404 [day 7 -- anise vs. eva]
Apr 24, 2017 20:00:54 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Apr 24, 2017 20:00:54 GMT -5
Ⱥ Ǹ ¡ § E ---
"̸͉̮̙̥̮̍͝Ẃ̷͉̤͍͖̉̓͒͌ḧ̷̢͕̹̽e̴͉̩͒́̎̄̓r̷͉̺̗̾̿ȇ̴̛͉̫̰͇͕͊̀ ̶̨̥́͆̃ď̶̹̃͌i̸̹̿d̴̪͕̥̠͍̕ ̶̨̩̙̏̆̈y̵̼͆͐̄͝o̴̖͈͂͐́̀͘u̶̮̭̐̈́̓ ̶̝̼̇̈́̓g̸͙̖̉͌͆ŏ̸̻̱̱̂̐͘ͅ,̵̮͍̞̪̈́͑̚̕͘ ̴̩͂̃̎͝l̸̛̝̗̑̎͐́i̶͔̗͛͌̉́͋ṭ̶̺̘͍͊̋͜t̵̹͆̍l̵̦̲̝̈́͒͌̓́è̶̡̲̤̤̋̎͊͜ ̵̗̈́s̶̩̟̞̜̘͛̐̽̏̊h̸̢̟̱͂e̴̼͍̝̐͊̓̍e̸͎̜͖͑̾̈́̑͗p̸̡͎͍̽?̸͙̜̗̟̀͐"̴̢̠͙͖̔̏
"̶̡͉̳͚͐͋̀̊̒̉Ẁ̶̦̇̑͝h̴̡̜͍̉̀͛͜ȩ̸͕͚̯̟͒̇̐̎̏̆͌͘r̴̢̡͙̪̜̻̹̣̉͊̒̾͒͜e̷͇̪͕̣͕̤͈̬̅͂ ̶̧̞̯̞̱̯̀ȍ̵̝̳̻̰̖̌̆͝h̵͔͉͒̏̿̋̑̈̚͘ ̵̳̋̈́̀͊w̵͚̐͗̅̈́͐͜͝h̴̥̻̅͛̀̔e̸̛͍̩̥̐ŗ̷̗̗͕̤͈̤́̀̄e̷̲͎͒̀̋͌̎̇ ̷̙̪̙̈̓͌̄̓̒d̶̮̭̟͂̆̄͋̈́͐i̴̡̥͕̽̊͗d̵̛͍̐́͗̚͘ ̵̧̘̑̄̔̊̎ṱ̴͉͚̺̖͂̌̑͛ḩ̵̢̦͇͖̭͖̖̥̿̃̋̃̾̉̚é̸̻͉̬̗̬͚͈̲̀̿̕ ̶̙̲̞̺̙̼̟̼͋̀l̸͉̦̳̈́̾͗͒̇͑͋͋į̸̨͉̹͇͔̋̈́̉̀̽͜t̴͙̲̗̘͖͔̄̌ẗ̶̡̼̲̬̳̘̲̻́̏̇̌l̷͚̲͚̥̣͚̠̏̎̀̈́͗ͅe̷͙͒͂̈́̆͊͠ ̴̮̐̈́̊̊̈́͗̃̀̕s̵͕͍̞̣͍͙̀̅͋̂͝͠h̶̨̹̗̞͖̻͆̈̍͛̏͂e̸̫̼̻̔͐̅̒̚͝ḛ̴͗̉͆͒̈p̶͚͔̝̘̟̪̄̍́́͑̋̈́͜͝͝ ̴͖͈̗͎͖͍̈́͆̇̐ģ̶̧̛̛̘̣̼̖̗͔͉̾͐̿̃o̵̡͗̓̀͊̀̔̒̋̄?̷̧̨͕̠͇̎̈́"̶̢̹̹͚̦̯̠̲̮̔̈́
It lumbers forward as she throws a blade, but her grip must have failed because the world grows fire-hot and magma seeps from her veins as she cries out. Claws curl up her legs, root into her bones as the figure warps and twists, hair growing long and fluttering on the ground. A white blouse blooming out of the shadows and lips perfectly painted the same color that litters the ground. A mole dots her chin.
In front of her stands her mother, swaying with the breeze as she stares unflinchingly, a gaze to match her own in the best of days. As if on cue she glides forward, each step strange and unfamiliar, weight placed in the wrong directions and accusations drawn onto her skin. Anise knows why she's here, knows that the moment Anise chose to keep her feet rooted it was coming ("They'll take you away from me", strip the stars from your eyes and the fire from your soul with every slash of the blade. What's left is more code and sheet metal than sinew and lungs).
Condemnation on her lips, she growls.
"̷̯̱̗͑̒Ý̶͖̫͋̚o̶͕̚u̴̝̇'̷͉̠̟͗ŗ̶̫͔̍ḙ̶̼͓̈̄͂ ̵̱̱̫͋̎̓ǹ̷͖̰̈́͝ő̶͍̝̋t̸̥̮̬͐ ̴͇̬̩̍̍̈r̶̲̂e̶̠͑̕a̵͕̓͂l̷͎͕̿͜.̷̛͎"̵͎̳̊͗̃
In an instant she sees a decade of life, months spent packing up mats and putting enough pressure on her feet and instinct in her arms, blades against armor, dinner left unattended to, conversations pittering into nothing. A lifetime of rewiring, time spent looking straight ahead when whispers reached her ears, to be above it all even if it twists her heart and sends fire into her throat.
She wants to cry, but instead she does nothing. Her mother holds a cactus, stretching and shrinking, spines yawning as the sun shines on them. But that's not right, the one she sent all those years ago was half the size of her palm, wilting until she gave it just the right amount of water. She half-wonders if Peony will bother to take care of it when she's gone, or if she'll throw it in the trash like the rest of mother's mementos.
They whisper at the same time.
"̴N̶o̶n̷e̸ ̸o̴f̸ ̸t̸h̴i̸s̵ ̸i̷s̶.̷"̸
Limbs form a handle and spikes form a blade that smash into her chest, the force sending her clattering against the ground, circuits buzzing and muscles tensing. She can feel the crack when she pulls out the throwing axe, a strange odor perforating her nostrils and shaking the world back into stability. Just for a moment, she spies blonde hair. Then a whisper from behind her ear.
"Breathe, idiot. You're making me anxious."
The waves wash over her and she gasps. Breathe in, breathe out. Feel the air through your lungs, into your bloodstream and up your spine. The world spins as she stands and terror streaks through her kneecaps but context is key. Her mother's sneer turns into a tear before melting away into sketches and charcoal, a blob with blonde hair that's too scrawny to be Cassiopeia and not stoic enough to be Shelby. Eva Hope.
She must be on it too. It doesn't matter.
<insert some filler here woooooo>
"Fuck off," she mutters, and flings her weapon.
[attacks]
ThZ|UmKQ1-2
[attacks herself
throwing axe
[10155 -- Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4 damage
(Thrown Axe)]
1-2�throwing axe·throwing axe