PRIDE BEFORE A FALL | Closed.

[limier]

WHO: Lakshmi + Coupe, Kitty, Gwenaelle, Helena, Iorveth, Marcoulf, Merrill, Solas.
WHAT: Fade cannonball
WHEN: You can't make me date you
WHERE: The Free Marches
NOTES: OOC Post, Discussion plurk.

This is routine.

A rift, high above the ruins of the Hammer’s Edge Bridge. It cuts into the sky, green and pulsing as a wound to spit out spirits like misery. This is routine — but the position is precarious, so near to a cliff ledge. Watch your footing, a fall promises only sharp rocks and water below.

The task is straightforward: Close the tear, or provide a diversion for the Rifters doing so. Keep yourself alive, and keep your hand to the task, no matter how it aches. When respite comes, it’s a matter of seconds: The Rift stabilizes, and,

And Lakshmi breaks from the group. Moving fast (too considered for the pace, every demon dodged, never a misstep on the odd root or rock) as she sprints for the edge. Maybe you tried to grab her, stop her, stop someone else from grabbing her.

She launches herself legs out, flatly determined in her aim —

Maybe it’s only that like it or not, she’s going through that rift. Maybe it’s that there’s no good reason not to join her. Maybe it’s that everyone else is jumping too.

Routine, right?

 

Comments

[rathercommon]

"You - stop it! Stop it, you bloody idiots!" When that arrow had hit, she'd felt a lurch of terrified nausea, a dizzy sort of terror. The wound was minor, but she still feels the fear, the anger - that they're bloody firing arrows at each other -

She goes to Lakshmi, thrusting herself between her and the others. Placing herself in the way of further blows or arrows. Not that she's well pleased with Lakshmi, either - when she takes her handkerchief and uses it to bind the woman's wound, her hands aren't gentle. And as she does, her words are spat out, angry -

"We're here. That's the fact of it. Smacking each other around isn't going to magically turn back time and send us back home. And it is going to serve to bring demons to us." She turns and meets Merrill's eyes with a nod. "So if we're going to survive here, you lot are going to have to stop being stupid and start being sensible." And then, to Helena, "No more shooting people. Ever."

[chainlightning]

Well, this all got... stupid.

Merrill nods back at Kitty as soon as the shock from the punching and vomiting and firing arrows has worn off. She goes to stand before Gwen, offering her a hand to help her up from her bent over position; she understands that need to strike first, and she also has eyes - Gwen didn't hit that hard, no where near as hard as Lakshmi had.

"Punishment will have to wait until after we're out of here," she states, firm; this Merrill is the First of her clan, and she's not going to be killed by demons because everyone decided to have a spat in the middle of the Fade. "Until then, we need to focus. Kitty's right; we need to be sensible. Once we get out of here - preferably to somewhere that looks familiar - and are somewhere safe, I won't stand in the way if you all want to have a brawl."

That said, she pauses and glances at Helena, adding "Though you can certainly shoot anyone who tries to attack the group while we're here. Just, you know, for the record."

[esquive]

Marcoulf has, for the record, released Lakshmi. The arrow whizzing so near might have had something to do with it.

He clears his throat and points along the rooftop to where some seemingly ancient, flickering balustrade pours now as liquid stone down the side, leading below and out of sight.

"There's a stair there." Or something close enough to it.

[strangel]

Helena's gaze is flat, as she stands unfazed or effected by Kitty's reprimand. Her point was made. The yelling girl throwing punches had stopped, and Lakshmi had stopped shouting. Now they could move.

The bow and arrow stay in hand, though no longer aimed at anyone, pointed to the ground until some threat makes itself known. Working in group she does not like. Too much speaking and orders and talking about moving without the moving happening. Not enough instinct.

She moves for the stairs, steps quick and quiet, taking the lead. The yellow green light of the Fade makes her skin look unhealthier than usual, and this is a more wild, feral Helena than has ever been seen in the Gallows.

hoooover for translations

[aenseidhe]

Right about now is when Iorveth unceremoniously slaps a gloved hand down at the edge of the dilapidated rooftop these fools are standing around screaming at each other at, and it's probably a little alarming, but soon enough his head follows behind that hand, so maybe don't shoot him? He's not a demon? He is, though, muttering a string of words in a language none of those here can understand (save for the bits and snippets Gwen may know).

"Amadan bloede dh'oine cierme aen bloede beann'shie, hinc deihin evellienn weder`candel aen iers caen gebiam iad amadan bloede ele." He's rambling off as he hauls himself up, then holds out a hand for the next person behind him - Commander Coupe, probably as pissed as he is, so it's time to behave, children.

Once he picks his head up to glance around, it's clear the lot of them were doing much more than screaming, Gwenaelle stalked off some distance away, Lakshmi with a gory wound on her shoulder and vomit on her thigh and an arrow bolt in her hand, and Helena, looking pleased with herself. Eventually, his eyes land back on Lakshmi, with a look of being so completely done with this all up on his grill. "Te gar'ean ansto het."

Huffing out a sigh, Iorveth moves first to cover the distance to Gwenaelle, murmuring questions about her condition, making sure she's alright, checking he doesn't need to skin anyone. It seems Helena's handled that, perfect daughter that she is. Good good. He'll make is way back, voice staying low to be only between the group of them.

"Are we done?" He finally asks them in Trade, though his accent seems oddly thicker in this place. Squinting at the group, his lips move soundlessly as he's taking inventory of their group. "Are we missing anyone?"

[shri]

She doesn't bother to speak, after all - whether she had her reasons to or not, she had done this, hadn't she? Risked their lives. Why on earth should half of them give a damn over a fool that launched herself off a cliff? Not that she has the arrogance to assume it had anything to do with her, not strictly.

But as looks Kitty forcefully shoving her way between them. Something churns unpleasantly, unhappily, in her stomach. Burning hot up into her face with something, she knows too well, like regret.

No. This isn't the time. It wasn't ever the time for that.

The rest is straightforward - "I suggest we start moving if we expect to find anything. The stairs - then." The sooner she doesn't have to stay in this conversation, the better.

[dirth]

Solas has not paid much attention to what they have been doing - he has been venturing a little further, seeing what he could discover, if there were any willing spirits nearby. He knows how to speak with them better than anyone, he imagines, and it might be possible to call a friend or two to his side, should they reach this far. He had hoped that he might be able to see something, but...

The disruption brings his attention back to the party and he frowns, stepping over and looking at them all. There's sickness and blood and an arrow, it seems, and his nose wrinkles just a little before he sighs, passing his staff from one hand to another.

"That is one option," he agrees. "And better than doing nothing. This noise will attract demons and no matter our number that will be a danger. We should not stray too far from one another here."

[elegiaque]

“If the dumb cunt who stranded us here falls behind, maybe that'll distract them and we won't lose anything of value.”

If only punching Gwenaëlle ever shut her up.

[rathercommon]

Kitty lets out a sigh, and says - "Honestly, Gwen, I hate that word so much."

[elegiaque]

“Well, I hate it when people refer to me as 'Gwen', but apparently we can't always get what we want, so we'll just have to move on with our lives.”

[aenseidhe]

Spoken up from directly behind them as they walk for the stairs:

"I refer to you as 'Gwen'." Because he's lazy and bad at accents that aren't elven accents.

Also, can we not? He loves you, dear, but how about we don't? At least until we make it out of Green Hell. Iorveth casts a look back over his shoulders, making sure the others are following, before taking lead in stepping past them. "Someone should watch our flank. Commander?"

[limier]

"No one is staying behind."

Wren finally pushes up the stairs — in time to sidle back down them. Well, that's what she gets for not stooping to accept Iorveth's help (everyone always at that, as though she's infirm).

"We came through a rift," Each of them, like bloody stupid lemmings. Of all the times to follow orders. A glance over the group, past the blood, the vomit dissipating upwards, past Gwen's stiff shoulders and Iorveth's hands close beside. The frown that pinches between her brows furrows deep by the time it finds and sticks upon Lakshmi. "It follows we might leave by one."

At her side, a fist curls tight. They could try by the anchors... but better, should they survive this, that not all know of that power. If any of them might try to open their own rifts —

Her eyes haven't left Lakshmi to address the group:

"You have all seen spirits before." Have seen themselves, half of them. "You cannot rely upon them here. Look to those around you: They are the only faces you may trust."

Whatever's gone on before this, a wound at least proves life. A curt gesture to Lakshmi.

"With me," That bleeding needs to stop. "If Mssr. Solas will take point."

A Dreamer may have more luck of it.

[elegiaque]

Under her breath and in the process of—not accidentally—putting Iorveth between herself and Lakshmi, resentful gaze sliding away from Wren's take charge moment (someone had to do it), Gwenaëlle mutters, “And you're never going to see my cunt again, either,” which is a lot of things but among them 'better than anything she might have said on the subject of trust right now'.

[shri]

For all the gaze doesn't leave her, for all that she is the least wanted person right now for what she's done and she has no doubt - that any concern for her at this point is strictly on the notion of getting her back to face her punishment - nothing on her face shifts. Oh, her common joviality is gone, the light sheer of affection she tried to keep up. Till she is just no more than a hard gritted woman, her teeth set and her gaze flat. That hard pinch on her mouth that pulls in a lack of anything but that stiff-spined edge. A blood, standing thing, as bare a rock out of the earth.

That - as she turns to fall into step, she flickers, just a moment. Where she does not look young, rather, her face ages to a far older woman, wrinkled in lines, the pinch of her brow harsh. Then she moves, and it is gone again.

Mercifully, however, she says nothing, just moves forward with the shuffle of people. A brief mutter, as they go to cover those words out of Gwen's mouth, worse as a cribhouse doxie: "Scouts ought to be front."

[limier]

"Solas." Repeated, louder; a step into Lakshmi’s space. She’s hardly forgotten the dragon — isn’t about to spend another hour splitting attention between the situation and control of it. "If you will."

(If it splits her attention from splitting Iorveth’s lip, that’s fine. He’s been useful. Gwen is an adult. This is fine.)

[dirth]

Solas looks between them all with a frown on his face, eyebrows furrowed as his eyes trace body by body. Clearly, he is not particularly impressed by anyone's behaviour, certainly not those he might have dared to call friend. Shaking his head, he steps forward, staff in hand, and moves to the front to stand beside Coupe.

"We should begin to move. I am unsure of the best direction, but if we walk we will get a better sense. It would be best," said sternly, "if we kept our emotions as settled as possible. None of us with to bring demons to join us, and we all know how they can be summoned."

He's a touch like a disappointed father, or worse - a scolding teacher.

[strangel]

Helena has been lurking further along, closer to the stairs, and looks towards the others with a flat, expression, watching to see which way they will go.

Helpfully, she taps her bow against the stairs, to see if any of them notice the sound. "Stairs are direction. Maybe good."

If they decide to go a different way, then she'll just move her way to the front of that path, to scout ahead like the less pleasant Coupe says.

[aenseidhe]

Iorveth, for his part, spends the moment Gwenaelle quietly announces the truth of their relationship to a bunch of people that would all like to punch each other to the moment Solas steps along, starting at Gwenaelle like he's trying to decide if he wants to be mad, be hurt, be disappointed, or just laugh. The rest of the group can shift around them as they please, and he couldn't give a flaming fuck what Coupe thinks ought to happen to his lip.

In the end, it's Solas's mild scolding - keep your emotions in check. Right. He's a soldier, after all, isn't he? That part's easy.

Jerking his bow free from his back, he doesn't spare Gwen another glance, a few arrows from his quiver tugged free and ready if something comes leaping out. While he won't move to take point from Solas, he does step closer to towards Helena, maybe wordlessly holding out a couple arrows if she seems like she's running short.

[shri]

There isn't a display or even a sneer of words. Her eyes roll in sheer reaction to Wren, her sword is pulled, her shield hefted up to brace on her forearm properly again. That roll on her feet that is all combat, all flat forward stance.

"I was told your asur- your demons. They are just as weak to metal when it hits them as magic. Is that true here as well? And does faith affect them at all?" A deeper breath, a deeper thought that she had not considered until now. "Must it be a faith in this... Maker and His Andraste for it to work?"

The straightforward line. What is in front of her, and how does she kill it.

[chainlightning]

Merrill rolls her eyes; she's uncharacteristically annoyed, but this has all been a mess. Still, she too moves to get in line - somewhere near the middle, where she can more effectively cover anyone in an Arcane Wall if they come upon something intent on attacking them.

"No," she says to Lakshmi, adjusting the knife on her belt with her free hand. "Your faith may be used against you by them, or it may be what keeps you safe - but it is not a weapon against them. Your sword will work better, though!"

She could go into the way spirits are not inherently malevolent but that they are dangerous nevertheless, but that seems a lesson for another time. When a Templar isn't there.

[shri]

Then why in any land does anyone worship him?

That, thankfully, doesn't come out of her mouth. She just grunts softly to show she had heard, is listening still. "Well, glad for that. I have at least the sword. Anything else apart from be numb and they will play tricks ought to be known about this... place?"

This terrifying, long, great green stretch. Of what should be life, but seems in turn, twisted here.

[dirth]

"Spirits can be kind. Some seek nothing more than a trade of knowledge or information." Solas moves forward, taking lead. This is where he belongs, where he is in his element, and he thinks that, perhaps, he might reveal too much of himself. It's demons that are the problem, but there's no point in wasting time putting the dear of demons into the heart of Rifters. At least not for now.

"Just avoid speaking to them, if you can avoid it, and stay close to the party."

[limier]

"Fuck's sake," A hiss of breath, despite herself (despite Solas' wisdom of emotion), as Lakshmi hefts the shield. "Your bloody shoulder."

Literally. She's already reaching for a knife — the better to tear a sleeve: she's not come with bandages, more's the oversight.

[shri]

She looks up at the word, brief - half confused why Wren is hissing like that, whose shoulder - ? "Oh." Looking down. She wipes at the blood, a faint wrinkle in her nose, half dried already. "Save the concern. It does not trouble me."

Which means - as soon as they're not looking, I'll take care of it. She carries on past Wren's unwarranted concern. "And if they speak to us, and we can not help it? Given what's been said of trickery?"