☆ Event Log: Snatched, Part Two

[faileas]

Event Log: January, Snatched - Part Two

I. A Great Escape (20th, Evening) It's been a miserable six days for the Mirrorbound and refugees kept locked away in a basement cell block, subject to all kinds of torment and experimentation. They're a resilient sort, though, and their efforts to organize and bolster each other are not in vain. As the time passes with no sign of the City Guard drawing close to their operations, the Rathmore family grows overconfident, and characters can hear them talking to each other about another mass-kidnapping in the works. The best opening comes late on the night of the 20th. A few of the family's numbers are out - notably, Thomas Rathmore, his wife, and his mother are attending an emergency meeting of Parliament, and Constance is making an appearance at the Coven. This leaves the more inexperienced cousins in charge, the lesser known Rathmores with no particular skill outside of cruelty. Changing of the guard begins as usual, a handful of Rathmores delivering some sparse rations and taking their time to choose a few prisoners to remove from their cells, but this time, the Mirrorbound bite back. Thanks to the collaborative efforts of Daenerys and Asura, along with the prisoners preparing an organized revolt, a fire started in the torture room provides chaos and cover - and one dead Rathmore cousin, whose body gives up some of the keys to a handful cells. Time to play the cards you've held close to your chest over days of torture, your held-back spells, your tricks, your items that weren't confiscated. A mass escape isn't likely, with so many people still present in the building and so many of the captives injured and tired, but with enough of a distraction in the form of a prison riot, which may be enough to overpower the three Rathmores initially left in the cell block, a handful of scrappy Mirrorbound may make it out to safety before reinforcements arrive. a. The Escape Attempt There is one door out of the cell block, the main, heavy, warded door that the Rathmores enter and exit from every few hours. It's locked down tight - but it's possible to power through it, pick the lock, or charm it open. On the other side of the door, in the greater basement area, they'll find themselves free of the Bond dampening. Witch magic make take some time to return, depending on whether they were drugged or only charmed, but it'll be important to move quickly. The Rathmores' basement area is large - the size of the mansion above and the grounds put together, and they'll find themselves on the lower of two levels. The cellblock turns out to be a room within an even bigger room, with the stairs at the opposite end. The dangers are numerous: magical and mechanical traps set in areas marked off-limits, illusions intended to confuse and turn people around. There is only one completely safe path from the cellblock door to the stairs, unless they take the time to disarm the traps and illusions with their returning magic and abilities. That safe path is faster but more exposed, with two or three Rathmores in pursuit, and also the other people that could occasionally be heard outside the door - young aristocrats in on the kidnapping, who thought the Mirrorbound would be sent home. They're just as surprised to see you as you are them. In fact, it's not difficult to overpower these non-Rathmore kidnappers; they're obviously shocked to see Mirrorbound still here, in such states, and some are quite angry, or scared to learn what they've inadvertently gotten themselves into. A good handful flee instead of fight, but some others follow through on the shouted orders to go after you. Use the chaos your appearance causes to your advantage. Once escapees reach the upper basement level, up the stairs and through a hidden door, a few more traps remain, but up here, it looks more like a normal basement; servants' quarters, empty for some time now, storage rooms full of antiques, and winding hallways connecting them. It's easier to hide in this dusty maze to escape any pursuers, and eventually, they find the servants' exit out onto the back grounds. From there, freedom is just a run and a decorative, wrought-iron fence away. b. The Chaos Back in the cells, everything descends into chaos. The Rathmores are furious; while two or three of the cousins go after the escapees, the rest begin to gather down in the cell block, put out the fire, and the interrogations begin. They don't bother taking prisoners out to torment them now - they can't, with their torture room charred and smokey. Their main focus is forcing prisoners back in, and locking everything down with magic and heavy chains, to ensure no one else gets out. They grow more vicious now, and they begin speaking directly to the captives - they want to know which ones got free, how they managed it, who helped them, where they're going, who they're going to tell. Those who refuse to talk will be gagged or muzzled or simply beaten without finesse, and they'll move on to the next captive. Preying on the Mirrorbound's camaraderie with each other is the tactic they quickly turn to, hurting one to try and make another talk. The talk outside the main door grows louder in these few hours, angrier. Occasionally one of the Rathmore cousins will go out to spin some lies, or simply shout down any protesting. Some of the enchantments were damaged in the riot, though - they can hear you, just as well as you can hear them, muffled but still mostly clear. The more they hear from within, the more the confusion outside grows; all the better for the escaped Mirrorbound. ..."What's going on? Those were Mirrorbound that got out-" "We thought you were sending them home!" "You told us there was no risk, that this would make them leave-" "You don't need to worry about that! Go back upstairs!" "Someone needs to get a message to our Uncle Thomas immediately-"... They're all panicking as their grand plans, flimsy as they may have been, start to crumble around them. It's just a matter of time, now. The OOC post for the escape plotting is here if anyone needs to refer back to it! Eight characters will be escaping first thanks to a joint effort. The rescue will be underway within two hours of their escape, but those two hours are likely to be unpleasant for characters who remain in captivity. Any NPC maimings or proposed deaths need to be reported on the City Tracker; please note that mass murder / killing NPCs will still have consequences and needs mod approval first, but we're happy to work with players however we can.

II. The Cavalry (21st, Very Early Morning) The City Guard is closer than the Rathmores think. Thanks to Mirrorbound investigative help, not always strictly legal but still appreciated nonetheless, they've all followed the clues back and determined a possible address. By the evening of the 20th, several members of the Guard and Witches from the Coven, along with any Mirrorbound who followed the trail, are camped out at a manse nearby, the home of a wealthy widow eager to see her nasty neighbors knocked down a peg. Without solid evidence, the Guard can't get a warrant cleared to search the property owned by a Mr. Barclay, assistant to Thomas Rathmore, but solid evidence comes as soon as eight Mirrorbound manage to fight their way out of captivity, returning to friends and Bonded. They are the last piece of the puzzle, and now legal action can be taken. Theodore Rosethorne, leading a small group from the Coven, sends out a magical message to just the Mirrorbound - they've been found. Anyone who wishes to help bring their missing fellows home, anyone who can help with much-needed healing, or anyone who wishes to bring their captors to justice needs to show up now, because time is of the essence. The Guard can't mobilize more men quickly enough in the middle of the night to be useful and they need all the hands they can get, without a floor plan of the mansion or solid ideas of the captors' numbers. They can barely wait an hour for more hands to arrive before it begins. a. The Rescue Sowilo, Theodore's Bonded Fae and a skilled hand at illusions (and seeing through such), leads the rescue efforts, along with some of Theodore's Witches from the Coven. With information from the escapees, they plan to go through the back, take the servants' exit, and make their way down to the basement levels, while Theodore's assault team will go through the front doors, making as much noise as possible. Sowilo's illusions will keep their presence masked at least until they get into the house. The aim is to get through as quietly as possible, find the cellblock, and secure a safe route to take the prisoners out without them getting hurt any worse than they are. It's easier said than done. Magical and mechanical traps of various types litter both basement floors, and heavy illusion work has been placed to obscure the way. Splitting into smaller groups to disarm the traps and deal with the illusions will be necessary, as the entire group will make its way down to the cellblock as quickly as possible. Sowilo hopes they face little to no resistance, with Theodore's group doing their job, but a few, Rathmores and otherwise, are bound to try and stop them; in that case, they will have to fight. "Make sure you can argue a case for self-defense, if you have to hurt them," Sowilo will tell the rescuers and later the freed prisoners on the way out, wings fluttering agitatedly. "Let them be arrested and publicly humiliated in court - ruin their whole family line for generations to come." He's not happy about it either, and will overlook some of the captors getting a taste of what they deserve, but deaths are not permitted on his or the Witches' watch: anyone who takes things too far will find that the person they're attacking has simply vanished - a convincing illusion - before they're handily knocked out with a spell. They face less resistance than the assault team, but less is not none; a few of the Rathmores are determined to salvage their efforts, and some of their unwitting aristocratic cronies have sided with them. Once they reach the cellblock, dismantling the enchantments that keep the prisoners restrained and addled is the first order of business for some. Others can start unlocking cells and helping people out of their restraints. Protection for the escapees on their way out will also be necessary, as well as medical attention back at the temporary base camp. The main focus has to be on those lost friends and loved ones, bringing them back out to freedom and making sure they're tended to - not on revenge. b. The Assault Theodore Rosethorne, along with some members of the City Guard and some Witches from the Coven, leads the assault. While the rescue team goes around the back, they plan to go through the front door, as loudly and conspicuously as possible. The mansion is large and needs to be swept from top to bottom for perpetrators and evidence that can be used in court. Those joining up with this team are warned that it needs to remain legal - the Mirrorbound and the refugees, all of them, have a very shaky, uncertain legal status within the city, and a mass murder could severely harm what good will they have from the locals as well as their status here. After all, many are still neutral to positive on the Mirrorbound, but that could change in an instant. The Coven will take as much responsibility as they can, but they cannot accept the blame for a senseless slaughter. Splitting into smaller groups will be necessary in order to cover more ground quickly. The aim is to locate, subdue, and arrest as many of the culprits inside as they can. The Guard provides magic-suppressing cuffs, and the Coven a basic knock-out spell, but since many will not go so willingly, some degree of force may be unavoidable. If there's one thing the rich fear, it's a legal black mark on their family name and reputation - the Rathmores will fight back harder than their underlings, but they're also the ones they need alive to face the justice system. Those outside the family, those who only knew about the kidnapping portion, are a mixed bag - some might fight back, siding with the Rathmores, but some might give themselves up once the realization of what happened in that basement sinks in. Once they make their entrance, things move quickly. Several wealthy aristocrats either flee or fight, but their attention is thankfully pulled away from the basement and toward the upper levels. There are dozens of rooms to search, and many are cluttered with an old hoarding family's antiques, furniture piled against doors and windows blocking access to some areas, hundreds of nooks and crannies among the sheer amount of stuff provide cover for culprits to hide in. It's going to be work to ferret them all out and bring them in. Worse still, the Rathmores have collected dozens of cursed or enchanted objects that may be used as weapons against the forces of justice. Some degree of force is expected, but still if anyone tries to take things too far, they might find themselves slapped into cuffs or knocked out with a spell themselves. Any NPC maimings or proposed deaths need to be reported on the City Tracker; please note that mass murder / killing NPCs will still have consequences and needs mod approval first, but we're happy to work with players however we can.

III. The After (21st On) Activity continues all through the night and late into the morning at the former Rathmore estate. All the Rathmores and a couple dozen other wealthy aristocrats are brought out in cuffs over the course of several hours, while all the prisoners are liberated to receive medical attention and reunite with their loved ones. The Guard take statements from everyone who will give one - what they witnessed, what happened to them, what they know - and all who were affected are told they will be invited to testify at trial. A gathering crowd forms at the end of the street, wealthy neighbors aghast at the horrors they're learning had occurred right in their District. Most are disgusted with the once-prominent family. On the steps of the Parliament building, Thomas Rathmore, his wife, and his mother, all sitting members of Parliament themselves, are publicly arrested in front of colleagues and on-lookers early in the morning. Constance Rathmore is taken out of the Coven roughly in magic-suppressing cuffs, surrounded by a small group of furious Witches, students of the Coven who spent the week trying to find the missing Mirrorbound and refugees with Divination. They escort her to the prison themselves. All who are arrested are transported to holding cells of their own within the City Guard - all except those requiring urgent medical attention, who will remain cuffed to their hospital beds until trial. Nessie and Mhairi make an appearance at one point to give the Mirrorbound their sincerest apologies for what happened, and Mhairi delivers the news that they're pushing for an expedited trial in Parliament, in order to keep Thomas Rathmore from bribing any contacts. They, along with Theodore and Sowilo, and the Guard, are all open and forthright with what will happen next: public trial and a certain conviction, followed by sentencing. They don't expect that the Rathmores will get away lightly; what they did is too public and too horrific for even the anti-Mirrorbound wealthy to stomach. Those others who were involved, who weren't aware of what was going on behind that metal door, they'll still face justice themselves, no doubt. In the meanwhile, those kept hostage will need all the help they can get to reach something resembling normal again. Hug your loved ones, nourish your Bonds with each other, and begin trying to heal together.

Welcome to Part Two of January's event log, Snatched! An aftermath summary of the trial and sentencing will go up on Feb. 4, the day after the City Tracker deadline, so get your submissions in if you have them! More politically-oriented characters may find an opening in the near future to enact change within Parliament and provide their own representation within the city...

And as a general reminder, please make sure to use content warnings where necessary in your headers!

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QUESTIONS

[moustre]

GENERAL

[moustre]

diarmuid ua duibhne | witch | rescue party

[ua_duibhne]

II. The Cavalry
a. infiltration
[Six days. It’s been six days and Diarmuid feels as though he’s been awake for every last minute of them, which probably isn’t that far off the mark given that even his dreams have been taken over by his search for the missing Mirrorbound. Not that you would know it looking at him; when he turns up to help the final assault on the Rathmore’s grounds, he has the focus of a soldier, listening intently to every word so as not to miss a single thing. Exhausted as he is, this is what he excels at and he’d been quick to offer his help to the team entering through the servant’s quarters. The decision is personally motivated- it might bring him closer to finding Berserker and Waver- but he’s determined to make himself useful whatever way he can.

If his knowledge of illusions falls short, after all, he’s still a good wingman for whoever it is that he’s been teamed up with. Grimly, he turns to his partner.]

I’ll take the rear if you’d rather focus on traps.

[Gáe Dearg glitters as he rests it over his shoulder. Just why he’s brought his spear to a stealth mission is anyone’s guess but he grips it so tightly that his skin strains against his knuckles.]

b. rescue
[Backlit by lanterns and clutching a spare set of keys, he makes for a heroic figure at first glance. A closer look will reveal not only the dark shadows under his eyes and a number of bruises but a tremor in his hands that would be imperceptible were it not for the faint, metallic jangling of the keys. By this point, he’s running on adrenaline, duty and hope alone. It's fine. He's fought battles on less.

Even so, he’s quick to the aid of any prisoners he might find. He’s not much of a healer but the small amount of practice he has had along with the supplies provided by the City Guard are enough to make his efforts worthwhile.]

You’re safe now. Easy. [Without missing a beat, Diarmuid retrieves his flask and holds it out. However hotly the fury burns beneath his skin, he keeps his tone as gentle as he can.] Easy.

c. closed to Berserker
[Diarmuid prays for for Berserker and Waver’s safety with every fibre of his being but it’s getting harder and harder to keep the faith. So many of the rooms he’s seen here have filled his stomach with lead, given him glimpses of the horrors that might have befallen the two of them, that even his elegant strides have been hastened and made ungainly by fear. The torture rooms. Cells. An arrangement of reptilian scales awaiting cleaning and polishing. Vials of blood all neatly lined up in glinting, monochromatic rows. Earlier, he’d wrenched a riding crop from the hands of one of those involved and seen dried blood flake free from the leather as he’d snapped it in half. That it might have been used on either of them-

Diarmuid clenches his teeth and swallows the sour taste building at the back of his throat.

On some level, this is his fault.

If he’d been more careful or less complacent- if he’d just protected them like he’s supposed to they wouldn’t be here. Self-loathing gnaws at him every bit as hungrily as apprehension and he’s left a trail of barely conscious men in his wake, as if punishing someone else might alleviate his own guilt. It doesn’t. There’s a witch down the hallway who probably won’t walk unaided for some time but all that Diarmuid has to show for it is bruised knuckles and a smear of blood across his cheek. The only thing keeping him from going further is the promise that restraint will yield more meaningful results.

All of the rage in his body language fades, though, the moment he opens the next cell and steps into the darkness within- in fact, he crumples. Though they’re still within range of the dampening spell, there’s no magic that can totally stifle the connection between two Bonded in the same room. It’s him. It’s him. Gods, it’s alarmingly weak but it’s him and his heart suddenly feels like it’s going to burst with the excess of emotion coursing through his body. Relief. More fear. Anger. Shame.

Even with just one lone syllable to pronounce, Diarmuid’s voice trembles.]

... C-Cú?

d. wildcard!
[Feel free to drop me a starter or hmu on plurk at crescendoll if you want to plot something else out! I'm totally game, my dudes.]

c

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Berserker can feel the brief, dulled pulse. It's familiar, it's warm, it...makes him feel ashamed. The dragon doesn't lift his head nor turn to look at Diarmuid.

With his arms bound behind his back, a heavy collar around his neck attached to a chain that tethers him to the wall, and a metal muzzle on his face, he looks like a shell of himself. Most of his body is heavily bruised, the wounds on his shoulder from Dorchacht festering, the glittering patches of scales that should be on him are raw, swollen, and bleeding. Blood stains his light-colored pants on the thigh in an array that mimics the wound on his shoulder; the fabric clings there. His hair is matted to his forehead, the length tangled with dried blood. One of his eyes is blackened so badly that the tattoo beneath it is lost in the dark red and purple. His wings are the biggest travesty: mangled almost beyond recognition, the membranes torn to shreds, all of the bones in them broken. His back is a mess of scabbed over claw marks.

He breaks the silence without looking at Diarmuid. ]

...Leave me here. Go help the others. Come back for me last.

[ Weak and quiet. He should have been able to fight back and not be taken. It's his own fault he's here and his own fault that Diarmuid feels as badly as he does. Berserker could do nothing to protect himself nor Waver and that was unforgivable. ]

the lone wanderer "lex" | fallout 3 | chimera | ota

[lonewanderer]

the escape attempt; cw: descriptions of injuries, violence

[ The change in the air is palpable. The Mirrorbound have been waiting, and with some of the head members of the family gone, and rumors of another kidnapping in the works - it's time. They can't wait any longer. Some of them literally can't wait any longer, and based on the oozing coming from her many open incisions, Lex is starting to think she might be one of them.

The revolt is strong, even though none of them are at their full strength. Lex may be bound but her skeleton is made of metal and she shoves with all her force, bowling over their guards with fierce snarls and snaps of her fox teeth. If someone gets her hands free, she can pick locks with a hairpin taken from one of the knocked out captors to help free the others or get through the main door. She's just fine disarming traps as well, with steady hands used to disarming mines and bombs, as long as someone with her can handle the illusions. She doesn't waste her time fatally attacking anyone, but any of the Rathmores or their sympathizers who don't stand down will be incapacitated with a swift claw to a tendon. Those who stand down are snarled at. ] Help us, you fucking cowards!

[ Lex doesn't stick around to find out if they do. The dusty servants quarters remind her of home, and despite her wings, she knows how to duck and cover and hide. She creeps around after any pursuers, knocking them out with strong arms and a forceful drag to the floor if it's safe enough for her to do so, and then she's gone. ]

after the escape; cw: descriptions of injuries

[ It's a very rough looking chimera that flees the mansion. Some of her restraints are still attached, most noticeably around her wings; there is webbing from an Arachne around some of her injuries, trying to seal them shut. She hasn't bathed in six days; she is covered in her own blood, in grime, in sweat, and Lex walks directly past most of the buildings and people she sees and up to the first Mirrorbound she can find. ]

They took us, [ she says, with a slight rasp, ] but I can show you where.

[ Later, when the teams assemble, someone is probably going to have to talk some sense into her while she's still got open wounds all over. She refuses to go to the infirmary until everything is settled, but she won't completely refuse treatment. She will, however, insist on being around the assault and rescue planning. ]

after the cavalry; cw: descriptions of injuries

[ Lex watches the rescue of the others, sighing in relief as she sees each and every one brought out. Her statement is taken by the guards and she watches the arrests with no small amount of satisfaction, lips curling back to expose her sharp fox teeth. It's only after she's convinced that the Rathmores are secured that she lets herself be brought to the infirmary for her injuries to be attended to on a more permanent basis, anything past basic (or magical, even) first aid.

It takes some time. Being a cyborg and having a metal skeleton on top of that has added some complications in addition to being a chimera, and the places where wires have been pulled or nuts and bolts have been loosened take special time and attention. The incisions that were made and left open are their own problems, the infections needing to be flushed out, chased away. Then there's the scarring to take care of, and Lex's clipped wings, bruised and battered from being bound.

She can be visited for the few days they keep her in the infirmary to keep an eye on her. Otherwise, Lex returns home soon. She'll accept visits, and can be found walking in the city with Dogmeat - head held high, defiant, and talons freshly sharpened. ]

after the cavalry

[whomthebelltolls]

[There are a lot of faces Maria recognizes in the infirmary in the immediate aftermath. It brings her back to check on others, once her most immediate concerns are attended to.

She won't ever admit why, but it does. It may yet be more softness on her account - like how she reeled back so hard on her own temper, and Kaede's as well - when they told her what they wanted, or didn't.

It was difficult to not turn the Rathmore house into an ankle-deep puddle of blood. Until it ran down the stairs and dripped through the floorboards, and the scattered parts of various bodies were left on display for the horror of any who would look and see what the Vilebloods considered art, and what Maria considered vengeance.

She did not. Somehow, she minimized the damage. Somehow, even with a living extinction event in the back of her mind crying blood and violence, she held them both back. There was a little blood spilled - mostly split lips and bloody noses, and maybe one or two lacerations or broken bones from her tossing people bodily around.

But every time she saw what had happened to those that had been captured. Every time she saw the injuries to the liberated Mirrorbound, she felt a pang of regret. The Coven wouldn't have needed to take the blame. She could've done that just fine, and bloody, wonderful judgement would have been passed. Secured.

She pushes that out of her mind, as she approaches where Lex is at the infirmary - one on her checklist of people to poke her head in on. What she's not expecting is to see is the glimmer of metal as one of the healers changes some bandages. She stares at it, rather than meeting Lex's eyes.]

Thank you for taking the risk to escape. Is anything life-threatening?

edmond dantes | turnskin | assault team.

[ressusciter]

[ooc: as strike team has to be legal, if you want an optional IC reason to keep to it, join Dantes' team and he'll offer a PC pushback to help.]

mansion:

[his blood is boiling by the time they are given the go-ahead, by the time they split into groups - he's smoked through three cigarettes and can barely keep himself from pacing. the rage in his body is only soothed by the promise of action, and even then, it's a physical pain to not burst out ahead, to not wish to torch the place to the ground and damn the consequences. six days worth of sheer hatred is right through him, and when they're given the signal, he's off like a shot, and expects his team to follow.

some of the witches require pursuit, and if he sees an allied face while he's chasing them down, he'll only gesture in the direction that they're going - they can both corner this one. other times, doors are blocked by clever hands, but that's not going to stop him, and the sounds of him trying to break the door down are obvious, putting his whole weight into it. there's no time to save this house as anything other than a house of horrors.

other witches wish to stand and fight, and those he reserves his special attention for, using the spell inked on his body to move at great speed, to dodge what they try to throw and to go for punches that will incapacitate long enough to slap the cuffs on them. still, there are going to be times he needs help fighting if a witch won't let him get close.

but if another member of the team is going to go too far, he'll intervene - if only because they can't afford to waste time when they need to get everyone out as fast as possible. he understands, but if he can't shed blood on the ground, then Dantes will seize what control he can, and use it.]

other:

[have any other ideas? feel free to throw them my way! find me via pm or moonjelly if you need.]

let's fight a witch and hopefully not kill them, then talk abt how much we wish we could kill them

[auftauen]

((If you only want Dantes-team tags I am happy to say she went with that option btw! Just let me know!))

[They don't deserve to live.

Even the most well-guarded prisoner still has the slightest chance of passing information; it's idiotic to give them that chance. And some things - some people - just shouldn't be allowed to continue existing.

So Crymaria resents the restraint they're told to exercise, even if she also seems to be respecting it. Perhaps she only understands the limitations of her new powers; if she were the Winter Witch, still, and not just another one of the Mirrorbound, the mansion would be ash by now and herself burnt along with it. Maybe that's why it has to be this way... this way, at least the captured will be able to escape. She's kept most of the magic usage in the assault limited to abjuration support and non-lethal evocation measures: breaking down doors, casting shields and counterspells, and shredding through hoards of ancient knickknacks to unearth the rats beneath them. If she focused on offense... the quarry they're seeking would be little more than tallow and bone.

Crymaria joins this particular altercation already in progress, with just enough time to see some lackey trying to flee an extremely fast and furious turnskin. After blasting aside some stacked furniture so the witch Avenger is fighting has nowhere to hide, she twists her magic again, throwing up a barrier that will hopefully prevent their opponent from dodging another physical attack.]

Go! Now.

Lady Maria | Bloodborne | Check headers

[whomthebelltolls]

[1: A grand Entrance - CLOSED to Kaede]

[It was almost a race to see who could get ready to leave faster after the announcement, and while Maria's long-legged stride was good at eating up distance, she had to stop herself from teleporting as many of the short distances as possible. Partially to save her magic, but partially because she couldn't bring Kaede with her without draining herself yet more.

She'd not been doing a lot of the investigating, because she knew she wouldn't be able to hold her temper, and she was trying to hold tempers for two people at this point, which is a unique level of difficulty made possible only through Bonds™. Honestly, her presence in showing up, instead of waiting to see what happened might turn out to be a Mistake, but she has to go.

She has to find whoever is hurting her Bonded and she has to see them pay, in a way that will satisfy the side of her that grew up in a world where it was kill or be killed.

The briefing is what she expects - they're a prominent family, and any grievous harm done to them will quite possibly turn the whole city on the Mirrorbound. The complacency of peace that has settled over this whole town has made her soft, she thinks, that she actually considers it, and turns toward her companion. Her voice is soft; only Kaede should be able to hear it, especially with everyone else listening so intently to Theodore.] Then we consider death a mercy - and they deserve none. Not when it is also clear this city values its criminals more than us, and we will have eyes at our backs. We'll deal with Aefenglom's duplicity later. If it must be self defense, then we give them a reason to attack us first, and we subdue them quickly. Enjoy what blood you can draw quickly.

[She eyes the front door, and just as the briefing ends, as everyone gets into position, she moves. There's a sentry, uneasily watching the door, and he seems to hear something, so he's on alert. What he's not expecting is a whole ass Witch - and a giantess of a woman, pale as a ghost, intimidating as a chimera, just appearing next to him in a flash of teleporting magic. He moves into a startled swipe of a punch that Maria dodges easily, grabs him by the arm, twists him around, points his back at the door...

... And then shoves her boot into his stomach as hard as she can, sending the weight of a whole human into the wooden door. It cracks around the hinges, and the door latch breaks open, and gives way noisily as it collapses, leaving him winded, probably with a cracked rib or two, and dazed, but ultimately alive and with more or less minor injuries.

And, while the house springs awake, and the rest of the Strike Force catch up to her, Maria waits just past the threshold for Kaede. Once she sees the Monster, or even feels her; she's expecting the oozing cascade of shadows more than a physical being, she turns her head toward her.]

Now. Roar. [Maria's voice is very soft, but it raises at least enough to be heard over the din of footfalls.] Let them know the end of this charade has come.

[Fight us.]

[2: Cool Down Hug Time - CLOSED to Alex]

[Somewhere in the house, there's a Rathmore or two with a few injuries. There may or may not be one still strung up - mostly unharmed, but very indignant as she tries to hold her skirts down and not show her underwear to all the city guard and Mirrorbound - by their ankle from an exposed pipe in the ceiling of one of the rooms. There's a lot of upended and broken furniture.

It's once Maria's sure every one has been ferreted out, arrested, and the few that would fight back have met her fists and the flat of her swords, that she finally relaxes her watch - on the Rathmores and the City Guard - to follow the gentle pull of her Bond, now that it's back. (And when the spell had been released on it, she'd nearly fallen over by the way things fell back into place and just felt... better. The part of her that had been missing returned, with all the grace of dropping a heavy metal grate over a hole.)

She pulls her gloves off as she approaches - there's splatters of blood on them, though not an excessive amount, it's obvious she'd hurt one or two of the people here, but perhaps not grievously. There's also one curled splatter of blood up the front of her pants, and a bit on one of her knees. None of it appears to be from her, though she's got a couple bruises and magical burns. They're unimportant.

She kneels before Alex as she looks her over, eyes pausing on every wound, every scrap of gauze. The motion isn't just deference - it's nearly submissive, with the slump of her broad shoulders. And she reaches forward, gently curling her unblooded, though overheated, calloused, and a little bit sweaty, hands around Alex's.] My apologies this took so long. Are any of your wounds grievous?

[3: Now This Looks Like A Job For Me - OPEN mostly to CR]

[In the time of the aftermath of things, Maria's goal is sequential - first and foremost to check on Alex, but then afterwards Fugo, as he's her roommate and part of that strange... fellowship they'd all developed in the imposing Victorian mansion she lived in, then people like Ursula, and Connor, and Gwen and Lex, and the rest of those who had closer connection to her. Those she can't find immediately, are more than free to come to her, and she'll greet them with a-] ... You are alive. Good. [Uh. She tried.]

[Finally, in the hours and days after the event, she goes to find those that weren't captured or badly injured. She needs to talk to them, to talk about what is going to happen to the Rathmores. She feels like an agitated tiger that needs to pace with the restlessness she feels when Alex is sleeping or otherwise doesn't need her attention. She needs to find out their thoughts, their concerns. She has many, and she would like to share them.

It feels like things are about to get worse, before they get better.]

1

[long_live_the_queen]

[It was hard. It was hard, to keep from clawing that uptight guard in the face when he'd bleated about restraint and legal justice, as if that was justice for Ursula's suffering at all.

Maria's presence, the remaining active Bond that was dragging her leash back, had been the one thing that kept her from lashing out. The Chimera's claws were still so tightly clenched into fists the sharp points cut into her palms, her jaws aching from clenching her teeth together.

She'd follow Maria's instruction. No others. The Chimera had vanished into the dark in disgust, following the tall Witch's long stride like a second shadow. Ears that weren't there pricked at the sound of the pale woman's voice; the shadow growled at being denied the vengeance she desired, demanded, for yet a second time.

But she didn't strike out. She'd listen. She'd obey. She'd spring the Rathmores' trap so Ursula, so Fang could be free.

When Maria charged the door, hurled the man through it like a battering ram--the shadows laughed, cold and mirthless as a hyena's cackle. When Maria called for her, the shadow answered--the Chimera's physical form stepping out into the light, posture so hunched her claws almost scraped the ground. It would be too bright in here to maintain the shadow form, anyway. Not without some...adjustment.

But first, they'd need to announce their presence.

So she does. Oh, she does. The thunderous sound that tore out of her throat wasn't human anymore, echoing from every pane of glass and gaudy metal furnishing, the cacophonous noise tearing from one end of the vaulting foyer to the other. The room, its acoustics intended to carry the noise of voices and thrum of music, now hosted the presence of a Monster's dammed up rage.

Frightened shrieks came from further within the house, sleepers startled awake, idle attentions dragged to the fore instead of whatever frivolity they wasted their time with.

Kaede smiled, a grin that showed all her sharp teeth.]

daenerys targaryen | game of thrones | escapee | cw: injuries

[freeing]

  GREAT ESCAPE – open to fellow escapees  

[ For the first time in days, Daenerys felt life inside of her. This body had not felt like her own – not since arriving and changing into a literal dragon. It was fitting that someone, Asura, had invigorated her in ways that gave her enough strength to move when she needs to.

The next time she's dragged from her cell by the root of her dirty, silver-gold hair – she does not truly fight. Not as she did when she was first taken. Daenerys does enough to seem as if she's "fighting", to mask her intent as she's brought to the cold table. This torturer was not the ones who had came in pairs – this one seems unskilled. He doesn't sedate her nor go for her hands first. Her legs are strapped down slowly, all while he mumbles about the beauty of her scales – even the ones resting in a jar on the counter.

All we need is a spark, she pleaded with Asura for such an occasion and with his will, here she was trying to ignite it. Her captor's hands roam up her stomach and rest just at her sides to strap her torso in – but instead of fear, he's met with fire. The embers in her chest burn hot – for the first time since they cast their ice spells upon her dwelling here to weaken her. Daenerys wrote the word so proudly to the other cellmates: DRACARYS and so, it was fate that brings forth a dragon's fire with justice. Flames spill past her lips in a language only she understands – her flesh not harmed in the process as his is caught aflame. Breathing fire was a new challenge, one uncontrollable and unpracticed to the Targaryen.

In minutes, the Rathmore is fumbling around on the ground screaming loud enough for the cellblock to hear as smoke pours between the door cracks. The tables and instruments are lit aflame, all beginning to melt and crisp under such a strong inferno beginning to burn. Dany's able to pry her straps open, undo her restraints and fumble to her feet, all while still shackled at the wrist. Unfortunate, isn't it? Fire dances across her skin, catching her own garments – even as she pries the keys on her captor's waist from his silent body, she pays it no mind.

Daenerys fumbles out, catching the bars of a cell and fumbling with keys. Among it, she promises to return and get them out, but for every few cells she tries, only one key frees them. She'll hand keys off as she goes — hoping others had more luck.

They have to keep moving, if she looks bast, she is lost. With it, she knows the others who lead ahead are capable as she is. With her half-burnt gown hanging partially off her naked frame – she cares not, she keeps moving too, for salvation awaited.

a. Daenerys will struggle escaping quickest, turned around by the illusions.
b. Daenerys will be cornered by one aristocrat she mistakes for a Rathmore, strangling him with her shackles into unconsciousness to try and evade her pursuers.
c. Daenerys will grow frustrated nearing the point of tears at the maze, Asura's magic to help 'heal' her beginning to wear off.

It was all worth it, however. Freedom was close. ]

  FREEDOM – open completely 

[ By the time she gets out, she's sobbing. She swore to herself, she would not cry. Not for them, not because of the pain. A relief washes through her, calming the madness brewing inside of her. If her allies were not there – she would have burned the entire building to the ground.

Daenerys never thought she would appreciate the way this city smelled. The freshness of it, it was almost as if it was a welcome to her senses, calming the dragon. Daenerys could feel her bonds again – feel that magic coursing through her and she feels as if it will be alright. Asura's magic wore off, but by the time they had escaped the compound, there was still much more to be done. And hey, she'll get some clothes on properly!

a. Daenerys will find shelter with any rescue team member to receive medical attention. She will be separated from any fellow escapees, for now. The closest healer takes her in. Her wounds will be treated, leaving her bound in layers of bandages over her removed scales.
b. Daenerys will give gorey details on what they've experienced, listing a few names (which are inaccurate) she recalled hearing through the door. Rathmore is the only consistency.
c. Daenerys will beg to know what happened to the following: Ventus, Caren, Asura, Andersen, Iramaat, Connor, and Ekindu.
d. Daenerys will demand to speak to ranking members of the city council to demand justice.
e. Daenerys will not want to stay in Aefenglom – she speaks of a farmhouse Lagertha once mentioned outside of the city walls, begging to be brought there for her own safety.
f. Daenerys will take a nap. Somewhere.

Or, y'know, find reason to give me hurt/comfort? This all happens during the day(s) after her escape. She is kinder to Mirrorbound, speaking ill to any Aefenglom guards wishing for statements – partially blaming them for this. Eventually, Jorah Mormont will be at her side silently as a guard, not just a starry-eyed man in love. ]

  WILDCARD – open completely 

[ Got anything else in mind? Feel free to adapt the freedom prompt for your own! PM me if you want Daenerys in anything specific with your prompts and I can roll with it. ]

HILLÆO

[heartsbane]

[ being a knight to a queen who has never found much luck in her life is pretty damned stressful if you did not know that already. from simply worrying about how fatigued Daenerys has been as of late to fearing how her emotions may one day cause her to make a decision with consequences, there isn't a lot of time where he wasn't driving himself into an anxious mess thinking about her. this was on a normal day — or at least, as normal as a day gets in Aefenglom.

then she ups and disappears, his bond with her disconnected and the two of them one again separated. he should learn to stop promising that he won't ever let her leave his sight. it's becoming quite apparent that just one man can only do so much. no matter how close she lives with him, no matter how adamant he is at being by her side, all it takes is a small window for Dany to get kidnapped and subject to the wrath of fools who have made a very costly, painful mistake.

the six days between her disappearance and now have been long, long days. Jorah, who was once getting too much sleep, was running on a few hours that only came by when his eyes demanded they be closed. of course he was concerned for the overall safety of all Mirrorbound taken against their will, but no one should be surprised that his khaleesi was the name on his mind during every second that went by. imagine how long six days must be when one and one person alone has their claws rooted deep into your brain and heart. imagine how much longer it becomes when you can't even verify if she is alive.

at the first mention of the captives being found, Jorah was marching to the location as quick as his legs could bring him there. with his heart pounding and the blood in his veins growing hotter with rage that was normally found burrowed deep within the confines of calm wisdom, he was ready for war. clad in armor and sword at the ready, he was ready to disobey any urgency to avoid violence if he found harm was placed upon Daenerys. it would have been what his queen wanted, and her wish trumps anything that the superiors here might want, well-meaning intentions or no.

fortunately for all, Jorah crosses paths with a familiar sight before he steps inside to spill red. it's unfortunate, really, that he has seen Dany naked, bruised and what appeared to be broken so many times. he knows better than probably anyone other than herself that she is far from it, but it's a sight that he feels should never repeat itself. he's almost frozen by the apparent wounds she has suffered, noticing the scales that have been forcefully ripped from her flesh. what was once an almost beautiful, if disconcerting change in her body was now a sign of trauma.

Dany might be dazed or lost in the heat of her own anger to even notice him, but there's a ceremonious clang as he drops his sword to the ground. metal cracks against stone and dirt, but he doesn't even bat an eye to his weapon. Jorah runs to her, the shuffling of steel plate heard at every step until he was within arm's reach.

no matter how intimate or close they've grown over the recent months, he doesn't dare make the assumption to touch her. she's been touched enough. he instead pants, clearly having run what was no doubt miles to get to her as soon as he could. a hand moves to wipe sweat that drips from his brows, and it is obvious in that moment that he doesn't know what to say. he has an answer to almost every question or comment she brings up, but today will be an exception. instead, he looks back towards the house where smoke was clearly pouring out in strong, dark clouds. ]

Fire will always bring me back to you, it seems. Khaleesi—

[ Jorah rushes to pull his cloak off of him, hesitantly offering to put it on her shoulders should she allow him to do so. ]

waver velvet | turnskin | escaping

[tryhard]

a. no chains can hold them - closed to fellow escapees

It's been so many days. The most difficult part of how impossible it is to track time down here -- between the drugs and punishments and pain -- is how hard that makes it to organize. Waver passes messages and words of encouragement whenever and wherever possible, trying to push actionable details over platitudes, but the when has always been the most difficult to gauge. They have to wait, bide their time. Take their first and only chance.

And when it finally comes, there can be no hesitation.

i. break free

Adrenaline is a hell of a thing. All around, the shouting and snarling and screaming form a consistent backdrop to the impromptu riot, the imprisoned Mirrorbounds' desperate push back. It sets Waver's nerves alight, crashes over him with the urgency of what they have to do. What he has to do.

Run.

The moment he sees an opening, however it's made, he bolts for it. Asura has helped Waver break his chains, but the enchanted silver collar around his throat still keeps him from shifting without considerable agony and risk of passing out. As such, he's not as fast as he could be, nor as agile with his injuries, but desperation has a knack for erasing caution and pain.

His claws slam with full force into the door that stands between the prison cells and what they can only hope is a way out. It makes a horrible noise, wood creaking, metal squealing, Waver's wordless snarls and bared teeth gnashing as he tries to tear the lock out of the wood by force; it's uncharacteristic and unrefined, but for now, it's the only thing he can manage.

"Help me!" he shouts at the nearest escaped prisoner, in a voice raw with panic and urgency.

Whether it's possible to brute-force the door or employ a more magical method, it'll probably take more than one person to accomplish the task. For this door and the others in their way.


ii. desperate times, desperate measures (closed to Caster Cú).

Beyond the door, amidst the chaos of the traps and the guards trying to grab anyone who managed to escape, Waver spots a familiar face. The stench of blood and fire is too thick in the air, and he's been kept on a steady diet of no food and too much nightshade, but even so, Waver knows this scent.

"Ca-Caster?" he staggers forward with a heavy limp, gasping raggedly with every breath, but though he's clearly badly injured, Waver doesn't stop. He grabs Caster's arm, claws accidentally digging in a little in his over-enthusiastic shock. It's really him. He's alive. He's out here.

But they're not out of the woods yet.

"Hurry, we need to-- Shit!"

They've been spotted. A shout, a crackle of magical energy nearby. Two of the lesser Rathmores or people sympathetic to their cause are coming right at them, one with a long, electrified prod and the other a sword. Waver drops down to avoid the swing of the blade, propelling himself in the same motion forward to knock into the attacker's legs claws-first.


iii. don't get caught

Watch out!

[ Waver shouts to stop someone from walking into a trap he'd glimpsed up ahead -- something that falls from above? spikes that jut out of the wall? a paralyzing spell or poison gas, perhaps?

If they're close enough, he reaches out to grab them, yanking the fellow escapee roughly away from the danger and stumbling back, off-balance on his badly injured leg. ]

Shit-- sorry, y-you okay? We need to go!

That way's clear, I think...

[ He turns, leading the way quickly down another corridor and scenting the air as they go. He reaches out every few paces, claws scraping along the wall or doors or even the floor in places, scratching into each the runic signs Caster taught him to mark out the safest path. ]

b. fight back - open to rescue team, investigators, etc.

[ Injured as he is, running on the last scraps of adrenaline and anger, Waver can't do much to help with the actual, physical rescue efforts. But he can inform.

Knowing firsthand the horrors that his fellow prisoners are still enduring -- and the fact that they're sure to be ramping up the punishments after what happened -- Waver will insist with stubborn urgency that they need to go now. He refuses to rest until he's sure the Rathmores are being stopped as soon as possible, no matter what.

He has a good memory; he can draw rough maps, give directions, and inform whoever he can before they go in that he's left marks to get around traps in the basement on the way. Hopefully, the traps don't change too much. ]

Is there... anything else?

[ His voice is quiet, raw and catching in his sore throat. But he'll help. He'll do anything he can. ]


(( ooc: Waver is escaping! He'll be doing his best to get fellow escapees out and through traps, and I'm also down to play out fights if anyone gets in their way. He can shift into a small dog at some point, even though it'll hurt him, so if anyone needs to get out of small spaces?? idk! Oh and he definitely needs healing so any rescuers out there pls help ty!!

prose or brackets both okay; I'll match you. hmu on PM or PP @ gunsandchocolate if you want to hash things out. I'm flexible and open to wildcard ideas too!! ))

closed to flat & iskandar.

[tryhard]

[ So close. He's so close he can smell the fresh air through the windows upstairs, the overwhelmingly welcome breeze from outside carrying the scent of cold and plants and streets and people. It's so familiar, so different from the stench of blood and bile that clings to him, Waver's eyes sting with tears.

The last door is just up ahead. The moment he'd left the basement, Waver could feel the uncomfortably hushed, muted sensation of his two Bonds lifting. He can feel Iskandar again. And Diarmuid.

Close. So close.

But relief makes him weak-kneed. It distracts him.

With the shouts of some pursuer behind him, Waver staggers toward the door that leads out of the upper basement, perhaps left half-open by some other fleeing soul-- and screams, nearly falling as a crossbow bolt sings past his cheek, a hairs' breadth from his face before it buries itself in the wood with a heavy thunk.

He isn't fast enough. Not like this. Even after Caster numbed the pain, his badly bitten leg just won't move quickly enough, muscles too torn and knee buckling.

No.

Waver scrambles to get the door open even as he falls, panting hard, swearing and gasping and sobbing as the fresh night air hits his face when he tumbles out the doorway clumsily. Another crossbow bolt clips his shoulder. His pursuer has terrible aim or Waver has incredible luck, it seems-- but it won't last. He's on the ground, heart pounding, throat seizing up, limbs heavy and weak and blood screaming in his veins and goddammit, he's so close, so close--

He can't be caught now.

The enchantments etched into the silver of his collar and cuffs glow red, searing and hot, burning the already torn-up flesh beneath. Waver screams again, rolling over just in time to avoid another bolt, forcing every scrap of remaining energy into doing what should have been impossible, something he's never even done willingly before but that he's been fighting back for days and days while he'd been trapped below: he shifts.

The enchanted collar and manacles change shape with him, and they hurt, blinding pain that crackles through even the pain-numbing spell Caster put on him, but it doesn't matter anymore. He's too close to care.

Despite his other injuries, three mostly-functioning legs are easier to run on than one. And a small black dog bolting across the lawn is much more difficult to aim at than a grounded man. The pursuer swears, but his aim only gets worse as Waver dashes farther away, zig-zagging and weaving as he sprints as fast as his little legs and his desperation can carry him on this last surge of adrenaline. His small body squeezes easily through one of the gaps in the wrought-iron fence, barely even slowing down, and--

Just like that, Waver is free.

The breeze ruffles his bloodstained fur. The waning moons above light his way. Waver has no idea where exactly he is yet, but as he runs, he tries to remember. He tries to run home, following his instincts and the heart-wrenching feeling of his Bonds finally snapping back into place, weaving around his fear and anger and echoing back to him with shock, confusion, relief.

A familiar scent in the wind catches Waver's attention, and another wave of relief crashes over him so suddenly, the whole world seems to wobble.

With a final push, Waver reorients himself toward it. Toward Flat. ]

flat escardos | witch | rescue team | ota

[escardos]

i. break in (a)

[ flat’s head feels clear in a way he thinks he hasn’t felt before in the past few days. like the surface of a tranquil, clean pond, he doesn’t seem to have any troubles at all with following the orders of the leader.

he doesn’t even flinch as they quietly enter the cells, the smell of blood and the sight of the poor refugees and other mirrorbound filling his senses. he looks onwards with a small smile, almost like as if it were glued to his face. ]

What a terrible place, huh? [ he whispers to someone, as if he were simply talking about the weather. ] To think that humans would be able to be this cruel. Isn’t it funny?

ii. searching for someone

[ he had to find cu.

among the many, many victims of the horrible kidnapping, flat only had one person in mind right now. waver was safe—safer than his bonded, so he could cross him off the list. ciaran cu, however—

he’ll enter into every cell that seems to have someone inside, peering in with a blank look. he doesn’t look neither sad or worried—his expression is blank, though shrouded by the hood over his head. ]

Have you seen Cu? Ciaran Cu, he’s a large dragon that got kidnapped.

[ a pause. ah right, he was here to rescue, right? ] Do you need help?

iii. lost and found (closed to berserker)

[ when he finally finds berserker, flat stops in his tracks. from the way he stops in his tracks, the hood basically comes off his head and falls on his shoulders as he barely recognizes the broken form of his bonded.

for a second, flat cannot breathe. he cannot think. his mind is blank, the sight of berserker far too much to process in a natural way.

and then, he restarts.

he quietly steps into the cell, approaching the dragon—if he could even be called that anymore—and tilts his head. and he smiles, serene. blank. ]

I suppose that explains the pain. [ a pause. ] Hello.

iii

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Their Bond is still dampened, but he recognizes that familiar pulse, brief and muted though it may be. Berserker slowly raises his head, the abuse he's suffered evident on his face and body. Where scales once were, there are raw, bloody patches of skin. His wings are tattered and mangled. Bruises and cuts litter his bare torso and the familiar wounds from Dorchacht are starting to fester. His hair is matted and thick with dried blood. Even if he wanted to stand up right now, he can't, too weak to do so.

The restraints make him look that much more a shell of his former self; arms bound behind his disfigured back, muzzle on his face, heavy collar attached to a chain tethering him to the wall. The chain only give him a few feet of distance, if that. He doesn't look at Flat, ashamed that he wasn't able to protect himself. ]

...You shouldn't have come looking for me.

[ Quiet, weak, and completely uncharacteristic. ]

Sokie Undertown | Witch | Rescue Party

[weirdnecro]

A: Slipping in (Rescue party)

Careful.

[She brought up a hand, eyes looking around, wary and alert. So much for the easy going woman that people knew before. She was taking this seriously.]

This looks too easy. Likely it's trapped.

B:Drag out (Open to rescuers, and escapees)

Aaah.

[Finally, down to the dungeons themselves. Asura. Paloma. She could feel her hands shake in excitement. But she rolled her neck and shook her shoulders, moving to the nearest cell to check and see if someone was inside.]

Hello? Can you hear me?

C: Heal spam

[Either in the cells, or taking them out into the safe location-it could even be on the estate or out in public-Sokie would come up with potions and gathering magic. Did she look a little pale? It's fine. She's fine.]

Go ahead and sit. I'll assess you.

[If someone needed a stabilize, she was gonna do a stabilize.]

D: Safe Harbor

[The rescue was done, and people were still getting settled on their feet. And...well, while she wanted to go home with her people, but she hadn't found everyone. Or at least, checked in with everyone. She still didn't know how it went with the assault team for one. But a reason for her to linger...well...

She came by with a bowl of broth, and offered it.]

Here. Hungry?

E: Wildcard

Anything else goes here! questions, drop me a line on nammah!

D

[newtralize]

[He just wanted to go back home. To touch and see all his creatures. Instead, he has been fussed at and cared for to the extent of feeling overwhelmed. He knew his injuries needed to be cared for, but he just wanted a moment to breath.

Eventually he was left alone. There was very little part of him that wasn't bandaged up and recovering, but at least he was in clean clothes now and felt clean. He just ached heavily and his hands shook and had no strength after being broken.

He startles a bit like a skittish animal, but he calms down when he recognizes the other. Shaky hands take the bowl and sets it on his lap. He didn't trust his hands to hold it for too long.] Thank you. I'm not, but... [He knows he needs to eat.]

Caren Ortensia | Chimera | Escaping

[showsnopiety]

A: The great escape

[It was more or less a blur of how it all started. She had done her part. Waited, listened. Tried to keep her strength, and get what sleep she could. The crackle of fire and the swinging door was the signal.

And Caren bolted.

Her clothing was in tatters, her limbs in worse shape. But she ignored the pain, and moved with desperation. She'd keep moving. Keep the door open. Keep moving-]

Which way do we go?

[Just straight? Through the door? Well, this place was far deeper then she thought.]

B: The Aftermath

[She thought she would be one of the people left behind. But she wasn't.

She managed to get out, get word and- she asked after the raid was done to watch and see her fellow prisoners emerge from the mansion. She wasn't in great shape. While she accepted food and a blanket, as well as tea, she kept refusing healing from the witches, getting to the point of snapping at one that tried without permission.

So she ended up standing, watching as each person came out, and unflinching, as she took stock of all of their injuries.

Some of these were on her part. Because she and the others got out, and they didn't. She was still, statuelike as she watched, her fingers buried in the blanket.

And those close to her could hear her say, every so often in a soft voice:]

I'm sorry.

Wildcard

Everything else goes here! If you're not sure about something hmu at nammah!

B

[fiddlestick]

[Snapping or not, Caren still needed healing. The younger witch who'd been snapped back went back to the others, unsure of what to do because Caren did needed healing- but well, she was intimidating. So in the end, it was decided they should send in the big guns to handle her.

And so, Elliot approached her from the side. His tone gentle as he held onto his staff, stopping himself from touching her.]

Caren...

Judar | Faun | OTA (General CW for injury mentions)

[kuroi_taiyo]

֍1. The Great Escape ֎
[ There honestly wasn't too much that Judar could do for the initial distractions that had gotten them out. Being anywhere near the fire would just cost the prisoners precious time, and he couldn't really help with knocking the guard with the keys out. With mangled hands, and legs that were just barely working, he was in no shape to fight. What he was, was a body to add to the chaos at that time.

A. As a faun, he also had a perfect sense of direction, and idea of where to go. He wasn't completely conscious during the initial grab, but it was just enough to be aware of the way that he'd been dragged. Damn whatever the illusions made them think they were seeing, as real as they were, he knew... The wall here wasn't really a wall. (What he couldn't account or predict, however, were traps.) ]

C'mon, right down the hall this way.

B. [ It's all to get the group of escapees out, and onto the grounds. There was still that run and the final group of people, though. They'd have to actually get moving... So, he looked around and gestured for the other(s) to keep going. He might not be able to fight, but there was finally a bit of nature. Enough to seem like he could really pull a good 'trick' off. ]

Gimme a bit, I've got an idea to slow them down.

֍2. The Chaos & Rescue ֎
[ In reality, and with a practical amount of logic, Judar knew he was in no condition to be getting too far. Even with help, his legs were reaching the end of what they could do. So, what was done was all an attempt to secure the escapees got out. That was a calculated choice that had been made, in hopes that it would lead to a prompt rescue after. However, Judar was no fool. He knew it'd come with severe consequences.

As the rest of the evening went on, the guards went even more brutally than they had in the past several days, in an attempt to get answers out of him. Who escaped, how did it get pulled off, who knocked the guard with the keys out, and even more. However, when you're aware and have been in the darkest places, it's easy to keep tight-lipped and non-responsive to those that think a lashing or beating would be the easiest extraction methods. Not even ripping the antlers off, full with the velvet, would be enough to scare him into it.

So from then, until the following day when the Rescue Team would arrive, there was an eerie silence and look in the faun's eyes. Even when it was just him and another prisoner in the cell, or while alone when someone got the doors open, there was a sharp look in those large, red eyes. Yet it wasn't necessarily focused on anyone, looking past, but seeing everything while on edge. With the condition he was in, between the mangling of teeth and various beatings and tortures by the Rathmores (compounded by the new punishments and interrogations,) it was hard to tell by an initial glance what was going on. Maybe it's because, with how swollen the cheeks and parts of the jaw looked, it was new pain being stamped down, but there was a bit of an odd feel to his presence. ]

֍3. The After ֎
[ Between legs and hands that had been broken for days, up to the new injuries, it's no surprise that Judar was one of the many Kidnapped held at the hospital. Some, or a good amount, may have been released for further care among others. Bonded, close friends, other people who were familiar with healing magic. There was a large portion that had to deal with descaling, having their feathers ripped out and any infections that had managed to set in from all of that. Judar was in the boat of people who needed to stay for more intensive treatments, ones that he'd respond wonderfully to, but he wasn't being the easiest patient.

Those that were essentially nurses had to deal with irritability and the way the patient would refuse to answer most questions. Where he was staying, if there was anyone to contact, if there was anything in particular needed... None of it. The only reason his name was anywhere was likely because someone else told them. Instead it was a paranoid and uncooperative response to their attempts to help.

They were strangers, and not just that, they were natives that he didn't know. For all he knew-

Well, the response to a familiar face, or someone who was clearly a Mirrorbound, was likely to get a better reception. He heard plenty, and knew some of what they were doing, so it's not as if he wouldn't respond or help with investigations. ]

rescue!

[usurpers]

[ the lock is defaced and the main door is swung open with the rescue team bursting in— they move quickly, calculated amongst themselves and focused, monsters and witches alike to free their kin while a red-headed witch with ice blue eyes keeps at the door on lookout. in the group was a statuesque, charcoal scaled dragon making his way brusquely over to the first mirrorbound he recognized, a tattered faun that stares right past his pin-slit eyes staring back as he works the lock of the cell he lays in.

eren couldn’t describe the glance better than “a deer in headlights”; the dragon’s expression is clean, no fangs show, no talons reach. he keeps them curved back harmlessly into his palm, with his voice low and every ounce of self control to keep his tongue in his mouth, even biting down to keep it there. it didn’t stop the smell of grime and dry blood invading the roof of his mouth, of fear and tension running finely along the chilling bars. ]

Judar, [ he calls out, firm, and looks for his reaction— but he’s cautious of it. ] can you hear me?

[ he knows what torture is, he knows what it does and he knows that every man and woman reacts differently to their own torment and durance. ]

Mira Chambers | Witch | Rescue Team and Pissed Off Dark Knight

[inlikethebrume]

Serve, Save: Rescue (Open)

[The message goes out and Mira is immediately snapping on her armor, grabbing her weapon and stuffing a sack full of bottles of potions, mostly for emergencies if their magic does not work. Mira had planned on the idea moons ago but she didn't think it would be needed now. She listens to the one in charge and snorts at the drivel about 'letting them suffer for generations'. Such shite spewing from them and they probably knew it too. That is how grudges and true monsters are formed.

Humilation is too small of a punishment for their kind is what she believes. Cause maliciousness on purpose, with the intent to hurt...death is the only proper action.

Mira's upper face is hidden by her helm and the only reason why she is here instead of the assault team is because of those she knew being held captive and her focus is to get them out. Can't promise that someone will get broken wrists or the like.

But to the one next to her, she holds out a couple vials.]

I made a lot. 'Tis a minor healing potion but it may help in an emergency.



Slave, Slay: Who's Willing To Fight? *Dark Knight Storyline spoilers* (Open)

[Mira expects a fight to occur, there is always is in her line of work. In her case, two mousy looking nobles are standing in front of her, unmoving with weapons of their own as she slowly reaches for the handle of her greatsword.]

I wonder if you lot have the stones to try and attack anyone who can defend themselves. Bloody highborns want to make me vomit with their attitudes.

[Her voice is firm, clipped because she knows what she would like, what Fray would say to her:

They deserve no kindness from you. Do what needs to be done.

Slave...Slay...

Mira shuts her eyes but keeps her hand close to her sword. It is up to the opponents before her weither to fight or fall. So what will you do?

Watch? Stand with Mira? Or try to convince both not to fight? The third one will need one hell of an argument for the dark knight not to break a limb.]



In Your Darkest Day, In Your Blackest Night...Think Of Us. (Closed to Vanitas, Irhya, and Emet-Selch) *Major Shadowbringers Spoilers Ahead*

[It's when she reaches the cellblocks that it truly hits her. The idea of so many innocents were kept in this hellhole, had things done to them. If it wasn't for her work ensuring she had a strong stomach, she would have vomited. Instead, she can feel a seething rage build within her very soul.

'How dare they...'

The one Bond with her will definitely feel it even knowing that it is not directed at her. It's taking every once of sheer willpower not to scream nor use her sword against some poor object and she needs to use that energy somehow. And so she begins to run. No words come out of her mouth as she moves but Mira's mind is racing as a single thought is going through:

Where is he?

There are many she wants to help, true, but this one...he is the first priority. Hopefully the others with her can keep up with her strides. More than likely given who they are. It's time to get what is there's back.]

[darkcharge]

[ Vanitas, for his part, isn't at all disturbed by what he sees. Maybe he should be, but Van isn't the empathetic sort. Innocent or otherwise, suffering is suffering. He suffered for such a long time and, in some ways, still continues to. Why should he feel sorry for anyone here? If they are so weak that they can't handle it then they should just curl up and do everyone a favor and stay out of the way.

He isn't here with Mira because he necessarily feels inclined to help anyone. However never let it be said that Vanitas doesn't pull his weight. Mira and Irhya want to hunt down the old man and Van can support that. All three of them are a part of a household he resides in. That, in a sense, makes them his and Vanitas isn't fond of letting go of his things.

His Void Gear is strapped to his back and he wears his Organization coat as he keeps up with Mira's pace. She's mad and that's actually kind of thrilling to see. Vanitas can't wait to see what she does. ]

Percy de Rolo | Witch | Assault Team

[gunsmithed]

i. The Assault

[ Percy's been quietly winding tighter and tighter ever since the realization that people have gone missing becomes public, and the second the message comes that something can be done about it, he grabs everything he has without a second of hesitation. They ask for healers and justice, and Percy is neither of those. It won't stop him.

Vengeance, whispers an echo of a dark voice he's never been able to get rid of entirely. The fact that he's still trying might be the only thing saving lives tonight.

Loud and conspicuous, on the other hand, Percy can do. He announces his entrance to the manor by pulling Bad News off his shoulder, sighting into an upper window he's seen movement near, firing, and stowing the gun against his back again all without breaking stride. The window shatters and the figure vanishes, but whether or not the shot hit isn't the goal. The deafening blast of the massive rifle echoes against the streets and serves two messages -- they are coming, and there is nowhere to hide.

He loses the rest of the group quickly inside the mansion, but Percy is easy enough to track by the sound of gunfire and the smell of ozone, lightning crackling angrily around the gauntlet on his left hand. By the last shreds of his self control, he mostly keeps himself to firing warning shots, but he doesn't hesitate in the face of a counterattack. Weapons are shot out of hands, spellcasters might find it more difficult to concentrate with bullet grazes in their arms. Percy is holding on to himself but only barely, not that anyone would likely notice through the eerily calm expression he's been wearing since he left the forge. With every idiot that refuses to go down quietly, it's getting more and more difficult.

There's a slightly grey moment when he walks into a room, and when he comes back to himself he has a man on his knees in front of him, Retort held inches away from his panicked face. The two other bodies are flopped on the floor, still twitching slightly with the aftershocks of Diplomacy's lightning.

He's still studying the last remaining face when he hears footsteps behind him, and the gun doesn't waver as he glances over his shoulder to see who's coming. ]

Yes?

[ It could sound almost pleasant, if not for the wreck of the entire room he's standing in. ]

ii. The After

[ The action is done, people are safe, justice is served. Or so people have said, and Percy can't entirely bring himself to disagree. But he can't sit still either, adrenaline, anger, and something else he can't or won't put words to still vibrating through his system. He does stop back at home long enough to set his weapons back down, but it doesn't take long before he's out and moving again.

For lack of any more useful ideas, he finds himself volunteering with the infirmary seeing to those rescued. He's no good with healing spells and now is most certainly not the time for experimentation, but he can do other tasks easily enough. Fetching bandages and water, sorting supplies, anything needed and he's in the area for, Percy will do. He's had enough experience with field medicine that he can assist with simpler procedures, but for the most part Percy does what's asked of him.

That almost unnatural stillness from the other night is still there, but Percy holds onto it willingly. It makes it easier not to react to the damage that's been done. The smiles he gives to the patients feel slightly wrong on his face right now, but he is at least trying not to unsettle anyone. ]

Can I get you anything?

[ It's always polite, and directed towards injured and healers alike. Please let him be useful right now, it's helping to hold him together. ]

II

[showsnopiety]

Tea would be nice.

[It's been a long time. She hasn't seen Percy since the Wilder hunt, but it looks as if he's doing all right.

Well. He's not in one of the beds at least. Caren more or less had been forced into one, but without her ear cuffs...She won't manage to get any sleep.

It's fine though. Seeing Percy's face made her expression soften.]

Hello Percy. I never knew you were a nurse.

[She's not in great shape, as seen with the covered wings. But she can still smile for him.]

Kaede | Monster | Assault Team | OTA (general CW for violence and descriptions of injuries)

[long_live_the_queen]

[Six days. Six wretched, protracted, miserable days. She'd awoken out of an evening doze after an exhausting venture into Dorchacht's Wilde to the feeling of an insurmountable weight pressing on her chest, strangling something more vital than breath out of her.

And then, she was alone. It was like Ursula never existed—her calming presence didn't soothe the growing panic in Kaede's mind, didn't answer the frantic worry that escalated exponentially with each passing moment. Maria's presence on the other end of the Bond, closer but so distant at once, was of no help.

She was alone.

She'd forgotten what it was like. Forgotten how to stop drowning in the feeling she was the only thing under the sky. She'd forgotten.

Anger—her old friend, the thing that had always dragged her out of that isolating despair—failed her here. There was nothing to turn her claws against, nothing that would help. She snapped at Maria, for not being the comfort she had grown too used to. She snapped at others, for not having answers. The horrified moments stretched to sleepless hours and then to days, whipping her into a frenzy. The Chimera paced like a caged tiger through the burnt wreckage of Ursula's school, her apartment, anywhere she remembered Ursula being.

Only silence greeted her at the door, instead of the slate-haired Witch's smile. Only emptiness and ashes echoed where small voices were once in attendance. Fang's laughter was gone like a long-faded memory.

Sometimes she took to the night skies as a formless shadow, movements jerky and erratic as her thoughts. One moment here, one moment there, over Haven, over the looming spires of the Aristocratic District. Were any close enough to hear, all they'd make out was inarticulate, inhuman shrieks, poorly tamped down emotions finally bubbling to the surface.

It was a dramatic, unreasonable, pointless display. A waste of pent-up energy that had no other outlet.

Until, very suddenly, it did.]

I. Rend the Veil

[Oh, Kaede was there. She was there. But there were times she wasn't with Maria, as effective a wrecking ball the two of them made. Sometimes the chaos of the invasion got the better of her, and led Kaede astray.

The panic and anguish in her mind, the despair that bled through the brief moments the Bond cleared and Ursula's pain lanced to the bone—they were silent, now. Replaced with a cold, calculating, murderous rage, and the chilling clarity of a killer before they struck.

But her claws were bound. Maria might not have been physically around right now, but she was still holding Kaede's leash more effectively than any insipid plea against proper justice, justice flowing red and written in torn limbs and heads freed from their spines. This city was as afraid of justice as every predictable mass of people she had ever met—orphanage staff, police officers, doctors. Cowards, all of them.

But Ursula was waiting. Fang, the others, they were waiting. And Kaede had no choice but to trust people who deserved none of it that they would be freed. If she was a good person, an obedient attack dog, there might be a reward dangling at the other end.

So there wasn't a broken trail of bodies in her wake, the Chimera's rage unquenched by the slickness of blood. But she was still quite busy.

Doors were no hindrance to her—if the lights were out, anyway. At one point Kaede was clawing at one of the barricaded doors when she heard a sound. The Chimera turned towards whoever made it, eyes narrowed and expression twisted in anger.]

Kill the lights.

[She said, in a guttural voice barely more articulated than a snarl. Almost all the magitech lanterns in this hallway had been left ablaze, to facilitate the escape of others. It was dreadfully inconvenient.]

[Once a Rathmore could be found, stumbling away from something in the dark behind him, a formless shadow-with-teeth and eyes red as coals. One end of a magic suppressant cuff was hanging on his arm—there hadn't been time to grab both arms, and Kaede hadn't let him rest long enough to remove it. When he spots someone, anyone, he staggers towards them, raising his unbound arm and his eyes wild.]

"You—help me, please, I'll—I'll pay you double, this thing will kill me—!"

[He could be preparing a spell—the cuff wasn't securely on, and his voice still imperious and demanding as it was frightened. The Monster in shadows was also a killer—and close, perilously close on his heels.

Trust the man, or trust the dark?]

II. The Morning Light

[The night had been long. But it had passed, as so many other things did. The sound of shattering glass and bones, bellows both furious and pained, the stench of cauterizing flesh and seared cloth—they faded.

She wasn't there to see the final results of her work—the Chimera had turned away in disgust. Her Bonded—she needed to find her. That was what was important.

Then—she could find others who had been taken. Others whose absence made pits in her chest.

And prepare herself for the next fight, for there was bound to be a second when these rich men bought themselves out of their chains.]

[Wildcard]

[For other options! Kaede is on the assault team, and while she's mostly with Maria she can be encountered outside of that. As for aftermath threads, Kaede's going to be checking on any of her CR that were captured, either at the mansion, the infirmary, or breaking into their house to bring them tea or something. Or, hit me up somewhere so we can hash something else out!]

i.

[escardos]

[ flat does not react when the rathmore begs for mercy. they don’t find it funny nor angering...perhaps pitiful? it was so pitiful to see a human fall this low, so outside of their purpose.

and yet, murder would be equally inefficient, no? flat considers both options in a strange silence, looking into the darkness without any real fear, though they take the time to keep their face hidden from the victim and their voice modified under a layer of illusion—he’d rather not be seen. ]

Excuse me! Are you going to kill this man?

ventus | turnskin | rescue

[callmeven]

[ a - attempted escape / helping the successful escapees | closed to kidnapped ]

[when the riots started ventus couldn't run like some of the others could, seeing the opportunity to escape and going for it. the wound in his leg was most certainly infected if the discoloration and pain around the open wound said anything. still, even through the fever and throbbing coursing through his body he limps down one of the hallways to try and open cell doors still containing other victims. he wasn't going to escape by leaving someone else behind.]

Can you move? Let's go!

[ b - rescue | closed to vanitas & aqua ]

[he didn't expect to escape with some of the others during the big escape, not with his injuries slowing him down. all he knew from the timid whispers through the cell walls that a few of the others had managed to escape. it was obvious especially when they could hear their captors sounding panicked and frantic.

all ventus could think was good. he hoped the people he had met down here were the ones who got to escape and he hoped with their escape they would bring others to help.

ventus is left in a cell, curled up in one of the corners as he floats in and out of consciousness. fever has left his skin burning hot and drenched in sweat. what was left of his bandages, covering the skinned areas on his back and neck where gold fur used to be and the numerous open wounds on his arms and leg, were dark red with slowly drying blood. his muzzle was the last piece of silver still left on him, every attempt to try and break the piece off in vain and leaving the metal bent uncomfortably against his already scarred skin.

his ears, one cut at the tip and now smaller than the other, twitch at the sounds happening outside the basement cells but it's the only reaction he can muster through his feverish state of mind.]

[ c - hospital | open to all ]

[there's a lot to recover from, physically, for ventus that leaves him in the hospital for a few days. the worst of it is the infection from injuries and the fever that still leaves him shaking even after he's bundled in clean clothes and bandages.

[ c-1 ]

[the worst of his fever is over and ven is feeling restless. one of the nurses had been kind enough leaving him a crutch next to his bed while his leg was still healing and ven was intent on trying to walk around if just to stretch his legs. probably not a great idea...]

[ c-2 ]

[he's been told his teeth will grow back, but until then he has to be mindful of what he eats or risk hurting the sensitive gums still healing from having the canines ripped out. right now ven is sitting up in bed trying to eat a bowl of oatmeal and wrinkling his nose at the taste - or lack thereof.]

Gross...

[ d - wildcard ]

[hmu on plurk if you have something else in mind for ven!]

C

[fiddlestick]

[Working shifts at the Coven's infirmary meant that Elliot had a hand in helping heal a lot of the kidnapped victims. It was an upsetting job, seeing all these people with such pain both physically and mentally. If he left himself sit and think about it, it'd be so easy to get swallowed up in the horror of it all. But he wouldn't be any use that way, so instead he just focused on doing what he could to heal them.

Ventus...well, even if he never met the kid before, the age alone was enough to make it feel like a gut punch. He couldn't be any older than Rean's students, maybe even younger. So to go through all this was just...horrible.

But he's not going to voice any of that. When it's his shift to look after Ventus, he'll be approaching the bedside, sitting near him while trying to keep a positive energy up]

You're Ventus, right? [It's right on the chart, but it's good confirm] I'm Elliot, I'll be your healer today.

Fang | Turnskin | Kidnapped

[belligerentwarrior]

II. Rescue (nightshade and dog's breath) cw severe burns, injuries, drugging

[Something was wrong.]

P-protect me! Attack!! [One of the captors screamed, stumbling backwards as the rescue advanced. Fang stood before him, freed of her chains and grievously wounded; a ring of flesh around her wrists and neck was scorched to ruin, cracked and bloody, body covered with lacerations both fresh and seemingly cauterized, many crisscrossing over deep bruises.]

[The turnskin stood as if she didn't feel her wounds, expression glassy and responding a little too sluggishly to be normal. Keen noses would notice something odd—a faint, lingering odor of something medicinal, like bitter vegetation and unripe tomatoes.]

[And Fang lunges upon the order. Her movement's stiff and awkward, like a puppet with damaged joints as her body struggles to function after what it's endured, and looking like a strong wind would bowl her over. But her claws are still deadly, sharp and viciously hooked, and whatever's enthralled her to this man's command has left no room for self preservation.]


III. The Aftermath (coven infirmary)

They'll heal with time, I'm sure of it, but...

[The healer's voice drifts from the open door, warm and kind, but gravely serious.]

Silver wounds are difficult; there's only so much we can do at a time. You'll see improvement with daily treatment, and we'll arrange exercises and pain medication in the meantime.

[The Witch offers a few more encouraging words before departing, leaving Fang on her cot. The healers did a remarkable job; all her smaller wounds have disappeared into thin scabbed lines or scars, and her bruises a faint shadow of what they were... but her wrists and neck are swaddled in thick bandages. Fang—looking paler and a little thinner than before—stares stares stoically down at one of her hands, trying to form a fist. Her fingers move, twitching unsteadily into the right shape, but she gets no farther than halfway before her hand seems to give out.]

...A month or two, huh?


Wildcard:
[Will write prompts for assisting escape attempts, for before the rescue, or a variation on any of the above. Or drop me one of your own!]

iii

[fulgency]

[Outside Fang's door, the Witch nearly collides with Ozymandias. Despite his current misgivings about Aefenglom, the tones in words exchanged between himself and the Witch are warm and friendly. She had been one of the ones that looked after him during his stint in the infirmary, and he had not forgotten her kindness towards him. The conversation is brief though, little more than a pleasant greeting, as that's not why he's here.]

[Appearing in the doorway, Ozymandias raps his knuckles against the frame.]

I haven't come at a bad time, have I?

[It's a much more subdued entrance than Ozymandias might usually make, but given the circumstances and that he has yet to sleep? A little lower energy isn't exactly unexpected.]

hiccup haddock iii | rescue team | OTA

[thisisamazing]

i. It Begins / Heading In (Rescue Team)
[His heart has been in his throat for hours, his chest tight with the effort of holding himself together. The people who escaped, he had desperately hoped one would be his Bonded - but no. Newt is still in there. Newt is still in danger. Everyone else too, of course, but- his mind is occupied with thoughts of his Bonded that won't leave him.

As the rescue team gathers around the red-headed Fae and the Coven Witches he brought, Hiccup steps in to join them immediately, fully armored again, Inferno in his hand with the blade retracted. He doesn't want to fight, but he's a Chief - and a Chief protects his own, no matter what happens.

They move quickly through the servants' exit to the giant mansion. Hiccup leaves Toothless at the door, masked by one of the Fae's illusions, and tells him to guard it - keep their exit from being blocked off. Toothless snorts an agitated sound, but he stays. He does what's asked of him.

Down below, on the first basement level, they have to split up into groups, start making their way to the hidden door that leads to the second-level cell block, and it's... rough going. At one point, nearing the door to the second level, Hiccup reaches out an black-armored arm to stop you from progressing. His voice is low and determined, steely.] It's an immolation trap. Let me take care of it.

ii. The Cells
[Once his group makes it through the traps, leaving a safe-ish route behind them, they find themselves in the cell block. It's a wreck, no doubt, and Hiccup has raised his visor to see better in the dim light, thoroughly checking every cell for anyone who might be left behind. When he comes across one still locked, he says seriously,] Stand back, it's okay. [Inferno blazes to life, but the fire turns blue instead of red - hotter, more intense, all the better to melt and slice through the locks, or the bars, or whatever is metal and will let him get the door open.

He'll worry over and free anybody left in a cell, but he's a little distracted, gaze always flickering to the other cells, his armored form tightly strung with tension. He's looking for someone in particular, desperate to find them.] Come on, we've cleared the way out. We'll get you out of here. Can you walk?

[Or alternatively, he can be found in that horrible room, destroying the enchantments placed around it however he can. With fire, with water, with his bare hands scrubbing away the symbols furiously - the only anger he'll allow himself right now.]

iii. The After
[In the aftermath, he tries to make himself useful. Hiccup is around with Toothless, helping provide transport to better medical facilities if it's needed or bringing supplies around the makeshift base camp for field medicine. He wants to help out, but he's always a little distracted; his attention keeps being drawn elsewhere and all he really wants to do is take his Bonded home, or to the infirmary, or anywhere quiet and easily-defensible.

They're playing the radio at base camp. The old woman who owns the manse the Guard has been using seems to be fascinated by the story unfolding; arrests at Parliament, at the Coven. That's pretty distracting too.

Feel free to call him out when he delivers a box of gauze instead of a box of jars of salve.]

II CW: Description of injuries

[newtralize]

Hiccup...?

[It's a tired voice that speaks out. One that was probably quite familiar with the dragon rider. It has been a long week, but perhaps it makes his voice more recognizable more than ever.

The ruckus had caught his attention when it had started, but a week was a long time to be treated so terribly and the riot had left many being treated even worse. Himself included.

And he most definitely looks like he had gone through the wringer. His clothes were dirtied with dirt, blood, grime, and singes. It looked like he had to have injuries haphazardly tended to with makeshift bandages of torn clothes where it looked as though chunks of skin or flesh had been removed. Using blood or flesh in magic was something dastardly indeed. If it wasn't cuts or entire parts of flesh gone, there were burns too. Some look too methodical to have just been from the fires or crossfire from fighting.

The way his fingers were bent were...not quite right. He was terribly pale. Perhaps it was merely the lighting though.

He look tired.]

crystal exarch | final fantasy xiv | rescue party

[exarchal]

[II a. the rescue team]

[The Exarch doesn't take much to rouse. He hasn't slept more than scant few hours here and there since the kidnappings began, dedicating his waking time instead to something productive like info gathering and amassing resources for what is sure to be a fight. When the call goes out, he arrives on the scene with a suitcase full of medical supplies, and he hands these off to the Coven before joining the rescue crew.

The scent of blood and other things, but mostly the blood, is enough to make him nearly gag. He manages to keep it down, but his expression is one of cold fury. He does not want to be merciful tonight. Not after this.

Having some experience with illusion magic, he offers to split off with a couple of others and disarm some of the illusions that otherwise might cause someone to step into a trap. With an almost preternatural sense, maybe he holds out his arm to stop you—hissing a warning.]

Hold. Something is not right. [And after a moment, the illusion drops, showing what would have been a nasty bear trap instead of stone floor. Classic.

Or maybe you're the one working on dismantling a trap, and he's acting as lookout. One of the Rathmore's damned cousins comes running out of a side passage, fingertips brimming with a spell. The Exarch doesn't hesitate. With an elegant swing of his staff, he launches a blast of divine fire into the man's chest—the force pushing the man through a wall.

The Exarch lifts his chin to peer through the rubble.]

He'll live.

[Regretfully.]

Let us continue.

[II c or something. healers adjust]

[Other than that singular display of divine wrath, he's focused on preserving his energy for the victims. After the security of the block has been confirmed, he rushes into cells and rapidly assesses the injuries, which are many and horrible. This Harpy here has broken wings, but he can walk; this one needs to be in the water; hold this faun down while his ankles are healed. He issues commands with the calm ease of someone used to taking charge in a crisis, though his voice betrays him by trembling at the edges. Once triage has been applied and victims can be moved, he himself moves on. He's only seen this kind of devastation a brief handful of times in his life, but each time it hurt, and each time, he couldn't afford to linger too long.

For the most critical victims and those he recognizes, he'll try to carry them himself with a surprising amount of strength. He's warm at least, his robes stained with the blood of the fallen, as the healing glow of his crystal arm nearly pierces the shadows of his hood.]

Stay with me. You are not allowed to leave, not yet; your tale is not over.

[III. the aftermath]

[He's been working nonstop through the morning but he shows no signs of slowing down. He's with the healers offering medical attention now that the worst has passed. Whether it's offering to change bandages, fetch water, or some additional low-to-mid-level healing— he's there.

And later, when his magical reserves are all but spent and he's saved as many lives as he can, he finds a secluded corner to curl up in. His arms are wrapped around his staff protectively, hood tilted downward to obscure the whole of his face. He might be asleep, but he might also be grieving for what he has witnessed; it's hard to tell even when he shudders and pulls the staff closer.]

[wildcard]
[have fun, go wild! write a starter!]

((ooc: As always, if you'd like for me to use spoilers in a thread, please opt in here unless we've previously discussed it. Thank you!))

gotta go the running joke; also ShB Spoilers from here on out

[inlikethebrume]

[It's a habit running into him like this. These past few days must have been hell for everyone but for Exarch...gods, how to even try to understand this? Normally she would try to wake up the man and scold him for sleeping somewhere not a bed but she didn't have it in her right now.

Instead, the warm mug of tea in her hands is set down next to him as Mira sits down beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. The company, even quiet, is somewhat comforting.]

Mettaton | Puca | escapee

[glitzandglamour]

I. The Great Escape;

A. the escape artist [CLOSED to kidnapped]

[So, that faster route through the lower basement, the one that's "safer" but easy to be jumped in? Mettaton has his eye on that prize, and he's practically bursting at the seams with energy, rocking onto his furry Puca toes then onto his heels again. There's no artistry in raw speed, really, but those legs of his were made for it. He regards his fellow captive, gaze sharp and intense.

Then, he smiles.]

I'm feeling daring. Daring, and fast.

[He knows how fast he's become with legs like these: instead of long and slender things, they've grown thick with muscle and fur. If he can just power through the abuse they've been through, he can keep that going. He can do that on behalf of anyone he's suffered with down here. He can do that to ensure that they survive.]

Cover for me, won't you, beautiful?

[The Rathmores are already within earshot, hot on their tail. They needs to move fast, and he doesn't seem like he's willing to wait a second longer for an affirmative. The art of protecting him as he escapes might be the real struggle: there's more to the basement ahead, and he's going to need all the help he can get.]

B. freedom [OPEN to all except kidnapped]

[Aefenglom's theatrical robot, always so keen on keeping himself in presentable shape, looks terrible. He runs down Aefenglom's streets with sparks lighting from his missing hand, the glowing chamber at his waist cracked. His body is rife with gouges where there's flesh, and scrapes where there's metal, ruination and discoloration aplenty. His perfectly maintained hair is pushed away from the right half of his face, exposing wires, singed synthetic skin, and an optical lens instead of an eye. His body is rife with burns from extra iron chainlink digging into flesh, and his arm is loose in its socket. This only scrapes the surface of his condition.

There are a few things he will say:]

1. [He notices you're gawking, and he glowers.]

You think I look bad? Why don't I show you where the rest of us wait? Compared to them, I'm in good shape. [He's serious.]

2. Thank GOD, I'm so glad to see you.

[It doesn't matter whether he's never spoken to you or not, but he's seen you before: the Mirrorbound are unmistakable.]

I don't think the rest of us can handle waiting any longer... [An accusatory point with his only good hand.] Have you been preparing to come to our aid? Now's the time, darling!

3. [And sometimes, trying to play it cool just isn't possible even for Mettaton. He approaches with desperation and staggering steps.]

Do... Do you heal, by any chance? I can't... Ha... [He knows they need it more than he does, but he slips into selfishness.]

[Of course, there is always the option of having your character only hear the news from Mettaton: he is running and sharing, after all. That's what a Puca is good for! He will slow only as much as it takes to relay the location of the captives, and impress upon those who listen the urgency of their rescue.]

II. The Cavalry;

C. the rescue [OTA]

[Mettaton is in no state to be a battle robunny anymore, and he really never should have been. Healing can only do so much for him beyond the state of his metal disfigurement, but he'll come along for two very good purposes: to guide rescuers and to do a little rescuing for himself.]

1. The Rescuers — It's down here...

[Mettaton has his own magic at play: shapeshifted, he appears just like one of the many aristocrats that swarm the place, newly aware of the horrors but still willing to play along. There's no way he would show it, but coming back to this place fills him with such immense dread that he only wishes he could articulate it, say it aloud and make it known. But there's no chance for that, and he has a responsibility to fulfill. He beckons.]

Well? They won't stay alive down there forever! Aren't you ready?

2. The Captives — [Mettaton returns with the rescuers. Anyone who's seen him recently will be able to tell that he only looks marginally better, but certainly not worse. His right arm remains unusable entirely, but he's got another one he'll gladly use to help.

For this prompt, give me a state of your character and I'll have Mettaton react accordingly! There are so many ways he can react to somebody's condition, so it's best to tailor this to each situation.]

III. The After;

D. "normalcy" [OTA]

[Who better to act normal than a performer? He doesn't look great. Even still. His body's weathered too much, and he'd be due for repairs. He can't go on being super rough with himself like this, so instead, Mettaton just... seeks company. He would much rather be with others than be on his own right now.

If your character appears to be at rest, Mettaton will address them, taking a similarly relaxed posture at their side. Sitting, standing, it doesn't matter. He cups his cheek with his good hand and offers a smile. ...At least his hair's back to looking pristine, even if his hand is still and his arm's falling apart.]

Tell me something, darling. When despair hangs heavy over your head... When everything seems to be falling apart. What do you think about that makes it just a bit more tolerable?

0. Wildcard;

[Give me a scenario and I'll work with it. Alternatively, reply with an idea and I'll write a custom starter for you! You can also message me or reply to me on the CR meme or message me on Plurk @ smaaaaash.]

one A

[fordola]

[ There was a smirk - a broken one, Fordola running on fumes now. She knew what she had to do, but she looked to the other and gave a slight nod of her head. ]

...I'll do ya one better.

[ The broken and bloodied 19-year-old griffin, with wings freed, already was sizing up what her plan was. Her stance - well, she was already moving. ]

fordola | final fantasy xiv | general cw for injuries, check headers for more

[fordola]

Post-Escape
a
[ Fordola had landed in front of somebody, anybody who looked like a monster - one of the Mirrorbound, she hoped. Her voice was harsh, accented. No point hiding it - no point trying to act together, no point acting like she wasn't Ala Mhigan, savage, or a beast. She had to continue to lead. ]

Follow. Now.

[ She commanded.

Fordola wouldn't be wasting time. No, she would be leading people back right away - what else could she do? What else should she do? Her body was beaten and bloodied, but nothing seemed broken. Save for her expression, behind her eyes. There was a cold there, a pain she couldn't express. Not yet. Her movements are truly like a griffin, a mix of a pounce and a glide as she moved. Wounds finally beginning to open again.

They could be treated later. ]

---

The After
b

[ For a few days, Fordola was kept in hospital. Flinching at magic - refusing to explain why. (It was not the torture. Even if it aids, she has lost most trust in witches.) Her wounds were more horrific then they appeared - many fractures, much of her blood lost. Truly, she shouldn't have been able to move. But for that time she's in hospital, she's easy to get to. ]

Come t'stare at me?

[ She said bitterly, her expression dire. Even if she saved people... this hurts. ]

c
[ Afterwards, Fordola tries to retreat home, away. She really does. But she cannot make her way there - she is still in public, for it feels like all the pain and suffering has caught up. Everything catches up, as soon as it's quietened.

But there is no hope behind her eyes. Just a meek laugh, as she looks to the sky - finally crying, tears unable to be stopped. She couldn't give her statement - not yet. Some trauma could not be easily expressed in words.

She will not be upset at company, however. Especially those who saw her as a friend - but she had no energy to seek them out. ]

[[ apologies for not writing an escape header - if you feel like playing it with me, OR anything else, feel free to ping my plurk @ shslivalice ]]

A

[wordsinthesoul]

[As soon as he'd been able to sense her presence, he'd turned to follow the sense- to find her. And- it's not good, exactly, but it's a relief to see her- to know that she's here, and he holds his hands out to her.]

A moment- please? [Just- to reassure him- both of them, that they're here.]

bucky barnes | kidnapped | ota (cw for injury descriptions)

[anotheroldsoldier]

i. Let's Start a Riot
[The messages had been going around the cell block for at least a few days before it happened. They weren't lying back and taking things, which was great to see, just dandy. Bucky, used to captivity, with a spider's ability to lie in wait, manages to save his strength outside of spinning bandages for fellow prisoners for just this moment. He only wishes he'd known it would start with a fire.]

What kind of idiot starts a fire in an enclosed space full of locked-in people- [You can probably hear him grumbling, assuming you can hear anything at all over the chaos kicking up. At least some people get their cells open, and he's right there urging them to get the hell out while they have the chance; before more of them can show up to put out the fire.

The nearby heat is a little bit terrifying. He's a goddamn spider, he's flammable as hell. But there are other things to worry about. Bucky leaps at the bars of his cell suddenly, eight legs grasping through them for one of the panicked Rathmores, overwhelmed with the urge to bite. He manages to restrain that particular desire, though, and flings out a swath of sticky silk, which glues the woman's arm to her side and worsens her panic.] Yeah, Little Miss Muffet? You don't like that, do ya?

ii. The Cavalry Arrives
[At least the fire's out. That's one worry down. Bucky hangs back, clung to the ceiling of his cell despite the one crooked spider leg that doesn't bend quite right, watching the rescues happen in real time with six observant eyes. Occasionally he'll call out a tip, based on what he's deduced about the room and where he can see people still trapped.] Cell to your left. The lock sticks. [He's sore and tired and dirty, dehydrated and straight up starving, with cracked ribs and cuts and bruises over most of his actual flesh, but he's content to wait until those with a greater need are out. He's lived through worse.

The metal arm hanging half out of its socket is pretty alarming looking in the shadows, though, without the gleam of light catching the silver. It'd be easy to mistake it for his real arm halfway lopped off. Tony's going to kill him.]

iii. Afterward
[Out on the lawn while people bustle around, hauling perps to carts, prisoners to medical stations, and taking statements, Bucky lets a Witch medic give him some basic aid right there. Splinting the spider leg, mostly, since he can't imagine knowing anyone else who would know how to do that. He settles on seven legs on the dead grass, letting someone drape a blanket over half of his torso.

When one of the medics tries to go for the metal arm, he waves her away.] Nah, I need a mechanic for that one. Don't touch it, it's specialized tech. [He won't let anyone but Tony have a look, but you can still ask.

Or maybe you're angry, refusing to talk to the Guard; Bucky says pointedly from nearby,] You should just give them the damn statement. Let 'em do their jobs.

i. Riot

[boneofsword]

[Archer notices it from the corner of his eye and jumps close to knock her out. He's not in a good shape, but hell, who is. Surprisingly he doesn't seem to notice the heat.]

Good job.

Azura | Witch | Kidnapped

[prayerwheel]

I-b
[ Azura, notorious for being quiet and unnoticeable even when she doesn't try to be, does her best to usher out the escaping detainees. She keeps to herself, as she's been doing the whole time, stays with the crowd, and says nothing.

And then chaos breaks out.

When she's grabbed, she stays stone-faced in under threat of violence to herself. It's the same threats she's been getting her entire stay here. But when they turn to whoever is near her, she panics. No, no, don't drag anyone else into this. Don't hurt anyone else. It's fine if it's her, but--

She does it without thinking, but she grabs the tiny trinket she's managed to hold onto this past almost-week, a palm-sized golden pendant, and starts using it to absolutely wail on the guy interrogating them. It's small and not very heavy, but it has a pointed edge and these guys were pretty sure they had Azura stripped of her possessions, so the shock of getting beaten on by a metal necklace is helping.

When the unlucky sap takes a step or two back to assess the fuckery of this situation, Azura will pull her cellmate by the hands and try to tug them along. ]

C-Come along, we--we have to get out of here...

[ Where? The old route? It's surely blocked off by now. But they have to do something. ]

III (cw injury description)
[ And they're out. Later, after stumbling in the darkness, and yelling from the other side of the basement, and a parade of rescuers storming in. They're in the sun for the first time in six days. Azura puts her good hand over her eyes and squints, blinking the darkness out of her vision.

She's not in the best shape, but she's blessedly in a better condition than some. Shackles left dark bruises around her wrists and ankles, and there's a jagged cut across her throat that's just beginning to scab up, among other, smaller cuts on her hands and face. Should you have a keen eye, you can tell whoever put a knife to her throat wanted her to think her throat was about to be slit, but cut too shallowly to do any serious damage, thankfully. From the way she's holding her right arm, it's discernibly broken in more than one place.

And what's perhaps the most notable for Azura, for someone who takes immaculate care of her five-foot-long hair every day, is that's gone. It's been choppily cut down to her chin and is covered in grime and splatters of blood.

She should really go to the hospital for her arm and her neck. Really, she should see someone about getting them looked at. But she doesn't, not at first. She just walks through the crowd, her broken arm loosely clutching her pendant and its broken chain, eyes scanning for any familiar faces. ]

wildcard
(( Want a custom prompt? hospital prompt? hit me up at hakurei o7 ))

I-B as we discussed

[unyieldingmarch]

[The door rattles. The door shudders and shakes, dust falling loose with each pounding thud. Wood cracks, begins to splinter, and the man Azura had battered jumps in surprise as it gives way before a jagged chunk of bone that juts out through the rapidly widening hole.

A jagged chunk of bone that's glowing bright orange, with something that looks like an eye fixed balefully on the kidnapper. It retreats again, and returns with a final, resounding crash as the door gives way beneath Aymr and a red-armored boot.]

SURRENDER NOW!

[Edelgard strides through the ruined door, axe aloft, ready to cleave the man in half. Her lips are stained red, droplets of not quite dried blood flecking her cheek as well, and her face is a furious mask.]

You have one chance to get on the ground, all of you!

[She has not noticed Azura yet, or perhaps hasn't quite recognized her, in her fixation on the obvious jailer.]

trevor belmont | vampire | kidnapped

[quickwhip]

infirmary, the 21st and after

[ For the most part, he's stayed put in his bed since his arrival to the infirmary. Might as well, not like he doesn't want his injuries to be healed or anything, and really, what the fuck else is he going to do? So, he's behaved himself for once in his life and hasn't tried to sneak himself, claiming he can just walk it all off.

But sometimes nature fucking calls and if you don't answer that call, you're liable to shit the bed. Literally. So it's why he makes whatever effort he can to hoist himself up and out of bed... only to get his foot tangled up in the sheets and crash down against the floor with a loud clattering of the equipment or whatever beside him. That... hurt. Just a bit. Yeah.

HOWEVER. He pulls himself up with fingers clutching the mattress of the bed he'd been assigned to and sighs as he presses his cheek to the sheets which are slightly pulled off the bed now thanks to that little fall of his. ]

This is fine. I've been through worse.

wildcard??
(( just the one prompt. /o\ however! if you'd like something more personally tailored, please feel free to shoot me a PM or a PP at escaflownes on plurk! o/ ))

closed to alucard

[quickwhip]

( cw: blood and mention of injury )
[ The time he spends in the infirmary is a time he never thought he would see. Caren and some others had mentioned the plot to start a riot, to fight their way out of their cells and free those who were held captive with them. But he hadn't really thought they'd managed to pull it off... especially not after only some of them had managed to escape. He was fine with staying behind. Well... not fine with it since who wants to be tortured and beaten until you can barely feel anymore? But if it meant letting others who maybe couldn't endure such a thing for long or were already beginning to crack as it was? Then yeah, it was worth it to give them that freedom. To get them the hell out of there.

But the cavalry had arrived and all, freeing those who hadn't managed to get themselves out or chose to stay behind to buy those who escaped some time. It'd been a sight, that's for sure, and Trevor had been dragged off here. Bloody. Starved. A smile on his face the entire time. If he was going to die, might as well go with a smile on his face, right? Yeah.

He'd been nodding in and out of sleep since he arrived. The wounds to his neck, his arms, even his chest having been dealt with, cleaned, and bandaged while he mostly slept. He's kept off to the side, away from any windows since, vampire and all, and he hasn't yet fed since... who the hell knows when. When he comes to wake, however, he's groggy, thinking that he sees a particular blue-robed speaker magician sitting there with him and he smiles lazily with a bit of a hum and a when didya get here? mumbled to himself before he comes to realize she's not here and, instead, someone else. A certain someone with blond hair. ]

Alucard?

Berserker (Cú Chulainn Alter) | kidnapped

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ 1. I've made myself so sick (Infirmary) ]

[ Berserker was given one of the few private rooms to recover in. His injuries were severe enough he had to be sedated before being brought to the Coven. He was also sedated for several days as the witches did their work. There were limits to their abilities and it would take several more days, if not longer for him to fully recover.

It's only been a few days since everything happened, but he looks miles better. The black eye has faded to a sickly yellow-green color, his shoulder and thigh (injuries from the Dorchacht Wilde) have been tightly bandaged and are no longer infected, anywhere his scales were removed are also bandaged. His wings look more like actual wings, though there is lighter-colored scar tissue on the membranes where they were torn apart.

He sits shirtless on his bed, sitting up for the first time that day. At some point, he was bathed; the length of his hair is loose and draped over his shoulders instead of being pulled back into a ponytail.

When the door opens, he slowly turns to look at his visitor. ]

...Who told you I was in here? Or are you lost?

[ 2. Wildcard ]

[ Got an idea? Did we plot something out? Drop me a starter or PM me here or on discord glitzkrieg#0673 and let's make it happen! ]

2 bc i dont follow anyones laws

[escardos]

[ You’re Flat Escardos? The boy they say can handle a wide range of magecraft, regardless of Mana or Od, and even without knowledge?

the voice had come from a tall, young man. his hair was excessively long, his frown excessively deep, making him look far older than he was. from a single glance, flat could tell that this man was weak in terms of magecraft, much more than all his previous teachers.

from behind that man, he saw a young boy his age stick his head out, lip curled in a snarl.

Professor! Professor! He smells all messed up! Can I break him?

Give it a rest, Svin. He’s an invited guest. For now, at least.

he spoke earnestly, in a way that flat had never seen before in his short life. his previous professors had given him false smiles and false promises, only to oust him when he became too much. this man, however, only stared onwards, his scowl deepening as he stared at them.

Why are you doing that with your face? Are you testing me, or mocking me? Otherwise, if
that’s your way of getting on in the world, you’d better rethink it quick.

“what,” flat heard himself say, tilting his head.

I’m telling you that children shouldn’t use magecraft to force smiles.

!!

flat took a step back, eyes as wide as plates as the professor saw right through him. even though he had gone through all the measures to isolate any detectable form of magecraft, he had been caught. how!? could it be, that this person was like him?

What is it? the man asks. Do you have a question?

“yes”, flat says, softly, testing the waters. “how did you know?”

he listens to the man’s explanation, about how his muscles were moving all out of order, therefore making it simple to spot. he criticized flat’s methods and how they would not last long if they kept it up. it was nothing like the world that flat saw.

and yet, it was different enough to not disappoint him. and, for the first time in a long time, he lets go of the spell, and gives his first, true smile. “i’m called flat! i look forward to attending your lectures, professor!”

the professor sighs, but does not turn him down. in turn, this seems to anger the young, snarling boy further, who’s practically barking. flat is absolutely thrilled by being the target of such straightforward animosity, and adds fuel to the flame by giving the boy a nickname. le Chien.

See?! He talks nonsense, but he doesn’t smell like he’s lying! He smells totally broken! Dangerous! Destroy him before he destroys the school!

flat continues bothering him until the professor threatens to kick them both, and it’s only then when the two of them scatter—flat sits in a corner on the farthest row, but still able to see his new professor approach the podium without trouble.

Department of Modern Magecraft, Third-Year Instructor Waver Velvet... was my name until a short while ago.

Now, I’m the Second. I’m borrowing the name Lord El-Melloi II.

in the present time, flat’s continues sleeping, sitting on a chair and with his head resting on the side of the bed that cu was on. it seems that his body had finally reached its limit after being awake for various days. ]

giorno giovanna | vampire | assault | cw mild gore

[digiorno]

i. climbing over your walls ( approach )

[He’s one of the first to arrive, a swift black form flitting through the sky that coalesces into something human-shaped and palpably furious. In black from his shoes to the tips of his enchanted gloves, he looks very little like his ordinary self, but that’s because no one in this world has seen him this angry. Even in Dorchact, it was a matter of humanity, of principle. This—]

[Someone has been taken who is his.]

[The goal was to remain quiet, of course, to go in and out, take care of his business, get his hands dirty, and get out of here — the hell with Aefenglom and these people and whoever else — but he can’t help a sharp, pitchy laugh at what the so-called leaders of this force have to tell them. It has to remain legal. Make sure you can argue self-defense. Ruin their family name.]

Ignorant, [he breathes,] stupid— [Or very, very purposeful, he thinks. The Coven won’t have the Mirrorbound’s back very much longer, will they. Even though they’re relying on them to solve a problem that they allowed to fester.]

[With a sharp inhale and the curl of his fingers in their spelled gloves, he centers himself. Later. That can be dealt with later. For now—] Stay safe, [he murmurs to the person he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with.] Those people, they think we’re animals. They’ll kill us like animals with half a chance.

ii. you’re feeding the fire ( assault )

[Focused on his target as he is, he’s nonetheless remarkably good at avoiding traps. The benefit of multiple shapes that he can shift between quickly: one second he’s humanoid with some magical vise closing around his ankle, the next he’s mist and the trap is useless. He takes the lead in a few tight spaces or with unusually tricky traps, setting them off and metaphysically dipping out of the way.]

[This brings him face-to-face with more than a couple of the kidnappers ahead of others on the assault team, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. Nor does he reach for the cuffs with any great speed. He’s fast, and he’s strong, and he accidentally-on-purpose breaks a number of arms and legs with a serene look on his face. After that, he cuffs them more tightly than necessary and drops them on the floor.]

[At one point, with a kidnapper — a Rathmore? He doesn’t know, or care; they’re all equally culpable — rushing another assault team member from behind, he darts out and grabs them by the hair, yanking them back so hard they scream and he feels hair starting to come away in his hand.]

Behind you. [Quietly, mildly.] Do you have another set of cuffs? I used all of mine.

iii. that’s taking me higher ( rescue )

[Most all of the kidnapped Mirrorbound are already out of the way by the time he gets to the basement. But under the best assessment, this is organized chaos; one or two people were bound to be disoriented in the shuffle. Anyone who's too injured to move quickly along with the rescue team or who was simply unwilling to leave until everyone else was out might meet Giorno, then, with dark liquid spreading across his dark shoes and dark trousers, a dark look in his eye that immediately softens when he sees someone who hasn't yet made it out.]

You're still here. Can you stand?

[Some things are more important than capturing the kidnappers for whatever flimsy justice they may face. He kneels, heedless of the mess on the basement floor, and holds a hand out.]

If you can't, I think I can carry you. [Wiry as he looks, he probably can.] Will you let me help you? Please.

iv. coming like a cannonball ( after )

What good actors they are.

[Unlike in previous months, Giorno looks pale but spritely as he perches on a wall outside the kidnappers’ headquarters. His hands are bare now and crossed lightly on his knees, gloves just barely poking out of his pockets. For anyone who might have seen him inside, he seems as unmoved by the neighbors’ demonstrations of disgust, or Nessie and Mhairi’s exclamations of regret, as he was by the sound of breaking bones under his fingers. He might as well be drinking a cup of coffee and watching an early morning snowfall from the comfort of his breakfast nook.]

[He also isn’t particularly talking to anyone but himself. When he notices someone else is close, he stands up, abruptly concerned.] Are you all right? Did you get medical treatment yet? Sit down, at least, if you haven’t.

v. wildcard

[Throw me anything, or shoot me a PM for a different prompt!]

ii

[scatmaam]

[ The fur-cloaked, masked turnskin that Giorno had helped didn't turn around, or even immediately answer him, a blood-red spear being lifted and resting against her shoulder as she let out a soft-seeming sigh, but when her voice finally came after the lingering silence, one could ill-describe it as anything other than dripping with killing intent. ]

He should be thanking you, lad... You may have just saved his life.

[ Giorno could likely smell it by that point, the tremendous fear in the trembling noble he held, who turned to Giorno with eyes pleading to not leave them alone. He'd been trying to get the jump on this woman, sure, but he'd swear it was only to keep her from killing him, killing others.

The stench of blood already hung over her, after all. She still hadn't turned around. ]