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collectedmemes2020-06-12 05:51 pm
collectedmods) wrote in collectedmemes2020-06-12 05:51 pm
Entry tags:
TEST DRIVE #1
TEST DRIVE #1
Hi shoppers! Welcome to the first Test Drive Meme for COLLECTED. A few things before we get started:
» For the time being, our TDM’s are closed to those eligible to apply based on our invite system. This means that you must be on one of the mod’s plurklists, or invited as a +1 by someone on those lists. Thanks for understanding!
» TDM Threads will NOT be canon.
» Because of that, feel free to assume/handwave CR, and assume your character has been in the setting for a little bit.
» When the game opens, characters will be able to try their hand at going outside. But, during the TDM, all doors and windows to the outside will be locked, and characters will be unable to venture out there.
» These prompts are not exhaustive - feel free to make up your own within the setting of the mall! Anywhere on the Second Floor of the mall is free game. And if you have any questions about what you can and can’t do (or about anything else) reply to the QUESTIONS comment below, and we’ll get back to you soon.
Most importantly, have fun! And thank you so much for your interest in Collected; we’ve been so stoked over the turnout!! 🧡
PROMPTS
I.
There’s one big problem about getting around the Mall - and no, it’s not the bottom floor that’s flooded.II.
The other huge problem that the dilapidated infrastructure causes aside from making everything smell weird and leaving tons of crumbled debris around is that at some points in the mall, it’s impossible to get across large gaps in the flooring where it’s fallen through to the waters below. In fact, to access the side of the mall across from where you are right now, there are no paths that are safe for walking across. But there is one way.
One attraction of the mall has stayed (mildly) in tact - and that’s a Hi Wire Bicycle. The one way across to the other side of the Mall is this rusty, dusty bicycle attached to a thick wire, with signs around the attraction describing how much the fare used to be to ride across - if you were daring enough, that is! Obviously, no one’s ridden across this thing in years - much less for the overpriced payment required.
More than that, it seems a little… less than safe. The net that probably provided mall-goers with some degree of self-assurance has aged, sagging and unraveling at the junctures of some of the knots. If you were to fall onto it, would it still catch you…? The wire affixed to the bike doesn’t seem too steady, either, not to mention how hard you’ll have to push against the rusted pedals to get them to move. As it stands, though, it’s the only way across to get to the Second Floor’s other half of stores. Luckily (or maybe unluckily?) there’s a seat for you and a friend. So, at least you won’t go down alone.
To make it across, you’ll have to be brave, be creative, and most of all, be lucky!
A.III.Near the heart of the food court, decorations for what used to be Santa’s village are still laid about. How many Christmases ago were these left here? By the looks of things, a lot. A thick coating of dust has settled on the nooks and crannies of what is supposed to be the elves workshop, alongside the seat where Santa must have sat to take pictures with children.
In the Elves’ Workshop, you’ll find a massive amount of animatronic elves. They’re all positioned to be working on toys, putting up decorations, or singing from carol books - it looks like these little guys were put here to perform for kids, not unlike an interactive (and more Christmas-y) version of It’s a Small World. There’s even un-opened (and therefore okay-to-eat!) boxes of chocolate chip cookies that must have been for the Mall-goers around Christmastime stashed inside an open cabinet, which was most definitely only for employees to access.
The only problem is that once you enter and make your way inside the workshop… something strange happens. Is something grabbing onto your clothes? Your hair? Maybe a stray finger? It’s the little wooden hands of one of the elves. Your first thought is that you just brushed past it and got caught on it - but, on the second thought, it’s not letting go. In fact, it’s grip is getting tighter. Painful, even. All while it smiles blankly ahead, eerily still aside from it’s tiny hand squeezing you. Take your eyes off these cheery boys and girls for too long, and you’ll realize they’re not staying put like good little elves - they’re moving closer to you only when they’re out of sight.
If you’re unlucky enough for several to latch onto you, you’d better ho-ho-hope someone can break you free.
B.Outside the Workshop, more towards where the line to meet Santa would be, there’s a big snow machine. Unluckily for you, the machine’s sensors, which would have known to start putting out snow whenever people walk by, seem to still be working despite the Mall’s run-down state. As soon as you get near the thing, it starts spewing out tons of fake snow. It’s completely unlike the delicate sprinkling you’d find in a shopping center: it’s plain blasting you with the stuff, more like a hose than anything else. Too bad that the part of the machine that broke was whatever controlled the volume and speed of the snow instead of the sensors, right?
The fake snow is sticky and old, and will stick to you and the floor the more you get caught in it - better hurry and stop that machine!
C.There’s a huge, luxurious chair that was most certainly reserved for the Santa employee in the center of the village area - tall and wide enough for at least a few people to clamber onto. Even though the paint is chipping off parts of the throne, and the wood is decaying in places - it still doesn’t look too bad, all things considered. Even the camera is still sitting in front of the chair, balanced on a tripod as though there were kids coming to take pictures with Santa today.
You’ll find that walking into the frame of the camera with more than one person causes the camera to go off. The camera will even print your picture, and never seems to run out of film - no matter how many times it fires. Did it catch your bad side, the first time? Feel free to try again! Dress up, find props, take pictures with your newfound companions to your heart’s content!
The only thing to be wary of is that in every few photos, someone else is in the photo. It’s a smiling, bright-eyed child, despite their transparency compared to you and your companion in the image. Judging by the sitting pose, and the performative smile, the added kid is none other than a reflection of a child who had taken pictures here with Santa long, long ago.
With the size of the mall, and the variety of the stores inside, it’s only natural to think to forage for items that might be of use - there’s got to be something left behind here that will help you, right? Or a portal home?
Not too far from the department store you’d wandered in from, there’s a clothing store with an… interesting problem, for lack of a better word. The store has been overrun with rats. Big ones, too, scurrying about the floors and what’s left of the shelves, gnawing on what remains of the carpet and the remnants of cardboard packaging. Anyone sane would steer clear of this mess!
But, there’s something off about this store. Not only do all the rats somehow stay mysteriously contained within the walls of the store, never scurrying out of it, and with no signs of other stores being infested at all, but there’s also something that’s very familiar to you in this store. It could be a weapon, an item of clothing, or something as simple as your most favorite phone charm - point of the matter is, the rats have a hoard akin to a dragon’s behind the cashier’s counter, full of trinkets and belongings to all who have come through this place. They’ll work to keep their paws on what they have, too.
If you want your special something back, you’ll have to brave the vermin.
NAVIGATION
harrowhark nonagesimus | the locked tomb trilogy | ota!
( harrowhark had long since mapped every square foot of this building, or at least every square foot that was accessible to her — and there was very little within these crumbling, mouldering walls that remained inaccessible to her, though she was far more cognizant now than she ever had been in her entire life of her resources. it had been in the first twenty-four hours of being here that she had carefully set into her journal a meticulous replication of the architectural floor-plan of the building, complete with numbered marks and cryptography to note doors and places of interest — only a few pages separate from a similar drawing she had completed in the same manner her first night in canaan house upon the First.
these two places were alike in more ways than one: crumbling monoliths to times long since passed, though the magnificence, scale, and austerity of the building that would have been the throne of their Emperor and God did make this dingy testament to ancient consumerism seem like a pebble in comparison to a mountain. but, still: they were both areas limited in space (even if this place lacked cracked windows, leaving several rooms half-open to the elements, and the breathless verandas, crumbling into the distant ocean below), and they were both heavily slumped into a slow, architectural death.
which is fine by harrow. she is, after all, a necromancer, and one of the Ninth — for her, to be surrounded by the dead and dying is a matter of comfort.
she stands close to the perilous edge, hunched over something out of sight of someone who might approach. a few footsteps closer, and she seems to notice — there is the snap of a book being closed, a rustling of thick cloth, and then the black-robed figure turns to face her new company. her hood is drawn, but the pale shape of the skull painted on her face in alabaster and charcoal is easy enough to be seen in its shade; harrowhark is never seen without it.
without turning to face it, she says in a low, sepulchrous tone, ) It is the only way across. ( well, not exactly, but... ) If you were looking to do so.
( maybe she just wants to see someone else try it, just to see exactly how idiotic it looked. )
II.
( she could absolutely not be interested any less in any of the clothing that survived in this forsaken place, but there is something else that captures her attention — less the scurrying carpet of rats that coated the floor (which, do not get her wrong, were disgusting by their own right), but which they seemed to guard behind their seething mass: a trove of plundered items. normally this would not have interested her, not any more than the self-contained plague within the store. the penitent of the Ninth were not materialistic. but her dark eyes catch upon a small, nondescript box among the other pilfered treasures, and something sharp and chilled twists within her — something very much like flighty, irrational panic.
the penitent of the Ninth are not materialistic, but they are that: penitent, and none more so than their Reverend Daughter. within that box she knew to be the necessary materials for her face paint, and, to her, they were more important than nearly anything else that could have been stashed there. it's of course impossible that the item be there — she had warded her safe room well enough that any creature besides herself which entered would have been filled with enough teeth at such a high velocity that the results would have resembled buckshot.
and yet —
such a bizarre sight and such an assembly of precious, stolen items would draw the attention of more than just harrowhark; she draws a sharp breath in through clenched teeth, right hand slipping into her robes to find a shard of bone that would suit this job.
she does, and she produces a shattered bit of ulna, tossing it to the ground. before it even makes contact with the grimy, cracked linoleum tile, it begins to warp and mutate, bone billowing out of the fragment in perfect anatomical order as she mustered a full skeletal construct — responsive, idealized, flawless — from what a normal bone adept would have struggled to even form an arm from.
dull, sightless red lights wink from the otherwise-empty eye sockets as it soldiers towards the rat-infested store, intent on its quest to get what was rightfully hers back.
if you have any requests for what to pick up on its trip into the store, now's the time to make them. )
III.
( i've already written too much — feel free to wildcard something, and to PM me if you have any thoughts or questions! )
i. ok I summoned more energy
[What an interesting person, just at first glance. It's always said not to judge someone by their appearance, but there's something to be gained by appearances, isn't there? Things that are chosen, specifically, as a way a person presents themselves... Either through their own decisions or to protect themselves. Well. He just thinks the skull paint is Different.
Eichi is much more focused on the obstacle at hand, however, and he looks carefully out over the net stretched out and sagging, humming thoughtfully.]
What a shame. I don't believe someone like me could manage a task like that. At least, I don't feel as though it's worth the risk... "The grass is always greener," or so they say, but I wonder if there's really anything of worth that direction?
I suppose I won't know, simply by standing here. [He smiles.] Are you plan on trying it yourself?
im love u
Can you not swim?
( it's not as though the fall would kill him. though, this question is rather ironic: harrowhark, the Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House of the Deathless Prince, could not swim. but she was also not concerned that she would fall. )
It is less accessible. The stores are not so ransacked. ( spoken with the assuredness of someone who had been over there already.
harrow isn't really the type to laugh (and if she did, there was usually something dreadfully wrong). she merely gives him a cryptic smile at the question, the vertical lines drawn across her lips in charcoal giving her the visage of a skull grinning in the gloom. )
How much does your curiosity cost? ( she needles further, ) If I could get you across, what would you offer?
im love YOU
But he’s not some child who would excitedly take it at nothing.]
Your risking my safety rather than me risking it myself hardly seems a better deal... After all, we’re nothing more than strangers. Before we could even begin negotiating the idea of costs, I’d have to have some sort of understanding in your skill.
So, if you were to move across and back, then perhaps I’d hold some understanding and be able to make an offer? Of course, the issue of trust puts a damper on that quite a bit, but it’s not as if I can gain anything by taking no risks. It’s just that I’m a man who’d like to minimize them, you see.
It’s valuable information to hear that they are in better condition, however small that is, though, so I thank you for that.
no subject
anyways.
this is the type of moment harrow basks in: her very aware of her upper hand in a situation, her making someone else aware of it, and she trying to take them for whatever she could get. if there were anything truly valuable over there — like a hidden vault, stocked with human bones — she would act as though the suspended bicycle was cursed and there truly was no way to get across. but she had found that it was just as useless as the rest of this woe-begotten capitalist relic, so she figured she might as well leverage that to learn what she could about one of her fellow captives. )
I assure you: in this situation, you could trust your safety to no better person here.
( when it comes to her necromantic ability alone, harrowhark is confident.
but it is very well limited to this situation, this transaction, this breath, this moment. outside of her word, you would never want to trust the Reverend Daughter with your back. had any other person from canaan house heard those words, they most likely would have ended up falling into a fit of laughter, and none more so than her cavalier.
my, he is a wheeler and a dealer. she feels as though she's haggling with palamedes over the use of their keys. she adjusts her expectations accordingly. ah, well — it seems as though a demonstration is unavoidable, though she would prefer avoid the waste of preciously limited resources. )
Fine. I will move across. You will make your offer, if you so choose—but be expeditious. My endurance is finite.
( as she speaks, one of her hands dips into a fold of her robes. there is an odd, faintly ominous clacking as she does so, and after a moment she produces a handful of human vertebrae. she rolls them over in her hand in a familiar way, fingers almost intimate over the spinous and transverse processes. then she drops them right in front of her, at the edge of the gap.
the osseous matter seethes and billows, what was set and solid becoming variable and flowing. the vertebrae multiply instantaneously, and then those multiply, the effect exponential as two columns stretch across the gap. the extensions of the vertebrae reach unnaturally long, creating a serrated edge almost ornamentally along the sides. across the two sprout ribs, fusing to each vertical column and clustering thick enough that one would be able to step across the make-shift bridge without too much fear of falling.
so long as they have decent balance.
without missing a beat, harrow steps forward to go across, moving with a self-assuredness that carries her like a black-sailed ship all the way to the other side. when she gets there she turns on her heel to face the stranger across the gap, fingers interlacing in front of her. )
Speak quickly, or I go on alone.
( she's already beginning to break out in a blood-sweat, beading damp and rusty at her hairline, threatening to run down her painted face. )
no subject
So, when she turns to invite him to hurry and speak, Eichi only appears to be beaming in excitement over her methods, crouched at the edge of it and inspecting the "bridge" before he stands.]
Wah, you walked right across! [On a disgusting rib bridge, yes, but?]
More often than not, I'd prefer to stay out of debt... But this is something that piques my interest more than the stores on the other side. Unfortunately, I'm frail and sickly, and can't offer much in terms of helping you survive in this place... Though I wonder if that's really the sort of offer someone like you would need?
Instead... I wonder if I could promise something a little more abstract, in these times. Entertainment, perhaps?
no subject
in comparison to the physical cost of more complex constructs which she could create, this make-shift bridge wasn't nearly so strenuous to maintain, but like any form of necromancy, it would wear as time went on. a feverish sort of heat flares down the nape of her neck, and she sweeps her hood back from her head, as if that could help mitigate what came from within instead of without.
any master of skeletal anatomy would find that the bones were perfect recreations, beyond any medical reproach, though they were certainly arrayed in a way that held more—creativity than what the human body carried itself with. she hears him out, though by the time he is finished speaking, a rusty sheen has begun to move from her hairline down her forehead, and she can sense she is on the precipice of a nosebleed. )
Entertainment doesn't interest me.
( sorry, eichi—you're speaking to a wretched little nunlet who's already happily conceded her life to be married to a crypt, and ideally eternally. )
So either you think of something more abstract, or you chasten yourself to a debt.
no subject
[Eichi brings a hand to his chin, and his eyes move up from the bones to her face again. That can't just be special effects on her face, can it? He'd thought it at first, or perhaps running makeup, but now it's distinctly something more, and he wonders how safe that must be.]
I wonder if the state of you currently indicates that you have a limit on your work. Is that why you aim to rush me? Poor decisions are made in a rush. In that case, perhaps I'll hold off, after all, though I thank you for the consideration.
Still, if I should ever need a bridge crafted from bone, perhaps I'll come to you with a sturdier offer, once I've had time to consider my worth? After all, I have no idea what does interest you, miss.
no subject
( the answer to "how safe is necromancy, really?" comes down to a flat answer of "it depends," and there are many variables to take into consideration. harrow has worked herself to physical exhaustion more times than she could count on two hands, but it is an art she has mastery over, so she feels little need to be wary of it. she is aware of her own physical limits, and she would not surpass them for something like this.
there is a jagged shard of something lodged in her that seems remiss to simply walk away. a bizarre feeling, certainly — if there had ever been a side of harrowhark that had yearned for meaningful companionship, she had smothered it in the crib. but it comes to her gradually as he continues, materializing simply: knowledge. there was only so much she could surmise; she is a stranger here, and very little of the pre-Resurrection world made much sense to her at all.
so she poses a slightly different offer: ) Information, then. ( she raises one sleeve to dab at her nose; it's started bleeding by this point. ) Cross. Walk with me. Answer my questions about this place. ( her lips curl faintly in a sneer. ) I am being more than generous with this.
( but her silence before was a tacit acknowledgement: her necromantic stamina does have limits, so he would have to move quickly if he wanted to make it across unhurried (or at all). )
no subject
[People can work together, though he's not so blind as to ignore the realistic side of things. Not everyone is going to care about everyone. But this person, at least, he's decided is worth his time. She gave in a bit, with this offer, and he's going to remember that. She has a point where she'll back down, even in the slightest.
Carefully, he stretches his foot out to walk along the bridge, gracefully, though he is moving cautiously as well.]
Why don't you begin with your questions as we walk? Ah, if you could stay close so that I don't fall, that would be nice, as well.
(no subject)
(no subject)
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ii
There's a skeleton walking around (and it is a real skeleton). Perfect in form and movement. It's utterly shocking and macabre. Alex's legs fell numb with fright and she can feel herself swaying on the spot.
Luckily, or unluckily, Alex is too arrested by the sight that she doesn’t see Harrowhark, rather fixated on the spontaneous creation. Alex is sure that this is a horror of this place. An immediate threat. And she’s the only one that can do something at this moment. Who knows who she can save with swift action.
Fingers numb too, Alex looks around and sees a metal garbage can. It won’t take much to move it. Turning it on its side, and without really thinking, she kicks it to send it careening towards the legs of the skeleton with a surprising amount of accuracy. Maybe she can crush it and that will be the end of that. ]
no subject
not that harrowhark really cared about startling anyone, but (far more importantly) her materials for bone constructs are frighteningly limited here, and she couldn't afford to lose good oss to the hysterics of those here she has to assume are pre-Resurrection humans.
the garbage can hits the ground and is kicked towards the shambling skeleton with a calamitous clamor; harrow can scarcely turn to face what was going on before the tumbling bin takes out the construct at the knees, causing it to collapse onto the floor into a heap. it would probably look pretty funny for anyone else who wasn't her. her eyes narrow to slits, giving her face the grisly look of an empty-eyed skull as she peers in alex's direction. it's easy enough to put two and two together, here. )
I would ask you not to attack my constructs.
( already the skeleton is beginning to pick itself back up again, whatever damage occurred to the relatively fragile bones slowly knitting itself back together. she is, for about the thirtieth time, very grateful for the theorem she had found in the Second House's study — otherwise this one would have ended up thoroughly useless from a rolling trash can, and that is pretty embarrassing. )
i guess i'll also pick... i
and, on seeing her dress, her countenance— his expression brightens, a little. a man has to appreciate a proper aesthetic when he sees one. )
I wonder, is that "if" for me or for you?
( in surveying the setup; the bike; he thinks he, on his lonesome, might opt to leave things for someone a little bolder. but in the presence of company... )
It seemed like you were studying quite intensely. What is it you're looking for, then? We can figure out a plan of action from there.
welcome
I was looking for the reason something like this exists at all.
( since "fun" was a reason given for absolutely nothing in the Ninth House, it's not one that harrow would have immediately jumped to. another barrier to that theory would've been that there was apparently a toll for crossing this way, which seemed completely ridiculous. who would pay to put them through something like this? )
If I wanted to cross, I would find a way less — ( she perches on the pause like a diver waiting for the whistle, ) asinine.
no subject
( which is to say: who gives a fuck. but politely. ish.
not that she's wrong for wondering. all questions are valid; he isn't going to say that her confusion here isn't. like... just look at the thing. it's only that backtracking through the insanity of capitalism is a bit outside the scope of mall exploration, for right now.
maybe once they're on the other side. )
While it may not be the most dignified route, leveraging what we're able to find in a place like this seems ideal for sustaining us, doesn't it? Look, isn't this number of seats too convenient?
Of course, if you only want to identify mysteries and not solve them... I can always try it on my own.
no subject
( she speaks in the grand scheme of things, as a young woman who had from the dawn of her youth scoured the darkest corners of the dusty, decrepit libraries of the Ninth House for whatever necromantic secrets she could raid for her own use.
but, considering what they were looking at... harrow's expression sours beneath the dark canopy of her hood. it was foolish, just as the whole accursed thing was. )
...Not that that is applicable here.
( she turns up her nose to it, face a mask of haughty derision painted in alabaster and charcoal. ) I would sooner sink myself to the deepest pit of the drowned ground floor. Though if you wish to ascertain whether or not the thing is a screeching death trap, I would not stop you.
( were this any other situation, harrow would just make a bridge made of bones and be done with it. but her resources are limited (for perhaps the first time in her life, as bones were easy to come by in the Ninth House and in Canaan House as well). but regardless of what she had just said, she really didn't want to end up taking a second swim in the inky black water below. )
no subject
( onto the bike alone, then. one foot slips for a second as he tries to move into the seat and the wires sway, an ominous creak coming from where they're attached to the wall. yeah. this seems fine. what's the worst that could happen, he dies?
... )
I wonder, miss... do you have vampires, where you come from?
( it's relevant. he swears. )
no subject
( it had already tried to sink her once, upon her arrival here. though harrow would not relish it one bit (she's already frustrated enough that she has to use showers here, but of course this place is too much of a relic to have sonics available), it certainly seemed more dignified than clambering onto a bicycle and wheeling it out into empty space on a hope and prayer that an ages-old wire wouldn't snap under sudden, unexpected pressure.
her chin lifts slightly at the odd question, expression shifting into something scrutinizing as shes tries to figure what his angle could be.
vampires? the flesh magicians of the Third House consumed flesh and keratin to fuel their necromancy, and one could create a thalergenic ward with the living blood, fresh from the vein.
therefore, flatly: ) No.
no subject
Were I to fall, I’d surely die in an instant.
( and yet, here he is, carefully boarding that which could only be called a deathtrap. he already has a few minor regrets as he situates himself properly in the seat, and gives the pedals a light test; the rust refuses to give under such a half-hearted attempt, which is also the point where he realizes the chances of success here are... not outstanding.
he also feels a bit committed, though, sitting and all. that’s why he turns to look back at harrowhark with a smile that shows none of his reservations. )
Are you certain there’s nothing on the other side you’d want? If we can get this going fast enough, the trip itself may even be quite thrilling... ♪
no subject
but this world was not under the constraints of her own, so perhaps she should begin to lighten the fuck up.
the stranger not deciding to descend into a full discussion of the details was appreciated, albeit bitterly. her shoulders rise as she takes in a deep breath, which she then releases long and slow through her nose.
she is quite certain there is nothing over there which would be of much use to her. she feels that to be true for this entire forsaken building. but is she ready to watch someone topple to their death when she could do something to stop it? God — this really shouldn't even be a question. one was not responsible for the idiocy of others.
but...
harrow steps up to the bike, though she moves further past it, to the line. she rummages around in her robes for a moment before producing a tooth — mandibular first premolar, fairly decent shape — and pressing it to the cable. one watching carefully would see that she seems to grind it into the line, as if it were the consistency of putty. right after this, there is a shimmer along the cable, starting at this end and racing towards the other. it's faint, almost unnoticeable, but the color has changed, the aged tightrope reinforced with dentine and enamel, stretched thin enough to preserve the faint elasticity required.
she stands, taking a few steps back toward the stranger. ) It will not break. ( she still stands, seemingly unconvinced — or simply uncertain. )
How is your balance?
no subject
there was much still to be grateful for as things were, though. rei cannot help the minor twinge of jealousy, but he also knows that these things come with costs. everything in life does. )
That's a very clever trick, young miss. ( is trick the right term? well, he has the benefit of ignorance on his side, if not. ) I find myself quite grateful you were the one to be here.
( though strengthened, the wire itself isn't as taut as it may have once been. he can see the dip in the middle, not one significant enough to prevent a working setup from failing... but does this count much as working? )
I think the concern is with the structure of this bicycle, you see. Perhaps it was different while things were less decayed, but it feels as though most of the weight is here in the front, with me. If perhaps the back were a bit heavier, it'd be less of an issue...
( is harrow even heavy enough to make an impact? unlikely. it is, however, such a good excuse for a friend to join in... right? )
ii
Except this one. Lux ventures a step closer to Harrowhark, muscles stiff with apprehension. ]
You don’t, uh—you don’t get in trouble for doing that, do you?
[ You know, the whole ‘enspelling the dead’ thing. ]
no subject
she regards lux with a sour expression, lightless eyes narrowing into slits in the blacked-out sockets. the sheer incredulity on her expression is enough of an answer, but — she withdraws some of the barbs she might have normally used. the question is innocent enough. one would have to dig beneath the words themselves to sense the existence of prejudice.
there is a slightly drawn, thoughtful silence before she replies, ) There would have been far worse trouble if I could not.
( the skeleton marches on with a mental command, stepping past the threshold of a broken window into the infested shop. it makes its way toward the pile of stolen goods, heedless of the seething mass of rodents underfoot.
harrow's attention remains on lux, however, measuring her expression. ) Few here have an opinion of necromancy besides ( cartoonish ignorance, buffoonery ) ...surprise. What is yours?
no subject
I… don’t know.
To my people, magic is a sickness—a curse, an affliction. They fear it because they can’t control it. Because it’s capable of so much destruction. So they taught me to fear it, too.
[ A part of her still does. The skeleton walks to the thud-thudding beat of her heart, making her throat go tight and her hair stand on end. Everything about it seems wrong. Her mind screams ‘run.’
Her heart, though, urges her to stand her ground. There’s nothing for her to be afraid of. She shouldn’t be. Breathing in, holding it, and letting it out nice and slow helps the tension in her shoulders some. ]
But it’s just something that makes you different. [ Lux swallows hard. ] I am, too. “Different,” I mean.
no subject
necromancy is control. her own words; the Nine Houses had grown accustomed and fond of their power over their corner of the galaxy. but there were many and more outside of their ranks that rallied against it. she has to wonder if this timid girl was one of them, or if she merely resembled them, in a game of hypotheticals.
right now, in this given moment, harrowhark doesn't give lux her own opinion. it wouldn't be helpful; it would just be layering oil onto water. the skeleton continues its path through the store, at one point pausing to carefully kick off a sizable rat that had leaped forward to clamp its mouth around its tibia. )
It does. ( she had looked toward the skeleton for a moment, having sensed its trouble with the very aggressive rat, but she looks back to lux now. her dark eyes are searching. ) Does it frighten you?
( harrow almost couldn't imagine. even from a young age she had been gleeful in her gift, leaving traps of teeth and bits of bone for gideon nav to stumble into throughout the corridors of drearburh. but — she has seen the extents that she can go to, and perhaps there was a shred of fear there. how she had felt when she had nearly siphoned her cavalier dead crossing through the entropic field.
but, to harrow — it's all in the utilization. it has to be. )