the Avengers Tower or his diamond-encrusted Rolexes were 'too much,' but the opulence of gold leaf and naked statues in the traditions of Ancient Greece had always seemed kinda. Gaudy. It's a matter of taste, maybe. Not 'some' versus 'none,' but the style of your upbringing.

This is the kind of family home where Tony can almost, sort of, imagine wearing drapes up through his teens. But he knows it isn't his, of course. He's revisited his private nightmare a couple times by now, snapping out of it each time a little more exasperated that he keeps falling in, but it's disorienting, horrifying, utterly convincing when he's in it. The fact he remembers himself here, right now, tells him that he's about to find someone else in this labyrinth, losing their shit.

He has half a guess as to who, but he doesn't want to make assumptions.

So he moves through the vast hallways. No suit, just a Rolling Stones T-shirt and designer jeans, sneakers. Dreamspace saw fit to equip him with a pistol, which seems like the punchline on a joke somebody forgot to tell. It's fine. He flattens himself against one shining wall, then peers around the corner.]

b} battle; (shepard, whomever)

[It's a bird. It's a plane. It's Iron Man, in red and gold, propelling himself through the sky with technology that would be impressive in most worlds, except maybe not the one that's said to contain the entire multiverse in its databanks. While Tony's sense of Hella impressive technology and the manipulation of physics may no longer be impressive in the grand scale of F.A.T.E.S., he's still a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.

He dodges a small missile and then fells a tree using a repulsor, to block the rushing charge of a red-cloaked horseback rider. He swoops and dives in the air, agile as a magpie.

And then he plucks you up off the ground, easy as picking daisies, and carries you out as a hideous black chopper comes roaring by, guns blazing at the trigger-fingers of the crimson soldiers within.]

wildcard!

[Whatever you like! He'll definitely be at the Temple, too.]

[alleyfights]

[The last person he'd expected to drift with was Tony. Not because they couldn't be compatible enough for the process, but rather, they really haven't come to terms with everything yet. It was a conversation he kept putting off. One that they needed to have soon. Unfortunately, life had other plans and they had a fight to win.

He doesn't recognize the cave system that he's in but the weapons crates labeled STARK are clue enough that whatever he's experiencing, it's not out of his own mind. At least, he assumes as much until he turns a corner and watches in muted horror as Bucky? takes a swing and sends Tony flying.]

Buck, stop!

[He calls out as he rushes forward, pushing into the man with all his force. It barely sends him skidding through the dirt and when they make eye contact, Steve's breath catches in his throat. His eyes are empty. Not like the eyes of the man he'd met on the beach here or the one he'd left in a cryo tube. The soldier's eyes. Empty and lifeless, a threat.]

Tony get up. [He takes a step towards him, blocking the soldier's view of the man.] Get up now.

[money]

( when your weapon of choice is a presumably infinite supply of short range knives, you make up for its shortcomings with a wide skill set. closeness is made up with speed, inadequacy is made up with brute strength and creative aims. aorta, axilla, carotid arteries. easy to reach if you know where to aim -- and peter does, watching him makes that much obvious, slicing his knives through skin like water, enabling blood loss, and eventual death.

it does bring up the bitter memories of a lifetime and an age and a hundred names ago -- he didn't know how to aim, back then, and mag didn't die as painlessly as these soldiers. it'd upset his stomach if he hadn't already passed his disgust several deaths ago. now, he's just a machine, working out seldom used cogs and bounding from person to person, never staying on the same body for too long.

not even the guns of friendly fire can reach him, although he does note with some rock in his stomach, that all his kills are dead a second after he reaches them, holes burned into the center of their skulls with medicinal accuracy. peter knows that kind of aim anywhere, knows the shot and the scent of him, and he turns from where the last bullet had come from, searching for juno. )

He— Juno!

( what he finds instead, is juno poised at his gun, a solider dressed in head to toe red silently creeping up on him. upon peter's outburst, the solider springs into action faster, lifting their spear high above their head and

falling backwards, when peter tosses the knife in his hand square into their eye.

two heavy breaths is what it takes for another solider to get the gain on peter, and, without a shred of hesitance, stab their sword into the back of his shoulder. peter goes down with a surprisingly elegant sound of pain, as if he refuses to die unfashionably, and demands to be killed respectfully. )

Hrrk ...

[dothelokimotion]

[ Loki can smell the ozone in the air. He was no force of nature. His power lay in twisting and molding minds to his will, making people see what isn't there. A moment of weakness is all Loki needs to twist a clever knife in and make his escape all within the same second. He is a shade in greatness and that was his power. But it will always, always pale to Thor.

Thor, who was currently in front of him, his hammer hefted in his hands, connecting with his palm in quiet threatening strikes. Loki could hear a clap of thunder in the background. But all of that fades to Loki's overwhelming fear. He does not speak but he does not need to. Loki's mind supplies all that needs to be said in those pitiless eyes.

( you lied to me, you betrayed me, you lived when you were supposed to die, because that's what you're meant for, loki, serpent's tongue, you ran away, you failed her, you failed me and there's no going back, remember the stories, remember what happens to villains at the end of the story? )

With a frantic burst, Loki throws out multiple illusions at Thor. He runs, ignoring the deafening roar of anger, ignoring the crack of thunder beating over the palace ( "brother, this is mjolnir and it will protect you." "from the monsters?" "from all of them" ) and skids around the corner where he sees —

— Stark. Loki stares, dumbfounded. ]

loki (ota)

[dothelokimotion]

[ a. And I fell right into a burning ring of fire ]

[ It was too hot. Loki tugged at his collar as he threw a few illusionary doubles around him, his knives unerring finding their targets. With a quick magical flick of his fingers, he recalls them, gripping them tightly in his hands. His illusions were always his best line of defense as they circle around the invaders, taunting and laughing. However, illusions were no shield and even his usual telekinetic aura cannot repel a larger blast at close range.

Loki grabbed one invader by the neck, crushing the windpipe instantly. He drops him immediately, stepping over the carnage. Fires had erupted around the forest. On any other day, he would have leaped to find out how this place worked in their favor but even while the flames did not touch him, he can barely breathe . . .

He blinks owlishly, focusing on whoever is close. Not red. He clears his dry throat. ]

I don't suppose you have any water on you?

[ b. he doesn't care (no really) ]

[ Healing is not one of his arts. His natural ability to heal does most of the work for him. Eir, of course, had passed along some basic training. Every warrior needed it after all and Thor had all the grace of a one-legged duck. He could never sit still either, constantly needing to move and act and jostle his wounds until the healers threw their hands at him, exasperated and called for Loki, just make him stay —

Well. That was a long time ago. Loki lets the moment pass, but some urges are too ingrained. He can even hear Eir's voice, telling him he's doing it wrong as he watches some poor fool struggle to finish his splint or apply the medicine. Finally he snaps, annoyed. ]

Give it here before you make it worse.

[ c. wildcard ]

[ write your own starter / pm me for an idea at captainkink or this journal / plotting comment ]

kurt wagner [nightcrawler] ❧ ota

[shadowblends]

❧ fight for your life
the moment to live and the moment to die

[Kurt, for once, is far happier than he should be about having battle training. So far, it's aided him in keeping others safe, propelled him into a more leadership type role, urging him to guide others to seek shelter or ready themselves for conflict. He fights back as many minions as he can with a knife that isn't much bigger than his hand, disabling them left and right, regardless of his apprehension on, well, murdering people. (Yes, okay, they're attacking them, but--)

He uses the helpful environment to his advantage, teleporting between foliage to avoid flames, gliding with ease across branches and treetops. Every now and then, he'll pause-- maybe it's to help a fallen civilian or comrade, bamfing from one place to another to get them out of harms way. Then, he will backtrack to continue restraining their foes.

It's more back and forth than he'd like. One of the things that keeps him going is Magnus' words from their first meeting: "Working together to benefit us all as a whole."

Something that becomes a mantra after too long.]

❧ seek sanctuary
if no one is standing beside you, be still and know i am

[At some point, he'd made it to the temple, still aiding others inside, despite his battered and bruised form.] I'm all right. Never better— really, [he insisted, trying to brush off any concerns for his wounds, until he found it was getting harder and harder to stand.

Finally, after some coercing, Kurt relinquishes and allows himself to be helped, fidgeting uncomfortably at the idea of others being hurt. The people that bandage him up demand he rest for a decent length of time, but a full day surely can't be enough, can it? That's all the time he takes, though.

Soon enough, he's back on his feet, darting between people in the temple, checking their well-beings, making sure no one has perished. Clad in some tricked out armor (thanks, Stark), sans faceplate, the azure-skinned mutant finds it hard to sit still with the ongoing skirmish just outside.

Much to his dismay, the blade he'd been using before had gotten busted in an earlier situation, leaving him weaponless for the moment. Not that Kurt's doing any complaining about not being out there. He had watched plenty of people fall, some by his own hand; a break was necessary at some point.]

How are you holding up? [he asks the approaching person, preoccupied with focusing on gingerly rebandaging a gouge on his forearm.]

❧ battle mode (and a closed prompt for pillz)
my power's turned on

ota;

[When it comes to the 'drifting' part of the mission, he'll be hesitant to do so, but if he feels like he can trust whomever decides to go through this link with him, he'll do it-- for the protection of their home.

Luckily, after the first time, he's gained a bit of control over his memories, so there's less 'rabbits' to chase, as it were.

Please, note that whoever does associate with him might have to pass through some triggering stuff to obtain a connection.]

closed to kavinsky;

[Being initially intrigued by this whole 'psychic link' thing had brought about the brilliant idea for him to talk to his daemon, which then led to her searching for a practicable partner for him to 'drift' with. He's nervous, unsure as to what she has brought up for him, although he is open to anything that will give them an upper hand.

Ricocheting, back and forth, tail lashing with uneasiness, Kurt can't seem to keep still. His guardian watches with those peculiar eyes, her head tilting to the side. Then, the sound of footsteps captures their attentions, causing both of their heads to whip around in the same direction.

Sheba looks ridiculously proud at the newcomer, whereas his brow furrows with confusion.] Him? [he questions, skeptical.] Sorry, that sounded rude. I just— [pause] Nevermind.

Nice to see you again.

❧ wildcard (for anything else!!)

[ooc: i've got kurt's plotting post here, if anyone would like to discuss stuff or maybe plot something out!]

meeee

[pillz]

[kavinsky is already flopping himself down on one of the stone beds. he's noticed that, for stone beds, they're pretty comfortable. it's obviously the surest sign of magic because there's no way that stone should be fucking comfortable, the hell.

his daemon, moonshined, regards shebad with interest. as odd a pair as kavinsky and kurt make, no doubt, shebad and moonshined are stranger to look at— an ocelot and a husky, a cat and a dog. true symbolism for the mismatch of their masters. moonshined rears up onto her hindlegs to place her forepaws on the interface nearby, stooping her head. unfortunately for everybody who likes cute animal memes, she doesn't actually try to type with her paws or anything! whatever link happens with the computer is much more subtle.

in the meantime, kavinsky calls out,] Sup motherfucker? [and flings his arms back, folding them under his head. like he's on a hammock in the goddamn bahamas instead of a cold temple in the middle of an interdimensional war.] You wanna start a fight, might be better to head outside. Lots of people for you to punch, sweetheart, and I'm into the whole genre-confused warrior LARP aesthetic you got going right now.

[monologue]

[ juno hears his name and swears he's hallucinating because that most definitely sounded like peter nureyev in the air. he's mid-recoil, shepard's gun an enormous thing that tries to take out his shoulder each time. thankfully, juno is stubborn enough to keep it stable, to keep it from whipping him back with every blast with perfect form (spruced up with a little five-minute-long tutorial at the citadel before going down to fight).

so when juno turns and sees peter both throwing his knife and landing it square thnk into something just over his shoulder and falling to the soldier's sword at the same time he doesn't know what to do. fall to his knees? run away?

apparently neither. his body doesn't want to do either, doesn't want to buckle under the vision of peter nureyev crumpling with a sword pulling itself out of his shoulder, with a soldier in crimson standing over him like it has smoething to prove. so he screams instead and fires off two more rounds without even thinking, the theia assuring him that they'll hit home--one to split the armor, another to split straight through whatever skull lies beneath it. ]

Motherfucker, get away from him!

[ juno fires off two more shots for good measure, his shoulder burning with the repetetive recoil before he drops the rifle to the ground, rushing over towards peter's prone body on the ground. it's taking every iota of self control to not scream his name out, to barely even utter it even here, in all the chaos of the battle, among the fallen bodies and the trunks of trees bowing over against the weight of the war, attempting to protect what they can. juno drops down to his knees without thinking, stripping off the jacket he's wearing, nothing long like his trenchcoat, pressing it fast into peter's shoulder because what the hell else is he supposed to do? he's a detective, not a goddamn medit. ]

Nureyev, [ he breathes, fingers shaking, arms trembling as he tries to staunch the bleeding despite the nauseating smell of copper permeating the air. he doesn't want to look at it just yet, he's not ready, stomach churning, adrenaline thrumming hard, sweat beading along his forehead. ] Oh no, no, no, Nureyev, damn it--I'm sorry... should've been paying attention, you didn't need to--idiot. [ he presses as best he can, pressure. pressure for a wound, right? ] Peter...

youuuu

[monologue]

[ there's a resignation that fills him, the same sensation that had settled in the pit of his stomach like a pile of stones as he'd sat behind that airlock listening to peter scream, watching miasma reform slowly piece by nauseating piece. that resignation that had said "this is it" and "at least you deserve it" and "every hero goes out with a bang, that's what makes a good story great." here... here it isn't quite that same. he's helpless, but god if he doesn't want to be. he wants to strike back, wants to get up on his own two feet, but he can't and just as andromeda... just as his mother in her armor swings down her sword something stops it from hitting its mark.

and he looks, and there's janus with their own sword aloft, looking like some hero straight out of those comics that juno used to thrive off of as a kid, swinging in, possessed of a motion he could only dream of having as his heart pounds furiously in his chest.

between them and between andromeda, juno doens't know where to look. the hulking warrior bears down upon the sword meeting her own, parrying it with a rage and aggression that only a monster could have, grown strong on the self-loathing of her brood. her head whirls around unnaturally fast and sharp at the angle, as if dislodging itself from the very top of her spine. ]

Stay there w̷r̹͖͕͍̪̻̤e̵t̗c͈̤̀h͉̥̝̦͔͍̱e̢d͚͙̠ ̢͉̟b̙̯̪͉͜o̡̤̣̫̪̜̳y̨̥̱̰̟̼. See all the trouble you cause? See?

[ she turns back towards janus, helm bloodied anew from the slats where her eyes ought to be as she aims another strike at them. there's a foul stench in the air, past the scent of flesh and blood--thick, sweet alcohol. ]

Don't waste your time.

♥

[shadowblends]

[He watches, honey-tinted eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the other boy, who seems to have no problem making himself comfortable on the rock beds.

The ocelot, however, rises with grace, her large eyes staring at Moonshined. Their last meeting had been interesting enough and since she has her own curiosity that cannot be satiated, she sees no problem padding over the husky to investigate. Once within range, she leaps up onto the sleek black surface and noses into the canine's head when she lowers, playful and questioning.]

No relations with any mothers, [he quips.] I'm glad that you have no problem relaxing in the middle of a war. [A roll of the eyes, both arms raising to tuck across his chest, although his face is tinting violet, revealing his flustered state.] I already punched [and stabbed] plenty of people without this armor, but— mmn, I don't know what you mean by 'LARP.'

[money]

( somehow, he's already expecting the soldier to fall to their death beside him -- even if he fantasizes death, reflects on his own life up until this moment and finds all his shortcomings, all his regrets, all his moments of pettiness, he knows this isn't the end. he knows juno is there, and juno would break himself before he'd let anyone die on his watch.

the fact that it's peter doesn't mean anything. a coincidence. juno would give 110% percent of himself to a complete and total stranger -- it's a fact that peter considers himself well tuned to.

pressure helps but hurts, and peter flinches from his spot on the ground, face contorted in a flex of pain. his clean hand grips juno's wrist tightly, unbroken, the last bit of strength he has after the exhaustion of fight. even if his eyes are a little bit hazy, they're fierce with a demand of listening when he stares at juno, tugging his hand once. his thumb soothes his skin in warm circles -- he'll learn to blame it on adrenaline, with time. )

Juno, Juno, love, let's ... ( he flinches, as much from the endearment as the throttle of pain that surges from his shoulder as he helps himself sit up. ) I— I need you to calm down. Nothing is broken that can't be fixed. I need to get to the Temple, yes, the Temple, where the wounded are taken. You don't— like blood.

( that is his potentially foolish way of saying, 'i can figure it out, if you want to leave again.' )

hanako 'rosalina' nurumi 🌹 ( ota + closed )

[hasitsthorns]

when it's fight or flight, I always pick f i g h t (ota);

[ Only a couple souls are privy to the life that Rose led before her time in Eudio. Even before the doofy music-loving roadie persona that rolled onto the island there was the yokai, the brawler, the black rose. Despite telling herself she would never be that monster again, here she stands tall and- Well. Not proud. No part of her would ever be proud of this though she is definitely good at it.

It's almost scary, honestly, how fast the mental switch was flipped. How it all came back in a rush and she was fighting before she even truly registered that she was. Her self-preservation instincts had always been strong.

Speed is her strength. Like a snow-white bullet, the wolf woman dashes in and out of sight. D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. agents are a little tougher than the average opponent but she's still just as fast in her mind as she is on her feet. A swift kick to the back of the knees, a slice of claws to a throat, and the crumple of one body after the next. Her dogs have followed suit too, all eight of them suddenly turned vicious. They bite and scratch and attack where they can though Rose is carefully keeping tabs to make sure they aren't injured.

Red is a stark contrast to her snow white fur. Amber eyes stare hollowly down at a soldier she just incapacitated. There's a gentle rise and fall of her chest but beyond that she's pituresquely still as she seems to lose herself in the midst of battle for just a moment. ]

battle mode: support (closed to vanyel)

[ Once the adrenaline has worn off from fighting and she's the Rose that everyone recognizes, she'll take a moment in the temple to find Vanyel. It's not an easy thing to do. Honestly, part of her is still saying that there's time to back out, that she doesn't have to because there will be plenty of others to give their energy but-

She wants to. Help, that is. Vanyel's the only one she'd let see the whole of her too she thinks. The good, the bad, the grotesque. All of it. It's terrifying, honestly, what he might think about her more maudlin memories but. He loves her, doesn't he? She needs to believe that that's maybe enough. ]

Hey, if this. If this'll help. I think we should try.

[ And they do, but- It's disorienting. One moment Rose is in the Temple, then she's stepping through Tamriel's wilderness. Only a blink after, they're instead in a modern office. They're in a place she recognizes. A red-haired man in a business suit gives her a Chesire grin and she can't stop herself from getting ensanred in this memory. ]

Charlie, [ she says. Her lips are thinned in discontent, eyes sharp and voice even sharper. ] Charlie, we need to talk about what happened.

Do we, Rose? I thought everything was pretty clear, [ the man answers, voice a low tenor that sounds somehow easygoing in contrast to Rosie's tightness. It's a strange dichotomy between them, an odd relationship indeed. ]

at the temple (wildcard, ota);

[ During the down-time between battles, Rose can be found ghosting through the temple. She's a lot more quiet and solemn than usual, seemingly having a lot on her mind.

(If you want anything specific or to plot something out, hit me up at puddingandpie! Or my Discord at Pudding#5286.) ]

psylink, lmk if it doesn't work (and you can totes ffw to the actual drift if you like!)

[remarkablymodest]

It was nothing short of incredible to fight by Era's side again. They flowed like a steady river together, moving through enemies in a surreal sort of harmony. Between the both of them as tanks, no one within close proximity so much as suffers a scratch.

The battle isn't waning by any means but their forces are and he makes the call to Era to fall back to instead focus their efforts on protecting the temple. Most people seem to have gathered there and it'd be better to stay centralized. He wants to ensure that as many citizens of Xistentia stay safe and he can't think of anyone better a protector than the Warrior of Light.

Once they've situated themselves there, he's informed of a way that people can help. How they can help even further than they already have.

"Era," he starts, approaching her when she has a moment to catch her breath, "I think it would benefit everyone if we were to try this and aid how we can. We can only active certain defenses through this Psylink, which requires two people to work, and I can't think of anyone I trust more than you to join me in this."

[monologue]

[ juno's mouth breaks silently over the shape of peter's name again as he speaks. oh... oh no that hurts, like a twist of a knife he deserves between his ribs. juno doesn't let go, letting his other arm come around to support him in his endeavor up. fuck it. fuck it fuck it fuck it, he'll be damned if he lets him do anything on his own like this. then again, nureyev's not the one to push people away, juno is, and it makes him hate himself all the more as peter shudders upright. ]

Yeah, I'm on it... [ his fingers tighten a little bit reflexively. the theia scans around them from his peripherals, keeping him alert, aware ] I'll get you there.

[ he swallows. i don't like blood but i like you. the sentiment is simple enough as he bears in. it's not his intention to get so up close and personal to nureyev, not after what he's done, what he did to him. but there's no time for it as he lets the nausea sit like a firm stone in his stomach, the adrenaline crashing over it like a wave as his heart pounds. ] Can you stand up with me? I know it was your shoulder, but you went down hard...

fight for your life

[monologue]

[ there was a very, very, very small chance of the gun jamming, at least in terms of how it was explained to juno, which is why he's swearing up a storm, ducked down behind shallow cover to try and fix it. the chambers are hot, however, and the gun is strange in his hands, not quite something he's used to tampering with. all the same he tries, even amidst the open fire, trying to avoid what he can of the onslaught to get himself back in the game faster.

he doesn't realize it until there's a shadow over him, and then a burst of light so bright he has to cover his eyes as he whips around slightly--

well shit.

there's something about a silhouette like that, bright and shining with a sword triumphantly rooted in the ground that has juno's chest tightening slightly, thinking back to an old story he once really liked as a kid--good old andromeda with her mighty sword and shield, ever roaming, searching for home. juno stares a half second longer, indulging himself in the moment of respite.

and then he snaps out of it as he realizes she's taking a good deal of fire meant for him. juno scrambles. ]

Hey--

[ breathless, he goes back to trying to unjam the gun, burning his fingers a little, but managing to free up the chamber of whatever metallic residue is there building up from the heat of the plasma. what's a little third degree burn when you get some great firepower in exchange? juno loads it up again and resumes his position with rifle ready to go.

there's a deadly aim that comes with him as he leans out of the breadth of her magic's reach, the air humming with heat as he fires off a series of rounds that land their marks in rapidfire succession. ]

Bastards-- [ he lowers his rifle ] Hey, are you okay? Back there you... [ he... doesn't really know what she did okay? ]

i hope this is ok too then !!!!

[astralera]

Era appreciates Aymeric's call more than she can say, for it's hard for her to focus on the big picture, tactically, when she is in the middle of combat. While she yearns to stay on the front lines in the midst of a heated battle she knows that what he says holds true - their energy would be better spent elsewhere at this point.

Emmy had given her a cursory explanation of the Psylink; explained the concept and the dangers. Suggested she pair up with someone she trusted, as though it was being subtle.

Era can't imagine doing this with anyone but Aymeric though, if she's honest with herself. While he hasn't experienced much of what she has he at least was there for a large portion of the Dragonsong War... Which could mean they are both too invested to be able to safely guide one another through the process.

She doesn't let her doubts cow her for very long. A nod of agreement is given to Aymeric and she is quick to take his hand, leading him to a quiet corner (if they can't watch each other's backs this is the next best thing, she thinks) where she pulls a length of soft cotton cloth from her inventory to blanket the floor, then directs her friend to sit down. Once Aymeric complies (long limbs somehow managing to be graceful despite how otherwise awkward the positioning is, which Era thinks is a little unfair of him) she settles down as well - on the floor between his legs, where she can press her back against his abdomen.

It's. Well. Very forward of her. But Era can't think of a better way to do this - to keep each other grounded - if they're sitting a respectful distance apart.

Emmy and Haurchefantd link them together shortly thereafter, and Era knows immediately that Aymeric will feel five predominant things from her: firstly, her resentment for being appreciated so little by Eorzea at large despite all she does for them; second, her self-loathing for feeling such resentment; third, her overwhelming desire to protect - to make sure she doesn't lose anyone else; fourth, how much she cares for him (and how much it frightens her); and lastly, (perhaps most importantly) hope. That things will improve if she works hard enough. That one day she won't be needed anymore. That no one else will die.

She does her best to let the jumble of emotions and memories rush past her like a river, not letting herself latch on to any one thing in particular despite how some memories claw at her. The intensive meditation she has done over the course of her lifetime is a boon that makes it the slightest bit easier. It is by no means an easy task, and Era hopes that because she has so few memories of her own to share that it might make things easier on Aymeric.

junooooo

[astralera]

[ Having worked alongside machinists before, Era isn't phased in the least by gunfire from behind her. As soon as the enemies are downed she retrieves her sword from where she pierced the ground, giving it a very cursory glance to assure the blade is still in fine condition (it is).

She blinks at Juno's question - her armour is dusty and splattered with blood (from her enemies), and one of the scales on her cheeks is chipped, with coagulating blood smeared on it from a small cut just above. Other than that she appears fine, and she holds up her shield in answer, as though to say 'why wouldn't I be okay?'.

Her concern is more on Juno's hands. Era may not have any of her full strength healing abilities at the moment, but Clemency is a powerful healing spell in its own right. She lifts her sword and shield in front of her, taking a second to cast the spell on her companion. Once complete, a ray of light shines down on each of them - Juno's healing a majority of the burn damage, and Era's sealing any shallow cuts and easing the pain of deep bruising. ]

Are you well?

A.

[astralera]

[ Despite the impressive display, Era takes no time to admire Loki's combat prowess. While he took care of his opponents she focused on her own, taking them down with preternatural skill and efficiency. The heat of the fire doesn't bother her - her first memories are of the desert and she adapted to the dry, scorching heat very quickly. It's the cold that consistently gives her pause.

Immediate vicinity cleared of opponents, she takes the moment to turn her attention to Loki. His query is answered as Era pulls a small jar of water out from somewhere, tossing it to him with her free hand. Studying him, it seems as though he could use more than just some water. And she could use a minor healing herself, so it only makes sense to cast a quick Clemency spell; holding her sword and shield in front of her as she focuses her aether, bringing a halo of light into existence above each of their heads to shine healing rays down on them both.

It isn't as powerful as it would have been had Era been fighting as any of her healing jobs, but it's enough to lessen any serious injuries to something more minor and fully heal any minor ones. The added bonus of being healed herself when casting it on another is nice, fully healing a cut on her scalp and easing the pain of a particularly uncomfortable abdominal injury. ]

I have some healing potions to spare. [ Era decides to let him infer her meaning himself, as it should be obvious enough. Do you want any to carry with you?. ]

Mandy Slade | OTA + closed

[smileslie]

Sanctuary; OTA
[for all her anger, Mandy isn't a fighter. Oh, she's thrown a punch and put her knee between the legs of more than one handsy bastard, but that was different. That was just making sure that people understood that just because she wore heels and glitter it didn't mean she was weak. This..this is nothing like that. She doesn't know how to fight against monsters that aren't driven by the hate that's bred of ignorance and fear of anything different, but are just….monsters.

But she does know how to care, as much as she'll try to pretend she doesn't. She's hesitated in coming here, not because she doesn't want to help--she does, because she hates feeling like that pretty airhead she pretended to be--but because this is a side of herself even Arthur hadn't seen yet, not really. He might have lived something of the same life that made it a necessity to know how to deal with black eyes and bruised ribs if not for yourself than the people you cared about, but she knows that even if he treats her like a person she's still something of a star in his eyes, and it might be shocking for him to see this. But right now, she actually can't give a fuck about keeping up the mask of being untouched by the horrible things that teach a person those lessons.

Which is why nearly anyone who's really crossed paths with her before might be surprised not only to see her hair pulled entirely away from her face instead of draped down to hide it as it often is, but to hear her voice totally absent of that fake accent that usually weaves in and out as she speaks so there's nothing but the blunt American when she sees someone clearly about to fall over if they don't at least get someone propping them up]

Jesus. Come here, let's get you sat down before you break yourself more.


Psylink; closed to Arthur. CW for mention of drug use, eventual mentions of emotional/physical abuse and sexism/homophobia in both of their labyrinths
[Maybe it's because they've at least shared scraps of memory with each other or maybe because of everyone here Arthur is the closest to knowing who she really is, but this linking business it's as difficult as Mandy would have thought something like this should be. At least, not at first. At first it's not too unlike the best times when she'd get high with Brian, when they were totally in sync with each other, feeling almost like the same person and tuning out the rest of the world.

But then it's like that sensation of tripping just as you're falling asleep, the world catching and slipping under her, and then--

Then she's walking across a floor covered in newspaper, stepping over snapshots of her life. Everything's white. All the technicolour glitter she'd tried to cover the world in has been washed away, replaced with white sheets and dusty photographs. But not quite, because there's a flash of blue moving out from behind one of the covered chairs and the light strikes it in just the right way to send bright sparkles into her eyes so she's nearly blinded as the figure moves towards her and speaks in a raspy voice]

Mandy

[her heart jumps at first, and she doesn't know if she's angry or excited or terrified, only that like always he's making her feel too much, and her throat is so tight that her voice is much smaller than she'd like when she starts to reply]

Hello, Bri-

[But his name sticks hard in her mouth when she realizes this isn't the too-skinny man her husband has become as of late. Instead there's the sparkling god she'd created in his image, leaning against the chair and smiling at her with too-red lips, and she's suddenly dumsbtruck by his image just like everyone else in the world]


wildcard
[hit me up at keenquing if you want something else]

[astralera]

[ So maybe she's a bit... drained. But Era definitely is not in bad enough condition to need to sit down and rest for long - just enough to switch over to a healing job and heal the worst of her injuries. As a paladin she had taken a lot of damage, but her defense was strong enough that it was almost all superficial. More recently however, as a red mage she had taken a great deal of hits that she probably should have avoided regardless of Aymeric's attempts to cover her.

It was casting Vermillion Scourge that was the final straw for her current energy levels - such a powerful Limit Break always came at a cost, and while she had managed to continue fighting for a good length of time afterwards there were only so many Vercures she could cast on herself before needing a quick rest. Possibly a few Elixirs to get her energy levels back up.

Mandy's approach startles her, if only because the change of accent is unfamiliar to her. Era has heard it slip a few times in the past, but never so completely. ]

I will be fine in a few moments.

[ Era puts her rapier away and pulls out her cane. Instantly her clothes change from a fancy red outfit to a crisp white robe, quick as a blink. Next it's just a matter of casting Benediction, and within a second all of her serious wounds have been made superficial and all of her superficial wounds have healed.

It doesn't aid with how tired she feels now that she's away from the battlefield, body still quivering from the adrenaline of fighting for the lives of herself and her allies. Peki is somewhere behind her, all dressed up in armoured barding now splattered with blood - his crisp golden feathers are dotted with crimson as well, along with his beak, and Era feels an immense surge of affection for her most steadfast companion. ]

[smileslie]

[Maybe it's her time here, or all the time she spent working to get costume changes down to seconds, or just the fact that she's running on adrenaline herself, but Mandy hardly blinks at the change in Era's wardrobe.

She does, however, raise an eye brow at the other woman's statement when she sees how she's still trembling. She knows an adrenaline crash, at least]

Maybe you won't be collapsing from blood loss, but I'm pretty sure your legs don't want to be holding you up for much longer. Come on. You're not doing any of us any good if you keep running on empty without catching your breath.

[which is would be laughable if she stopped to think about it, since she often ran on stimulants alone for days, but that was different. She was keeping a show running, not fighting a bloody war]