Event Log: September, The Price of Revolution p1

[faileas]

Event Log: September, The Price of Revolution Part 1

I. The Freedom Festivities Behind the fortress-like walls of Dorchacht, what was once a gloomy, imposing city is lit up for the festivities to come. Septeril brings with it many mixed emotions for the citizens of what used to be called The Black City, though the overwhelming atmosphere is positive - this is a celebration of freedom hard-earned and prosperity hard-fought-for. The triple stars of the Resistance, now the current reigning party, feature heavily in decorations and in clothing: in pins, on hats, golden stars enchanted into fabric to dance merrily across skirts and cloaks. Stars light up the streets in decorative strings hung from lamppost to lamppost, flickering gently over the cobblestones. Mirrors, as well, feature into the decor, tiny round ones hung in multitudes from awnings and in windows like ornaments, catching the light and playing it across the otherwise-utilitarian architecture, lending it a sort of understated beauty. Much of Dorchacht has been rebuilt and repurposed by necessity since the uprising last year, and many new small businesses and restaurants are being featured at the festival - their goods or their foods on display in markets of street-side stalls or on the feast tables. Local handmade wares and crafts are out for sale for modest prices, and every sale helps out both the small business, many of which are started by former slaves, and helps the local economy, which is better these days but still recovering. The festivities go for six days, almost a full week, with feasting and bonfires every evening, and tours and tales of the city by day, as they display the changes for the better they have all made. And then, on the final evening, all are invited to watch a grand fireworks show that will be put on in the skies over Dorchacht, presided over by the Circle of Three themselves. Mirrorbound are welcomed warmly, whether they were present last year or not, and treated much like family - get ready to be pulled into activities and plied with food left and right. a. Join the Fun The children of Dorchacht are out by the dozens during the festivities, excited by all the freely-offered, special sweet treats and the magical sparklers and poppers being handed out by the fistful. The poppers explode when thrown to the ground in bursts of bright colors, completely harmless, and the sparklers are enchanted not to burn little (or big) hands if mishandled. Mirrorbound passing through may find themselves roped into elaborate pretend games of revolution by eager faces: the children name themselves either Resistance members or Mirrorbound, and 'do battle' with their magic fireworks against scarecrow-like constructions cloaked in dark bed sheets as 'the bad guys'. Depending on one's perspective, it may seem dark, but this is what these children have known very recently in their lives, and their caretakers or parents (there are more of the former than the latter, especially for the young Monsters) let them play as they will. If asked, they'll just explain that some of those kids even remember the fighting when it happened; this is just another way that they try to understand how the city has changed. More organized, family-friendly reenactment performances are also common, with several of the orphanage groups putting on small plays about the uprising, or moral plays about kindness and togetherness between Witches and Monsters. This includes a prominent set of performances by the Mirrored Hearts Home for Children - maybe you're helping out with their sets or costumes, or maybe you assisted with their scripts and songs. Those Mirrorbound volunteers will want to see the kids do well, right? They'll be heartbroken if you don't show. Of course, kids aren't the only ones doing reenactments. The newly formed Dorchacht Historical Society, dedicated to protecting Dorchacht's history going forward, puts on several - and may drag in passers-by to play different roles! Only the luckiest are begged to play the role of The Dragon, who valiantly rose up against their cruel former master, Morgana, and helped lead Dorchacht to where they are today. b. Forget-Me-Not While the overall air is celebratory, among the adults who are old enough to understand just what was lost as well as gained, there is an undercurrent of sombre remembrance. Many visit the burned-out Old Coven, left as damaged as it was when the fighting ceased, as a monument to how freedom fighters suffered and fought. Plaques dot the grounds and buildings there seemingly at random, until you realize that each metal plate bearing names is laid where someone died. To decorate these plaques, and homes and businesses as well, there are tables set up in the yard of the New Coven, heavy with a rainbow of small magical flowers called Forget-Me-Nots, and the supplies to make remembrance wreaths. In this new tradition, the flowers are chosen with a dead, missing, or simply absent loved one in mind, and woven together with glass beads, small wooden charms, and a spell written on a slip of paper. The enchanted fragrance of the Forget-Me-Nots allows whoever smells them to witness short, happy memories of the person the wreath was made for - whether they knew that person or not. The memories come from the wreath-maker, and are only short flashes (less than a minute long) or mere impressions, but all are pleasant or warming. With the spell woven in, they'll last for an entire year without wilting or losing their effects, a souvenir from the festival to take home. Mirrorbound are encouraged to join in, and make wreaths of their own, whether or not they lost someone in Dorchacht's uprising. It can be for someone who has disappeared from Geardagas, someone who died long ago, someone living they miss from home, anyone who is not currently with them.

II. The Uninvited Guests On the 25th, the final day of the celebrations, the partying lasts all day. Food and drink are abundant on every corner, upbeat music is played by street performers and over the radios that can be found in nearly every household and shop, and the bonfires have been enchanted to let the flames take fanciful shapes. Drinking games and dancing, storytelling and general partying all last clear into the evening, but once dusk falls, everyone gathers in the center square of the city for the fireworks show. The Three are there - the Witches Bryn and Hilda, and the Monster known as The Dragon, Starlight, or formerly Fafnir - with Nessie and Mhairi as guests of honor, and Hilda is the one to set off the first enchanted fireworks, after a brief speech thanking everyone for coming out to celebrate a year of freedom and independence with them. It's with bursts of colorful light in the night sky behind her that she seems to appear from nowhere: tall, dark and imposing, a sharp-eyed Witch that exudes power. Morgana Drummond is not alone, either, flanked by a dozen rough-worn Witches and a host of others. The chaos that ensues is immediate and violent. "All of this for me?" Drummond sneers. Attacks bounce off her, no matter how powerful - even Nessie's considerable spells. Witches will be able to sense the strong barrier spell close-fit around her body, and the others around her will not let Monsters get close. It's The Dragon who speaks, voice rough from disuse but loud enough: "How dare you return here-" "I built this city in all the ways that matter. I was never going to let you have it. You burned away my Dorchacht, so now I will make sure there is nothing left of yours but ashes." a. To Sleep, Perchance Unreachable, Morgana Drummond's form limns in a sickly violet light, the circle of a spell forming beneath her feet, steadily growing as her power gathers. So much magic gathered in one spot is bound to be felt by all the Mirrorbound, Witch and Monster alike, oppressive in nature as if it could steal the breath from your lungs. Perhaps it truly was a fluke that she was driven from Dorchacht, a happy accident caused by a timely distraction. The spell circle spreads, glowing, until it envelops the entire city, and it pulses once, blinding, before it sears itself across Dorchacht's streets and buildings in burnt lines and symbols. The fireworks continue to pop and burst overhead, casting shadows that seem suddenly sinister. Nothing happens for just a moment - and then all the people of Dorchacht collapse in waves. Next to a stunned Nessie and furious Mhairi, Bryn, Hilda, and the Dragon fall into a heap as well, the final three bodies to hit the ground. Mirrorbound and citizens of Aefenglom do not fall prey to the sleeping spell despite being in its area of effect. It happens in the span of just a few minutes, and then Morgana is gone in the blink of an eye, leaving her people to sow terror on the sleeping city. b. Battle on the Streets While she brought with her only a dozen Witches from her former Coven, she's collected a force in the Wilde. Blank-eyed rogue necromancers, mind controlled the way the Monsters of Dorchacht used to be, storm the streets controlling in turn their dead Monsters and creatures. A few even have with them dead Nuckelavee, which will require multiple fighters to take out. Wilders from Dorchacht gone missing on expeditions in the last year bear the signs of mind control as well - the ones who aren't dead, shambling around the necromancers. Maybe you recognize them, maybe you don't. Maybe you can help them, or maybe you can't. The mind control enchantments can be dispelled with a lot of effort or with the specific spells used often by the Resistance a while ago, for those who still remember it. In the slums of Dorchacht, the people who were convinced of Morgana's return, those who want to return to the days of slavery and terror, break free from the now-sleeping guards and failing wards that kept them contained and join the fighting, manic in their glee. The spell that put the rest of Dorchacht to sleep seems to slip right off them, perhaps sensing their loyalty to terrible causes. It is chaos, as the insurgents set fires and attack at will with magic, claws, weapons, anything they have. Mirrorbound will soon realize that they and the visitors from Aefenglom are not the only targets. The sleeping people of Dorchacht are ripe for the killing, unable to react or defend themselves. The fighting will continue into the night until the invaders are all dead or captured.

III. The Aftermath When the fighting ends, the work begins. An entire city deep in the throes of an enchanted sleep is a worst-case scenario that none of them could have predicted, even those who had a hunch Morgana didn't die out in the unexplored Wilde. Miss Nessie and Mhairi will remain on the scene helping to direct the aid efforts in the aftermath of the battle. Fires must be put out, corpses must be rounded up to be buried or burned, captured attackers must be secured and questioned, sleeping citizens must be whisked from the streets to safety and shelter, and buildings ensured to be safe in the meantime. Aefenglom's Coven are called in to assist, anyone who is available, and Mirrorbound help is more than welcomed. They will need everyone they can get to make sure not all is lost in this tragic attack. Nessie herself will ensure the Three are taken to safety in Aefenglom until the people of Dorchacht can be woken. Action needs to be taken quickly. Morgana needs to be found as soon as possible, and capable hands will be needed to search the Wilde far outside Dorchacht, the most likely place for her to go. More urgently, however, are the sleeping citizens. Nessie announces late the next evening, the normally-bubbly woman gone solemn and serious: "I believe I've found a counter-ritual for the spell that nasty woman used, I have. I will need your help, though, Mirrorbound. Volunteers only, of course, of course, as it's likely to be quite dangerous, though the Dreamers and I will take every precaution we can. Discuss among yourselves, decide if you're willing. Those who are, meet at the Coven at midnight on the 27th. It's not right to just leave them all like that, not right at all..."

Welcome to September's event log, Part 1 of The Price of Revolution! This event will continue in the TDM posted on the 21st, with a foray into purposeful dreamwalking. It will be a hybrid test drive and event that current characters will be allowed to top level on as well. Quests into the Wilde to search for Morgana will currently bear no fruit beyond small clues, but Part 2 in early October will deal with her whereabouts and her final fate. As always, direct your questions about the event HERE! And finally, for those who are wondering what's up with Dorchacht, we have a Setting update for you.

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[stopfen]

[Mikasa meanwhile, was huffing along. Typical, that she'd just happen to be the thing they really wanted dead. That she'd be here and injured when they decided to show. That they hadn't thought many fae, but they knew their weaknesses. That she hadn't learnt how to use these illusions she'd recently gained the magic to use.

As normal, her life sucks.

But she'd always been a powerhouse. Enough that her pursuers where a bit puzzled. Because she should have been an easy target. She looked like one. But she just kept moving even with the injuries. So they were pretty wary.

Her large black eyes catch him. One watering from the grit and dust. She wanted to keep moving...But ears? Mettaton, she couldn't use her crutches to 'run' and cover her ears.

Then one of the necromancers' unseeing pets scambles ahead of her. Blocking her path, now it's master was bored. Welp, she's going to huddle down. Hooking her arms through her crutches to keep them steady and clamping her hands over her ears.]

itt: MTT is the Sonichu of Eren and Soren

[glitzandglamour]

["Sorry," he mouths, appreciative still that she's not disregarding his plan. He knows her ears are sensitive, and he knows what he's about to do won't be fun...

But if Mettaton wants sound to have any impact, he has to have a body to match. It's fortunate, he thinks, that he's gifted not only with a Puca's ability to produce any vocalized sound he could dream of, but the ability to transform even his body. The robotic idol closes his eye and focuses on his memory of a Dragon. On Eren; on Soren. On Soren. Trauma is an undeniable temptress, and these are the two Dragons he has the most contact with. The most memory of.

It's instantaneous, his shapeshift. No poof of smoke, nothing to obscure the way his body mutates and changes, rabbit-like ears disappearing with the entire rest of him. Mettaton grows, changes, metal warping into scales of ebony, accents of red with a scant few of iridescent sunset. He's the body of a dragon with arms and legs, a pair of powerful wings that look much like Eren's in their robustness save for the fact that he's not a wyvern. A crown of horns like Soren's is composed of bluish crystal like Eren's, the grisly reveal of teeth sampled from Eren as well, but fully, completely with a perfect replica of Soren's teeth. In fact, much of the face, save for Eren's sharp blue eyes, belong to Soren.

After all, Mettaton nearly made his bed and died between those jaws of Soren's. He would never forget them: he got very personal with that. Much of the rest of his body is sampled from Eren.

A long tail with spiked protrusions finally formed, from a distance, Mettaton is convincing. He looks like a black Dragon, massive and imposing — but perhaps to Mikasa's keen eye and to her familiarity with the two Dragons sampled from, there are... a few places where Mettaton seems to have forgotten to flesh this or that out. A bit of flat smoothness on his chest, his belly; a lack of time to properly form the scales that make up his knees. It's all a lot to keep track of, and if one looked too closely, he'd look kind of like a weird bootleg Dragon...

But trouble brews within that massive organic body Mettaton's created for himself. Misinformation about how organs should function, his only reliable source mangled bodies or, unfortunately, a small rabbit form he's accustomed to changing into. A heart too small for this massive body, a lack of a proper understanding of a Dragon's internal anatomy that would make it impossible for him to walk, or fly, or even breathe properly. Mettaton struggles greatly with such matters, and to Mikasa, a flash of pain is evident on his features when he winces, nearly crumples in on himself... But he has to do this. Mettaton wills himself forward. He's an actor. He can do this, even to his detriment.

And Mettaton stands upright, craning his neck and opening his powerful jaws in a roar. Soren's roar, rendered from perfect memory and loud enough to rattle buildings, to break windows. Nearly all of the Drummond supporters barely even look at their new Draconic company before booking it. Some of the others do look, and they get distracted by this Dragon, pointing weapons of iron at the Dragon with a tremble; some unhand their weapons and make to run as well.

Unfortunately, most of the undead units are undeterred, mindless as they are. But with this action alone, Mettaton's whittled down the amount of opponents who antagonize Mikasa significantly. A manageable amount, even.]

cw - blood and fites, and Mtt's body horror

[stopfen]

[It was fortunate in a way. That her ears were only sensitive to touch. Though she did have very good hearing for a human...Not that she was human anymore...

The ears. Those long hare ears slowly shifting into horns. It makes her frown watching the process. Her pursuers, seeing her face as she watched the display finally took a hint that she'd paused for a reason. Turning to stare, only to find a monster of teeth and scale. Then decide fuck that. Someone else could catch up to the fae later.

The roar. She hadn't heard it before, but it was impressive. Even if the 'dragon' wasn't. It's movements not as smooth as the other dragons', laking the blinks of a third eyelid. The tongue slipping out to scent the air. Or maybe Eren was just that far gone, or she was seeing the faults because she'd notice Mettaton change to begin with.

But she's glad for it, all the same. Waiting a moment for Drummond's followers to scamper. Then putting her weight on her good leg to smash one of those wooden crutches through the half decayed skull of one unlucky animated turnskin. Unlike the ones at the outpost. It doesn't move to stand again, it's controller had already ran for the hills. Leaving their minnons with less power...and less brains.

Then there's a grugling shriek from behind her as much freasher, but still dead human hurled themselves towards her. ]

THANK YOU, i always forget...

[glitzandglamour]

[It worked, and that's what matters most. Mettaton could almost sigh in relief if he weren't locked away in this dysfunctional Dragon body that barely works for him at all: each distal limb begins to tingle, needling pain his company as his body tries to give up the ghost on him in its ill-contrived formation. But relief can't last, not when he notices Mikasa's yet endangered.

The undead remain, shambling after Mikasa and entirely undaunted by Dragons or Fae, aiming only to attack Mikasa. Mettaton the Dragon attempts to move forward, only for sharp, searing pain to halt him from the inside out; it blinds him, and he cries out sharply on a voice less draconic and more Mettaton in his agony, his body seizing, heart racing and skipping, and mind going blank enough that he can't maintain his shapeshift. The Puca unshifts, flesh and scale and organs squelching, sliding, releasing form as it all transforms back into metal and wire, glass and silicone. With a harsh, metallic thunk, he collides with the cobblestone streets.

... Which Mettaton tries to make look stylish by striking a pose.

From there, the robotic rabbit launches himself forward, hopping for Mikasa's defense. He points over her shoulder as he takes a running leap.]

Look sharp, beautiful!

[This really isn't time to be saying fancy things, Mettaton... But even though he's finally demonstrating any fighting prowess he possesses, Mettaton still isn't much for combat strategy. He hopes Mikasa will turn around and try to defend herself the attackers too far for him to reach. In the meantime, Mettaton will protect her from the undead that stand in front of her.

Mettaton's heel collides with the skull of a rotting human who stands before Mikasa; he launches himself from there to handle the ambling corpse of a Faun, the impact of his leg enough to behead it. Powerful legs make for powerful strikes.

Apparently, Mettaton will fight if it's to defend Mikasa.]

I always do them one tag late....

[stopfen]

[It was tragic really. That Mikasa was that busy smashing one crutch into the face of an undead turnskin to see him posing as he skidded along the cobbles. Gritted teeth bared as she almost swings to hit him as well when he got to close.

Of course, a wooden crutch wasn't the best weapon. Not even in a stronger monster's hands. Even if Mikasa was strong for a fae, stronger than a human should have been. Especially with that armour. It wasn't a match for the raw strenght of a turnskin...or a puca's legs apprantly. Because while that faun is absoulutely fucking gone. The crutch creaked and splintered against the bear-turnskin's skull. The sheer force of it ripping a chunk of fur and flesh off leaving a little bit of bone visable.

But unlike a human. Even discounting the fact that this was an undead. The skull wasn't damaged, no cracks... When she'd normally be able to brain someone the same way. Maybe against a less sturdy creature she'd have better luck. But for now she was teetering, having to hop on her good leg. Swinging the crutch on her bad side out to catch her. Then her wings flickered, taking the pressure off her injuried leg.]

Shit- [A little hiss, under her breath. This was not good. It might have been okay if she wasn't down a leg. But she couldn't fight. Not like this. And she'd already seen Mettaton fighting before. He had them unprepared now, or as unprepared as a corpse could be but...]

Can you carry me? [It'd...potentially suck. Given that the iron powder that had chased her out of her oringal hiding place had been wearing at her enchantment. But even if the magic did run out, there'd be clothes between them. That would have to be enough.

Mettaton... She regrets coming out to be honest. This friend-date as a trio was terrible. She has regrets.]

[glitzandglamour]

[It wasn't as though he could predict that this would happen! ...Actually, he could. However, his precognitive Puca senses only kicked in within moments of Morgana's reckoning, unfortunately. But there's no use in crying over spilled milk.

By the time that Mikasa's asking if he can carry her, he's beheaded yet another necrotic Witch trying to sling a spell their way and sent another Faun flying, kicking her corpse straight in the gut. His heel, indeed, pierces a hole through her as Mettaton balls his fists tight enough to pierce his palms, if his hands were made of skin and not silicone — body language to suggest his raw determination to fight tooth and nail to keep Mikasa safe. The Turnskin Mikasa's dealing with might be a bit big, but if he had to, he's sure he could handle it.

But upon her request, Mettaton doesn't even answer in words. He lunges for her and sweeps her off her feet in a bridal carry, one arm against her back (NOT touching the wings!) and the other under her knees. No matter how heavy she is, he manages without any trouble: he has no muscles to exert. (He carries Emet-Selch all the time.) He flashes her a confident smile.]

You've got it! Anything to dazzle you.

[If he still had his monster magic, he'd make a heart appear. Insufferable.

But that Turnskin's still swinging its arms. Mettaton's ear swivels, sensing the danger before it even gets close, before he even sees it coming. With Mikasa in tow, he springs off his feet without looking behind him, bolting down the street and away from Mikasa's tormentors.]

We have to get you somewhere safe, Mika-darling. You're not in much condition to fight right now. I'm sure you agree.

[stopfen]

[Mettaton's ability to rip through people. Terrifying. If she wasn't capable of the same with blades. Her kicks and punches couldn't do as much unless they were aimed well... Maybe. With living opponents, a good kick to the gut would make them collapse and twitch on the grown from the force. Maybe she'd go through a rotting body the same as he did. She didn't know and could try when she was on crutches.

The fae tenses ready to be grabbed. Fighting against her own instinct to struggle at being picked up. An old habit one picked up when fighting titans. Keep fighting, don't stay still. Those urges wouldn't help Mettaton carry her though, wiggling would only make it more difficult for him. So instead, she attempts to curl up, wings folded flat, crutches held up.

And even in such dire circumstances, she manages to lineface.

Mettaton please. If there wasn't a threat that they still had to be alert for, she'd remind him, he didn't need to dazzle her.] Thanks for the reminder. [Every bit as dry as normal as they moved away from the corpses whose broken bodies couldn't keep up. One tried... The force of it's own limb hitting the cobbles made it fall off a few steps into it's sprint.] Doesn't the same go for you?

[glitzandglamour]

[Mikasa and Mettaton are well-matched: Mettaton manages to be a ham in dire circumstances, and Mikasa manages to lineface in dire circumstances.

He could be thankful for her discipline not to struggle, especially after asking that he carry her, as he does now. With his tube-like arms, Mettaton clutches Mikasa close to his body as he continues to sprint, her crutches easily crossing over his torso at worst — perfectly sized cargo, considering how large the Puca was. But they've easily sped down the street, readily leaving Mikasa's attackers in the dust. Mettaton is faster than ever with these legs, heels or no.]

Me? [His ears rise, fighting against the force of air that pushes past him. Mettaton heads in the direction for the teleporters — the place he's sure most of Aefenglom's healers are likely to be. The place he imagines his friend will be safest.] I'm holding my own! I'm not the one with such damaged legs... Or else I imagine this wouldn't be such trouble for you, right?

[No doubt Mikasa was pretty upset about being so injured. He doesn't want to put her in any danger, even when he knows she can handle herself.]

I'm clearly in a condition to fight. I haven't been touched yet! And I'm conveniently made of metal.

[Talk about a 180 from the last time Mikasa saw Mettaton in combat. Underground, Mettaton was more content to pose and be a nuisance. Here, it's almost like he's finally gotten serious.]

[stopfen]

[At this point being grimly unfazed by horrors or being able to keep smiling was just a scout tradition. Anyone who survived their first expedition had become one or the other...Though now it was mostly the former.

It got harder to smile once they learnt what titans really were.

Traditions were hard to break. Even when the scouts weren't a thing here. A nice, easy pace to fall into. Even if she couldn't fight like would have in those does. She doesn't look at the puca at the mention of her leg. The trouble wasn't the pain, it was how her leg would just...go. She'd lose control if it the moment she tried to put her weight on it. Something about the limb's chitin being too damaged to support it. The presence of an exoskeleton weakening her actual bones beneath it.

She huffs out of her nose instead of saying anything. Yeah. She was pissed, not at him, more at herself and the situation. Being unable to fight and forced to hide and wait the chaos out instead of being in the thick of it.

If she was in a better mood, she might have brought up the speed the puca could move when he wanted to. Quicker than she could fly or run... You know, when her leg was okay. But she'd only reached this speed before when flying through the air with her gear. It wouldn't take them long to get wherever he was heading at this rate.

Unless they ran into something unfortunate. But hopefully, those had been the last of them. She'd been defenseless enough times today thanks. That didn't stop her from awkwardly keeping her head ducked so she wasn't touching the puca as they got closer.]

...Be careful. They like fire spells. [She wasn't sure what could hurt him. Other than their shared weakness for iron. But she'd seen enough to know heat wouldn't go well. It was rare, but there had been accidents where odm had gotten too hot, the internal workings fusing together. She wasn't sure if the same could happen to a robot. But it was probably better not to risk it.]

[glitzandglamour]

Do they? Good thing I was manufactured in Hotland! I only lived among lava, all the time!! [A Perfect Smile that Glimmers.] I'm more than a little fire resistant... Except for this fur, I bet.

[He hasn't tested it, but he's pretty sure fur is flammable. Mettaton himself was made to withstand the heat of a volcanic habitat, especially now that he's had these repairs to his EX form. Fire spells don't appear to be Mettaton's weakness, at any rate: they don't worry him.

He does have issues with overheating, but that would be an extreme case. Hot enough temperatures to roast a human would surely warp even Mettaton: a cosmetic agony.

Maybe it's Mettaton's luck at play, but he's able to navigate the two of them closer to the teleporter as intended, and without incident. There, Aefenglom's Coven seems to have already gotten the message as they file in, waiting for the order from Nerissa to act. Witches defend the area from necromancer and Drummond-sympathizer alike, marking it as a rare safe zone in a city overrun. Mettaton's sure Mikasa will be safer here.

He slows his pace down to a jog, not at all faltering despite wearing an impressive pair of stilettos. When he approaches a set of cargo unloaded by Aef's healers, Mettaton delicately stoops down to bring Mikasa's feet to the cobblestone ground. He smiles at her.]

I figured the Coven would be quick to respond, with Miss Nerissa and Miss Mhairi here to beckon them for help. Turns out I was right. Call it a lucky guess.

[Mettaton is so often lucky.]

Do I need to get you a healer...? [Mikasa would know: Mettaton is... not very good at gauging the severity of injury. He might be the kind of person to see a missing limb and stare for a bit before realizing that it was probably Bad.]

[stopfen]

Hotland... [It's not even the smile that gets a response. But could she really talk about shittily named places? Not really, not know she knew what the place she was from was called by the outside world, and the reason. At least Hotland wasn't a cruel joke like Paradis island.

With her being lowered though, she's shuffling. Her crutches behind held out, it... It was a good job the situation was so serious. Or there might have been a few giggles from anyone caring enough to watch. Because the large puca putting down the shrunken fae really did look like an adult putting a young child down, and that child was reaching out, ready to run once their feet hit the ground.

Injury-wise. The fae was bruised and bleeding. A few chips missing from her exoskeleton, nothing major like the chunk that had been ripped off the month before. And she was a little bit mottled and singed where the fires had licked at her.

But she attempts a shrug.]

I'm fine. [That was quite clearly blood seeping through her shirt. Her tendency for white betraying her. But still, she'd rather the witches saved their magic for someone who needed it more. She was hurt but not dying.

Then she's looking off into the city.]

Where is Emet-Selch? I'm surprised you didn't stick together. [Her bond with the witch wasn't strong enough to be able to tell his condition. Not really. Alive, it meant a lot but nothing at the same time.]

[glitzandglamour]

[All monsters agree that the names of their places are stupid. It's Asgore's fault.

It's almost comical, hearing Mikasa claim she's fine while blood decorates the white of her shirt. Mettaton's brow knits and he stares directly at the red, as though he could burn holes into her clothes and see the wound... He could smell her blood, anyway. (It smells like Monster blood, which doesn't interest him the way Witch blood does, fortunately.) He shakes his head, thinking on it.]

Sure, and that's just ketchup, right? Ha-ha.

[Yes, it makes some sense. She's probably saying that because she doesn't want to use up any of the focus of any healers... Maybe she'll let him get her some supplies, at least. She could take care of her own injuries that way. (He tries to remember some of the things Asura had him do a long time ago... Gauze? There was some kind of fluid, he thought... It's a blurry memory decorated by Nuckelavee, and he just remembers thinking about human movies instead... That should be fine.)

While he scans the area for supplies, she asks about Emet-Selch. His ears rise, piqued.]

Oh, him. He's safe. [He's sure of that. His Bond with him is strong enough to know where he is like all the time.] Emet-Selch... He specializes in teleportation, by the way. He can escape a sticky situation if he wants. No worries, beautiful.

I was more concerned about you... Since your ability to move's pretty limited. Neither of us knew where you were, though. I figured I'd be the best suited to find you!

[And here they are, safe and sound.]

[stopfen]

[Even then, a stupid name was better than a murder joke...

The blood did have one odd point. It was watery, it mostly smelled the same and there was red trickling or welting up on the small cuts on her face. Where she'd been grazed on her side. But where the small chips had been taken out of her chitin the blood ran clear, with a hardly noticeable green-tint.]

...ketchup? [Condiments, so adventurous. But she's shaking her head, ignoring that.]

What if they could block him from doing that? [Though, as sad as it was to admit(So she didn't outloud), Emet-selch was more physically capable than her at the moment. But the mention of her vanishing gets a huff.] Yeah... Blame Eren for that. He grabbed me and flew the moment they attacked.

[And ate at least one person in the process. Then he'd put her 'in a safe spot' and gone off the eat more people.]

[glitzandglamour]

[Mettaton's PRETTY sure that's an absurd color for humans to bleed... But then, Mikasa, though a human, was now also Fae. He seems to lean in toward the chipped chitin, watching the clear-ish blood that...

... Kind of reminds him of the way he bleeds, only tinted some other, indiscernible color? Mettaton knows he bleeds clear, with a slightly pinkish tint. It's horrible. He wonders distantly if all Puca and Fae do this while he goes to rifle through some of the medical supplies, taking whatever he wants. Aefenglom's Coven came plentifully prepared.

He doesn't clarify a thing about ketchup.]

I can tell they're not impeding Emet-Selch. Maybe, when you maintain a Bond with him for longer... you'll be able to feel it. Every time he teleports. [He's not entirely sure if all Monsters feel Bonds the way he does, and this is the only one he's had for... a long time. But tracking his location is easy.] And with an open Bond, I would know if he were in distress! I'm not concerned. Though he's significantly weakened in Aefenglom, he's plenty capable.

[Vulnerable, but capable. Mettaton's sure. But he snorts next, shaking his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose with annoyance at the thought of Eren.]

That Eren. If he'd just left you... We were headed right for you! Emmy-darling could have teleported us both to safety... [Oh well. It wasn't like Eren knew. It's also not like Mettaton uhhhh knows he just casually horfed some people down...] Well. I'm sure he had his heart in the right place. He must have wanted to protect you...

[Both as Eren, and a Fae-driven Dragon, he supposes... and sighs. Having one's heart in the right place doesn't excuse putting them in danger, Mettaton.]

[stopfen]

[It's fine. It's fine. It's... The green-ish, clear-ish blood didn't even have much of a scent to it. It just smelled, kinda like water really. None of that metallic smell normal blood had. The only time it gained that quality was where the exoskeleton and flesh met.

Like how she seemed capable of breathing even when she'd completely covered her mouth and nose... Mikasa didn't think to hard on it.

Learning that the bones in her arms were weakening now they were effectivly on the outside now had been enough for her.]

Maybe. We've not had the bond for long. [With them in relative saftey, she relaxes a little. Giving a sigh as she looked around.] I could sense Tendou. Tell when he was close... [That's how she'd known he was gone in the dead of night after all. Her head dips at that thought. Then lifts, the fae choosing to watch the Coven witches work. Instead of meeting Mettaton's eye.

Though her antenna did flick at the coment about Eren.] I guess. I was pretty safe on the building...Then someone set it on fire. They didn't even know I was there until they saw me fly off of it.

[Then there had been the dumbest chase known to man. One fae on crutches, hovering from roof to roof. While a bunch of witches took potshots.]

1/2

[glitzandglamour]

[Best not to think too hard about some of these Monster changes, honestly.

Listening to Mikasa talk about Tendou and her ability to sense him has Mettaton immediately drowning in thoughts about his own Bond, nodding along to that particular sensation with a bright eagerness to his stare. That's how it is with him! He wonders if it's romance that yields that result, or if time would do the trick, and he may have chatted about it if he didn't notice Mikasa averting her gaze. What's this about...? He stares at her harder, as though doing so would help him read her mind.

Give him a moment to realize she said she could sense him, in past tense.

The robotic Puca returns to Mikasa, stooping down next to her so his head's closer to her height, the appropriate way to talk to someone who is shorter. But he sets the small box of supplies he'd grabbed (which includes an unnecessary eye patch?! Mettaton why?) next to his Fae friend, pointing to her shirt wordlessly. He wants to Help.]

Fire, I see... That would force an unfortunate Fae like yourself to flee, rooftop to rooftop. I'm only glad nothing worse befell you. This doesn't seem that bad.

2/2

[glitzandglamour]

[Frame of reference: Wilders after close encounters with Nuckelavee; Emet-Selch bleeding out. But before they can get much further, Mettaton gasps. His ears rise tall and lean for Mikasa, then fold back in a muted sort of worry.]

Wait. Mikasa... What happened to your Bond with Tendou? I thought you were dating!!

[Somehow, he's more ready to assume something just happened to their Bond/relationship.]

[stopfen]

[Honestly, yeah. Mikasa was torn. On one hand she wanted to know what was going on with her body, but on the other... Maybe it was better not to think about it. It wasn't as though she'd just dropped dead yet.

It was a good job Mettaton was a robot in some ways. Because his poor spine. He'd almost have to bend at a right angle to meet her eyes, not helped by her slumping onto her crutches as she realised what was coming.

She turns sighing, starting the small plod to the medical tents that had been set up. A weak cover from dust and smoke, but it'd do for him to look at her wounds.

The fae sagged even more. The crutches stuttering on the ground as she stopped.]

Gone. [And that's it, one whole word before she's moving again.]

[glitzandglamour]

[His long ears rise taller than before at her response, so clipped as she turns to move. He's getting better at reading the language Mikasa talks in, how she gets short and avoidant if something doesn't sit well with her or strikes her heart in a way more saddening or negative. It's the physical cues that suggest something more wrong than it seems.

Mettaton wanders after her with only a moment spared for silence, mulling it over, until they reach the presently-unused medical tent at Mikasa's speed. (Mettaton slowed for her, which he hadn't been doing much of, earlier on.)]

He's... Gone. [He repeats it softly, as though trying to process this. ...With the recent loss of Papyrus to the mirrors, it's not a stretch when he presses,] You mean... the mirrors beckoned your Bondmate back?

[Alliteration unintended, just usually artful way of Mettaton's speaking... He seems to be taking this with a measure of gravity, at least, eye wide and smile dissolved.]

[stopfen]

[She keeps moving to the tent without looking. But was that really a surprise? That she was avoiding looking at him properly. Even if she spoke, she kept her head ducked.]

I guess. It was the middle of the night. I noticed something the moment he went... [If he'd been beckoned like Mettaton said, she didn't know. It hadn't felt like it had when he'd returned for a little while and came back.

But with them reaching the tent, she turns, shuffling so she can sit on a crate. She didn't need to do it so he could reach her wounds. If anything it made it harder for Mettaton to reach them with the differences in their heights. But she was tired, too tired to talk about this and remain on her crutches. They get leant against the side.] It's...It's probably for the best. He'd have wanted to be at the festival.

[He would have liked it. The colours, the music, the plays...She could see him playing hero with those kids. But he wasn't much of a fighter. He could dodge well enough, he had good reflexes but...]

[glitzandglamour]

[No, it wasn't too unusual for Mikasa to avert her gaze. But hustling on off to the meditent at the prompting of her Bondmate felt intentional to Mettaton.

Or he's reading into it. He can do that.

The Puca follows her at this much slower pace and kneels down to her when she sits, for their height difference is steep enough to warrant that. He sets some of the supplies he'd gathered next to her leg upon the crate so she could see what he'd helpfully procured.

His ears lower somewhat. She has a way of talking that, despite being short-spoken, reaches his heart.]

I see. I'm sorry, that he's returned so suddenly like that... [Mettaton was sure that were Tendou not gone, he'd be happy at the festival, then. But everyone here was put at risk. Still, even Mikasa was fine; surely Tendou would be, too.] Well... Did he have big dreams to return home to? I remember you telling me he had some culinary pursuits.

[He thinks it's nicer to imagine that someone went home to something they loved, even if it's hard. But that was the sort of ambition he's sure Tendou could have also pursued here.

People don't return to the mirrors on their own accord, as he understands it. He remembers hearing Sans was here; he wouldn't have left Papyrus for this long, he's sure.]

[stopfen]

[Maybe it was both, or maybe the puca was 100% right.

With the supplies brought over she's looking. Carefully poking through, fingers only just glancing the tops of the items. Not touching his leg. Wooley puffball things, she'd need those. Then there was rubbing alochol, which was it's own issue. He'd brought more than one bottle and well... She couldn't read. So she absently squinted at the bottles. Ear giving a twitch, she was listening, even if she pretended not to be.]

I'm not sure... It sounded pretty complicated. [Her education wasn't exactly vast. People seemed to have three more rounds of education where they were from and that would have been if she'd gone to school.

All she'd had was those rainy days when mother and father couldn't hunt or do farm chores.] He was working in a resturant. But he'd been trying to open a shop that made cakes here... [There's a small pause. As nice as Mettaton's idea was, it didn't really fit. Did it.

Anyway, she was just going to open one of the mystery bottles he'd brought over. AND make the very sensible choice of giving it a sniff. Hello, are you rubbing alochol? -Annnd jerking her head back with a squint. Mettaton, what is this???]

[glitzandglamour]

[What's in the bottle, Mikasa?? It's... laudanum!

There is, of course, rubbing alcohol, and Mettaton grabs that to replace the one she's recoiling at by slipping it from her fingers, and putting the correct one there. He knew, at least, that this was a good way to start. Laudanum, he... doesn't know what that is! But it was in a place for painkillers, so surely it's relevant.

This new bottle is going to smell like rubbing alcohol.]

And he would have done well, I'm sure. [A nod with a smile, as Mettaton proceeds to prepare some of the bandages for her by unpackaging them.] He'd have made cakes this world hasn't even IMAGINED yet...!

[He doesn't know Tendou, but the style of the chocolates he saw Mikasa enjoying? They were anachronistic, compared to Aefenglom's idea of a good chocolate. They were classier, that was for sure. A cake made by someone from the "future" would blow the minds of people here.

(That Tendou was working in a restaurant suggested to Mettaton that he was someone he could step on, probably. That's just a fun aside.)]

Now. I'm not the most seasoned, with medical tasks... Besides what I've seen on TV. So I just grabbed one or some of a bunch of things!

[Still including the eyepatch! Why, Mettaton!]

[stopfen]

[Do not smell the mystery bottles... It smelled so sickeningly sweet and bitter at the same time. Not that the injury alcohol smelled much better. But at least she knew what that was.]

I think...He'd gotten a name and was looking for a store. [There wasn't a lot else to say to that, was there? She didn't know enough about cooking to fully understand. Working in a restaurant sounded important if he'd had gone to school for it. But owning a shop was even bigger.

At least, that's what she thought.

But with the lull and her newly acquired medical supplies, it was easy enough for the fae to keep herself busy. Not think too hard about her lost bond. Or what he would have done... In fact, it was probably a good thing he'd left before getting the shop off the ground in a way. Even if it didn't feel that way.]

I just need bandages and this- [Giving the little bottle of rubbing alchol a shake. The eyepatch did get picked up though, mistaken for a sling before being put down again.

Then came the awkward part. Or not... Milatary life. And it wasn't like when she'd shown Jean her budding wings. Mettaton wouldn't find anything strange about a cutesy polka dot sports bra as the fae just flung her ripped up shirt onto the end of the bed. Time to dunk some rubbing alchol on them bandages and get prodding at her cuts. Giving a small hiss as the cold stinging cloth patted at her tum.]

[glitzandglamour]

[Mettaton is a very touchy-feely person. Watching the persistent sorrow on Mikasa's face, there wasn't much he could do to just fix that heartache as much as he could try to distract her from it. That, he felt, was far more in his wheelhouse of things he was capable of. If Mikasa seemed to dip further and further into sorrow as she talked about what-ifs related to Tendou's presence here, it was time to change gears.

As he's reaching to grab that eyepatch for himself (about to make commentary about it or something, Mikasa's already proactive as it is, taking care of business. She doesn't ask him to leave or anything, not like the Warriors of Light who requested that he give them some space as they undressed, which doesn't at all faze him, but his ears do rise. Mettaton is not a Faun, either, meaning that he's not somehow hypnotized by just a bit of stripping for the sake of dealing with an injury... But he is interested anyway in watching his human friend.

Mikasa's right. He doesn't find anything strange. But what he does do is:]

Oh, the polka dots are cute, darling! [Just go straight into remarking on it with a smile! Even while Mikasa's grimacing at the alcohol as it burns.] Did you get that here?? Of course you did. Oooh, or was it a gift from someone special...?

[Sultry, Salacious, Suspicious Eyebrow Raise? He's not a Faun. But he is a Puca. (He is trying to imply it could have been a gift from Tendou, despite having left that conversation topic.) Give him a moment, and he'll also remark on how strong she is.]