A memory is implanted in Sheba. You are a young woman born with an unforetold amount of power. You have always been strong, faster, more formidable than anyone else. Your parents, Relivers, fostered your pride more than any other trait. What did you need for kindness? Growing older, you did not have a great deal of compassion for anyone else—any problems could be solved with your family’s wealth. Until they couldn’t. You crossed a noble house more powerful than yours, and how quick your family was to abandon you. A beast of a child, they said. They let you get captured. Tortured. Your body and pride left in shambles until only the thirst for revenge remained. You need to survive this fight, if only to seek out your revenge on everyone else who wronged you. What is worse? To be abandoned by your family or cherished only when convenient?
In the cell, the following await you: an axe, a whip, a bomb.
But the heart isn’t so simple. The other strong feeling demanding your attention is your relationship with the person you’re in the cell with—what you know, genuinely know of them, and all the feelings that come with that.
Is emotion still worthwhile, if it will destroy you from the inside? ]
[with a roll of 11, sheba is not likely to survive this unless pixi somehow rolls much lower than me.
but! but. she wants to live. despite everything - the jumbled memories, the bloodlust, the horrible things they've experienced on this adventure and on the eudora - she really, truly wants to live. she's tired of resigning herself to her fate. she'd done it once, when falling from venus lighthouse, and felix had saved her then; she'd done it again, in the execution with shouxue, and despite that had persisted in the helly belly.
but she doesn't want to live just by chance, or because someone else had tried to protect her anymore. she wants to live because she's chosen to. in the end, despite felix's assurances in that room before the experiments - he hadn't actually come back for her, had he? she's been left here.
deep down, in her heart, she knows that luke isn't her enemy here. she knows they should all be looking for a way out of this together. she knows, and yet - she doesn't know.
what's strongest in her right now is a fierce desire to live. why should she care if he does? if any of the others do? what good has having compassion for anyone else ever done her, anyway? the only one she can trust to take care of her, in the end, is herself. these experiments have proven that.
her gaze flicks over the axe and the whip. luke is taller than her, stronger than her, and she's not sure of her chances against him in a melee fight.
[Despite what he may think of himself, Luke is a strong man. It takes an iron will to become a secret agent at sixteen, to see the darkest sides of humanity without falling into despair. He's dragged himself away from death's door purely on the strength of a memory, and he throws himself in front of others nonstop, not only because he knows he can handle it, but because he would much rather take pain and fear unto himself than allow the people he cares for to suffer. He can be cold and ruthless, he can take lives if he must, but ordinarily, he would never stand for this. And even now, under the weight of so many lives, of so much torture and agony and grief, he looks at Sheba, and sees who he truly knows her to be--a bright, headstrong girl, someone kind and brave, someone he wants to protect.
But "ordinarily" died long ago. And no amount of torture training could hold up under what they've been through, to this point. He's had his body and his mind torn to pieces and stitched back together on a whim. He's lived life after life, and though a part of him clings desperately to truth... by the time this fresh set of memories is implanted into him, he has no real way of confirming anything. The paranoia builds within him, his body aches from the coughing fit he'd had before being forced in here, and when his eyes settle on Sheba, those memories of bold explorations and cheerful conversations cannot hold out under the fury of false accusations.
He'd promised someone, not long ago(?), that he would choose to live.
It was never meant this way--and some deep, distant part of his heart aches to think of it. But it settles into his mind alongside this most recent life, and it's all he needs to let his body guide him.
Sheba goes for the bomb, and Luke, the axe. He doesn't hesitate to grab the handle and throw it, aiming to hit her with the blade somewhere vital. He can try to make this quick: That's the dredges of his kindness.]
no, seriously, ouch. you said he threw it which means i'm imagining it's a smaller hand axe which means two things:
1. when she twists mid-lunge to try to dodge, the blade sinks into her shoulder and lodges itself there instead of immediately beheading her
2. she's thrown off-course by the attempt to dodge and the subsequent blow.
her fingers curl around the handle of the whip, instead of the bomb she was aiming for. and though she grits her teeth and braces herself, biting down a cry of pain her reflexes are good enough to lash out with the whip - aiming to tangle it around his legs and pull him down as she tries to scramble back to her feet.]
[Imagine if I'd rolled a nat20 and this thread was two comments long
But no--the axe hits, and he takes advantage of it to put space between them, since he noticed her going for the bomb. But the choice backfires, since it gives her the chance to grab the whip. It puts enough space between them that she's able to catch one of his ankles, and he goes down, though he's able to brace himself as he falls.
He grunts, but he rolls over onto his back, aiming to kick out at her if she tries to get close.]
[she starts toward him, but sees him kick out as she approaches - and dodges to one side, quick and nimble despite the axe lodged into her shoulder.
without really thinking about it, she grips the handle with her other hand and pulls. it's stuck in there pretty well, and ordinarily she wouldn't have the strength to free it, but she's... there's something about adrenaline and bloodlust in tandem, and although inwardly she is screaming at herself to just stop, she's just as out of control now as she was in the thrall of the eudora's rage. she dislodges it with a hiss, ignoring the way she is starting to bleed out now that the axe isn't plugging the wound, and stares down at luke.
(one of the others will heal it, she catches herself thinking, although none of the people she has grown used to relying on to mend her wounds is here.)
her vision blurs with tears, but she ignores them as she darts forward to bring the axe down on him. she's aiming for his neck, but with her blurred vision and the way the blood loss makes her stagger, she will be lopping off his left hand instead of his head.]
Ordinarily, the sight of her blood would propel him into crisis mode. He would take charge and call for backup, even if he'd been the one to wound her, even if she'd deserved it. Now, it still launches him into action--but in a very different way.
Live, live, live
She's smaller than him. Not nearly as easy to overpower as she looks, but the difference is still enough, he thinks, that he shouldn't need to fear her. It's a risky move, but he trusts his abilities enough to reach out, intending to wrest the axe from her.
But the sight of her tears breaks through the haze of hurt and scorn in his heart. He falters, and the blade slices through his wrist, white-hot pain scorching across his nerves. He gasps in pain, but after all those experiments he'd undergone, adrenaline and survival manifest in a very different way. Instead of grasping at his wrist and trying to stem the flow of blood, he strikes out, his remaining hand in a claw and aiming for her face.]
sheba should have expected him to strike back immediately, perhaps; after all, hasn't she just done the same thing with the axe? she knows firsthand what the desperation to live will do to a person.
but she's still caught by surprise when he claws at her face, anyway. she yelps, jerking back - his nails have drawn blood, and she brings a hand up to her face to press over it.
also her limbs choose that exact moment to just give up on her with her reliver effect, which will give luke time to collect himself at least.]
[If he were a man with chivalry and honor, perhaps he wouldn't have pulled such a move--but such virtues died with each lash, each brand, each cruel refusal of his cries for help. Outside of this room, maybe he'll remember that none of that truly happened, that he's staggering to his feet for the sake of falsehoods. But right now, Sheba is just another representative of the injustices he's suffered. The recollections of her laughter and her bravery flicker out as his blood pours freely--
--or do they?
Sheba's limbs fail her, and Luke's struck by the scratches he's clawed into her face. His thoughts stutter as those wounds are overlaid with her tears, and then again with the sound of her screams when they'd been strapped down, side by side.
He's hurt her. Why has he hurt her?
--Why has she hurt him? Why? Why?
...
His gaze flicks to the abandoned bomb as he grows lightheaded. He needs to end this, one way or another.]
no, she doesn't want him to get his hands on that bomb. if he does, it's over for her, isn't it? he'll blow her right up. no matter how she struggles to survive, she likely won't survive that kind of an explosion.
and she wants to live.
so, hissing, she forces herself back to her feet, her limbs thankfully not giving out under her again just yet. but she's unsteady and woozy from the blood loss, so although she's able to get up and stagger toward the bomb, luke will likely beat her to it if he's motivated to move.]
Well. Their captors, technically. But to Luke, a man who'd always believed that a person's pain is uniquely their own and incomparable to anyone else's, this is an unanswerable question. Even now, with his mind warped, he isn't thinking in terms of her determination versus his--he is only trying to fight through the convoluted mess of memories, the clash of emotions in his mind.
This will end if he grabs the bomb. That is the only thing he knows is certain.
But he's a little too slow. He's bleeding just a little too much. He only has one hand to grab the bomb with, and his vision is going white, his ears ringing. He's taller than her, and closer, and it's only those advantages that put the bomb in his hand before she gets close enough to make this hard for him.
He grabs it--
Go, dummy! They'll catch up to us if someone doesn't stay to hold them off!
--and, with his dwindling consciousness, throws it as hard as he can, trying to get it away from where he last remembers Sheba was.]
well, she's surprised. because he didn't throw it directly at her. at the same time, she's not surprised. everything is such a muddle and a mess in her head.
but.
this is a relatively small cell. there's only so much space to chuck the bomb away, and it hits the wall and bounces back at exactly the right angle to place it closer to sheba than luke. she's aware of it in snapshots - there's some time. she could pick it up and throw it at him. she could throw herself over it to keep it from exploding worse. there are many things she could do, but -
her limbs give out on her again, and she finds herself falling to the ground again. she twitches, trying to force herself back up to her feet, to do anything other than lay here and wait for the explosion, but though she strains against it - she can't. her limbs won't obey her, and she's just...
she's stuck. bleeding out, here in this cell, just another part of some twisted experiment.
[ WHY IS POOR SHEBA THE ONLY GIRL STUCK ON THIS CYOA WITH THESE FIVE DUDES????? anyway i guess only spoon can react to this thread and since she is busy i can simply pretend diluc is having a one-sided conversation with dion.
just kidding diluc doesn't say anything, he just watches in terse silence. given how these horrible matches have progressed, he figures it'll be him in the next cell. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
MOVEMENT III
LUKE & SHEBA
A memory is implanted in Luke. You were a good man. Oh, you were among the very best. You served your community well, joining the Corps for no reason other than to be of service to others. You helped little old ladies carry their groceries from the marché and you fed stray cats. How well-loved you were. … so, why? Why was it, that when you entered a home with the intention of helping with another favor, finding a bloody massacre, you were named the murderer? Why did no one testify to help you during your trial? Why were you sentenced to this life of torture and agony without a single soul to turn to? What was that saying about good deeds…? You intend to continue living, one way or another. You can’t be stopped. Won’t be. Others must have a taste of this cruel irony: that nothing in life is guaranteed, and you will be the deliverer of injustice to anyone who gets too comfortable.
A memory is implanted in Sheba. You are a young woman born with an unforetold amount of power. You have always been strong, faster, more formidable than anyone else. Your parents, Relivers, fostered your pride more than any other trait. What did you need for kindness? Growing older, you did not have a great deal of compassion for anyone else—any problems could be solved with your family’s wealth. Until they couldn’t. You crossed a noble house more powerful than yours, and how quick your family was to abandon you. A beast of a child, they said. They let you get captured. Tortured. Your body and pride left in shambles until only the thirst for revenge remained. You need to survive this fight, if only to seek out your revenge on everyone else who wronged you. What is worse? To be abandoned by your family or cherished only when convenient?
In the cell, the following await you: an axe, a whip, a bomb.
The rage in your memories is strong. This newly implanted life fights against the last life’s memory of your years in Arpéchéle and that memory still fights against the memory of your weeks on the Eudora and time in your home world. They all wrestle for dominance, but a bloodlust permeates every single feeling.
But the heart isn’t so simple. The other strong feeling demanding your attention is your relationship with the person you’re in the cell with—what you know, genuinely know of them, and all the feelings that come with that.
Is emotion still worthwhile, if it will destroy you from the inside? ]
no subject
but! but. she wants to live. despite everything - the jumbled memories, the bloodlust, the horrible things they've experienced on this adventure and on the eudora - she really, truly wants to live. she's tired of resigning herself to her fate. she'd done it once, when falling from venus lighthouse, and felix had saved her then; she'd done it again, in the execution with shouxue, and despite that had persisted in the helly belly.
but she doesn't want to live just by chance, or because someone else had tried to protect her anymore. she wants to live because she's chosen to. in the end, despite felix's assurances in that room before the experiments - he hadn't actually come back for her, had he? she's been left here.
deep down, in her heart, she knows that luke isn't her enemy here. she knows they should all be looking for a way out of this together. she knows, and yet - she doesn't know.
what's strongest in her right now is a fierce desire to live. why should she care if he does? if any of the others do? what good has having compassion for anyone else ever done her, anyway? the only one she can trust to take care of her, in the end, is herself. these experiments have proven that.
her gaze flicks over the axe and the whip. luke is taller than her, stronger than her, and she's not sure of her chances against him in a melee fight.
so she lunges for the bomb.]
no subject
But "ordinarily" died long ago. And no amount of torture training could hold up under what they've been through, to this point. He's had his body and his mind torn to pieces and stitched back together on a whim. He's lived life after life, and though a part of him clings desperately to truth... by the time this fresh set of memories is implanted into him, he has no real way of confirming anything. The paranoia builds within him, his body aches from the coughing fit he'd had before being forced in here, and when his eyes settle on Sheba, those memories of bold explorations and cheerful conversations cannot hold out under the fury of false accusations.
He'd promised someone, not long ago(?), that he would choose to live.
It was never meant this way--and some deep, distant part of his heart aches to think of it. But it settles into his mind alongside this most recent life, and it's all he needs to let his body guide him.
Sheba goes for the bomb, and Luke, the axe. He doesn't hesitate to grab the handle and throw it, aiming to hit her with the blade somewhere vital. He can try to make this quick: That's the dredges of his kindness.]
no subject
no, seriously, ouch. you said he threw it which means i'm imagining it's a smaller hand axe which means two things:
1. when she twists mid-lunge to try to dodge, the blade sinks into her shoulder and lodges itself there instead of immediately beheading her
2. she's thrown off-course by the attempt to dodge and the subsequent blow.
her fingers curl around the handle of the whip, instead of the bomb she was aiming for. and though she grits her teeth and braces herself, biting down a cry of pain her reflexes are good enough to lash out with the whip - aiming to tangle it around his legs and pull him down as she tries to scramble back to her feet.]
no subject
But no--the axe hits, and he takes advantage of it to put space between them, since he noticed her going for the bomb. But the choice backfires, since it gives her the chance to grab the whip. It puts enough space between them that she's able to catch one of his ankles, and he goes down, though he's able to brace himself as he falls.
He grunts, but he rolls over onto his back, aiming to kick out at her if she tries to get close.]
no subject
without really thinking about it, she grips the handle with her other hand and pulls. it's stuck in there pretty well, and ordinarily she wouldn't have the strength to free it, but she's... there's something about adrenaline and bloodlust in tandem, and although inwardly she is screaming at herself to just stop, she's just as out of control now as she was in the thrall of the eudora's rage. she dislodges it with a hiss, ignoring the way she is starting to bleed out now that the axe isn't plugging the wound, and stares down at luke.
(one of the others will heal it, she catches herself thinking, although none of the people she has grown used to relying on to mend her wounds is here.)
her vision blurs with tears, but she ignores them as she darts forward to bring the axe down on him. she's aiming for his neck, but with her blurred vision and the way the blood loss makes her stagger, she will be lopping off his left hand instead of his head.]
no subject
Ordinarily, the sight of her blood would propel him into crisis mode. He would take charge and call for backup, even if he'd been the one to wound her, even if she'd deserved it. Now, it still launches him into action--but in a very different way.
Live, live, live
She's smaller than him. Not nearly as easy to overpower as she looks, but the difference is still enough, he thinks, that he shouldn't need to fear her. It's a risky move, but he trusts his abilities enough to reach out, intending to wrest the axe from her.
But the sight of her tears breaks through the haze of hurt and scorn in his heart. He falters, and the blade slices through his wrist, white-hot pain scorching across his nerves. He gasps in pain, but after all those experiments he'd undergone, adrenaline and survival manifest in a very different way. Instead of grasping at his wrist and trying to stem the flow of blood, he strikes out, his remaining hand in a claw and aiming for her face.]
no subject
sheba should have expected him to strike back immediately, perhaps; after all, hasn't she just done the same thing with the axe? she knows firsthand what the desperation to live will do to a person.
but she's still caught by surprise when he claws at her face, anyway. she yelps, jerking back - his nails have drawn blood, and she brings a hand up to her face to press over it.
also her limbs choose that exact moment to just give up on her with her reliver effect, which will give luke time to collect himself at least.]
no subject
--or do they?
Sheba's limbs fail her, and Luke's struck by the scratches he's clawed into her face. His thoughts stutter as those wounds are overlaid with her tears, and then again with the sound of her screams when they'd been strapped down, side by side.
He's hurt her. Why has he hurt her?
--Why has she hurt him? Why? Why?
...
His gaze flicks to the abandoned bomb as he grows lightheaded. He needs to end this, one way or another.]
no subject
oh.
oh, no.
no, she doesn't want him to get his hands on that bomb. if he does, it's over for her, isn't it? he'll blow her right up. no matter how she struggles to survive, she likely won't survive that kind of an explosion.
and she wants to live.
so, hissing, she forces herself back to her feet, her limbs thankfully not giving out under her again just yet. but she's unsteady and woozy from the blood loss, so although she's able to get up and stagger toward the bomb, luke will likely beat her to it if he's motivated to move.]
no subject
Well. Their captors, technically. But to Luke, a man who'd always believed that a person's pain is uniquely their own and incomparable to anyone else's, this is an unanswerable question. Even now, with his mind warped, he isn't thinking in terms of her determination versus his--he is only trying to fight through the convoluted mess of memories, the clash of emotions in his mind.
This will end if he grabs the bomb. That is the only thing he knows is certain.
But he's a little too slow. He's bleeding just a little too much. He only has one hand to grab the bomb with, and his vision is going white, his ears ringing. He's taller than her, and closer, and it's only those advantages that put the bomb in his hand before she gets close enough to make this hard for him.
He grabs it--
Go, dummy! They'll catch up to us if someone doesn't stay to hold them off!
--and, with his dwindling consciousness, throws it as hard as he can, trying to get it away from where he last remembers Sheba was.]
1/2
well, she's surprised. because he didn't throw it directly at her. at the same time, she's not surprised. everything is such a muddle and a mess in her head.
but.
this is a relatively small cell. there's only so much space to chuck the bomb away, and it hits the wall and bounces back at exactly the right angle to place it closer to sheba than luke. she's aware of it in snapshots - there's some time. she could pick it up and throw it at him. she could throw herself over it to keep it from exploding worse. there are many things she could do, but -
her limbs give out on her again, and she finds herself falling to the ground again. she twitches, trying to force herself back up to her feet, to do anything other than lay here and wait for the explosion, but though she strains against it - she can't. her limbs won't obey her, and she's just...
she's stuck. bleeding out, here in this cell, just another part of some twisted experiment.
how pathetic.]
2/2
sheba is dead.]
PEANUT GALLERY
no subject
just kidding diluc doesn't say anything, he just watches in terse silence. given how these horrible matches have progressed, he figures it'll be him in the next cell. ]