Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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faderift2019-02-10 08:03 pm
faderifting) wrote in faderift2019-02-10 08:03 pm
RIFTER ARRIVAL: Guardian 9:45
WHO: New rifters, rescuers, and anyone else
WHAT: New arrivals are collected and transported to Kirkwall
WHEN: Mid-Guardian, 9:45
WHERE: The hills north of Starkhaven
NOTES: This log contains prompts for the ARRIVAL and RECOVERY of new rifters, as well as the subsequent QUARANTINE period. All prompts are open to anyone.
WHAT: New arrivals are collected and transported to Kirkwall
WHEN: Mid-Guardian, 9:45
WHERE: The hills north of Starkhaven
NOTES: This log contains prompts for the ARRIVAL and RECOVERY of new rifters, as well as the subsequent QUARANTINE period. All prompts are open to anyone.
Makimachi Misao | OTA
Misao dreams, for a couple of heartbeats, that she's falling. She doesn't remember much of the dream before that -- Aoshi-sama's expression, maybe, his hand reaching for her, the whip and slap of dark silk in the wind.
And then her back strikes stone, jarring her out of the dream and into wakefulness. She stares up at the ceiling for a few long moments, trying to piece together just what she's woken up to. Some sort of green ribbon crystal thing in the sky, stars, a place where there aren't stars --
Monsters.
Misao scrambles to her feet, only barely ahead of a bloom of fire. She can feel the heat off it, and the cacophony of footsteps and fire crackling and the sound of glass -- or ice? -- breaking convinces her very quickly that, however insane the world has gone, she's not dreaming.
She tucks her fingers into one of her kote, but she only has five kunai hidden within. Nearby, something huge and purple lumbers, so heavy that she can feel the ground shake beneath its feet, and she does her best to duck out of the way.
"Hey, somebody throw me --" Shit. She's no good with a katana; she's so short that it's an awkward handle. Most of Oniwabanshuu prefer one-handed swords, anyway, and that was how she was trained. "Somebody throw me a misericorde or something." Misao hardly notices that the word wakizashi came out wrong.
II. Recovery
Her hearing rings like a mosquito buzz in the sudden quiet after the battle, and Misao finds herself occasionally pressing her palm to one ear or the other. She settles herself by one of the fires, falling automatically into wariza: kneeling, knees pressed together, but feet and lower legs bent apart.
Ordinarily, she'd be peppering the people around her with questions. But it feels like everybody else is already asking almost all the things she wants to know. And if there's one thing Oniwabanshuu are good at -- guardians of the Shogun's garden, information gatherers, informants -- it's listening.
Honestly, if she couldn't feel stone pressing into her knees, if she hadn't just narrowly survived a battle with monsters, she wouldn't be too sure any of this is real.
But it is real. If none of the other proofs worked, she's still got the ache in her left hand would be enough to convince her. She massages her palm and looks curiously at one of the other people with a green shard of -- something -- in their own left hand. "Does it ever stop hurting?"