Oh gosh. That is not how you win the heart of a lady. I am dis-gus-ted.
[ Sassy wave of the hand. ]
So Promptorella refuse. Her servant also refused to be used like that. Which is when the most horrific happens. The lord has decided to [ uh. adverb. adverb ] Longingly toss her down a uh chocobo ranch.
[holy shit help me WELL, THAT ALL HAPPENED. As this truly sordid and extremely bizarre tale comes to an end, the three will begin to hear whispers circulating amongst the spectral audience after a brief delay. It's hard to tell what they're saying, and every so often, one of you might catch words coming from what sounds like a familiar voice. It's almost entirely drowned out, but you may also catch the distant sound of gunfire and an ebbing, keening war cry.
A ghostly laugh whispers through the air, each of the flames of their candles snuffed out in an icy breath, leaving the glimmering, looming shapes of inhuman creatures as the only source of light. Those, too, begin to fade one by one, and the three are left with a sense that they've done a good job. The blue flames that had visited before will leave three objects upon the stage before dispersing:
A ring of simple metal. A broken shard of a plate. A withered rose.
...This time, no new audience comes in to fill the emptiness and silence of the seats. At the far end of the stage, a spotlight falls on a single black door.]
[ Relieved that it’s over, Aymeric heaves a sigh, but the darkness coming over them has wariness dialed back up. It stays, cautious, even when I guess a light shines on the items before them or else they wouldn’t be able to see. ]
‘Twould look like stage’s end for now… But stay vigilant.
[ Aymeric still Does Not Trust. Without thinking, he takes the broken shard. ]
Let us away together to the door anon.
[ Once they pick up their shiny items, he means. ]
[ Her wings perk at the sound of a familiar voice, curious and almost fixated on it, who could that..? But the distant sound of gunfire and cries spooks her and she blinks a few. um. hello?
she inches a little closer to where she saw Aymeric last, after he unceremoniously sent her to be trampled by chocobos...(?) ]
O-Oh, alright! [ she'll go ahead and. gingerly take the withered rose in hand. poor thing... she'll try and get it into some water hopefully soon enough? now, where's the door... right. she'll only make her way over once Prompto has picked up the last item and they start to move. ]
[For his role as the love interest tomato who sacrificed sweet Meteion like Mufasa and his nat 20, Promptorella picks up the ring! It imbues him with a sense of bravery and sureness. He can wear it or carry it or even leave it behind if he'd like; regardless, he'll instinctively know that he will be able to save the life of one person with its power. If he chooses to keep it on him, it radiates a peaceful, steadying warmth.
For our two extremely low rollers, Meteion the cutest servant in the world will pick up the rose. Though it's withered and has no visible thorns, it somehow jabs painfully into her palm - it draws a bit of blood, in fact. She'll instinctively know that she can direct one enemy strike toward herself and away from someone else. Keeping it on her person offers no comfort, though; in fact, if she does, she'll get the sense that she's lost something precious long ago and can no longer recall who or what it was.
Aymeric the prestigious but complacent lord will pick up the broken shard of plate and immediately feel a searing burn in his right hand. The shard blackens and crumbles to ash, leaving an oblong burn mark across the center of his palm. He'll instinctively know that he will be able to shatter one weapon of his choice with a single touch. The sensation of burning will not fade, however, and it will worsen to a point of agony any time he draws his blade.
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saturations) wrote2022-03-14 04:57 pm
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[ Sassy wave of the hand. ]
So Promptorella refuse. Her servant also refused to be used like that. Which is when the most horrific happens. The lord has decided to [ uh. adverb. adverb ] Longingly toss her down a uh chocobo ranch.
no subject
... I'm sorry, Meteion, but mayhap Promptorella never cared for you.
[ He pretends to cast her aside?? To MICMIC TOSSING HER DOWN A RANCH?
I GUESS?
Where the chocobos are supposed to trample her like mufasa. ]
no subject
A ghostly laugh whispers through the air, each of the flames of their candles snuffed out in an icy breath, leaving the glimmering, looming shapes of inhuman creatures as the only source of light. Those, too, begin to fade one by one, and the three are left with a sense that they've done a good job. The blue flames that had visited before will leave three objects upon the stage before dispersing:
A ring of simple metal. A broken shard of a plate. A withered rose.
...This time, no new audience comes in to fill the emptiness and silence of the seats. At the far end of the stage, a spotlight falls on a single black door.]
no subject
‘Twould look like stage’s end for now… But stay vigilant.
[ Aymeric still Does Not Trust. Without thinking, he takes the broken shard. ]
Let us away together to the door anon.
[ Once they pick up their shiny items, he means. ]
no subject
she inches a little closer to where she saw Aymeric last, after he unceremoniously sent her to be trampled by chocobos...(?) ]
O-Oh, alright! [ she'll go ahead and. gingerly take the withered rose in hand. poor thing... she'll try and get it into some water hopefully soon enough? now, where's the door... right. she'll only make her way over once Prompto has picked up the last item and they start to move. ]
no subject
he looks towards the door. ]
Guess it's back to the grind.
[ bullets are something he knows. he'll walk over to the items, picking up the ring. ]
Aren't you supposed to give the lady a ring? [ he's trying to ease any wariness. okay time to head to the door ]
Ready? Open sesame! [ time to open the door together \o/ ]
no subject
For our two extremely low rollers, Meteion the cutest servant in the world will pick up the rose. Though it's withered and has no visible thorns, it somehow jabs painfully into her palm - it draws a bit of blood, in fact. She'll instinctively know that she can direct one enemy strike toward herself and away from someone else. Keeping it on her person offers no comfort, though; in fact, if she does, she'll get the sense that she's lost something precious long ago and can no longer recall who or what it was.
Aymeric the prestigious but complacent lord will pick up the broken shard of plate and immediately feel a searing burn in his right hand. The shard blackens and crumbles to ash, leaving an oblong burn mark across the center of his palm. He'll instinctively know that he will be able to shatter one weapon of his choice with a single touch. The sensation of burning will not fade, however, and it will worsen to a point of agony any time he draws his blade.
They enter the door.]