2019-09-25 - The Oubliette
With every new discovery, there is risk, and there are consequences.
IC Date: 2019-09-25
OOC Date: 2019-07-02
Location: Elm/13 Elm Street
Related Scenes: 2019-09-29 - Can You See? 2019-11-05 - East of the Sun 2020-02-04 - Contractual Obligations 2020-03-29 - I Predict A Riot
Plot: None
Scene Number: 1789
Isolde was, unfortunately, not able to kick this tickle in her throat. She was very much not happy that Alexander had gotten her sick! She had taken a little of the cold medicine in the cabinet but also went to the Safeway to stock up on Emergen-C and some Ginseng and Honey flavored Green Tea. Once that was done, she'd settled on the couch with Fred the Frog and a blanket and settled in. At some point a phone call was made to Itzhak to check up on him and make sure he was doing okay (and not murdering people). Then invited him to come over if he could so they could hang out a bit. The door was unlocked and she was lounging on the couch - he could totally just come on in if he wanted!
Itzhak didn't murder even a single person, and privately he feels like maybe he should get a medal. Because people are suddenly so murderable. He'd caught sufficient guilt from a variety of friends, however, to make him slouch his way back to town. (Apparently he had run off to Seattle to get into trouble.)
When he knocks, and cracks the door to look in, he seems both exhausted and wired. He's sporting a green-purple shiner, too. "Izeleh?"
Isolde wasn't sure if she should be worried that her two closest people in her inner circle were suddenly almost-murderers. Well. I mean, clearly she was worried on some level, but should she be worried about them killing her? Hopefully not. She was feeling too tired to care really today. Her head lifted when the door opened and Isolde offered him a smile laced with concern. Pushing herself up from her laying position and into more of a sitting one. "Come in Itzhak." Rising to her feet so she could meet him at the door. "Are you okay? What happened?" She lifted her hand - hovering over the shiner but didn't touch. Instead she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "I've missed you." Even though they usually texted at least once a day.
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Alertness (6 5 4 3 3 3) vs Uhoh! (a NPC)'s 4 (8 7 6 6 4 4)
<FS3> Crushing Victory for Uhoh!.
<FS3> Isolde rolls Alertness (8 8 8 7 7 7 7 4 3) vs Uhoh (a NPC)'s 4 (8 7 7 6 5 2)
<FS3> Crushing Victory for Isolde.
Itzhak smiles to see Isolde. He comes in, shutting the door, and pulls her to him, hugging her tight and long. "Ohhh sweetheart," he mumbles into her hair. "M'okay. Got in a fight. You're sick? You look terrible." Always honest, this guy. "C'mon, lay back down." Arm around her waist, he guides her back to the couch.
Isolde notices a distinct change in the sounds that would normally be coming from the town outside. They're louder, busier somehow. Like she's no longer on Elm Street in Gray Harbor, but in an apartment in downtown Seattle, almost. The dull, distant clamor of city life slowly trickles in. Outside the windows, the subtle indicators of the neighborhood shift, blur, and change.
Three heavy knocks land on the door. "CITY GUARD, OPEN UP!" a rough, guttural voice shouts. But before either of them can actually open the door, it slams open, shattering the doorframe, and a huge thing tromps in, ducking to allow itself entry. It's a bit too organic to be a robot, too constructed to be a being. Occupying some odd point on this spectrum, it gleams with a chitinous, gray metallic exoskeleton, like an insect's, but has a centaur-like body shape. The head is a smooth ovid, gleaming lines like yellow circuitry forming the suggestion of facial features. The head pans back and forth, stops pointing at the two of them.
Just behind it are two other beings; one looks much more explicitly insectoid, much like a dragonfly in overall appearance, with gray chitinous skin, long antenna sweeping back from its head, and bright yellow, compound eyes. The other is diminuitive, about the size and shape of a human toddler; their eyes are bright orange and their skin mushroom gray, with gleaming, verdant green hair. Something akin to the being Itzhak knows as Kor, though plainly not Kor himself.
The insect-being raises a staff that glows on one end. "Surrender yourselves without struggle and you'll come to no harm." He was the one shouting; without the door's interference, his voice has an undertone of buzzes and clicks.
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Physical (8 7 7 6 6 6 5 5 4 3 2 2) vs Where the Fuck Are We (a NPC)'s 2 (8 5 5 1)
<FS3> Crushing Victory for Itzhak.
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Veil Lore (7 4 3 2 2 1) vs For Real?? (a NPC)'s 2 (5 4 4 1)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for Itzhak.
"I dunno, maybe a little. I don't feel great." Isolde mumbled back. She started to let Itzhak lead her back to the couch but then stopped short and yanked him to stop too. Something wasn't right. Something was wrong. Very wrong. And suddenly her throat seemed to feel like it was itching a little worse,and her headache was a little more apparent. "What's going-" She started, before the shouting of 'City Guard' so RUDELY interrupted her. There was a yelp when the door literally seemed to explode open and she stumbled back a step or two - still clinging to Itzhak and trying to process what was actually happening. Not really sure what to do, or say, and instead just extremely confused and maybe feeling more than a little scared - she glances up at Itzhak. She vaguely knows what's going on in the big picture...it's like what happened before with Alexander when they were at his college. Or what happened in the kitchen when she tried to make dinner the first time....it's a very bad thing.
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Composure -2: Success (6 3 3)
"S'okay, I'll take care of ya." Itzhak's oblivious, pressing a kiss to Isolde's temple--and then the CITY GUARD bursts in. He whips around to face the door, lips curling into a snarl as he shoves Isolde behind him. Eyes with with adrenaline and sudden fury, he takes in the three beings and barks at them, "The fuck you doing in my house? Get out!"
It's not technically his house, of course. Eh, whatevah!
"Sounds like 'quietly' doesn't work for you," the little one says. They snap their fingers, and the construct moves forward. Each step shakes the floor.
It's voice is deep and bassy, humming not unlike the insect-person's did. "You are in violation of city code fifty dash zero zero six, subclause nine, paragraph two. Punishment includes six months and a fine of twenty ablars."
A little door opens on its left side, and a large cannon-like shape pops out, and shoots twice--once for each of them, strange elastic blobs of blue-black goo that spark with electricity.
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Physical (8 8 7 6 5 4 3 3 2 2 1 1) vs The Staff (a NPC)'s 6 (8 8 8 6 5 3 2 1)
<FS3> DRAW!
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Athletics (8 8 7 6 3 2) vs This Is Gonna Leave A Mark (a NPC)'s 6 (8 6 6 6 5 5 4 3)
<FS3> DRAW!
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Athletics (7 5 4 3 3 1) vs This is Gonna Leave A Mark (a NPC)'s 6 (8 6 6 5 3 2 2 2)
<FS3> Victory for This is Gonna Leave A Mark.
<FS3> Isolde rolls Physical (8 6 4 1 1) vs No More Shooting (a NPC)'s 4 (7 6 5 2 1 1)
<FS3> DRAW!
<FS3> Isolde rolls Physical (6 6 5 4 3) vs No More Shooting (a NPC)'s 4 (7 6 5 2 2 1)
<FS3> DRAW!
<FS3> Isolde rolls Atheletics (6 5 1) vs This is Gonna Leave a Mark (a NPC)'s 6 (8 8 7 5 4 4 3 2)
<FS3> Victory for This is Gonna Leave a Mark.
Isolde didn't like this one bit. None of this was right! None of it was good. She was a Mentalist, not a Physicalist, but she tried anyway. Focusing in on the cannon doors and trying to force the cannons to retreat and the doors to close. Her headache wasn't helping things, she was finding it difficult to concentrate and the doors were being stubborn. In the end, she just had to give up because her head was pounding and her reflexes were clearly off as there was an electric goo ball heading right towards her and she was totally not going to get out of the way in time!
Itzhak stamps like an angry horse. Power ripples out towards the dragonfly-being, consolidates in the staff, and yanks. Not hard enough! The dragonfly has strength of their own, fighting back. Itzhak's face is twisted in a snarl and he may have forgotten one of the hardest lessons he ever learned: never resist arrest. Billy Gohl's parting gift to him has him in a rage.
When the black goo hits him in the chest, he makes a strangled noise and drops.
The insect-guy thrums in irritation as his staff nearly flies free, pulls back. The goo hits Itzhak just in time; he'd have had that staff in another second or two. The construct makes a confused sound as the cannon half-retracts into the opening and the door tries to close on it. But then the goo hits Isolde as well, and that stops.
>>>SPLUTCH<<<
The blobs are heavy and thick, like being struck with a soccerball. The immediately spread, wrapping little tendrils all around the torso, and lightning bursts out of them, not unlike Alexander or Ruiz can produce. And every bit as painful and a shock to the system. Their vision wavers, their breath comes short. Sound distorts in their ears.
"Oh, Artists, eh?" says the little one. They walk up and fling two little devices down onto the black goo. Each one flashes once--and they both black out.
Flashes of consciousness come and go. Arguments: the dragonfly and the little one. The construct occasionally interjects with something factual. It's carrying them.
Falling. Falling. Falling...
Darkness, and water dripping. Damp stone underneath them, light somewhere far above. Distant voices.
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Alertness (6 5 5 5 3 1) vs Oh God Why (a NPC)'s 2 (8 7 5 1)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for Oh God Why.
<FS3> Isolde rolls Alertness (8 7 6 6 5 3 1 1 1) vs Oh God Why (a NPC)'s 2 (7 5 3 2)
<FS3> Crushing Victory for Isolde.
<FS3> Isolde rolls Composure: Success (6 5 4 2 2 1 1)
<FS3> Itzhak rolls composure -2: Success (7 4 1)
When the shock of electricity ran through her-Isolde was pretty sure she was going to die right then and there. The world went black. The voices of the dragonfly, the little one, and the construct fade in and out, but mostly out. It's the general hum of the area that starts bringing Isolde around. Because it's aggravating her headache and therefore aggravating her! She blinks and bit and looks around slowly, getting to her feet.
"Itzhak?" She calls out softly, her nerves are skating on thin ice and there's a waver to her voice as she starts to take in the surroundings. A jail cell of some kind? There's a well of panic threatening to rise up - Isolde really, really doesn't like jail cells. Even less so than hospital rooms. She spies Itzhak through one of the windows and tries to press closer to get a better view. "Itzhak? Are you okay?" Trying to get a good look.
Itzhak struggles to his feet and stands there, swaying like a newborn fawn, one hand braced on the wall. "Fuck you," he groans, voice rough, "you should have stones instead of children. You should swallow lightning and shit thunder. You should have everything I wish on you come true, even if only half, it'd be enough, boy let me tell you..."
His string of cursing is interrupted. "Izeleh?" He looks up at the window, and up, way way up, at the 'exit'. "Oh Christ." His head isn't doing too great either, but he looks around, trying to think. "Goddammit. I fucked it up."
They both have some bumps and bruises, but all in all, their shielding has kept them from taking any serious injury. Their acommodations are, shall we say, lacking, but there's no sign of insects or rodents.
"It'll wear off in another minute or two," a husky voice says from the other window, Isolde's other neighbor. "Just don't make too much noise, or they'll drop more of that shit in your cell. Takes days for it to evaporate, and you lose part of your floor, take a nasty shock when you forget it's there." Isolde can't quite make out the speaker, but she does see that the shackles and chains lead into a pool of shadow, and there's the suggestion of someone large-ish sitting in it.
Isolde inspected Itzhak worriedly, "What do you mean? You couldn't have...seen this coming?" She keeps her voice low. When the other voice comes, "I'll be right back." She says to Itzhak and then makes her way over to the other window to peer inside, looking towards the shadow. "Who are you? How long have you been here?" She doesn't ask yet what the liquid is - primarily because she doesn't want to know. "....Where are we?"
"Roen warned me, Alexander warned me." Itzhak shuts up, realizing someone else is talking. He cranes to look through the window, across Isolde's cell, and fruitlessly into the cell beyond. She's asking the questions he would, so he keeps quiet for the answers, while running through his head what he could possibly do to get them out of this.
Now that she's at the window, Isolde can start to make out the other occupant. It looks, for all the world, like she's seeing some kind of satyr. At least, the lower body looks to be that--great, shaggy goat legs in tattered linen pants, ending a pair of big, solid, black and white striped hooves. His upper-body is still in shadow, though his wrists are draped on his knees, revealing his hands: they have thick, blocky, black fingernails on them, and the skin is olive-toned. "Where are you? Really, this is your first time in the City's finest establishment?" The satyr laughs throaty and deep.
It turns out Itzhak does have a neighbor. One that can turn invisible, because it suddenly appears in a ripple of color-changing skin, not unlike the raptor-beast from the forest. It's a lizard-like being, with a gecko's feet, and is using those to cling to the wall by the window it shares with Itzhak. "SOME OF US ARE INNOCENT!!" it shrieks across the two cells to the satyr, who groans.
"Oh for fuck's sake, shut up before--"
Somewhere overhead they hear a slamming sound, then, approaching foodsteps. Heavy, methodical.
"Wonderful," the satyr mutters, and curls into the shadow. "Stay quiet. Let her rant, don't get involved."
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Mental (8 6 5 4 3 3) vs Riza's Ranting (a NPC)'s 2 (7 4 4 1)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for Itzhak.
"You didn't answer-" Isolde starts and then is interrupted by the shouting rainbow thing. A low hiss escapes, pressing a hand to her head. Why were people and things so loud?! Ugh. "You're gonna tell me what's goin on." Isolde muttered, not quite demanding but...,to the maybe-satyr and then looked back over towards Itzhak to see how he was doing. Then tilted her head upward to try and see if she can spot or hear where the heavy footsteps are coming from.
Itzhak winces, abandons that window and crosses his cell in one and a half strides. "Hey, hey hey hey, I know you're innocent, we all know it, okay?" he says to the gecko person in an urgent, hushed undertone. "Right now you gotta be quiet. ...You wanna hear a song?" He's desperate and a song always works on his niece and the kids! Almost always! "Listen.
//When the last eagle flies
Over the last crumbling mountain
And the last lion roars
At the last dusty fountain
In the shadow of the forest
Though she may be old and worn
They will stare, unbelieving
At the last unicorn...//"
"Oh will I," the satyr says to Isolde, and she can almost hear the toothy smile that's accompanying it. "I like you, I just might tell you what you want to know, lovely."
"LIKE YOU CAN TALK!" The gecko-being with the octopus-like skin shouts back across the joined cells. "YOU--" She startles when Itzhak begins singing, stares at him. She presses her face against the bars to hear. Her eyes are brilliant gold and black, and fixed on him. "Oh. Oh, oh," she croons, "your voice..."
The heavy steps come closer. Closer. They stop outside this cluster of cells. Isolde can just make out the shape of another construct-taur. "OCCUPANTS ARE ADVISED TO KEEP THEIR VOICES TO A TOLERABLE LEVEL." The voice is like the construct's from the house, but somehow more menacing.
It doesn't look into their cells, though. Itzhak's voice is, apparently, a tolerable level. The gecko-being glances up, seems about to shout at it...doesn't. She sways to the song. "Have you met the Dreamrunners? They're amazing. And crazy. And amazing..."
"Mostly just crazy," the satyr offers.
"OCCUPANTS ARE ADVISED TO KEEP THEIR VOICES TO A TOLERABLE LEVEL." The steps resume, moving away from their cells. It repeats this phrase a few more times, then there's another slam, and it's gone.
The satyr sighs heavily. "Well. No rain of terror this time. Well done, young man." The voice is familiar to Itzhak. Vaguely.
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Alertness (7 6 3 3 2 2) vs It Can't Be That Guy (a NPC)'s 3 (8 8 7 7 2)
<FS3> Victory for It Can't Be That Guy.
Isolde, for a moment, is distracted by Ithak's singing too. She enjoys listening to his voice and it calms her just a little bit. Though her eyes stay on the ceiling. The construct-taur. Eyes following in the direction of it's heavy-handed footsteps. Exhaling slowly, she looked back to Itzhak and then finally the satyr. She was really not in the mood of playing games and dancing around answers. "My name is Izzy." She offers up. "What is yours? What is a Dreamrunner?"
"I'll sing more to you if you keep quiet," Itzhak promises the gecko. Then he smiles, just a touch. "Yeah. I met a Dreamrunner. She was amazing. What's your name? I'm Itzhak." He glances over his shoulder and nods at Isolde, jerking his head at her to get her to keep schmoozing her own cellnotquitemate.
"Riza," the gecko-person says, and...well, it's probably supposed to be a smile? But all it does is display an array of golden brown, needle-sharp teeth and a bright pink tongue. It seems to be a friendly gesture. "You'll sing more? Ooooooooh that'd be wonderful." She climbs to the other end of her cell, yanks a brick out of the wall. From the hole she pulls out a tiny sliver of something black and pearly. "There was one stuck in here. I was a janitor, I helped him escape. He gave me this. A piece of his hoof, can you believe it??" She cradles the gleaming sliver in one hand. "That's why I'm here--they found out." She sighs. "He wasn't supposed to be here! I was just freeing an innocent man!" He voice is getting shrill again.
"Your kind call them unicorns," the satyr says. A rattle and clink as he stands and comes closer to the window. More of the dim, partial light from overhead falls on him, and they can see that what were likely a magnificent pair of curling horns have been sawed off, and the shackles are bound to the remaining segments at his forehead. It keeps him from getting too close, but they can make out more of his features: a head of wild, black hair with a huge white streak, mismatched, prominent, green and brown caprine eyes, high cheekbones. He's in a ragged linen shirt that's seen better days.
"A unicorn?" Isolde's eyes widen a little, her voice hushed - maybe in a sort of awe. And for a fleeting moment there's a hint of a childlike expression on her face. Until the satyr - who still hasn't given his name - comes in to view. That wonder is replaced by a mix of sympathy for the creature and anger at whoever had done such a terrible thing something so beautiful. Those clear blue eyes stay steady on him. "How did you get put here?"
"I got so many songs, but you gotta be quiet." Itzhak properly admires the sliver of hoof Riza brings out, anyway. "The one I met gave me something, too." Risk for risk, he shows it to her, bringing it out of the coin pocket of his jeans: a little tightly coiled, braided loop of brilliant red-orange hair.
He glances over his shoulder to check on Izzy again, and his eyes go wide. "Pwill." He goes to the other window. "Your horns, man." Real grief is in Itzhak's voice as he sees the satyr's disfigurement. "What'd they do to you?"
Pwill blinks, narrows his eyes at Itzhak. "Ah, you're that little brat from Kor's place, the one who made off with the horn." He points at Itzhak. "I'd be angrier at you if Kor hadn't paid me up front."
"He was brawling in a bar," Riza supplies to Isolde immediately, and Pwill leaves off talking to Itzhak to scoff.
"I was defending a waitress from a Guardsman who was getting handsy, and he claimed I stole his wallet and arrested me."
"You did steal his wallet," Riza mutters.
Pwill rolls his eyes. "So what, not like there was anything useful in it, they all get paid via the guild bank anyways." He folds his arms, sniffs. Glances up at his horns, sighs. "The usual. I can't use my power while they're shorn of--"
His eyes land on that dazzling loop of hair. He stares, hard, at it. "Off," he finishes, voice low. "Is that...her hair?" he asks, carefully.
Riza's eyes bulge oddly. "Her hair?!" she squeaks, barely remembering to keep her voice low.
<FS3> Isolde rolls Composure: Good Success (8 7 6 4 2 1 1)
Isolde's head hurts, she wants answers, all she really wants to do is sleep and Pwill and Riza are talking about things she really has no concept of. It's all very, very aggrivating. But, by some miracle, she manages to swallow down this irritation and maintain her composure for just the moment. Trying to focus on bits and pieces she could put together. Glancing to Itzhak. Did he get into a bar fight in a Veil bar? Back to Pwill. "So you're here because of the stealing. Not stealing...and they cut off your horns?"
Then her attention turns back to Itzhak, with orange-red hair in his hand. Moving away from Pwill then so she could study it closer. "It's so pretty." She murmured.
Itzhak snorts. Quietly. "Hey, you knew the risks when you stole it, so don't gimme that." The reaction he gets from both Pwill and Riza makes him blink, and look at Isolde, worried. "Yeah. It's her hair." He puts his arm around Isolde's shoulder, telling her softly, "I'll explain all of this, I promise, okay?"
The hair, like the sliver of hoof, seems too vivid to exist in this bleak dungeon. "What's so special about it?" he asks the two natives.
Pwill grunts at Itzhak. "It was for the stealing," he tells Isolde. "And the brawling. And I destroyed a construct too. Hence the horns." His tone is distracted as he answers, his eyes locked onto that hair. Eventually, he says, "With that bit of hoof and a piece of hair, I can get us out of here." He wrenches his eyes off the hair, says to Itzhak, "Dreamrunners are creatures of life and vitality. I could use those to grow my horns back--but I'd need both. With my power and your," a look between Isolde and Itzhak, "Art, we can just leave." He says that like he's not talking about literally busting out of what is definitely some kind of prison.
Riza has realized what Pwill is on about. She whines, grips her hands around the sliver of hoof. "But he gave this to me," she whispers. "What if I never see him again?" It's always been a far fetched possibility, that unicorn hair might turn up. Pwill jokes about it a lot. And now, here was some unicorn hair. In the cell next to hers.
Isolde just gives Itzhak a look like 'you better' and then draws in another breath. "Are you very positive you can do this?...We can do this?" She asked Pwill, pushing a hand through her hair. Then to Riza, "If we are free, then you can go and find him on your own, right? You don't have to just wait for him or another Dreamrunner to appear. You can go find one."
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Composure -2: Failure (3 2 1)
Oh no. Itzhak's hand closes protectively over the loop of hair. But she gave this to me. What if I never see her again?
That's not what Zayith would want, though. She'd tell him so. He can almost hear her.
"We'll do it," he says, and then he has to choke back sudden hot tears, mashing the back of his hand against his eyes. Jesus, Rosencrantz, really? But it's happening. He's crying over giving up Zayith's hair. "You'll owe me, Pwill," he manages, his voice thick.
Riza makes a sort of hissing, coughing sound. It's not crying the way a human would do it, but it seems to have a similar sentiment. She hangs from the wall by her back feet, curls up around the piece of hoof with her long head and neck and arms like she's hugging it. She does that for several seconds, only uncurling when Isolde speaking of finding the unicorn again. "I can? Do you think so?" She sounds like she'd never considered that a possibility.
Pwill sighs heavily at Riza. "Of course you can. He's a Dreamrunner, not a bloody ochorim. If he exists, he can be found, and anyways they're not exactly stealthy in literally anything they do." He makes an effort to reign in his impatience and address Itzhak with proper solemnity. "Yes, I'm well aware this comes with a price tag beyond your release. Rest assured, I've things I can offer, and will do so. I pay my debts." He snaps his big, blocky fingers. "Come on then, let's go."
Riza licks her lips with that bright tongue, offers the piece of gleaming hoof to Itzhak.
Isolde reaches up to gives Itzhak's hand a squeeze. With the wall between them it's about all she can do to try and comfort him. She is thinking about a lot of things that she could say to try and add to that comfort but isn't really confident in her current state of mind that they will come across as such. So she doesn't speak. Just gives another squeeze and lets Pwill do the majority of the talking.
She musters up a smile for Riza. Well, for both her and Itzhak really. "I am very positive you can." Then she would let Itzhak go to retrieve the sliver of hoof and held her hands out for both objects. "And we can find your Dreamrunner again too if you wanted." She murmured to Itzhak.
Itzhak squeezes Isolde's hand back, with some apology. He's really not himself lately. Or perhaps he's extra himself. Whichever, it's no good.
He lets her go to take the hoof from Riza. "I'm sorry," he tells her, honest. "Neither of us can find 'em while we're in here." He presses her gecko-y little hand, too.
When he has to give the braid to Isolde, though, he hesitates. Then he takes her hand through the bars, sets the hoof and hair into her palm, and closes her fingers over them. "Pwill's a scoundrel, but he keeps his word," he says, and kisses Isolde's fingers. "...I'm not so sure I can," he murmurs, for her ears only.
"I will help you try, if you want." Isolde murmurs back, leaning her head against the bars for a moment. They feel cool against her skin, which is feeling a little warm. No, no. Stay awake. She chided herself. Sleep is for back at home. She lifts her head up and then takes the hair and hoof piece from Itzhak, making her way over towards Pwill and hands them over. "I hope it works."
Riza makes another one of those 'smiles' of hers, licks Itzhak's hand in response. Maybe that's a handshake? Something? It's slimy and weird feeling, but she seems to mean well by it. Her skin is rubbery and warm, almost like tough dough.
Pwill watches all of this transpire, caprine eyes narrowed. He holds out a hand to Isolde for the items, tenative and wary. "You'll be free of this place," he says. "I'm good for that. I can't promise it won't be dangerous, but," he glances up at the exits, all the way up there, "it's better than sitting here."
He closes his hand over the items, nods at her. He takes a step back from the bars, begins unwrapping the hair and winding it around the chunk of hoof, until it's not unlike a nail wrapped in copper wire. As he makes each loop, the two parts both begin to shine; the hair, vibrantly golden, and the hoof, with a black, negative radiance.
Pwill turns the resulting item back and forth in his hand, holding it up so they can all see it. Riza practically puts her head through the bars between her cell and Itzhak's to stare at it. "Ah yes. This will do nicely." He holds it out...to Isolde. "Just hold onto one end," he instructs her.
Itzhak is stupidly charmed by Riza licking his hand. She's like, well, like if a gecko was a person! Awww! He smiles at her and resists the urge to smooch her flat head. Who knows what effect the secretions on her skin might have on him. Probably better not go around licking Veil amphibians.
He watches Pwill create the little token, jealously, arms folded, knowing he's being ridiculous and unable to help it. Pwill is TOUCHING ZAYITH'S HAIR. He should kill him for that. He should kick this wall open and knock Pwill over and get on top of him and grab him by the throat and whoooaaaaa Itzhak shakes his head sharply. No he shouldn't do any of that. He really, really shouldn't.
He should sing, instead. Yeah. Itzhak clears his throat, and lifts his voice.
"//When the first breath of winter
Through the flowers is icing,
And you look to the north
And a pale moon is rising,
And it seems like all is dying, and would leave the world to mourn
In the distance hear the laughter
Of the last unicorn...//"
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Alertness (7 7 3 2 1 1) vs Pwill (a NPC)'s 10 (8 7 6 5 5 4 4 4 3 3 1 1)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for Pwill.
Killing people and creatures is BAD Itzhak.
Isolde watches closely has Pwill wraps the unicorn hair and around the sliver, curiosity abounding, maybe searching to see if the song from Itzhak aids the process at all. See if anything else is going on besides the soft shine. . So many questions, but not sure how to word them and this certainly wasn't the time or place. When Pwill holds it out to her she looks a little uncertain but then does gingerly take hold of one end as instructed.
<FS3> Isolde rolls Alertness (8 7 6 6 5 4 4 3 1) vs Phenomenal Cosmic Power (a NPC)'s 1 (8 3 2)
<FS3> Crushing Victory for Isolde.
Riza croons, sways to the song. "Ooooo." She's mollified that there's more music to be had.
Pwill arches an eyebrow at Itzhak, pouts in a sweet little moue. "Oh, that was just getting interesting too..." He tilts his head at the singing, smiles. "Ah yes. That'll do."
Pwill seems to sense Isolde's hesitation, explains, "To get you going. You've got some of an ability like I do, but you don't seem strong enough to make your own power. So. A little boost, if you will."
Little, the satyr says. His perspective here is somewhat skewed. When her fingers touch the hair and hoof, the power pours into Isolde, wild and raw. This isn't like soaking a charge from a taser, or even another with her Gift. It's much, much more than that. Her eyes glow bluish white, small charges dance from her hair, her fingers. She can feel the minds around her in this prison and--oh. OH. This is a city they're under. A huge one. And something about the city itself is...odd...a pulse all it's own...
"There. Now. Hold onto that." Pwill takes the unicorn hoof-and-hair coil back...and pops it into his mouth. He crunches down, chewing on it like any goat might. It sparks, and he startles. "Mmmm, some bite to it." He swallows it back, thumps his chest. "Ah. Burns a bit going down."
A second later, electricity, blackish red and flickering, beginds to pool around the two sawed-off portions of his horns. "There we go," he murmurs. The shackles glow orange red and fall to the floor in pieces. Pwill cracks his neck. The electricty dances in his mismatched eyes, discharges from his fingernails. And the horns...begin to grow back. They're pearly bronze, and curve back in great, huge arcs that nearly reach his chin.
"Now then." He holds out a hand to Isolde. "My dear."
Boom! Itzhak turns beet red. "Shut up," he mutters, wrinkling his nose at Pwill. Then--oh damn! The way he lights up Isolde! Itzhak squints a little in the light, but his heavy heart leaps in delight to see her so dramatically empowered. It's almost like the way he sees her in his mind. He picks up the song again, sings loud, fuck the police!
"//When the last moon is cast over the last star of morning
And the future has passed without even a last desperate warning
Then look into the sky where through the clouds a path is torn
Look and see her how she sparkles, it's the last unicorn!//"
A little boost.
Isolde was very much unprepared for the flood of power that poured into her from the simple touch. It was exhilarating. Intoxicating. For the first time in a very long time her mind feels clear. She can sense all the prisoners, the guards, the entire city! How it hums with life and it's own power. She wants to reach out and explore it! Find what is causing that pulse. And she may have tried - if not for Pwill speaking up again. Isolde blinked a bit, looking over towards the satyr with his new and improved horns. She doesn't speak, mostly because she's struggling to figure out if there's any words that are proper for the moment. Decides their aren't and then takes Pwill's hand.
The same slam they heard earlier comes again, heralding the approach of a sentry. "OCCUPANTS ARE ADVISED TO REFRAIN FROM ALL USE OF ART AND ARTISTRY." Maybe they're all imagining it, but the thing does sound...frustrated.
The pulse is tricky to follow, and just as Pwill speaks, she almost finds it the source. She catches a glimpse: a mind, caged, curled in on itself, tightly furled against what's happening. A single eye cracks open, pearl-gold in black, to--
Pwill's fingers touch hers, and the energy from the two of them flows together, bleeds out from their hands into the bars, into the stone. Vaporizes the stone and metal bars, rendering them into ash that drifts to the floor as Itzhak's voice rings out.
Pwill's mind brushes against both of theirs, gentlemanly for all his scoundrel nature. He's the wild uncontained force of a supercell, whirling with rain and cloud and wind and lightning and thunder. <<Now them.>> For all that, his voice is her head is soft, a whisper. He means the walls separating Itzhak and Riza from himself and Isolde. <<You don't lack for Artistry, Iron Queen. Guide it.>> A nudge for Itzhak. <<Help her, Laughing One.>>
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Mental: Success (6 5 2 2 1 1)
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Physical: Good Success (8 8 6 5 5 4 3 3 2 2 2 1)
<FS3> Isolde rolls Mental: Success (8 5 5 5 3 1 1)
<<Izeleh!>> Itzhak calls to her in the link, but he hardly has to. He can feel how vivid and sharp her perception now, all those knotted balls of yarn straightening themselves out. He twines himself with her and with Pwill and he shivers, biting his lip. Too good. <<The walls. They're nothin' to you and me. Break 'em.>>
He shows her how he can grab a stone, wrench it free of its mortar, fling it aside. And another one, and another one, these stones are just stones and he is the strongest, the cleverest, the stubbornest, he tells them what to do and they obey.
That eye in the darkness, the mind...Isolde wants to find it again. Though she knows this burst of power won't last forever and that she has to concentrate on the task at hand. She files the information away and hopes beyond hope that she'll be able to find it again. She's amazed when the wall between she and Pwill just vanishes into ash. And then Itzhak is calling to her.
There's a surge of confidence. From the yarns untangling and his words and Pwill's. The way that wall went away. Isolde focuses on the wall,lifting a hand and willing an arc of lightening to shoot from her hand. It pierces the wall with such force that it starts to crumble and it scorches Riza's wall. Another arc get's sent out to try and do the same to Riza's.
Once they were all together, they could figure on getting up.
Riza yelps and crawls up out of range of the Isolde's lightning and Itzhak's tearing. The walls come apart like child's toys in their hands, the stone work crumbling to dust. She darts through the opening between her cell and Itzhak's, climbs up on him and clings like a backpack. Her heart hammers against his spine.
Above, they hear the sentry's footsteps pick up the pace. Pwill keeps hold of Isolde's hand, even though he doesn't need to, of course. He tosses his wild hair, beckons Itzhak and his Riza backpack to join them. "Come. We're leaving." He gauges Itzhak. "How much can you lift?"
The sentry leans down to look through the bars far above Isolde's cell. It has one of those cannons. <<My dear, if you would.>> Pwill means the sentry, and what he means is, fry that thing.
<FS3> Isolde rolls Mental: Good Success (8 6 6 5 4 4 2)
<FS3> Itzhak rolls Physical: Great Success (8 8 7 6 6 5 4 3 3 3 1 1)
"Oof!" Itzhak wasn't expecting to be climbed on, but he pats Riza anyway. "Hold on." He grins a wild and rakish grin at Pwill. "I'll fuckin' show ya how much I can lift." Crouching, he slaps his hands flat on the floor.
The floor rattles under them. Separates from the rest of the prison, and levitates. Slow at first, then as Itzhak gets the hang of it, zoom! He laughs, more than a little crazily.
Itzhak isn't the only one maybe feeling a little manic. There's a giggle that emits from Isolde as they start flying. Drawing closer to the entry as it leans down and Isolde as crazed little grin. She doesn't even use her hands this time! The electricity seems to arc from her eyes now. It's primary target is blasting off the barred ceiling, with the sentry in its path. Causing the sentry not just to start overloading - but to probably also be crushed by some falling debris or something. She maybe enjoyed that a little too much. With great power comes great responsibility, but uh - also when in Rome do as the Romans do! (And this was like a once in a life time thing, okay! She was going to have a littleeeee fun with it.)
They race towards the bars, Riza makes a small sound of concern, and Pwill raises a hand. The edges of the bars glow red hot, and they explode out of the group's path.
Itzhak's stone elevator brings them up onto a long corridor. There are various circular grates in the floor lining each side of the corridor, and a door at each end. The one in front of them opens to show a sentry; Pwill absently flicks a finger at it, and black-red lightning jumps from him his hand to it, obliterating it in a shower of sparks. "Now, for the rest of our escape."
The prisoners in the other oubliettes are all screaming and shouting for release. Pwill saunters over to the sentry he's just destroyed, starts rooting around in its ovid head. "Ah, yes, there." He yanks out a lump of crystal that flickers busily with internal light, taps it here and there. It flashes corresponding to his touch, and the bars on all the other cells retract. Stone stairs emerge from the walls, leading up and out of the cells.
Around them--below, above--they hear a series of thumps as the same thing begins happening all over the prison. "Easiest way to escape is to free everyone," Pwill says, and tosses the sentry's memory core aside. Beings of all kinds begin pouring out of the oubliettes, piling into the corridor and running down...the other doorway. Not the one in front of them. Pwill gestures for them to make their way around the smoking ruin of the sentry. "I put up an illusion so they won't mob us, but it won't last for long." He flicks his fingers. "Onward, lovelies."
"Then c'mon!" Itzhak's glad Pwill opened the cell doors. He would have told him to do it. Not only does it cover their escape, but everyone else trapped for stupid reasons is free, and Itzhak is thrilled. He grabs Isolde's hand, uncaring of the danger of electricity. "Let's get a fukkin' move on!" The way is clear, for now. He launches into a run, abandoning the stone platform, letting it crumble back down the oubliette's shaft.
In the back of her mind somewhere, Isolde is managing not to shock Itzhak - at least nothing terrible. Some residual energy might leave a tickle on his skin as they run. She's been quiet, but she's clearly enjoying this prison break. With him guiding her, she tries to extend her mind out again. Searching for that eye in the darkness. Searching for the path it leads too. If anything, hoping to figure out a way she might be able to come back while she's got the proper mental capacity to do so.
<FS3> Isolde rolls Mental (6 5 4 3 2 2 1) vs Can You See? (a NPC)'s 2 (5 4 2 1)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for Isolde.
Pwill's illusions ripple around them to Isolde's empowered mind, shimmery curtains turning the eyes of inmates as they bust out of their cages and boil over the sentries like so many furious ants. There must be thousands and thousands of them. Riza clings to Itzhak, meeping as they go. This is all thrilling and terrifying for a simple being from the Middle Quarter.
As they walk Isolde reaches out into the madness around them, above it, beyond it, bolstered by the unicorn token's residual power. She begins to realize there is no path...becase it is here. The mind is here. All around her--
The pulse fades, lost. The mind slips from her notice. But that impression remains: she's already found the mind. She's already there.
Chaos is erupting everywhere as they approach the prison's main entrance. It's a glorious fascade of moasic tiles in pearly gold and milky white, elegantly curved arches and bold pillars. Much too lovely considering what they were just trapped in.
The sentries haven't been able to get things in hand, and more are arriving from all over the city, rushing into the great glass doors and down into the warren of cells below. And Pwill just walks them out one of thoe glass doors, in front of God and everyone, that shimmering bubble of illusion cloaking them. No one gives them even a second look. "Good thing we found some unicorn hair," he asides to Riza. "I haven't had power like this since that time I--" He looks askance at Isolde. "Well. Anyways, this was a lucky break. I was afraid I'd have to fuck that foul little warden."
As he speaks, Pwill's voice begins to fade from their ears. Their eyesight blurs and goes unfocused, almost like the satyr's shimmering illusion has closed in on them. <<Ah ha,>> they hear...at a great distance, growing further all the time. They can't make out Pwill. Riza is no longer on Itzhak's back, but he hears her cry out, "Where'd they go??" in a panic.
One last thought from Pwill. <<It seems this is your ride, Laughing One, Iron Queen-->>
The pulsing, gleaming bubble collapses onto them, crushes them, forces the air our of their lungs. ...and there they are, in the house on Elm street, with a smashed open door, sprawled on the floor.
Itzhak plows onward between people, bearing Riza, towing Isolde and Pwill. A native son of New York City knows how to slip through a crowd like a wet bar of soap. People part around him like the Red Sea.
The gorgeously overdone prison facade makes him scoff in disgusted Yiddish and mime spitting. He's about to say something to his companions about it when the border is opening to them again. Reality goes fuzzy, staticky, sucks at him like he's a drop of water about to merge with surface tension. <<Hang on, Izzy,>> he calls to her, and reaches out to Pwill, wordless farewell.
Crash! They hit the floor. Itzhak goes sprawling, tries to roll out of the way of Isolde as she comes through after him. Then he just lays there, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling.
No! No no no! It's right there! It's here! Isolde seems to turn suddenly, as if wanting to fight the Chaos. To go back and really search. But she can also sense the world starting to fade moments before it happens. <<Until next time, Pwill.>> Isolde replies in that last bit of open window. Because there will be a next time. Because she needs to know. Needs to see. Needs-
They're gone. Everything's gone. She hits the floor a second after Itzhak and she knows that it won't be long until the power starts to fade. And part of her is terrified for that to happen. She can already imagine her mind retangling and what if she forgot all that she learned? There will probably be some crying happening shortly but for now? For now Isolde just lays there in silence next to Itzhak, feeling that last lingering bit of power and trying to reflect on as much as she could.
At some point, the door will have to be addressed too.
Tags: august-gm isolde itzhak