the danger is i'm dangerous

[respired]

CHARACTERS: Koltira et al

DATE: Jan 27 - onwards

WARNINGS: violence; blood; general gross (dead things and decaying things etc)

SUMMARY: Blood frenzy.



GENERAL PROMPT: THE OUTSKIRTS, NEAR THE WOODS;

[It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts--

It's his only sensible thought, a continuous scream in his mind that never quiets; never stops. He just wants to stop. The pain, the noise, the press of life and energy and movement that surrounds him. His own body. He'd give anything for exhaustion. For sleep. But a death knight was not designed to yield. No matter the depth of his injuries, no matter the blood smeared on his face and armor and across the long curtain of his bone-white hair, he does not fall. No matter the cracks in his armor, his split lip, his wounds. He is relentless, because he has no other choice.

Koltira staggers among the fields that border the woodlands; they are silent, and largely abandoned.

Eventually, he presses into the woods, thinking--thinking nothing, still, really. His mind is static and incoherent whispers and begging. Animals cross his path: a rabbit dances away from him, but a deer is not so quick. He lets Byfrost linger in its belly for too long, watches the corpse rapidly decay into so much meat and slime.

He leans against an oak, and plague seeps from his fingers, steals past the bark and down to the root. The wood begins to hiss and melt beneath his palm.]


[ooc: individual starters are below! the above is a general prompt for encounters in the woods or the outskirts. if you would prefer something else, or even a thread set AFTER this whole mess, let me know. you can grab me on plurk at runehallow.]

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PAPYRUS -- THE TRADE DISTRICT

[respired]

[He should have left the city earlier. He should have left the city weeks ago. Some dim, desperate voice in the back of his mind suggests he actually should never have stayed in the city at all, never allowed himself to go among this crush of the living. But Koltira thought he could manage. He was disciplined; he was strong.

Not strong enough.

He gathers his things from the boarding house--what few belongings he possesses--and it's a struggle just to make it down the stairs. Koltira can't even lock eyes with the proprietor, for fear that he will lunge at the man's throat. A man who's been nothing but kind to him; who's never questioned his appearance or uttered a single nasty word. A man who gives him a discount.

He counts out his coins, mutters a barely audible word of thanks, and heads into the street. If he moves quickly, he can be in the woods by nightfall.

But he's barely made headway into the trade district when a voice calls to him. It's just a merchant. A young woman, selling hats. He shakes his head, 'no', and tries to keep walking, but she's insistent. She leaves her stall.]

No --

[His voice is hoarse; cracked. Koltira doesn't feel panic, exactly, but he does feel urgency. He feels the girl's excited heartbeat. She's eager; she's happy. She's not afraid. Koltira tries to step away from her, but she won't stop babbling. He can't even process it; pain clouds his vision, wracks his limbs.

The girl grabs his arm.]

No.

[She just looks confused. There's a royal blue hat in one hand, decorated with a feather. Her other hand squeezes his wrist. He shuts his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, his own fingers are clasped around her throat.]

[boneafide]

[Papyrus considers Koltira a friend.

Which isn't actually saying a lot, because he considers everyone he meets a potential friend, and considers the deal of friendship sealed if they respond in any way that can even be slightly construed as positive. There's a plethora of reasons why, somehow, this became Papyrus' modus operandi when dealing with people, but mostly it can be summarized by his loneliness.

But Papyrus considers Koltira someone who also needs his help. It's obvious, even to someone like Papyrus, that Koltira needs help with... A lot of things. And while the skeleton might not remember it due to circumstances of his own world, he's quite experienced in dealing with Edgy McTryhards.

It was actually pure coincidence that he happened upon Koltira in the Trade District. He was just trying to get some practice moving around in his new outfit: a set of armor. Real armor, not some costume he and Sans made for a party.

Papyrus had briefly mentioned to Sans he might be interested in armor after Christmas- and somehow, Sans had wound up with a suit of armor, shortly afterwards! He had said he had found it just lying around in the garbage, and what were the chances it was exactly his size! His brother really was pretty good at finding some decent garbage! It looked brand new, even! How odd! It's a big heavier than his normal outfit, though, and while he prides himself on being pretty fast, and light on his feet, he definitely can't say he's either of those with all of this on. It does feel a bit like... overkill. Do knights and guards always wear this much?

Either way, upon seeing the familiar shape of Koltira, Papyrus attempts to lightly jog towards the other, waving and followed by the impending sound of CLANK CLANK CLANK as he approached.

And then he sees Koltira lash out, grabbing the girl by her neck, and- ]

KOLTIRA, NO!

[Suddenly, it's a lot easier to run.]

WHAT ARE YOU DOING! HUMANS NEED THEIR NECKS IN ONE PIECE!!

[respired]

[The girl breathes raggedly, struggling. She's dropped her hat; it tumbles away on the cobblestones, picked up by the afternoon wind and gone soon after. Her eyes, wet with tears, dart towards it, then back to Koltira. He's barely seeing her. He's only feeling the strain of her muscles, only hearing the fear in her voice.

But then, something familiar.

He looks up, spotting Papyrus.

The girl renews her fight when she sees he's distracted, and his mind buzzes, unsure of what to do next.

Papyrus runs towards him, upset.

Koltira's grip eases, but he does not let the girl go.]

RIN + GILGAMESH -- OUTSKIRTS

[respired]

[He's been trying to follow a specific path. He can't say if he's succeeding or not; he has no sense of direction in this state, and few problem-solving faculties overall. His only directive is to flee, to get himself as far away from the clusters of civilization as possible. Pain dogs his every step, a constant screw turning in his spine, a sword lancing through his gut. The pain blinds him when it spikes, filling him with wordless, fathomless rage. He wants to lash out at anything he can touch, anything with skin that will yield and a mouth that will cry for mercy.

But more than that, he doesn't want it. He wants silence. An end. Peace.

He stalks down the roads of the outskirts, passing the great goblin church. There are people milling around near it, speaking excitedly; with great effort, Koltira does not lift his runeblade and plague the lot. He just keeps walking, head down, eyes narrowed. The forest can't be far.]

[defenceless]

[their excited chatter isn't exactly due to pleasant events (though some of the young goblins do seem plenty enamored with "the mage lady" running about). rin appears from the inside of the church. she shouts an order—as clear and direct as any she would give her servant, loud and strong above the disastrous hum of demolished buildings in the distance—and beckons group after group of citizens to seek shelter within the holy place. they listen. she sets a barrier over the entrance, then glides from home to home activating more, strange sigils painted across the wood and stone swirling when the protective boundary fields burst into life.

she spots koltira.

if there was ever a day for her to miss a fellow recruit in passing, today would be it, with the demons and gigantic attacking chimeras; but she catches sight of koltira.

and the image of him is too disturbing for a girl so secretly kindhearted to ignore.]

Hey! What the hell are you doing?!

[thinking him possessed, like the others, she shouts at him in that same unimpeded, imperious tone. it's a mother scolding him. it's an almost-friend worrying about him. she doesn't retreat.

the would-be slave driver of the heroic spirit named archer is here.]

[respired]

[Who is this shouting at him? He winces, interpreting her angry voice as an immediate threat. He tries to will himself to keep going, to ignore her. Engaging her is the last thing he wants. But she's suddenly so close to him, so loud and vibrant. So bright it blinds him.]

Going away.

[He speaks through a clenched jaw. Perhaps she will let him go--but his hand is already on Byfrost's hilt.]

ALICE -- CENTRAL SQUARE

[respired]

[He's been here long enough that he should know the streets of Chantes by now. Under ordinary circumstances, he does. But he's lost on some side street, and he's crippled to distraction by the agony that spikes up his legs with every step. He knows he has to escape the city, to remove himself from the throngs of people, of hot flesh and shouting voices. But he simply has no idea where he is. There are a lot of humans. Some vendors, but not nearly so many as in the central trade district. He wanders in aimless frustration, growing more agitated by the minute.

And then he hears it--the singing. About him.

She's a lone busker, and she clearly isn't having the best day, either. Her hat is nearly empty of coin, and she has a scowl on her face like she blames Koltira for it personally. As he approaches, she sings a bawdy song involving his ears and two tavern girls. It is very filthy.

On any other day, Koltira might have ignored it. Moved on. The woman was a human; average in every way. He would gain nothing from indulging her bitterness.

But he doesn't have that sense of reason with him now. So he grabs her by her blonde hair, cups one hand around her mouth to stifle the scream, and disappears into the darkness of a nearby alley.]

[digophelia]

[ Alice spends quite a bit of time out on the streets of the Chantes, with the native children. She plays with them and with the arrival of the sun, the children have been taught things like hopscotch and other games. When there's a lack of drawing material, sometimes the cobbled streets are littered with drawings from Alice and the children with rocks scratched against the surface. When it gets late, Alice starts to send them back to their homes, if at all possible. The reality of that some of the children don't have homes hangs heavy over Alice's head.

Even with the sun, it's not enough to change the disparity of the streets, much like London. And in the end, Alice is still reminded of the world she left behind. She has gotten used to walking alone, confident in herself because her knife was constantly in her possession. Rest assured, if she was ever in danger, Alice wouldn't hesitate to use it. Alice was eager to return to the inn when the last group of children returned home after escorting them back safely. Finding nothing of interest in the trade district today, Alice moved on.

In a way, the small detour after escorting the children home was a good thing. Had Alice been passing through another time, she wouldn't have seen someone who was clearly a woman being dragged off into an alley. With no hesitation, Alice follows, her blood boiling at just the sight of another woman in distress. She's quick, storming to the alley and unsheathes her knife out from her side, the silver-blue edge of it glistening in dim light.

In retrospect, it was stupid to charge after someone who could possibly overpower her, but it didn't matter. Her nanny and her sister, both who had suffered at the hands of men is enough to send Alice into the situation without reconsidering. Her well-being didn't matter, what mattered to her was this other woman wouldn't be hurt or worse. With an icy anger and a voice filled with venom, she speaks. ]

Let her go if you want to keep your hand.

[respired]

[The busker puts up a fight. She scrabbles against Koltira's arms, trying to find purchase, trying to shove him away. It's no use. He's fully armored, and he's too strong. He stares the woman down, his eyes empty, aching. Why was he doing this, again? She had insulted him. But no. That wasn't the truth of it. The truth is that she's alive, and she was too close, and it hurts so, so much.

He barely glances up when Alice comes into the alley. The knife glints, and his eyes dart towards it briefly, then away. He presses the busker against the alley's dirty brick wall; she cries out as her back scrapes against the rough stone.

He says nothing.]

RIZA -- OUTSKIRTS

[respired]

[It's difficult to see. His face is smeared with blood, dried now and flaking at the corners of his eyes, but it's more than that. There's a haze over his vision, red and alive, obscuring the road ahead. He staggers mindlessly, dragging his sword in the dirt, baring his teeth like some kind of wild animal. But that's what he is. A creature; a monster. Reduced to a bestial state. His thoughts are minimal, and they focus only on the spasms of pain wracking his body; all other considerations are discarded, or nonexistent. No one approaches him, and thankfully this part of Chantes is lightly populated, but he can still hear a few rapid heartbeats. He can still taste fear.

Someone's approaching, though. Quickly. He lifts his head in a slow, jerking motion, sluggish and unnatural. He stares, the cold light of his eyes dim and expressionless. He feels the fierce pull of running blood. He stops, and he waits.]

[strictdiscipline]

[She makes trips into goblin territory every few days despite still keeping a room in the Abel Inn. There are friends there she needs to see, gossip and rumors she prefers to keep on top of as best she can. The journey's one she's made dozens of times now and never with anything more intrusive than a loudly-belching goblin, drunk on good cheer and too many tankards of piss-poor ale. She doesn't expect anything different this time around as she makes her way back to her room

Except—there's a brittleness in the air she hasn't felt since the influx of guards after the jailbreak, and the people rushing by her keep their eyes averted low and their coats pulled tight. The (apparent) answer to why follows: a familiar figure, though in far worse condition than last she'd seen him.

She inhales sharply at the sight, fingers twitching up reflexively.]

—Koltira? [Her tone is questioning, weighted down with concern.] What happened?

LEVI -- OUTSKIRTS

[respired]

[It's a young man, a goblin. Perhaps nineteen or twenty. He's alone, carrying a bundle of flowers in his arms, walking towards home. Or so Koltira presumes. He can barely discern the features of the boy's face; the color of the flowers. At this point, he understands only a quick breath, a frightened whimper. The well of blood on broken skin.

The young man drops his flowers. The petals scatter across the road. It is almost dusk, and they are alone. Koltira lifts his hand, silent, gritting his teeth so hard that he can feel them crack in his mouth. The boy begins to choke.]

[powerdriven]

[ Levi recognizes Koltira from afar. He senses something is wrong at once, close to simultaneously, and without the contemplation of what precisely it is that makes him know. Maybe it's something in his stance. They're both fighters, so it stands to reason. Or maybe it's just a feeling.

That doesn't matter. It's familiar, and there's a reflex in him to move on a millisecond's time, to trust the instinct he called his gut over deliberation. It's the difference between life and death. Pulling some young soldier out of the wretched mouth of a titan or knowing what he's turned his back on. He did it all for the same reason, and the reason lets him spare his efforts now.

A hiss of air exhausting itself from the gear is a faint buzz on the horizon that grows intrusive in moments. An insect's wings beating on the windowpane. Levi is upon Koltira like a missile, and the speed of his gear's launch makes the attempt to tackle him highly convincing. ]

RAMIR + HELLBOY -- OUTSKIRTS, NEAR THE WOODS

[respired]

[Where is he? He can't say. He's stumbled past houses; fields; temples. The population thins as he keeps running, and that's a good thing, that's his goal. But the pain does not abate. If anything, the abortive encounters of the past few days have left him in an even worse state than before, a place of half-satisfaction that demands much more than it received.

Koltira does not tire, but he does weaken. He kneels down in short grass, at the edge of an abandoned field, not far from the dark treeline of the woods. He heaves, and covers his face with his hands. Hands already dark with blood, both familiar and foreign. He rakes his nails in the soil and he screams.]

[heavyhitter]

[ Well, it had been a pretty nice evening. Ramir likes nature, sometimes. Big, quiet fields like this always make her think of Earth, and some pretty good memories got made there. So she'd been out at a meandering walk, attention split between what's around her and the network via bracelet.

But then comes that scream, and, well, no evening's gonna be too great when it's got a scream like that in it. Ramir's eyes go a little wide and she stares in the direction it had come from. She's sorely tempted to head in the exact opposite direction with the battlecry of not my problem, but... curiosity wins out. Morbid curiosity, in this case.

It isn't long before Koltira comes into sight, and that awful kneel he's in makes abandoning the scene impossible. Dammit, it's someone she likes. Her pace quickens as she heads toward him, and she's already trying to figure out what the hell's wrong with him, what happened. ]

Koltira! Hey, what the fuck! [ He's a pretty far cry right now from the guy she'd been macking on earlier, and it's pretty unsettling. ] What happened?

SHADOW -- OUTSKIRTS, NEAR THE WOODS

[respired]

[A traveler walks up the road. He's come from the forest, which Koltira can see just behind him, looming vast and dark and promising. Koltira must get there. He must seclude himself. He drips blood as he walks, injured but not slowed; he has no complete or rational thoughts in his mind. The pain has receded slightly by this point, but it's the difference between a thousand daggers and five hundred. Either way, he's still continuously, relentlessly stabbed.

If the man had just come out of the forest a few minutes later. If he had just walked faster; if he had just kept his distance.

But no. Instead, the simplest thing, the most every day and devastating thing happens: he doesn't watch himself, and he runs directly into Koltira, a solid wall of armor and muscle. The man falls. He looks up at Koltira and opens his mouth to apologize.

Mindlessly, grimacing, shaking, Koltira reaches for him, shadow energy swirling around his fingers.

The man's apology freezes in his throat.]

[chaoscontrol]

[Make peace. What utter nonsense. From what Shadow has seen, these humans and the goblins were never really friendly to begin with, and nothing a bunch of strange aliens said or did was doing to change that. Not if "bringing back" the sun and their moons didn't already do that.

But, it seemed like their delightful captors-slash-employers weren't going to let them leave this backwater planet without at least trying to be diplomatic. Shadow, however, knew where his strengths lay. And being a patient peace-talker was not one of them. He'd just keep his nose out of it, thanks.

So instead, Shadow is avoiding his irritating "nephew" and exploring his surroundings. The human village, the forest, the home of the goblins... They wouldn't be here much longer with any luck, but that didn't mean he should sit around doing nothing.

Which is when he sees a rather unfortunate, but innocuous, occurrence; two people bumping into one another. Clumsy creatures.

But then the armored one raises a hand, shrouded in what could only be some sort of dangerous energy. Did he mean to attack that man for something so stupid?

Yeah, no.

It was Shadow's duty to protect humans, even on other worlds. The hedgehog vanishes with a "blip" and reappears next to Koltira and the traveler, glaring up at the elf.

(Not a human after all, perhaps? The ears were all wrong for humans.)]

Don't.

OLIVIA -- WOODS

[respired]

[It is done, at last. The tempest has ended, and Koltira kneels among the wreckage, soaked in blood and guilt and loathsome, terrible satisfaction. His armor is cracked; his pale hair dark with crusted blood and filth. His nails are black from digging at his own face, his own throat.

He's in a clearing, not far into the woods proper, and his mind is a riot of awful thoughts. What he has done to these people, to this place? Innocents, all. Undeserving, all. So many of them had treated him kindly, without prejudice or expectation. They had befriended him, and he had repaid them as he knew he would. With his sword, with their own blood.

Koltira's body is not weak. It does not tire; it cannot yield. He could stand if he wanted, and he could run, run to the edges of this world and never return. But his soul is weary. He leans on the hilt of Byfrost, driven into the ground (blackening it, because even now he can't stop spoiling everything he touches), and he stares straight ahead, every muscle taut with misery.]

[winces]

[ she is exhausted, by the time their paths finally cross. both physically, mentally, and emotionally, and yet she still ventures out, dragging her quiet feet along as if it were her only purpose in life at the moment.

find him, she keeps chanting in her head, despite how great is the temptation to rest it against a tree, a rock, the ground — find him, because she knows right now, he probably does not want to be.

she looks a mess after helping hellboy — foreign blood streaks her hands, arms, even a bit of her brow when she's reached up to wipe some sweat from her exertion. when she finally finds him, she's so relieved she doesn't even get to take in the state of him. ]

Koltira... thank goodness.

[ just a breath of air released that sags her shoulders, and she leans against a nearby tree to support her. ]

GENERAL

[showmeyourwreath]

[Flora is out in the woods, tending to the plants within when she looks up, feeling a disturbance across her consciousness, and the forest whispers and shows her the source in her own mind.]

Koltira...?

[Something is very wrong, she can sense it. And in the next moments, she transforms and disappears in a sphere of green black reappearing where he is and--]

Augh!

[A hand instinctively reaches for her head. It hurts, but more than that she feels filthy and disgusting and wretched as a tree is reduced to a vile mess. She pushes past the pain and looks at the display, horrified and confused.]

Koltira, what's the matter?

[respired]

[He lifts his head to look at her. He knows her. A vague and passing consideration, one quickly subsumed by another spasm of pain in his legs. His knees buckle slightly.]

Leave.

[Koltira tries to recall her name. He has it somewhere; it's a quick fish in the sea of his fragmented thoughts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

He speaks through grinding teeth.]

Flora.

general!

[riastraid]

[ No one should be there to run into him in the forests, not when there are clean inns with soap-scented sheets. Warm beds and good company. But for a spirit that doesn't really need sleep the same way mortal might, Lancer prefers recovering and saving his strength out past the treeline. No temptations, no real threats or interruptions.

Plus, he likes nature. Well enough to notice when the tree he's perched high up in starts to sizzle and some putrid stench sneaks up into the air. And because his self preservation instinct is either shitty or unimportant, he hops down to investigate, landing in a lower bough. The branch creaks purposefully under his feet. He leans over the edge of it to peer down at Koltira with a bone-dry greeting. ]

Hi.

[ Casual and even, but not quite friendly. The sight of prematurely melted meat ooze that was once a deer is probably enough to give a proper druid a conniption; he doesn't qualify for that much, but it's enough to leave him wary. ]

Can you turn that off? [ Whatever crazy death aura nonsense he's doing. ] I've got a sensitive nose, you see.

[respired]

[Koltira yanks Byfrost out of the deer carcass; it collapses into a pile of limbs and reddish-green goo. He turns frantically, wildly, his ears twitching at the sudden noise of the stranger's voice. Once spotted, Koltira stares back. Swallows hard.]

I cannot.

[Alive, alive, alive. And practically bleeding magic. Koltira tastes it in his mouth like something tangible. This man was not human.]

WOODS. GENERAL.

[selfimage]

[ tracking Michel had been anything but successful, and to someone of Loki's sorcerous caliber, it was downright annoying to find his own abilities bypassed. it left grumbly and sour, re-thinking possible solutions while Michel made the whole thing impossible.

(he had several, really. a new body, a new mentality and a new role gave him more leeway to watch chaos ensue rather than to control it. Michel was a chaotic element, one that may send Chantes into ruin, but Loki wasn't convinced that it was entirely a bad thing. most members of ALASTAIR were fighting for some semblance of saving what was, but what was was ...)

the stench of decay hits his nose and he wrinkles it like he's been hit in the face with something foul. ]

Yeech—gross. Couldn't you do that closer to garbage pick-up?

[ green eyes find Koltira, lingering there. he's easy, casual, but Loki's most dangerous abilities always came from observing rather than doing. ]

[respired]

[Koltira wouldn't know what that phrase meant even if he could possibly comprehend it. He stares at Loki, dim recognition flickering behind the ice-blue glow of his eyes. The person from those network conversations. Something something Michel something demons something change.

He shuts his eyes, gnawing on his already bloodied bottom lip. He shoves off from the tree; the rotted wood collapses into itself as he does so.

He chokes out his words, looking away as he speaks. Loki is not a quick-hearted human, but he's as alive as anything else, and there's a weight to him. In other circumstances, Koltira might have perceived this density as interesting and left it aside. Right now, his awareness of it is suffocating.]

Let me be.