( closed ) catch all

[heritors]

Who: lucina + others!
Where: various.
When: June & July 125.
What: general catch all, tdm overflow, etc.

Warnings: mannequins & all associated trauma.

( interested in catching her out & about? let's chat! cr meme comment here, or feel free to throw me a pm!! )

Comments

arlecchino.

[heritors]

( from here. )

[ It makes sense in theory ( and Chrom's virtues remain intact, which is the most important part ), like the rest of what her new companion has shared with her. None of it is wrong, or things she disagrees with in the slightest; she finds herself nodding as she watches the tire get installed, one lug at a time.

( It's not even all that foreign; Owain and Cynthia had their Justice Cabal, meticulously rehearsed moves and attacks. Gerome had Minerva. Brady his piano, Severa the opportunity to go shopping once they traveled to the past. But her— )

Wait. Hold on a moment. ]

Your children—?

[decussate]

Why, yes. Is that so surprising?

[ The airiness of her tone borders on teasing. She knows she doesn't strike any kind of "mother" figure, but sometimes she enjoys watching other people squirm a little as a treat. ]

[heritors]

I— no. Well, it's just ...

[ Okay, maybe a little. She's too dense to catch on that Arlecchino's teasing, so there's a little beat as she tries to get her thoughts together. Unfortunately, everything she considers asking seems to be a little too invasive ( mostly, she wants to know how many, if she can say things like 'very few of them would like to become scholars' ).

So eventually, she settles on a simple: ] You must miss them. [ Which is, in some ways, just as honest as her initial reaction. ]

[decussate]

[ Hmm. If Lucina takes after her father at all, Arlecchino can see why he was so exhausted after his meetings. She pretends that Lucina didn't fumble for a moment there and secures the last lug nut on the tire before straightening and turning around. Her expression is as unconcerned as it was before. ]

I'm often away from the House on diplomatic business. As such, I've taught the children to be self-sufficient. I'm sure they'll be quite well in my absence.

[ Not a direct response to what Lucina said... ]

jason.

[heritors]

( from here. )

[ She takes the hand without much thought, pulling herself up. But now that she's standing — her eyes dart back to the direction they came from one last time, eyes narrowing a little. It's not any easier to discern what's going on, regardless of the distance or how clearheaded she's feeling.

Maybe it's enough that her legs feel steady, and her vision's stopped swimming. It still makes her frown, anyway. ] ... I would hope not. [ Because she would do all of it again if she needed to — save him from a locked building where he was going to drown or whatever — but she's not as willing to place herself in that situation a second time around. ]

Though I suppose we should make sure of that. [ She looks around. Being above everything isn't actually great for reorienting herself, but she manages. ] My car should only be a short distance away.

[tirejacked]

[Lucina please, he hasn't even been all that nice to you. He appreciates her ability to roll with the punches, at least. And he's about ready to get out of here. So that sounds like their cue.

She's up and steady again, so he reaches back for his belt. Removes the little device he'd used to zip them up here in the first place and spins it once in his hand.]

Could take the stairs, but my way is faster.

[If she's feeling up to it. No skin off his nose, probably, but. Y'know. Might as well offer. His sense of direction for rooftops is a lot better than hers. He can navigate his way back to his own ride sooner than later, and he'd made sure to leave it somewhere no one would make off with it. (At least, not any time soon.)]

[heritors]

[ I'm gonna be 100% honest, I misread this tag initially and made myself think he set up a bomb on his bike so that no one would steal it & I was like "yeah sure checks out".

She eyes belt that's under his jacket; now that she's ready for it, it should be more manageable than it had been the first time. And — the offer's kind, but it's also a kindness she doesn't want to take advantage of. There's a hum, a few steps over to the edge of the building as she tries to estimate how high up they are. She'd be fine if it was just a normal night. It's too bad it's not.

No choice but to swallow whatever pride she has. She nods. ] If you don't mind. [ But only if he doesn't. ] I assume you have a way back to the city? [ Because if he doesn't... ]

[tirejacked]

[Tbh he probably would. He put a bomb in his fucking helmet, its only a matter of time until he boobytraps his bike. Why is he like this.

He waves her off, apparently unconcerned by the trouble of taking her back down to street level with him. Though the implied offer of a ride back to town does seem to strike him as funny, for some reason. He shrugs.]

Oh, sure. Hitchhiked my way over here with a traveling circus. They said they'd be back any day now.

[...He's joking.]

fern.

[heritors]

( from here. )

What? [ A beat. ] Oh. No, it's nothing to apologize for.

It seems to be a promising opportunity ... learn, even in the event we are unable to acquire a phone. [ It may not have started on the smoothest foot, sure, but outside of mortification on her part she really doesn't mind. There's still so much about Panorama that's leaving her completely lost. If she didn't know what a phone was, who knows what else she's missing—

One step at a time, though. She shoots Fern a small smile. ] If you're ready, then.

[ And on Fern's go, she walks up to the individual manning the stall. A little bit of back-and-forth with the shopkeep reveals that these phones are the same price as the ones from the first stand!

She turns to her partner-in-bartering with a small hum. ] I believe the stall over there was asking for a lower price, were they not...? [ Round two, let's go! ] It seems wasteful to spend more of our funds at this stage.

[longtooth]

[ An opportunity to learn. That's a rather kind reading of it, given that this could still be a scam as far as Fern is concerned. Then again, there are other people inspecting the booth, which means that there must be some merit to these phones.

Fern has also seen people using them while out and about, either talking into them or manipulating them with their thumbs. If nothing else, they're clearly popular.

So, with a nod in confirmation, off they go to to approach the stall. Fern doesn't mind letting Lucina take point, far more used to hanging back while others do the negotiation, laying on the charm when needed. Though Lucina seems to be more like the straightforward type.

Still, she's going to try and earn them a lower price, even if it means telling a little lie. Fern doesn't miss a beat in the small deception (22). ]

They were, yes. If you can bring your price down to match, we'd be interested in hearing about the different types of phones you have here.

[ The merchant sends a careful glance between them, but seems to decide it's worth of it with the promise of making two sales.

"I might be able to bring it down a little, just for you two. A special deal, if both of you make a purchase. How's that sound?" ]

[heritors]

[ She's straightforward. Honest. But she's also realistic, intimately familiar with dwindling resources and doing whatever it takes. And maybe that's a touch too desperate at this second — considering neither of them are in any kind of danger — but the merchant's counter-offer is proof that bartering works here. That's valuable to know.

So Lucina smiles, nods. ] If we find devices that are to our liking, we'll purchase one at full price, and the second at half. [ He opens his mouth to protest, which she barrels right through with a— ] We'll also make sure to recommend your stall to those who are looking to purchase one.

[ And ... pause. The merchant's eyes narrow as he looks between the two of them. And just as the silence seems to stretch on for a moment too long, the merchant sighs.

"You put in a good word to your friends, and come to me if you ever need a new one. Deal?" ]

wade.

[heritors]

( from here. )

[ Wade is at the top of the credits in MY HEART. ]

Ah, no. I'm afraid I'm also low on funds. [ And she's never needed a bodyguard in her life, let's be honest. She appreciates the offer though, probably, only because it's entirely the wrong thing to fixate on in the grand scheme of things ( skipping right over whatever a stapler or a monitor is ).

Supplies sound nice. Having an understanding of what exactly they're up against sounds nice, too. It's too bad she definitely will not get either of those things here, but she doesn't know that. ]

... Perhaps if we prop the door open. [ So that both of them aren't stuck in there, you know. ] We can investigate. [ She unsheathes her sword for good measure. Might as well prepare herself for the worst. ]

[primepool]

Fuck.

[Even the funky-haired protagonists? This world sucks. The least he could've landed on was the roof of the local bank. (Does this place even have banks?) He rubs the top of his head, picking out one of the staples from his hair system and flicking it away.]

Huh. All right. Loving the way you think, princess. Gimme a sec.

[And Wade pushes one of the heaviest filing cabinets in the room through the water, rolling it until it almost tumbles outside, and he can push it up against the door to prop it open -- once he kicks its wheels out from underneath it.

He turns just in time for her to take out her sword. The same one she was banging on the window with.] Fancy blade. Digging the blood groove.

[He nudges his chin towards the hole near the hilt. Who doesn't want a hole in their sword so all the blood can splash crudely through it when it's buried deep in the organs of your enemies?] Just know I already tried swords on the water-ghosts and it didn't work, but I'm loving the anticipation of violence.

[His kind of girl. But his own swords stay sheathed for now as he leads the way in, giving her a big sweeping gesture as his boots sink into the water.] Tell me if you see any creepy faces of dead and/or alive people! It's for my own mental well-being.

[heritors]

... Thank you? [ She has no idea what a blood groove is, even as she looks down at it — as far as she's concerned the Falchion has looked like that since ... ever, really. The confusion on her face is brief, but obvious. There-and-gone the moment she's told that her sword won't work.

Huh. ] Oh. [ It feels stupid to put it away so soon, though. Or ... for all of the nonchalance this man seems to be exhibiting, there's an unease that's prickling at her nerves, her fight or flight trying to kick in over what is supposed to be nothing. If it's not the promise of faces in the water, it's the sensation of being watched. If it's not that, it's the water curling around her legs with each step, as if it wants to drag her under—

Her entire body turns when there's movement in the corner of her eye, the grip on her sword tensing as if her first instinct really is to strike it. ] Was that— [ Except as she tries to really look, what she could have sworn was a face ( Robin? Morgan? ) is gone. ]

... I see what you mean about the ... creepy faces. [ There really is no other word for it. It also doesn't occur to her that neither of them need to be doing this; he asked for her to be here, after all. ] — Is there something you're trying to learn from them?

JULY 125 — IN THE FLESH

[heritors]

( plotting comment. closed starters below. )

JASON.

[heritors]

[ It occurs to her, belatedly, that she may have been rash about the conclusions she came to. For all the ways she's acclimating to the surface level differences between Ylisse and Panorama, there are certain habits that are harder for her to break.

( Coming to terms with the fragility of human life wasn't an easy process by any means; for all the ways she held on to hope, there are so many missives she can send before the lack of a reply means anything but the worst case scenario. At what point did silence start becoming the norm? When did she stop sending them entirely, knowing her time was better spent moving on? )

Maybe seeing scouts return with messages for Chrom and Robin should have meant something; but what's done is done, and none of it changes the fact that she had spent the last few weeks assuming he was dead. ( In her defense, everyone else replied to her texts. ) But she recognizes the streak of white in the thing's hair, then everything else — real or plastic or natural or unnatural or — and whatever feelings associated with her misconception are set aside.

Look! It's important enough that she's calling this time. If he doesn't pick up the first time, she'll call him again. Then again, then again. When he finally picks up— ]

Your mannequin— [ She sounds out of breath. The microphone's picking up the rush of wind as she runs down the street. ] Where are you? Are you alright?

[tirejacked]

[Quit telling everyone he's dead, Lucina.

That's on him, probably, for being too rude to return her very cute check-in text. But in his defense, he's been a little busy. He swaps his SIM cards on occasion. These things happen. (Also in his defense: he has no idea. Jumping right to being dead to her after missing a text is kind of a culture-shock overreaction he hadn't exactly foreseen. That's egg on his face, apparently.)

Besides: if it was important, she'd call, surely. Which she does, some weeks into the apparent invasion of the body snatchers. And to his credit, he picks up. ...Eventually.

Takes him some time to do it, though. When he does, it's clipped. Raspy, pitched low, as if to keep from drawing attention.]

Little busy, L.

[Doing what, well, that's a conversation for later. Implied: what does she want?]

WADE.

[heritors]

[ It's been hours since the Falchion disappeared.

The realization had been a punch to her gut — it's the first thing she notices when she wakes up in her car, and she bolts upright to see if she's just missed it. Her car's tiny though, and completely unscathed. So is she. She wouldn't have stayed asleep if someone was that close by; so a something, and not a someone. Lucina inhales, letting the air fill her lungs and ease the tightness in her chest, before she turns the ignition.

Of course, the culprit is nowhere to be seen now that she's looking for it. ( Almost like it's on purpose. Like it knew what would hurt. ) She's swapped driving for running at some point, stopping by every location that's become a part of her routine. With each dud, her shoulders tense even farther. But waiting for it to come to her feels like an impossible ask, something that would feel closer to defeat. So she searches, and searches, and searches—

Which is when she sees him. Not it, but there's something about a familiar face ( the back of his head ) that manages to dislodge something in her throat. ]

Wade— Wade! [ She calls him from a few feet back before she can really think about it. Runs up in the moment it takes for him to turn around, winded and flushed, her hair a mess. ] Have you seen — the Falchion, my sword, I've heard, [ A deep breath. ] I've heard a hitchhiker must have taken it but I haven't seen it since—

[primepool]

[It will remain a question in the future if Wade truly grappled with that plastic thing to retrieve the sword because he recognized it as that anime girl's sword she tried to beat a window down with once, or... if it because it was just a cool sword and he wanted it.

Historians will argue. A decision will never be made. It will go down in history as enigmatic as the lost parts of the Epic of Gilgamesh where the guys fuck, in detail. Probably with some sort of weird lithograph or something.

Anyway, he has a sword, and the Drifting Crumb Diner (also "Dumb Diner" on account of all the broken neon letters on the sign) is having a slow night, probably because Wade's in the front window with a sword laying on a table. Unfortunately, Karen isn't around to tell him this is a bad idea.

Also, it's actually two swords. One of his adamantium blades is propped up between two milk cartons, the blade facing up, and Falchion is in his hands, currently surrounded by a lot of crudely squashed tomatoes. Possibly an alarming amount. He doesn't turn for the bell by the door, but he does turn at his name.] Oh, hey, Blue. [He blinks, pausing with the edge of Falchion against the edge of his blade. Has he been... trying to sharpen it?

Is the frown on his face full of concentration or annoyance that this fucking sword won't cut a tomato? (Why is he doing this at all? Because a sword should at least be sharp enough to cut a tomato, goddammit.)

He looks between her and the sword in his hand.] Oh, you mean your really mean, unnaturally smooth doppelganger? You know, you really gotta take care of this thing. Look at the mess it's making! How am I suppose to make a tomato sandwich with this?

[Now, wait -- don't give him that expression, this isn't a random thing, this isn't a gag, there was a thought process behind it. A step-by-step process:

1. Find sword;
2. Test sword;
3. Sword no cut??;
4. Sharpen sword;
5. Test on closest cuttable thing (tomato);
6. Make tomato sandwich from leftovers?
7. A secret seventh step;
8. Profit by returning a cool sharpened sword that he retrieved and sharpened on purpose.]

MARC.

[heritors]

[ The details of how they got here don't really matter; after their — ah — trip, things get ... messy. Hitchhikers start running rampant, but only in specific circles. Reports of them are muddled and not always accurate, and she spends some time focusing on making sure the few she's come to call friends are alright. She learns of her own plastic stalker, and doesn't think much of it until it takes her sword.

Granted, she gets it back. But now vigilance turns into something more, verging on paranoia. She finds her hand on the hilt of her sword more oftentimes than not, worrying the guard with her fingertips. Wakes in the middle of the night and has her gaze immediately snap to its shape in the dark. It hasn't left her side yet, but now that it's been done once, it only feels like a matter of time before it does it again. And she'd gotten lucky the first time, but if she were to lose it again—

The temple feels like a reprieve.

Lucina shakes the thought. They're in the middle of a fight. Marc's own hitchhiker swooped in without warning, crude mask and all, aiming to corner her into an alleyway. The only reason she knows it's not him is because his movements are crude, jerky — a facsimile of the original in its brutality, but wrong ( but even then, it takes her a couple of near-misses to realize that ). Her suspicions are confirmed when he joins, and there's a swell of — something she doesn't deign to dwell on, pressing the advantage now that its attention is split— ]

Duck! [ As her body twists, unsheathing her sword with one smooth movement, practiced down to the very tip of it as it swings in a wide arc aimed to behead it right at the next.

Except — it doesn't go through. The edge of it barely makes a dent in the plastic. Her posture freezes, eyes wide at the realization. ]

[vestments]

( paranoia's nothing new to marc. he'd call his carefully honed, the reason he's stayed alive for so long and so few of his enemies remain. the flipside, of course, is that it's exhausting and he knows it's no way to live — not that it stops it from bedding in deep when they're back in panorama, not that it stops him from silently questioning what's the mannequin and what could be-might have-is him.

and so while lucina, then, might not be able to name the emotion she feels when marc joins the fight, marc has no doubts. it's anger, hot and unmistakable, mixed with something that resembles shame. embarrassment.

for all else, lucina's met marc at his most measured, his most put-together. he's not that here and he's not that now. he knows how to fight himself, that's not the problem, it's that he can't. he ducks — a rarity in and of itself — when lucina yells, then he pivots, fully intending to fling himself into the mannequin as soon as it's evident her sword won't slice through its — skin? plastic. whatever.

but he stops.

it's as if he's transfixed to the spot, held in place by— what? he doesn't know. his head snaps round as he searches out lucina's gaze, his own a midpoint of frustration and desperation, as if he thinks he should be able to brute-force his way through whatever block this is.

he growls, then, an inelegant noise of frustration preceding a grasp for the closest object — the lid of a trash can, as it happens — and a throw that's objectively fine except for the fact that it misses the mannequin. the lid clatters loudly against the brick wall of the alley while it ducks, a perverse kind of mirror of marc's earlier movement, punctuated by a noise that might be a laugh.

it doesn't make marc's temper any better, although whatever he's in the process of reaching for next goes ungrabbed when it starts to speak. the voice is a decent enough approximation of marc's — terse and clipped, although alongside the uncanniness, there's an edge of mocking that's easy to imagine coming from marc himself. )

Nice night. ( an echo of marc as its attention fixes on lucina punctuated by a cant of its head as it seems to consider both her and her sword, weighs up what she might try next.

(pointless, ultimately, but that she'd even try is cute—.)

then, a beat as it pauses to pick up the lid, readies itself to throw it in return but not before— )

What makes you so sure he's Marc? You think he has any idea? Moon Knight. Marc Spector. Mr. Knight. The other ones he hasn't told you about.

JONATHAN.

[heritors]

[ It's not as though she's ever slept well — but it's definitely been worse the last few days. Exhaustion is not wearing down every bone in her body just yet, but she can feel it coming; she's only human, after all, and there's only so much adrenaline and anxiety that can keep her body going before something has to give.

But, the positives: the Falchion's is back with her, the weight at her hip familiar ( maybe a little heavier than usual, even if she knows that's just in her head ). There's enough discussion going around that making the hitchhiker disappear should bring things back to normal: joints no longer stiff, features returning flesh and blood instead of plastic. So it's only a matter of time before she finds out how. And finds it ( her? ) again.

( She's stared into a mirror too many times for far too long, her irises symmetrical for the first time in her life. It looks wrong. The existence of a brand does not make her any more or less worthy — Aunt Lissa is proof of that — but it's the salt in a wound she never thought she'd have to experience. )

Of course, nothing said she can't find other hitchhikers in the process, whether she realizes it or not. She gets a phone call and a request to meet up, vague airs about needing to discuss something of import, and she's never one to say no. ] Jonathan. [ Lucina looks tired, her nerves frayed, but it's still good to see a familiar face. ( Even if she's too tired, too frayed to noticed that it's not quite him. ) ] You've been well, I trust?

[kingsroads]

[ He's lost his bloody mannequin! How the devil could that happen? Strange had been keeping an eye on it but it gave him the slip! It was an entire person, how does one lose a whole person? Fortunately, it would be easy enough to find the thing—a pathfinding spell should do the trick. All he could do was hope that the thing didn't cause too much trouble before he found it.

Unfortunately, that pathfinding spell is going to take a bit of time. And double unfortunately, the mannequin is absolutely going to cause some trouble. The mannequin of Jonathan Strange gives Lucina a little nod. ]

Better than you have. You seem tired.

[ He can fix that. He will fix that. But not for a moment, though. They have to talk first. There are so many things this friend of Jonathan Strange's needs to know about the magician. ]

You needn't worry. This conversation shan't take long. And if you want, I can help you rest when we're finished.

ADRIAN.

[heritors]

[ Vulnerability isn't easy for her — never has been. Couldn't have been. So Lucina's explanation is almost clinical when they bump into each other and he asks what's wrong. She's got a hitchhiker she'd like to be rid of as soon as possible; it's causing far too much trouble, and she cannot do anything to it. She doesn't explain the bloodshot eyes, the brand missing from the left, or the way her hand seems to flinch away from the hilt of her sword every once in a while.

He offers to help. She'd like to refuse, because he shouldn't have to, but it's not like she has a choice in the matter. The drive is quiet; she spends much of it trying not to resent herself for being so easy to read ( then the rest of the time trying not to think about how she has failed ). It's also long, and eventually she gets around to explaining the broad strokes; the blessing of Naga, the Falchion its physical manifestation. Forged from Her fang for her family to protect their people, generation after generation.

Still, the deed is done. The mannequin's been still since it had been bound and thrown into Adrian's trunk, and the few times they stopped to check proved it hadn't moved for whatever reason. They leave it in the back of a storage closet, half-hidden behind shelves of cleaning supplies. Her steps don't feel lighter on her way back out to the rest of the mall, but perhaps that'll change tomorrow.

She is a little more aware though. At least enough to notice— ] Have more of these shadows appeared while we were in the store? [ The next words out of her mouth are probably going to be we should be careful. ]

[faithfall]

[ Adrian hasn't known Lucina long, certainly, but it had been obvious even to him that something was very wrong from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. Whether she was willing to accept his help or not, he would have insisted — after all, she would do the same for him. He's certain of that much about her.

The trip goes more smoothly than he could have hoped. No raiders, no disappearances from their bound passenger, and during the trip Adrian does his best to raise her spirits, asking after only the most important details of the situation, distracting her with idle gossip or anecdotes from back home.

The creature has taken her connection to her sword, and the sword is deeply important to her. He understands that fear all too well; the fear of losing the power and ability that has given meaning to one's life.

This whole horrible situation reminds him far too much of Barovia, and the games that Strahd and his minions would play. Despite their best hopes, returning the creature to its place seems to yield no immediate results; it's easy enough to tell from the hesitant way Lucina's hand still lingers near her sword.

When they emerge from the store again, she gives voice to the concern that has just occurred to him as well. ]

Indeed, I believe so... They don't appear to be aggressive. I had wondered if they might be trapped here. [ Unfortunately for Lucina, Adrian is already reaching for the nearest one, a child frozen forever in a pose that suggests she must be lost, one hand pressed against her mouth. He says a brief prayer for her passing and draws his hand away.

He's touched these shadows before with no consequence to speak of, thanks to the gloves he always wears, but this time the smallest bit of ash falls into the edge of his sleeve, unnoticed. ] Do you think it has something to do with the mannequins..? A warning perhaps?

[ There's no response. Adrian looks around, startled to find that she's disappeared. She was just a head of him a moment ago. He slowly lifts a hand toward the back of his head. ] ...Lady Lucina?

[ A throaty laugh is the only response. A dark figure emerges from behind the ashen shadows, a sword clutched in his long-fingered hand. The only visible feature is his mouth, a grinning white slash with two prominent, sharp teeth. A vampire? Or something like it? ]

Enkindle. [ Behind Adrian's head, light bursts, two circles widening like an eye surrounded by radial spikes. Adrian's hand closes on one of the spikes, drawing it out of his halo as one might draw an arrow from a quiver. ]

Where is she? [ His voice reverberates through the space. Anger surges through him, sudden and white hot in its clarity. ] What have you done with her, beast?

[ When an answer doesn't come, a lance of light follows his words, and then another. She can't have been taken. She must be alright. He'll get the answer out of the vampire's corpse, if he must. ]