824/CatP - Azure Reverie

CatP - Azure Reverie
Date of Scene:	18 October 2014
Location:	A Quiet World
Synopsis:	The group moves to recover the number eleven. Things get pretty complicated.
Cast of Characters:	Kotone Yamakawa, Arthur Lowell, Staren, Priscilla, 152, 183, 253, Riva Banari, Eryl Fairfax, Ayako Hasekawa
Tinyplot:	A Chime at the Precipice

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Mizuki (183) has posed:
    The Mystical Waterwary is precisely how Arthur would remember it: silent, with a pervasive undertone of the ominous. It's a bit more overt here than it is elsewhere, though; as you have likely already noticed, there are statues of people all through the streets, but not a single living being to be found anywhere. As the children from the city of corals had said, a curse is the only thing this can be likened to... or would be if there had to be a rational explanation. Thankfully, as it has been demonstrated, it does not, and this city was likely created in exactly the same manner as it currently stands.

    Whether people would interpret this atmosphere as peaceful or unnerving, though, it should take them no time at all to locate the so-called 'royal circle' -- it is defined by a spire of pure crystalline beauty that strikes through the heart of the city, and would immediately draw any and all eyes to its presence. Sheep says the very same as they walk, commenting sarcastically on the ostentatious nature of the architecture. "So I know you're supposed to be the stereotypical, pretentious rich girl," She would quip to Mizuki on their way, "but didja -really- have to shove a literal crystal palace in the middle of this place? I mean, seriously. Isn't that going just a liii~~ttllee overboard?" All too casual for a person who stands in opposition to the group, any would note, but she still has yet to hinder them outright.

    Eventually, the group winds through the roads and reaches a river that, if followed, takes them directly to the circle. Once there, Sheep would beckon them onward. "C'mon, squares," She gestures off to the right, giving them a playful grin in lieu of any expression from her closed eyes, "it's thisaway." She leads them through the wide, rounded street that circles the castle's towers, and to the door of a blue-tinted house that, true to the words of the little sea creatures, is not in prime condition. That's to say, the prismatic tiles of its roof have long since fallen in, and the edifice itself seems to slump. A 'humble abode' indeed, though certainly one that retains the whimsical nature of the world about it.

    Mizuki would have informed anyone that wasn't here for the group's previous excursion through the sea to meet them 'in the circle around the castle'. Those directions should be enough to help any newcomers find their way to the royal circle as well, and eventually, inevitably, they would be drawn to the only source of genuine life in the region: the group of elites that had arrived before them. Once everyone has gathered thusly, Mizuki would address them as she always does, her arms folded behind her back in just the most authoritative stance she can muster.

    "Today, we face the artist." The frown on her face and the tone of her voice do not tell of optimistic expectations, but she continues nonetheless. "True to her name, she has wield over the skills of sculpting and painting. How this will translate to martial skill eludes me, but at the very least, expect something... unconventional." Sheep grins afterward, stepping up beside her and addressing the group as well. "So she can paint pictures, right? Right. Lemme be the one to warn you, those paintings come to life. Like, literally. Things either pop out of 'em, or things go into 'em. I'm guessing that she'll be doing that second thing to level the playing field. Just be warned -- the second we go in her house, we're on her turf. And her turf isn't safe."

    Sheep concludes with a yawn and a languid stretch that draw a somewhat baleful look from Mizuki. Just before she can speak again, though, another sound bounces like a pinball off down the street north of where everyone currently stands; a voice, high-pitched and girlish like Sheep's own.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    "YOOOOOO, SHEEEEP!" A girl with blinking Christmas lights hung upon the cone of her dress's skirt skids to a halt on the cyan tiles of the round, confidently folding her arms once she's come to a stop. Like Sheep, all of her attire and body - even the Christmas lights - follow a strict monochromatic color scheme -- her skin is bleached, her dress is solely black and white. "What's happening today?" She gives a poisonous grin. "As if I even need to ask! These people are here to cut up The Artist, right? Cool, cool. I can dig that." She turns to face the rest of them, finally. "I'll just be back here watchin', if you don't mind. Don't mind me."

    Mizuki flat out ignores any subsequent exchanges between Sheep and the equally abrasive new girl. Frankly, she's used to this crap by now. "I shall assume everyone is ready, then?" She gazes around the group, and nods. "Then without further adieu." She uncrosses her arms and reaches for the door's handle, sliding it open to reveal...

    ... a room. It's small, cramped, and filled with so many canvases and sculptures that it's nearly impossible to navigate. On the far side sits a single young woman with silver hair and a smock tarnished with the stains of aged paints, focused completely on a painting in front of her. If she notices that the door has been opened, she pays it no mind.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber is here, moving along in his usual attire of a t-shirt, slacks, shoes and his long coat. He's also smoking, because that's one of his more casual and apparent vices, a cigarette held in his mouth as he goes. Psyber defends Mizuki to Sheep as they walk, "A crystal palace is still slightly less on the nose than it would be if she had a literal tower of ivory somewhere in this place," He helpfully points out while walking.

    "Probably animate combatants of her own artistic creation. Living paintings, stonework golems, animate architecture and art installations," Psyber conjectures in terms of the martial ability of the artist. It's just a guess based on 'artist', but he feels it should be pretty on point, "Likely the ability to modify the battlefield through painting or artistic reinterpretation as well. She herself will not be the overt challenge, so much as navigating the battlefield to reach her and put a bullet in her."

    Most of this is him idly guessing, but still. He exhales a plume of smoke and looks around curiously when the door opens. If there's going to attempt to be a peaceful resolution, Psyber hangs back a bit and has his hand on the gun at his hip. He doesn't want to stop people from trying to revolve peacefully, even if it's not in his wheelhouse.

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako is cheerfully walking along with the group, although she's not in her usual sweater and skirt ensemble. Instead, she's dressed up as a witch with a waterdrop motif and holding a broomstick in her right hand. Ayako looks up cheerfully at Sheep. "But, but... crystal and water work really well together!" She nods her head quickly, "Besides, if you're going to create something, you don't go halfway, you go all the way!" She exchanges playfully with Sheep, "On our way, squinty." And grins just as playfully back to her.

    Ayako nods her head slowly as she listens to Mizuki as they stop in the royal circle for a moment to get regrouped. "Well... I hope we can get through without fighting... I do have quite a bit of respect for artists, after all." She waves hello cheerfully to the christmas tree light girl. "Too bad. I will mind you! Nice lights!" She giggles softly.

    And then quickly turns back to Mizuki. "A-ahh... yup, I'm ready!" As she follows everyone else into the room.

Staren has posed:
    Staren travels the waterway in the same wetsuit/spy stealthsuit-type gear as before. "Hey. It's her dream, she can do what she wants." Staren rebuffs Sheep's critique of the palace being placed here. He nods to New Girl and Psyber. "That would seem to be the obvious thing to expect, yeah." Once it's clear that they'll be fighting soon, though, he henshins, his body glowing, then when the glow fades he's covered head-to-toe in his cyborg armor. He's not sure how much having an imagined version of his robot body ready will help, but... it will save him effort later, so he won't have to imagine weapons or armor up in a pinch. "I'm ready."

Faruja (152) has posed:
One would think that, by now, Faruja would get used to the feeling of wrongness and Heresy by now, after all the times he's been in Mizuki's head/world. True to form, there's the simmering desire to burn just about everything that /isn't/ Mizuki herself, or now the skeleton-convert he's made.

In a more reflective time, Faruja will consider that at least an improvment to the headspace of a woman he likes.

As for Sheep? "Then ye clearly doth not appreciate the beauty of crystals, nor their magical potential, my Lady." Responds Faruja to Sheep even as he's following the others about. Luckily Teleportation helps in getting with his allies.

A nod to Mizuki, after his customary bows and greetings to the group.

"Mmm. Replication through magical painting and sculpting? Curious. Let us all remain on guard, then." At least Sheep has been helpful, for someone supposedly against them all.

Faruja, likewise ignores Sheep and the christmas-light adorned girl.

"After ye, Lady Mizuki."

Faruja then summons Carbuncle, the little green esper perching on the rat's head as is customary, ready to defend rat and ally alike.

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
     The Mystical Waterway: Ostentatious? Without a doubt. Flamboyant? Absolutely. Utterly enrapturing to the likes of Eryl? For sure. Coming from a world of dust and sand, where the prettiest thing one might see is a withered corpse of a tree, this place is utterly dazzling. His head and eyes swivel around and around, saving what he sees so that he can remember it forever.

     However, he has not forgotten why they are here. To retrieve the number, preferably without violence. However, there is an unknown quantity here: Sheep. The abrasive girl who claims to know Sophia. Considering what Sophie did back in The Township of Black Lace, he doesn't want Sophia, or anyone closely allied with her, anywhere near these important, number-bearing figures. So even though he seems to be the entranced tourist, he is always keeping one eye on the monochrome girl.

     At least, until another one shows up. Darn. Now he'll have to occupy his full attention on the two. Looking at the new arrival, he gives a tight smile and inclines his head to her. "Greetings Miss. I am Eryl Fairfax, diplomat for the ReGenesis Corporation." Having spun that broken record once more, he stands outside the Artist's domain.

     "I am ready," he says simply. For a moment, he is tempted to take off his coat and roll up his sleeves... but that would feel like he was giving up on any chance of getting through this without fighting. So he steps through with his outfit complete. Looking around at all the creations before him, he smiles, his eyes falling upon the apparent Artist. "Hello? Are you The Artist?"

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
Kotone Yamakawa is keeping a good move on with everyone else, she listens to hear what the others have to say there's a lot to take in after all and she's also looking at the sheep for a moment longer it's curious really.

"Good to ahve you wish us Sheep."

She looks to Mizuki and nods then suddnely there's a room full of art, so much art she can't help but stop and gawk at it all.

Arthur Lowell has posed:
    ARTHUR LOWELL is here, in his usual way. There's a bit of casual response to Sheep, good-natured and good-humored. Even if they're here to kill people, Arthur can't help but keep casual and friendly! "HAHAHAHA, well if you GOT IT you FLAUNT IT, yeah? Might as well go ALL OUT to be WHO YOU ARE and all, huh?" He's doing his usual swaggering walk, despite the ominousness of the situation really quite effectively piercing his mental blocks and the fresh juxtaposition of scary awfulness over that ominous feeling from before...

    But there's a grin to Mizuki. "Between ME, and FARUJA, and YOU, we oughta have enough SPACE POWER to deal with some PAINTINGS, huh? Don't worry, I TOTALLY GOT THIS." He gives a quick thumbs-up. And then a little, grateful nod to Sheep. "Thanks for the DEETS, we'll be CAREFUL, yep." He says, enthusiastically.

    Then there's a grin and a wave to the girl showing up now. "HEY! Glad to see you're bein' CIVIL about this. Who're YOU? Ah well DON'T WORRY, we won't mind." There's a wink and a fingergun and he points to the door. "Probably gonna be a GREAT SHOW."

    And then he swaggers his way in, coming to a stop just inside the doorway. He speaks up quickly, and briefly. While he retains his odd, emphatic way of speaking, he does seem to take a more... Serious tone. Maybe even slightly grim. "HEY. I know WHAT'S UP. How this has to GO and all. We don't have to DRAW THIS OUT and make it AWFUL." He takes one step forward. "We'll go whichever way you NEED to, yeah? You probably wanna get this over with FAST though." He's being surprisingly polite about this! Even if his words don't make a terribly large amount of sense.

    "Your FRIENDS out THERE made it sound like you were expecting a CUT-UP, though. I'm not the kinda DUDE who SLICES UP A LADY who's not READY and who's got her BACK to me. If that's what you WANT... You gonna take this OUTSIDE? Or INSIDE? Hate to bust up all the ART in here with a BRAWL." He crosses his arms in a legitimately somber sort of posture, waiting for the local Curate's response to his confusing little talk, and preparing for the likely shift in scenery...

Priscilla has posed:
    Priscilla is still here. Questioning how a river runs through a city underwater. Contrary to Faruja, she really likes the realm of Mizuki's imagination, but perhaps it would be nice if it made a little bit more sense than that. Despite the fact that everyone seems to have Sheep well handled, Priscilla can't help a curt little retort of her own. "And if thou art a stereotypical nosy brat, dost thou truly need an ill-mannered comment for everything?" Whether or not she likes the crystals, the prattling jabs are getting on her nerves.

    She outright ignores the second girl. It's too much already to keep track of all the young women running around Mizuki's mind, and which ones are aligned with which. For now, the artist is the only really important one. "Thou art less confident than before, Lady Mizuki." Another look as sheep interrupts. "That information is hardly of any use of us if she is able to simply paint anything she wishes."

Riva Banari has posed:
Wheeee! Art! Riva is totally into this. I mean, how often do you get to see the pure essence of someone's artistic ability? Riva is practically swimming.

Oh wait, she's actually swimming. Riva is swimming along through the air/water past Sheep, chilling. "Oh, don't worry about it! I'm sure we can work things out!" She hopes. The last few times everything was obliterated kind of weigh on her, she supposes.

She settles for walking again by the time they get to the Artist's abode, and she peeks into the abode, peering around a couple statues at the aforementioned Artist. "Hiiiiiiiiii!" She says brightly, waving. This seems to be a habit.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Sheep smiles at Psyber first, her gaze always spot on in spite of the fact that her eyes never open. "Heh. Just wait 'till you get to Echo. That place has plenty of Ivory Towers, and more than enough snobs to inhabit them. Place is real 'honest', if you know what I mean." His musings on the Artist's abilities, though, get a more excited series of nods. "Dingdingding! Man, you're good at this genre savvy shit, aren't you. Yeah, you're prolly gonna get eaten by a painting or two before you get a shot at the lady. Funny thing, actually -- all a' these Sentinel people are supposed to be super powerful, but none of them can defend themselves. They rely on other things to do that for them." She snickers. "Oops, might've given you a bit of a tip there. Oh well~. Enemy of my enemy and all that."

    Sheep narrows her eyes at Ayako, giving her smile a slightly darker feel. "Oh, yeah. The Lady of the House certainly never does things halfway. Prolly because the few times she did, bad stuff happened~." Mizuki glares in her direction. "... I do not know how you are aware of these things, but you will cease discussion of them now." Sheep raises her hands, waggling her fingers a little. "Oooohh, scary~. Rar~." She just sticks her tongue out at Faruja and Staren. "Yeah, yeah~. Whaaat~ever."

    The lights girl is the next to respond to those present, smiling confidently as two TV monitors on her shoulders - almost like bizarre, technological pauldrons - turn on and begin to emit some sort of bizarre fanfare:

( http://tinyurl.com/lxh5pou )

    "'Greetings' to you, too, dude!" She gives Eryl a few quick, erratic nods. "I'm Telephone: technological genius, expert gamer, and Sheep's best friend for ETERNITY! If I need any more intro than -THAT-, then... well, I don't, so whatever." Her neon green eyes, the only feature she has that breaks the monotonous black-white trend of her body, gleam as she speaks. Pretty spirited, this one. She and Sheep both seem appreciate of Arthur's more warm demeanor, each of them returning it in kind. Personally, Telephone gives a biiig thumbs-up. "You're welcome! Nice to know ~somebody~ isn't out to get us around here!"

    The Artist, meanwhile, makes absolutely no effort whatsoever to respond to Eryl. It's hard to believe that she didn't hear them, but then she does seem fairly absorbed in her work. Could she really not notice them? Only time will tell, it seems, and it certainly does once everyone addresses her. When he finishes talking, she tosses her paintbrush on to the ground an stares down the group with a pair of decidedly angry eyes. Yep, she's pissed. Didn't take too long this time.

    "Be QUIET!" She balls her fists, staring out at them past the barricade of canvases, papers, utensils, and stones. "Don't you realize who I am, and what I'm doing? If I do not have my silence and my solitude, than I will not be able to complete any of my work! And if I cannot complete my work, than all of the others will be AHEAD of me! You know full well that I cannot allow that. I must continue working." She looks back to the canvas immediately after, picking up a new brush and shaking her head. To herself, she mumbles quite audibly, and hurriedly, "All of them... so much better than me. Always, so far beyond me. But I'll catch up. No, no -- surpass. Then they will rue all the tears I shed of my own incompetence. Every. Last. One."

    Mizuki, however, still manages a smile for Priscilla and Arthur. "Not... less confident, per se. Just not quite as capable of hiding my own uncertainty." Arthur's commentary certainly helps, though, and she gives him an appreciative nod. "Indeed. We should have no trouble." Her eyelids droop somewhat, and she looks out at the town. Sigh. "... if we do indeed come to blows, though, I will miss this place. This was always one of my favorite retreats."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    At Arthur's continued pestering, however, the Artist grows outright furious. She stands, sending her seat clattering to the ground some space away, colliding with a ceramic urn and shattering it into pieces. Without any regard for this occurence, the Artist spins to the group, pointing her paintbrush at them and swatting it around as though it were a sword. "Oh, so THAT is what you've come for. Your precious number." She sneers. "Well, you cannot have it. You shall never have it. I have pressing work to attend to -- far more important work than you ill-conceived spirits could ever wrap your heads around. And you will NOT interrupt me further."

    True to the group's predictions, two canvases nearest the entrance - one depicting a meadow of cherry blossoms and the other a barren tundra - have large, whirling black vortexes appear on top of them. They would threaten to drag the elites inside, half of the group each. Mizuki herself is quickly drawn toward the snowfield.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Ahh, Priscilla. Faruja makes a mental note to never test her tongue's sharpness. The image of losing a tail flashes through his mind.

When Arthur speaks, Faruja frowns lightly. "Overconfidence hath been the death of...alright, fine, mayhaps not ye or Mizuki, but more than one Time Mage hath found themselves half inside of a wall after speaking such words." Cautions the rat. Painting or not, he fully intends to take the threat seriously. Hence the cute Esper on his head.

Cue more pointed ignoring of Sheep. Grrrr. Grrrrr! Though he does catch the bit about 'can't defend themselves'. Faruja tries not to smile.

Faruja's about to suggest something diplomatic to the clearly obsessed Artist, before paintings appear and snatch away Mizuki! He squeaks, and looks up to Carbuncle, who swiftly offers a gust of wind at her! Then? He's leaping into the Snowy Painting.

"Mizuki!" Off to save fellow Time Person.

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako smiles brightly up at Telephone, "Nice to meet you, Telephone! Oh oh... I'd love to game with you sometime! Err... well..." She glances off to the side awkwardly, smiles awkwardly, and scratches her cheek with her pointer finger just as awkwardly. "Not really the time to do that, though..." A bright giggle escapes her lips and is quickly interrupted by The Artist's 'Be QUIET!'.

    Ayako winces visibly. "A-ah... sorry..." She says softly... and then winces when the two paintings near the entrance begin trying to suck everyone in. "Eep, eep, eeep! H-hey! No need to be so violent!" Ayako quickly gets sucked into the Snowy Painting. "Kyaaaa!"

Staren has posed:
    Staren sighs as the Artist gets all ranty. So he replies with his own: "/Seriously/? /YOU/, of /all/ people in this world of stories, should see how this is gonna play out! The heroes are gonna gather up all the numbers and overcome their challenges, and then Dark Mizuki is gonna show up at the last second and say 'ah, I see you gathered all the numbers up for me, thanks nerds, YOINK' and then we have to fight her before she can do something terrible with them... so why are you dooming yourself and your land by /being/ challenges? Break out of the narrative by doing something new! Join us! ...Woah-AAAAAAH hey! Your attacks are supposed to make stuff come /out/ of paintings!"

    Staren complains as he's pulled into the tundra painting. Here's hoping things aren't too terrible in there ...There's gonna be snow monsters, aren't there.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "For someone that lives in her head, you sure don't know much about me. I'm basically her platonic ideal anti-hero. Gritty, self-sacrificing, the whole nine yards," Psyber says to Sheep with a pretty joking tone, "I even work in the Noir Detective field of business. I have the whole 'try to fight monsters without becoming the monster I hunt' thing. It's really just her whole authorial dream. You should expect me to be pretty saavy." He assures her.

    And then the Artist is snapping, and looks very pissed, "Wow, you're rocking the angry chick vibe at about a 9. Let's take that down to a 5 before you get too out of control," He notes in a flat tone, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and dropping it to the ground, crushing it under the toe of his shoe with a heavy sigh.

    "No but seriously, you're what? The ennui of her sense of authorship? Her sense of inadequacy at a lack of the mastery she wishes she has? Or are you just writer's block and her rage when she runs out of stories? The sadness of being unable to create without adequate inspiration? Her repressed feelings of self-comparison to those around her? Just tell me if I hit it on the head with one of these. Or maybe it's none of those and you're just a wannabe, locked in a room clinging to the only thing that has EVER made you even remotely relevant."

    Psyber is deliberately riling her up now that the fight seems to be starting. An angry opponent makes mistakes. But more importantly, an artist blind with rage will have problems creating as well as they normally can, and that might benefit the group in the long run. It's incredibly mean, but hopefully also effective.

    Of course, the fight is also starting, so Psyber takes an MP3 player out of his breast pocket and puts in the earbuds, cueing up a good song and humming it to himself as he heads towards the meadow of Cherry Blossoms, willingly letting the vortex take him.

Arthur Lowell has posed:
    Arthur immediately takes a more aggressive posture. This is one of Those Curates, huh? Well, fine, he thinks. He can work with that. "HELL YEAH I'm ill-conceived. Bitch, my CONCEPTION was the ILLEST THING since EBOLA. But it's pretty CLEAR you're not gonna do this NICE." Arthur says, immediately thrown into a more hostile mode by the rejection of his more polite efforts. His broom's immediately in his hands and his body in a battle-stance before she even gets hostile.

    And when she does, Arthur's SPACE RESISTANCE leaves him standing there. Not long, though. He'll be there just long enough to jab the broom accusingly at the Artist. "Tried the NICE WAY. Now I don't care WHAT part of COOL MINDS you are. Now we try the way where I TEAR EVERYTHING THE FUCK UP." He says, simply. Then he closes his eyes and holds out both arms, letting the vortex take him. Faruja and Mizuki are on one, that's some space firepower there, though mostly time. Arthur figures the meadow will need a little too.

    And so, relaxing his SPACE MAGIC RESISTANCE, he's drawn there. Honestly, in a world so defined by narrative, not going along with the flow is probably a recipe for messing things up, and so he lets it take him. But he makes sure to do it in a way that's cool and dignified, and not panicked or anything. Yeah, that's cool.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva makes a mental note to pester Sheep and Telephone later. That is, she makes a sticky-note and sticks it inside her coat. SEE WHAT SHE DID THERE?

Riva listens to the ranting of the Artist, and she frowns. "That's really sad... Is that how you find your own inspiration?" She asks, before she becomes even more confrontational than usual. "I... What? Wait, that's not going to-" She waves her hands, trying to emphasize before she is yoinked towards the cherry blossom picture. "WAAAAAAAGH!" She wails.

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
Kotone Yamakawa seems woed at all the art and pause at the enton of being eaten by a painting that sets her on edge, not that it's a thtreat btu that it's possible in this craxzy world really. She looks about for a moment longer before she greets the Artist and smiles.

"Greetings I'm Kotone Yamakawa."

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
     As the Artist turns and scolds him and Arthur, Eryl frowns slightly. Negotiating with someone who is fundamentally irrational is difficult. And from the sounds of things, this Sentinel has a massive inferiority complex. He raises his hands in a gesture of peace and pacification before speaking. "Miss, we do not mean to intrude. We only want the clock tower number. If you would please hand it to us, we will be on our way and leave you to your work."

     But then she gets really mad. Ranting about how important her work is. "Well Miss, if you just hand over the number, we'll be out of your hair and you can get back to wo-" He is cut off by the paintings trying to drag the party in! However, his heavier limbs anchor him a little more effectively. That brief moment is all he needs. Realizing that he likely cannot talk to the Artist from within a painting, he extends his Ungraspables. The thin blades buzz slightly as they vibrate at a high frequency before he stabs them into the floor, anchoring himself further!

Priscilla has posed:
    Telephone? Like the thing in Psyber's office that makes annoying ringing sounds? Who exactly names these people, and why are they so terrible at it. The demeanor of the Artist however, takes her entirely off guard. Priscilla had been expecting someone more . . . stately, perhaps. Someone more refined and sophisticated, confident in their works, and looking down on the philistines who couldn't understand them. Or perhaps someone actually kind hearted. A creator in search of beauty in truth. Someone like Iianor, or perhaps . . . Ariamis.

    Well so much for that. "If thou hast pressing need of correcting thine own inadequacy, then give us the number and return to thine own work. Otherwise, we shalt only distract thee until we possess it." She gives Ayako kind of a helpless look for being so soft in the face of someone so dangerous and hostile, and tries to give the same at Staren, before blinking at the realization that he might actually be right in how this world works. She has to put her hand over her mouth to try and stifle a noise at Psyber simply going to town on the poor woman however. She's just about to say something else as the vortices begin to spin, and then she finds herself losing her footing and pulled into the painting of the cherry blossoms.

    Somewhat like a particular, infamous pot of petunias, the thought that crosses her mind is the following: "Oh no, not this again."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    As promised, Sheep and Telephone hang back, watching everyone get sucked off into artsy oblivion. The former pays particular attention to Staren's remarks, though, calling after him before he's taken away. Cupping her hand around her mouth, she calls, "Buuuuuuuuuzzzzzz! Wrong! Pretty close, but still wrong!" Then Telephone chimes in. "Pfff. Would be pretty boring if that were the case, wouldn't it?" They look on also as Psyber does his absolute best to further piss of the artist, and man does it work like a charm. When he does leap into the cherry painting, he might be doing so to evade a deformed sculpture flying his way. "FILTH! ARROGANT -PUTRESENCE-! BEGONE!" Telephone has to twirl out of the way of the oncoming artwork, and Sheep gives an appreciative whistle.

    As if the Artist's mouth wasn't already frothing at the mere suggestion that she was representative of someone else's negative traits, Arthur's words just made her more pissed. She swats her brush across her canvas, drawing up several red strokes that would fly at him like long scythe blades. They're more than likely to miss him, too, as he dives in to the painting with Psyber, but she doesn't stop there. She gets to work immediately even once all of the rest of them have disappeared into her various painted worlds. In time, a flock of deformed pink-lavender 'birds' swarms outside of the cherry blossom portrait, diving in. Then she draws up an army of black spheres, sending those to the tundra. She never stops painting, but it seems the next few will take her a while longer.

    Eventually, though, she catches something out of the corner of her eye; something that all of her material legions had ignored. Eryl. She blinks, pausing in her work long enough to turn to him with a look of pure, unmitigated loathing. "You." Her hands quiver. "You should be gone. I should be alone. This is utter nonsense. NONSENSE!" With several more flicks of her wrists, a lattice of bonelike painted spires burst out of the already prominent barricade of artwork, at least temporarily barring him from approaching her. Then, several 'minions from each group stop in place, charing at him.

    Meanwhile, Sheep and Telephone set up shop on some chairs outside. They chill, Telephone commenting on how she is -sooo- going to have to play games with that yelly kid and Ayako later, and Sheep silently commenting on how much she appreciates Psyber's methods.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    THE CHERRY BLOSSOM PAINTING

    Those swept in to the cherry blossom painting - or who chose to go there - would find themselves atop a high hill that towers over an ever-expanding meadow of pink. There don't seem to be any significant environmental hazards save for the steep falls and long slopes, so this group may initially get the impression that they were let off easy. That is, until they begin to hear... ripping sounds. Yes, like the rip of paper; holes of black open in the blue sky from which pinkish wads of paint with movements vaguely similar to those of butterflies pour in, many from in front of them, and just as many from behind.

    Most of them do not hesitate in the least when they appear, such as those that go after Riva. The infernal artistic blasphemes swarm around her, threatening to draw her in to a tornado of themselves that quickly picks up in intensity. If she does not find a way to cut through the walls of them trying to surround her, she may well be thrown into the air! And the air is not an ideal place to be when you are being assailed by airborne opponents.

    The ones that go after Psyber and Arthur, however, are a bit more organized in their assault; they stop short of them, swirling in incandescent spheres of fuschia until they are able to congeal. And when they do? They burst forth as if they were some form of magical bomb, sending sharp spines hurtling at the both of them. One would zip by Arthur, aimed at his torso, while another would zoom past Psyber, threatening his right arm. All of the rest of them which had burst out to different directions are quick to reorient themselves when they know they have missed their marks, turning and attempting to stab at each of their sides.

    Priscilla is spared each of the initial attacks, but this peace is not to last; eventually, yet another swarm of the butterflies barrels into the side of the hill upon which she has found herself, disappearing for a spell. If she does not forsee what will happen, though, they would reappear underneath her, each one trying to cut her with their wings as they liberate themselves from the Earth.

Arthur Lowell has posed:
    Arthur stylishly flips sideways mid-sorta-dive. He makes a gesture to the Artist with both hands as he winds up slipping between those blades, suffering the lightest scratches. It's graceful and dexterous! As if planned the entire time. And also pretty stylish!

    The double-gesture he makes is really rude! What a jerk!

    And then as he lands in the MEADOW PAINTING, a heavy, thumping three-point landing with his battle-broom over his shoulder. With a quick flourish of the broom, he stands up. "ALRIGHT." He says, simply, speaking to those around him now. "PLAN A is EASY." He does another few demonstrative swipes with his broom, limbering up before taking a combat stance. "This is a PAINTING. The Curate is an ARTIST. She gets MAD and HURT easy." And then his body begins to glow with alternating black-and-white energy. "We're SURROUNDED BY THE ENEMY'S POWER. That means KILL in EVERY DIRECTION!"

    He takes a ready stance as the spines rush in... And allows the first one to slam heavily into his body, skidding backwards, a fair ways away, with a small spray of blood, with a loud, rising grunt of pain... But stopping their motion. Others start to slam into him from the sides, but his body glow intensifies and he lets out a shout!

    All of a sudden, Arthur Lowell is no longer there. Rather, there is brief moment where there's just a compressed spatial warp. Using his celestial and gravity abilities, Arthur briefly converts himself into a SPATIAL SINGULARITY, attempting to draw in and crush all the spines of butterflies that assail him. And then, after that brief flash, he immediately inverts the process, radiating the energy of the entire mass all at once in a broad blast down the hill, intending to tear up the landscape and ruin the beautiful environment through a brute-force blast of post-singularity-compression particles.

    Coming out of the flash with a swiping motion, Arthur himself has retained the rather severe cuts and bruises that have come with the spires' impacts or embeddings. He's also got a massive, enthusiastic grin, wide-eyed despite being bloody, and an archetypal shounen hero battlecry already on his lips.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    THE SNOW PAINTING

    The tundra, too, seems fairly benign at a glance, but the biting cold stops being an artistic liberty as soon as Faruja, Kotone, Staren, and Ayako leap (or in some cases, stumble) inside. The greatest hazard here manifests itself in the form of the ground beneath them -- as they will quickly realize, this is not actually a tundra, but a frozen lake! The snow covers the ice, but should the ice itself be stirred and exposed, those fighting on it would be well advised to watch their footing.

    Soon, though, just as it had come to pass in the first painting, daunting vortices open in the skies. Long, inky black bulbs pool at the tears in the canvas of the sky, eventually falling down in the forms of grody waterfalls. These waterfalls twist in the skies, however, bending like demonic tentacles to lash out at the group. The first be affected this way is Staren, who is the first person that one such ungodly appendage attempts to strike -- if he does not move, he would likely be crushed underneath it.

    The rest are not safe for any lengthy period, either; another such tentacle, albeit one somewhat slimmer, attempts to snake its way around Ayako. If she allows it to do so, it would squeeze at her as would some faceless serpent, though if she does not it would release even slimmer spines from its length to strike at her in its stead.

    And then Faruja. Rather than being faced with just one, he is attacked by a trio of them at once, all of them blindingly fast; the first two would attempt to lunge at and stab him while the third would arc upward and attempt to do the very same from above with a slight delay.

    And as for Kotone? There isn't as much of a show in her case. In fact, there is no show at all! For a spell, it seems that she has been completely ignored, but any carelessness this would inspire would be punished just as readily -- a puddle of darkness opens beneath her, and if she does not move quickly, innumerable spines would shoot out at her from their place on the ground.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber is wearing those earbuds, so he's pretty thankful that Arthur likes to EMPHASIZE important words, that means he knows the rough plan based solely based on Arthur's shouting certain phrases. 'Plan A' 'Painting' 'Artist' 'Kill in every direction'.

    "GOT IT!" Psyber shouts over the incredibly loud classic rock currently blasting into his ears. He draws a pair of pistols out of his jacket and says, "PERSONALLY I FIND THE WHOLE FIELD OF CHERRY BLOSSOMS WITH BUTTERFLIES TO BE A BIT SHALLOW AND CLICHE. I CAN GET ROUGHLY THIS PRINT FROM AN IKEA FOR LIKE TEN BUCKS? I THOUGHT SHE WAS A REAL ARTIST, NOT AN ARTIST LIKE YOKO ONO WAS AN ARTIST, WHERE SHE SLOWLY KILLS ART FROM THE INSIDE LIKE CREATIVE LEUKEMIA."

    His music is really loud. He's also really trying to piss off the artist some more by critiqueing the artistic merits of the thing she is using to attempt to murder him. The spines stick all up and down Psyber's arm, perforating it a bit as he uses it to shield his face. Others he dodges away from with swift rolls and dashes, trying to keep himself from taking too much damage.

    Where he can, he stops to roundhouse kick a tree and knock them over, wanting to trash the scenery as he goes.

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
So actually going into a painting this is a new experiance for she now goes into the painting keeping just a bit behind the others she seemed to be very timid on this. So a snowy painting will it be anything like home in the winter or something that much more alien? It's hard to know She takes a look about with the others whom hae gone with her she pauses at the ground it's a lake? Wait what? She takes a moment to wonder just what's happening. She wonders just what the world is doing to ... wait darkness? She's force to leap as hard as she can to avoid getting out of the puddle and being impaled.

"What kind of crazy painting is this! I get enough Darkness in Kingsmouth!"

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva finds herself in a beautiful cherry blossom landscape. She looks around, awed for a moment despite the disorienting situation. "This is very nice." Riva says to herself.

And then the holes happen. "That's not so nice!" She says as the butterflies of doom sweep down and begin surrounding her in a tornado. There is a click as Riva goes for her guns, but there is a yell, Riva being caught and launched upwards! She flips in the air, hanging there for a moment as gravity attempts to reassert dominance.

"If you want to fight me with art.." Riva says, shifting where she is reaching in her coat. "YOU'RE ON!"

One hand comes out with a series of thin sketching pens in various sizes, while the other produces a few paintbrushes. She begins to fall, and as the butterflies swarm around her, she juggles the implements of her combat, reaching out to poke one of the clouds with a brush and begin drawing it out like cotton candy. "Art is an essence of the soul. Innovation, imagination, inspiration... Turning your environment into something beautiful! Or fun! Or even just silly."

With a cry of elation, she swings, Spider-Man style, through the air, throwing her weight from side to side as she starts working to alter the environment to defend herself. A passing cloud becomes a thick mist to hide her as she sketches in the air, making new designs on the fly. A large net begins to get sketched around the area, billowing outwards with threads of gossamer and cloud as she casts it out to try to capture her assailants! "I call this one 'One Thousand Butterflies Caught By The Sky'. Like it?" She asks the air around her.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Suddenly, Faruja is very, /very/ glad for his fur, as he is very much /not/ equipped for winter weather. Even he finds himself shivering, wishing he hadn't cut his fur quite so close this time. He immediately reaches for a 'potion'. Quaff! That'll stave off the cold, at least mentally, for a bit.

Then, suddenly, his brain realizes 'gigantic sheet of ice water'. The Inquisitor begins passing out Float spells to the Snowy Painting group like candy as he can. Sometimes, Time Mage Cheating (tm) can be useful. Green magic flashes about as Faruja floats dramatically in the air.

Faruja, notably, does /not/ like inky black tentacles. The first causes him a lovely cut on the cheek as he barely manages to Float onto his back to avoid it. The second scrapes along his armor and sends him into a rather unfortunate spin in place, that he rapidly is forced to use a Gravity spell to right himself.

The third tentacle strikes true, causing him to scream and curse as his left arm is pierced at the shoulder, a swift Teleport saving him from death. As it is, red blood paints the ground as he floats and bleeds, muttering soft words.

Time and space warp as Faruja summons a massive Meteor, spitting the thing /upwards/ as he inverts the spell. The Time Mage seems to be content to attack the source of the blackness, praying they won't use his upwards-'falling' Meteor against him!

"The Darkness of an incompetent, cliche'd artist!" Calls out Faruja to Kotone.

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako quickly moves her right arm so that her broomstick is underneath her and gets on her broomstick proper as she's sucked into the painting. The moment she's in the painting proper, she slows her decent, stopping over the snow and quickly looks around. She doesn't seem to be affected by the cold at all-in fact she seems to like it quite a bit! "Snow, check. Cold, check. Hmm? This is a frozen lake? Huh..."

    Her attention is quickly diverted upwards. "Eeep! No, not tentacles! Bad! Stay away!" Ayako pushes down on the front of her broomstick and quickly flies downwards-right into the frozen lake. Instead of impacting with the ice, she moves right through it as if it were thin air! With this, she tries to lose the attention of the tentacle that's after her by moving through the frozen lake.

    Flying through the ice on her broomstick, she glances upwards... and notes Faruja getting hurt! Her right hand reaches up into her witch hat, shuffles around for a moment, and then takes out a small, stoppered erlenmeyer flask filled with purple water and then swiftly flings it upwards, through the lake at Faruja. "Faruja, here you go!" And resumes trying to evade the shadowly tentacle through the lake. The flask would pop harmlessly like a water balloon against Faruja and heal his wounds with the purple water!

Priscilla has posed:
    Even though it looks nothing like it, the peaceful beauty of the field of cherry blossoms reminds Priscilla of the way the great painting of Ariamis used to look. It makes her heart sink a little to realize that Arthur is right, and that they will inevitably be made to ruin it. Besides. The blossoms and butterflies motif isn't cliche to /her/. Nobody would dare paint something so meaninglessly pretty in Lordran. "Agreed, though it bringeth me no pleasure to do so." She says, a little morosely. She begins to walk a short distance away from the other three, spreading out so that they can't all be taken out at once, which is apparently a good idea once the butterflies start pouring in. Being surrounded in every direction would have been terrible.

    Trusting that Psyber, Arthur, and Riva - all experienced combatants - can handle themselves, Priscilla moves to the edge of the hill to look for the train of weird, winged apparations have gone, leaning well over to look down the side, until she catches sight of the hole they've bored through it. She steps back from the edge just a little too late, caught on the spot as a column of fluttering pink erupts from underneath her feet, loudly tearing through her thick dress and slashing all up and down her ankles and legs. Blood pools in the grass as she stumbles out of the line of fire, dripping down her pale skin in thick rivulets.

    "I hath changed mine mind. I shall enjoy this greatly." She says. A sudden whirl of cold, biting wind emenates from the crossbreed, lashing out towards the stream of butterflies and hitting them with considerable force. It isn't the kind of gale that tears things apart from wind pressure, but it's easily enough to break apart a formation of something so light. Cupping one hand to her mouth, Priscilla lets loose with a tight, controlled blast of her breath weapon. A torrent of glittering, dust sweeps along the supernaturally indiuced wind, swirling into a spreading cloud that should engulf her portion of the swarm, and burning a ghastly blue-white on contact with the air. Anything it touches begins to rapidly disintegrate from the release of raw, baleful magic, after which a thick, glassy sheen of slowly spreading crystals begins to petrify over the area.

Staren has posed:
The dreamworld is Mizuki's, the palace the Artist's, but the tundra painting is...

SNOW MAN'S LAND

    I'm not sorry.

    Staren drops through the snow immediately, his heavy metal body sinking to the ice layer. He tries to climb out ineffectually, then looks up at the forming vortices...

    Wait, those look like...

    Staren twiliports out of the way, immediately unloading on the tentacle with the particle beam cannons -- panels open up around his body, machineguns on little arms emptying a hail of bullets into the tentacle. "What the heck is this? Snow and giant tentacles? What's the /theme/ here? And how am I even standing on ice like this?"

    *CRACK*

    *SMASH*

    *SPLASH*

    ...

    *TWILIPORT!* "Okay, now--" *CRACK* *SMASH* *SPLASH*

    ...

    *TWILIPORT!*

    This time, Staren appears in the air, energy wings and boot thrusters ready, and he resumes dumping firepower into the tentacles.

    Like any cat, he does his best to project an air of YOU SAW NOTHING.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    THE MEADOW PAINTING

    Arthur is hurled back in a spray of crimson, but when the butterflies disperse and look for him on the other end of the blast, they're... baffled. Those erratic beats of their poorly drawn wings are likely insect morse code for 'Where the hell did he go?'. Well, they don't have to wonder for too terribly long. There's a spatial explosion some distance away which gives them all a jolt. Instinctively, they all charge at him again, but they quickly regret this; even those nearly yards away from him are drawn into the singularity, decorating it with a swirl of pink. Conveniently, some of the have a chance to group into spines just before this occurs, making the effects that much more damaging when he releases the energy.

    Spires rupture the Earth. Trees go flying. Somewhere on another screen - perhaps a screen that Eryl would take notice of - the artist winces as if some real damage had been done to her being. Though he cannot see any of this, Arthur might still get a mental ping that he is on the right track. However, he doesn't have long to celebrate before even more of their 'friends' show up. Rather than bunching together into spears, these butterflies unravel into the lines that served to create them, transforming into whips that fervently crack in Arthur's direction as soon as they are able. While this preoccupies him, he may miss as yet more of them attempt to wrap around him, attempting to restrain him.

    Also on some other screen, Psyber's caustic words seem to reach. There's a loud grumble from the artist as she tosses away yet another paintbrush in favor of an artistic pen, punching it through the paper and attempting to use his lambasting as a directional guide. Yet more holes would open in the sky as the pen - incredibly massive in the meadow - would attempt to either crush of stab Psyber as he moves out of the way.

    Perhaps recognizing her for the artist she is, the environment responds to Riva as she wants for it too, the cloud moving the veil her, and the net coming into being at her call. The butterflies do not respond to her witticisms, unfortunately, but the threads seem to indeed; the net undulates with an unseen wind, snapping up as soon as Riva herself has cleared the area to snatch up the butterflies. Nearly all of them are caught, with the few that are not being sliced into inanimate pieces by the backlash. As the net closes in on them, though, they form a plan of their own -- they gather into a ball similar to the one they did with Psyber and Arthur, allowing the net to close in until they, too, explode, Though these do not come in the form of pink lances; rather, the swarm charges directly at her, with two other offshoots charging at her from behind, and from the side. Should they come into contact with her, they might well cut her. Thankfully, though, their numbers seem to have thinned a bit; thanks in part to Arthur's antics, but also because many of them were destroyed by the net before they could retaliate.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    As for Priscilla's swarm, they are flung from her. Many of them collide with the sides of other hills right then and there and are reduced back to the paint from whence they had come. However, there are more of them, and they only grow more fervent in their pursuit for the suffering of their brethren. Alas, though, their fervor does little to help them as they are caught in the tempest of Priscilla's wind, and then again by the mist that eats at their being. The vast majority of them disintegrate while the few of them that remain lose their wings, or even their heads in their haste to leave. In the end, though, none remain that are well enough constructed to survive, and Priscilla is left alone again.

    At least, she is at first. Eventually, a lone butterfly rises over the cliff. It hovers idly for a few moments, watching for a reaction before more come from its left. Then its right. Each of them are in symmetrical, perfectly straight lines, and when they come together above the single butterfly that had been there at first, something strangle happens. They begin to form a blade. This blade comes backward in a swing as its pommel completes its formation, and its blade gains a prevalent curve, and brings itself down above her as though it were some primal guillotine. This attack may well slice the initial hill in half.

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
     Eryl stands, retracting his Ungraspables. Hard to be diplomatic with swords coming out of your arms after all. Quickly fixing his tie and jacket, all askew from the suction of the paintings, he allows the biggest smile he can muster to cross his face before speaking to the Artist.

     "Ma'am. To begin with, I apologize for the improper words of my compatriots. Some of them are severely lacking in manners and tact." But then he comes under attack by art! Uncertain of the nature or capabilities of these spires, he starts to weave through them, Original Face plotting their flight paths under the assumption that they are travelling in a straight line. While also yelling at him about visual hallucinations, but that's par for the course at this point.

     "Besides, why do you wish to keep the number anyway? I doubt that /YOU/ made it. Why should an artist of your calibre keep something they did not create around?" Here's hoping that a little compliment will calm her do-uh-oh, charging minions. Eryl spreads his legs to steady himself and raises his arms to protect his face and upper torso... taking the charging attacks head on!

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "SKY PEN!" Psyber says, rolling out of the way of the art pen as it tries to crush-stab him with its aggressive assault. A few of the slicing stabs of the downward thrusting pen cut across him, less crushing and more opening a massive wound in his side before he eventually gets tired of this.

    "Goddamn, it's just tacky to pen yourself into the picture." Psyber tries to dropkick the pen with a phenominal amount of force and jostle her into dropping it before once more moving away from the assault. Psyber continues his quest of undermining the artist with severely harsh criticisms as he runs.

    "You're lucky Riva is here to show you what true art is! I'm surprised it took Mizuki this long to come have you dealt with. What did she do before now? Take your pictures and put them on the fridge where eeeeeeveryone could see?" Psyber asks, figuring she can hear him if she's reacting this violently. Figuring he's put enough stock into agitating her, he plays the rest of his plan in.

    "You wanna show them you're a real artist, just give up the number." He rolls out of the way of another pen stab, "You can still prove me wrong, just quit guarding the stupid thing, give it back, and show us all you don't need to be some Artistic Jose Canseco, injecting steroids into your work just so you don't suck. Do it au natural and show the haters what real art is, don't shrivel your art testicles with falsely injected skills and then roid rage out when people wanna stop you." Internally, Psyber isn't really sure he's fully on point, and that last analogy seemed to kinda trail off. But he's hoping it'll work.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    THE SNOW PAINTING

    As Kotone leaps from the emerging black spines, she may well be stabbed a number of times. One slides across her back, and another may threaten her foot, but her leap alone is likely not enough to bring her out of harm's way. A good thing, then, that Mizuki is there to catch her, soaring away from a dark tentacle of her own as she takes Kotone's errant hand and soars with her. On their way, they are chased by yet more globs of darkness that would likely lunge at them both. Kotone would likely be able to help Mizuki here by keeping them off of her wings.

    Afterwards, Mizuki rushes through several speeding fields of her own make, landing with a powerful scattering of snow beside Faruja. Several more tentacles reform in time to strike at them, but Mizuki is able to deflect them with her sword as she conjures another speeding field to help the nezumi's meteor hit its mark. And it does, to be sure -- the dark bulb swallows the flaming mass as a monster would swallow dynamite, exploding soon after with a violent flailing of the black pouring from the sky. That's one tentacle down. This manuever takes its toll on the environment, too; leftover meteorites fall to the ground, decimating the ice of the lake and more of the frigid hills in the distance. This has a sort of domino effect in which yet more of the ice begins to crack, making it quite dangerous for any of them to continue standing there. If he allows her to, Mizuki would attempt to fly her wounded friend out of harms way while setting Kotone down to retreat on her own, if she is able.

    Ayako, in the meanwhile, is able to evade detection for some time by remaining under the lake. Being made of water certainly has its perks! Though, she might still have the violent new waves to contend with, as well as a few more tentacles that notice her flask. The tentacle that had previously been chasing Mizuki sharply turns to face the lake, arcing downward and shattering even more of it. Once it is in the water it splits off into several different strands, chasing her. If it is able to catch up with her, it would attempt to wrap itself around her broom to stall her.

    Naturally, the tentacles are not so happy to endure the hail of bullets he's currently sending their way. As he continually falls and rises from the ice, several more tentacles appear and attempt to bring their weight down on him as the first had. Once they realize that this is a poor tactic to take with someone as mobile as he is, though, the tentacles quiver... and burst. Small black balls come at him now, flying at him. Should they make contact, they would burn in a manner not unlike acid, and he would quickly notice the similarity of their properties; they seem quite corrosive, and it would probably be best if he could find a way to get it off of him soon.

Arthur Lowell has posed:
    MEADOW PAINTING

    "SHIT YEAH. She's FEELING THAT! It's HURTING!" Arthur calls out to the rest of the group. And then, out to the Artist herself, "STICK THAT IN YOUR PALETTE AND THIN IT!" Flipping his broom around his hands, he prepares, and then leaps into action.

    First thing he notices? RIVA is collecting and condensing the butterflies! That means IMMEDIATELY ATTACK THE HUGE COLLECTION! While they may gather up and then explode in all directions, Arthur levels a hand towards Riva's massive collection before it can fully disperse and attempts to perform a huge blast of vicious, tearing gravity differential, meaning to rip them apart with invisible spatial trauma! "SHIT YEAH," He calls out to her. "Workin' the CROWD CONTROL! Keep goin'!"

    And then, Psyber manages to aggro an entire pen! "HEY PSYBER!" He calls out. "KEEP IT IN HERE with your OUTRAGEOUS SHENANIGANS, got some fuckin' IDEAS!" And... He levels his broom behind him now, intent on ROCKET BLASTING his way THROUGH the pen, meaning to brute-force blast a hole through one side and out the other, to cause it to potentially leak ink! His hope is that he can use Psyber's aggrivation of the Artist to force her to ruin some art herself, by making her pen leaky!

    It will likely make a HUGE MESS on Arthur though.

    Priscilla brings out her breath weapon. Arthur can't do much in tandem with that, but... A huge blast of gravity magic rips through the crystal-saturated areas that it leaves in its wake. Do those crystals retain any damaging elements? Hell, even if they just fragment, he's trying to use them to blast a huge quantity of crystaline shards into the area behind them, meaning to blast open trees, gouge open the hillside, and generally cause chaotic aesthetic!

    But those damn butterfly-lines are getting to him! Huge gashes are forming on his body over time, and this distraction, compounded with his rampage of destruction around the painting overall, is causing him to completely lack the focus required to not wind up with the lines lashing right around him! Their attempts to restrain him are becoming increasingly successful, as he slows down, losing the use of one, possibly two arms as he continues to attempt to blast out magic. Someone should probably help him!

Priscilla has posed:
    A breath attack is obviously the ideal choice for dealing with large numbers of fragile targets, and it seems Priscilla's strategy has paid off. For the time being, it looks as if there are no more butterflies for her to deal with, and so she turns to double back and assist the other three, hoping to double up on each swarm to quickly mow them down one after the other and create a snowballing effect. However, she stops as soon as she catches sight of even one, single survivor, turning back around with a wary stare as more begin to form underneath it. She'd had just enough time to catch sight of the whips assaulting Arthur and the explosion attempting to wipe out Riva, so she's already on guard for some sort of collective shapeshifting.

    A giant blade takes her a little by surprise, but what really takes her off her guard is the sheer size of it and the speed with which it is swung. She's already familiar with how goddamn sharp those pretty little pink wings are, and so she does the only sane thing she can to protect herself. A smaller blast of wind, this time caused by displaced air rather than magic, occurs as she suddenly releases her mortal guise in favour of her full form, now just about triple her previous size. Something black and silver flashes into the palm of her hand, and the instant before the blade strikes her, the haft of the Lifehunt Scythe is interposed in front of it. Using the superior strength of her much larger form, Priscilla braces against the hill-cleaving swing with an indestructable weapon, causing the ground beneath her to practically shatter as her wounded legs cause her to crumple to one knee. Blood oozes out of her wounds as she stresses her injuries by straining against the overbearing force of the attack, but the instant the blade's momentum shifts, she tilts her grasp ont he scythe to deflect its path into the earth beside her.

    Letting the butterfly blade bury itself as deep into the ground as it likes, Priscilla brings the massive scythe over her shoulder and down through a sweeping, diagonal arc; slashing into the pommel of the giant sword and straight along its parallel axis, aiming to kill as many butterflies with one swing as she can.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Even /with/ the healing provided by Ayako, the mental shock of nearly having your arm stabbed off is great, and the rat is limp in Mizuki's arms. The Float spell fluctuates as he simply can't keep it up, and the Inquisitor looks to his friend gratefully.

"Ajora's own kin, ye art, mine dear!" He compliments woozily. Squinting, the rat dumps the rest of his booze on the remaining, healing wound. Cursing quietly, he takes a moment to abide the sting. Hopefully now he won't get any Darkness Infections.



But now Staren is being covered in melty tentacles, the the rat waves a hand. Trying to use all the magical control he has, the Time Mage flexes his gravitic muscles, and simply tries to peel off the acidic creatures with waves of gravity magic! Hopefully Staren won't lose anything with it!

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    IN THE CABIN

    The butterflies streak past Eryl, likely slicing the sides of the defending arms. Others begin to form a sphere around him, continually swiping past him so that he accrues more and more damage the longer he stays stationary. The black balls, in the meanwhile, would throw themselves at him, coating him with a corrosive substance similar to that hurled at Staren in the snow world. The painted phantoms do not relent as long as he resists, instead continuing their assault as the Artist continues to stare at her canvas with maddened eyes.

    "No, no, no." She's clearly addressing Eryl, but she does not turn to face him. "You do not understand. If she is here to take the number, my death is soon to follow. That is the formula. That is the pattern. Things always happen this way, and I am always made to wait for decades to complete my work. Even worse, all my work up to that point is erased." She continues to shake her head. "No, no, -NO-. I will keep them away from me. Keep -YOU- away from me." She takes a paintbrush in her left hand while she continues to stab at the canvas with her pen with the other, swiping it through the air to summon another layer of bonelike lattices to defend herself. "I cannot sacrifice my precious time. I cannot let anyone else grow better than me. If I cease to pay attention for even a moment, the rules change. Everything changes. And I am left behind."

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
There's no business like snow business after all.

Kotone is just able to evade the wort of it but she takes several stabbing as it does move past her and the next thing she knows she's caught by Mizuki. It's strage int his place to think it really is all in your head so to speak. She looks to Mizuki and says "Thank you!"
% She attemps to form what seem to be strange bolts of scrap metal to try and keep the things busyl sye's not had a change to form those mechanical wings she tends to iuuse in here. She's set down ashe thanks Mizuki and then takea flight as the wings now have had time to form and she's now making to fall back with the others.

"Fauja?! Staren let's get way from the H movie shall we?"

She's got no desire to be near these things, none at all.

Staren has posed:
    One tentacle is snow problem. (Still not sorry.) But so many -- Staren turns this way and that, shooting and firing missiles, but eventually he's slammed down into the ice. "Urgh!" The robot body is tough stuff, though -- he teleports again, and resumes his attack, armor dented and cracked, water streaming off of him. Glad he can't feel pain. Or cold.

    And then there are flying globs. Staren tries to blow them away with missiles -- but it's hard to get all of them. He's forced to teleport or fly away, fire missiles, try to take potshots when he can... but it's a lot harder for him to attack the tentacles now, 'till he comes up with a way to deal with these things...

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    "Hey... Hey! Don't break up your own lake! What kind of artist are you to destroy your own work with something as nonsensical as shadowy tentacles?!" Ayako groans and shakes her head. "It makes no sense whatsoever! At least do something symbollic, and-Stop shaking the water so much! You're going to break your nice ice lake!" She glances back and winces at the pursing tentacles. "Stop! I'm not in any mood for tentacles right now!"

    Ayako's hands pull upwards and directs her broomstick upwards, flying through the ice like a witchy ghost, ending up next to Faruja, Mizuki, and Kotone. She hops off her broomstick, grabing it firmly and thrusting it downwards at the ice, forming a solid column of ice straight down so that at least this ground is firm for everyone standing here! "Umm... anyone got any ideas? I hate to admit it, but... I've no idea how to deal with these!"

Faruja (152) has posed:
Slightly weakly, the nezumi offers to Ayako, "Overwhelming firepower seems to work well! All that ye possess, M'Lady!"

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
     Eryl grunts, his suit getting corroded and sliced, the fake skin on his arms and legs exposing the dull gleam of metal underneath. He narrows his eyes, listening close to the Artist's words. So, the Sentinels always end up dying somehow... her attempt to hold on to the number is an act of self-reservation then.

     "Ma'am. I swear to you, I will not let anything happen. I promise, that if you hand over the number, I will protect you with my life. Look at me; I am making no attempt to damage what you have created. I understand your desire to preserve the creations of sentient beings. My world was utterly ruined, the works of man annihilated. I was at the Township of Black Lace when it was destroyed. I would do anything to prevent that from happening again!"

     He breaks into a run towards the Artist. Original Face had plotted a path for him, jumping over, weaving under and twisting around her creations and supplies, trying to reach her!

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako groans softly, "I've told you before, I don't have anything offensive... but..." She brightens for a moment and then thrusts her broomstick's brush down through the ice and into the water. The broomstick is then pulled back up. The brush of the broomstick is wet with water from the lake. "Maybe I can make something that could? This is a painting, after all..." She quickly begins using the brush of her broom as an actual brush and draws a large lightbulb with the water as paint. "Umm... umm... anyone have any electricity or lightning?" They are shadowy tentacles, after all!

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    THE MEADOW PAINTING AND THE CABIN

    The pen continues to chase Psyber and, in so doing, mutilate the environment with its sharp strikes. Waves of black-blue ink roll over the once-pink hills of the meadow, taking down no small number of trees and grass in its wake. The sky, once a beautiful panorama of light blue, is now almost completely black. Its sides hang open as though they are ragged flags bearing a poor impression of what was one there. Once he has landed some distance away, he kicks at the pen, causing it to become lodged between the world of the painting and her shack. Then it ceases to move, and there's a period of silence for the first time in a while.

    What he hears when that silence breaks may surprise him, or it may be exactly what he was expecting: crying. In the painted world it sounds like little more than a bizarre echo, though. Soon after this starts, it would begin to rain heavily in the meadow. "I know I am a sham. I do not need to be reminded." A voice, presumably the Artist's, laments. "The number is inconsequential. I derive no benefit from possessing it. But every time that I have lost it, I have lost all of my progess. And then I have returned to the state of a complete incompetent; a talentless fool who must scrounge around the talents of others for some help."

    Then Arthur moves to exacerbate the pen problem. It is not as helpful to make it leak now that it is stationary, but its contents begin to pour forth in a cascade of pure black. The world around them is stained. The trees and blossoms are ruptured completely. A bowl-shaped region formed by several hills is filled halfway with ink, and oddly enough, it mingles with the falling rain; the water in the air begins to turn black, too, further annihilating the landscape. This place isn't looking too good.

    Priscilla succeeds in blocking the sword, and then in causing the little butterflies to disperse; her slash from lifehunt effortlessly rends the collective and sends the remainder of them hurtling through the air. Rather than coming together for another assault, though, they seem to grow... sluggish. They meander throughout the air for a spell until they collectively begin to fall on to the ground around her, able to do little more afterward than twitch and flounder on the ground. This can't be entirely her doing, though, so something must be going on here.

    And it is. The now mostly destroyed landscape of the meadow begins to bend, as though it was a living thing writhing in no small amount of pain. What happens next, though, is as surreal as it is bizzare; the previously beautiful sky twists and breaks, some phantom image underneath it slowly resolving itself as the only image -- rather than a convincing sky of light, color, and clouds, it looks now as though it were drawn in by a child in their infancy. It is little more than the swirls of aqua pencils, and slowly but surely, the world on the ground begins to follow suit. The distinctive look of pencil and crayon overtakes the landscape, swaying as though it were a background in some animated film.

    In time, this image begins to fall away. All of the butterflies fall from the sky, inert, as the world around the four of them collapses. The hills in the distance are consumed by an all-too-familiar white that eventually cascades over the land nearer to them - and them themselves - as well.

tThen they would find themselves back in the cabin, behind Eryl. For him, too, the butterflies and black balls would fall to the ground, motionless, and all of them would be left to face the artist, who has finally ceased her interactions with her canvas. She slowly, tiredly turns her head to face them, just as Eryl leaps past the barricades and lands directly in front of her. All of the bonelike gates shatter in that instant, leaving her completely vulnerable. Her head and hands slump, leaving the woman motionless in her seat.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    THE SNOW PAINTING

    Thankfully for Staren, Faruja's aid from afar is able to eliminate those inky globs that have infected his being. They are pulled to the ground and off of him as he zips around the area, unloading no small quantity of bullets and missles as he does so. These do much to punish his foes, causing several of them to fall clean out of the sky, doing a number on what remains of the icy lake below.

    Kotone would easily fly to safety past the collapsing bricks of ice, and easily evade any tentacles that swoop in to attack her. Much like the butterflies before them, they have grown sluggish; they lack the skill now to engage in their sudden, dramatic, arcing maneuvers, instead swerving around lazily in some futile attempt to strike at them.

    Ayako would notice this, too, as her solution to the tentacle problem would swiftly find itself. All of the remaining dark threads swerve up and attempt to trap the now mostly cohesive group in a circle of pain, but eventually, they... collapse. They flail uselessly on top of what of the icy lake remains until a similar phenomenon to what occurred in the meadow begins.

    The sky fades, drawn now not by paint, but juvenile crayon. Clouds and snow alike take the form of indistinct blurbs and white swirls as the skies - and the waters - are filled in by an unconvincing blue. The land's realism drains with the energy of the group's assailants, and eventually, its edges corrode as those of the meadow before it. In the end, they, too, are delivered into the shack, just after Eryl has reached the artist.

    And for a short time, all is quiet.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Did the water Esper mention lightning? Faruja himself might not be able to do lightning.

But the good spirit might find that Faruja's friend, the Esper Ramuh, very much can do Lightning. Cue the appearance of a large, yellow-robed, staff-wielding, very-long-bearded old man floating in the air as Faruja chants. The Old Man Ramuh raises his staff, and a ball of lightning forms!

Only for the horrible tentacles to collapse. Suddenly, after silly crayon paintings, Ramuh and Faruja are back in the shack. The pair look to one another. Faruja sighs, and Ramuh looks expectant. The rat tosses the Old Man Lightning a flask of booze, and he poofs back into the Esper Realm.

Faruja looks to the Artist. She's crying. He pauses, and sighs. Slowly, he'll limp walk over, and take out a handkerchief, offering it over like a proper gentleman.

"I /am/ a Priest, M'Lady. If ye wish advice, or simply an ear, ye wouldst hath it at thine word."

Sure, she tried to kill him. But at least she doesn't seem like too much of a Heretic. Gentlerat tendencies go.

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva swings in the air, smiling at the sight of a large number of caught butterflies. Is she even taking this battle seriously? She certainly doesn't have the same expression as she does when she's fighting. She fashions a seat of cloud to hang from the sky, sitting with her legs crossed and casually looking over the situation before her with an almost dreamy gaze. "Happiness, sadness, pain, pleasure, what makes a mind go? Where does it wander?" She asks the air around her... Or perhaps more accurately, the Artist who remains outside. "Why does it matter what people think? Create for the sake of creation! People will look and understand in time."

She doesn't seem to take any effort to evade the butterflies, and they strike, slashing past her to cut her in many places en masse before Arthur engages with extreme prejudice. Her eyes are closed after they pass, pain etched across her features... but she reaches up and dabs at her face with the brush despite her wounds, drawing some blood onto the bristles, then begins to reach out, painting in the sky. Some ice from below tinges the pigments, creating a pink of her own which she uses to paint across the sky, creating a melange of browns and pinks, white and red swirls and highlights as she works. "When you create, you put a little piece of yourself into your creation. I know how you feel, believe me." She then adds texture, sprinkling several of the disintegreating doodles over it, creating a tree of her own. She turns, spreading outwards from it to begin painting across the sky, creating her own take on the environment... but in reverse. The same, but different, as she tries to close up the damage, replace some of what has been destroyed. "Why destroy yourself to spite others?" Riva asks as she works. "There's no harm in learning from others. I certainly didn't get this far on raw talent. Work with people. It's better than working alone. More fun, too!"

But before she can finish, everything collapses. Riva folds her arms, sighing sadly as she turns towards the Artist, who is being confronted by the Diplomat. "If it is to end..." Riva says simply. "And if you are to begin again... Then I will be there to help you. Don't be afraid."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "Oh stop crying you sad sack," Psyber says to the voice as it laments in the meadow, the half-angel says to her, actually stopping as the image begins to fade away. From behind Eryl, Psyber waves his arm out and says, "This."

    They're back in the cabin. He waves to Arthur, to Priscilla, to Riva, all of whom were fighting with him. And then to Staren, Faruja, Kotone, and Ayako as they arrive back. And finally he waves to Eryl.

    "THIS. DRAW THIS. Do you have any idea how amazing this would be, etched into a marble wall?" Psyber asks seriously, "Give up the stupid number if it doesn't give you anything. You'll get to live, to walk away from this. And then just... inspire yourself with this."

    "Go find a massive slab of Marble and carve out a lone Muse fighting back the forces of her own stagnation that wish to rob her of her creativity. Paint the despair you feel when that progress is taken from you. Etch your hopelessness. Let those guide your hand for inspiration, instead of taking from others. Do you have any idea how awesome an 11-person Marble Diorama of what happened today would look? Shit, I'd pay for that."

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako pushes the brim of her hat down for a moment when the light bulb she drew lights itself up. "Eep... wasn't expecting it to light itself up..." And then blinks her eyes when she notices the tentacles starting to collapse and start to flail about. "A-... huh?"

    "Crayon?" Ayako glances up into the sky and sees the childish scribbles, the paints and shading fading into simple color choices and blinks her eyes quickly as she's redeposited back into the shack.

    Her gaze goes off to the side as she thinks for a moment... "You think you're a sham?" Ayako inclines her head to the side gently and raises the rim of her witch hat slightly. "I don't think you are. But you know... you don't make art for progress. Don't you just make it for... yourself? Even if it's something that looks super simple. Even if it's something that only you really appreciate. It's still art."

Staren has posed:
    Staren is saved by Faruja! He's too busy shooting tentacles to notice what's going on...

    And then the world falls apart. Staren finds himself back in the shack. "Woah. That was a trip." He shakes his head and points his arm at the Artist. "So, we bested your challenges. Now give us the number so we can leave you to your work."

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
     Eryl reaches the Artist, clothes damaged and bleeding from cuts to his face and torso, parts of his mechanical limbs exposed from acid. However, he bears no ill will, his smile back on his face. Gently, he places a hand on the Artist's shoulder with his left, less damaged hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

     "It if means anything, I think that what you have created is lovely. And, if you keep working at it, you can only improve." He releases her shoulder and walks around her, kneeling down to look her in the eye. "I promise, I will not let you die. Please, put your trust in me, in us all." He gestures at the rest of the party, relieved to see that they are well.

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
Kotone Yamakawa is flying away from teh cvalling ice and eveyrthing else. She's also semeingly very intent to not get Tentacled. She knows how it goes in fiction if she gets caught. She's got no desire ot entact that or anything remotely like that. She keeps gong and calls out to everyone else.

"Your more of a battle monk I thought!?"

She turns and things glitch as she triggers part of her own defence barrier against the hostiles as she goes. It's kinda tripppy

Priscilla has posed:
    Priscilla hesitates as the butterflies begin to fall over one after the other. The majority of them have a reason to, but she hadn't been able to hit every single one of them. She is very much familiar with the extents of her own powers, and making things she hadn't even touched drop dead isn't within them. The sound of the Artist beginning to cry however, is both her answer, and something she feels as if she'd rather not hear. The sickly hue of the tattered sky, and the inky blackness staining and swallowing the once beautiful hills, are both far worse than any kind of destruction they could have wrought between the four of them. It is less as if the painting were coming apart, but as if it were being vehemently erased in distraught lashing out by a creator who judged it nowhere near good enough. Cliche as it may have been, it's a sad thing to see it go. For some reason, watching it regress through the stages of its composition until it becomes nothing more than the earnest doodles of an inexperienced child only makes it more pitiful. Listening to that sobbing while watching all that hard work falling to pieces, reflecting the true depths of the Artist's percieved inadequacy, is more than enough to take the edge off of Priscilla's scorn for the impossibly twisted and hostile woman.

    When she winds up standing back in the cabin, she is at a loss for what to do. When everything had been a simple battle, things had been relatively straightforward. Now she has no idea what the 'right' way to approach the situation should be. Her inner compass tells her to simply take the number by force, killing the Artist if need be, but the sympathetic ache in her heart doesn't let her. She wants to tell Psyber to stop. Her hand reaches out to grab hold of his shoulder, but no words come out. He's trying to help, in his own way. That's more advice than she could give about wallowing in one's own misery. "Then be rid of it. If the number no longer belongs to thee, thou cannot lose it again. If thou cannot lose it, thou cannot lose what progress thou hast made. It is impossible to teach thineself everything. There is no shame in learning from another."

Arthur Lowell has posed:
    Arthur, bound up and stuck, gets released by the accumulated damage. Thank goodness! As he's released into the shack again, he stumbles, getting his feet with heavy breaths and gritted teeth, bleeding in many places and bruised in others.

    He arrives just in time to see the group attempting to encourage her, and save her. Desperately, he wants to immediately join in. Stepping forward with his usual swaggering gait, he opens his mouth, and for the first time, can't really say anything. Anything he can think of would be a lie. Faltering a little, his walk becomes more serious and he goes back to gritting his teeth in a stressed way.

    His look becomes somber, and serious. He doesn't interject to encourage and support. He purses his lips and seems intensely distressed with contemplation and a little agitation. When the others have finished speaking, he looks to her, steps forward, and says, "I know the way this has to go. Like I told you at the beginning. We don't have to draw this out. I know what's going on. I know about the prognostics you're dealing with. I know what will happen, when you give us the number, and I know why it's necessary and why it happened before. I know what you're trying to put off. Look, I don't like you. But I sure as hell hate what you're dealing with a lot more than that."

    "I promise you, this is the /last/ time it will happen." He says, intensely, clenching a fist aggressively, for a moment. Then he crosses his ars and waits, as if for something inevitable. "You do what you need to, Artist. Just one more time."

    Pretty much none of what he said makes any sense. Hmm.

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako smiles brightly, "Even if you have to start over from the beginning..." She glances back to the lounging Telephone. "It's just like losing a save file for a game you've been playing but that you still like." Her smile becomes gentle. "It just means you get to try something different the next time around." She shrugs lightly, "So you have to use other people's talents? That's fine. No one can do everything." Ayako leans forward expectantly while reaching her arms behind her back. "I just have one question... Do you like being an Artist? If so... just have fun with it and enjoy expressing yourself! That's what art is all about, after all!"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    The artist stays still for a while, and in that state one could swear that she looks no different from one of her many statues. She raises her head first as Faruja speaks up. At this close range, he would notice... bags under her eyes. Splotches of paint everywhere. She looks dishevelled to say the least, so perhaps when she begins laughing at the nezumi it is evidence of hysteria more than it is ill will. "A priest..." She echoes. "No salvation awaits us here, nor do I care to listen to you preach. Let come what will, already; spare me your sanctimony and end my life swiftly. As the young man from before said, anything else is needlessly extending my suffering."

    Then she turns to Riva. "Why does it matter what people think, you ask?" She sighs, finally picking herself up out of her slump to face her. "... because other people are the only rubric by which any quality may be judged. If there were not other people to perceive my work, it would lose its meaning; there would no one to remember it, and hence it would die. Memory is the foundation of substance. Perception is the foundation of memory. Therefore, since what others think of my work is what guarantees its longevity, the thoughts of others are paramount." The last bit she shares when she returns to the room is more disarming, though, inspiring a widening of her eyes. "... I beg... your pardon?" She squints her way, propping herself up a bit further still. "... you would do something like that? For an invalid like me?"

    Even more disarming, though, is Psyber's next quip. When she hears the phrase 'sad sack', she seems ready to scold him, but thankfully he speaks quickly enough to stay her tongue. So instead she listens, nodding her head toward the end. "... yes, the number is useless. But it was my leverage. At first I believed you all had come to be my executioners. I had been warned by a young woman in black-lined clothes that, if a group of foreigners came, that it would be the death of me. I chose to defend myself, and my work, accordingly. However, if you truly mean to spare me..." She raises a single finger to request a moment, lifting herself from her stool. Then she meanders to the back of the room, reaching into a chest and taking out another number. A glowing mass of light gathered around an eleven. Then she offers it to the half-angel. "Here."

    To Ayako, Eryl, and Priscilla, she has few words to offer. She stares at each of them blankly, seemingly ambivalent to her own reception of praise and comfort. She's eventually able to quietly rasp a 'thank you', but offers little else. This... this must be her iteration of awkwardness. It does cause a noticeable easing of her expression, though, for those who notice such things.

    Just as Eryl has reassured her yet again that she will not be struck down, though, Arthur... Arthur says something terrifying. She goes completely silent, staring at him with nothing short of sheer horror. She shakes her head with gradually increasing vehemence. "No..." And she continues. "No, no, no... all of your compatriots, they just gotten through telling me - promising me - that this would not end in my death. Please, tell me that this is a cruel joke. I had thought this meant you lot had found a way to save me." She steps backwards now, pressing herself against a sculpture at the room's far end. "Please, there must be some other way. The prognostics -- there is no guarantee that they exist. Even if the cycle is broken, it will not guarantee my return." Her voice starts breaking, now. "No. The promise that this is the last time is only further proof of my condemnation. Whatever is created in my absence shall not be me!"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Then comes a dull sound from outside -- the clapping of hands. Sheep is there, flanked on her left side by Telephone. Both of them are wearing decidedly ominous grins. "Way to go, squares." The clapping stops. "You got her hopes up for absolutely nothing." She lets her words hand in the air a moment while she glances back to the artist, inspiring another flare of fear in the eyes of the latter. "Like the loudmouth said: you know how this has to end. It's your own fault for thinking that there was any other way if you suddenly feel scared and disappointed. Now, why don't you just sit still and --" Telephone rushes in and interrupts, though, grabbing her 'best friend for eternity's' arm just before she can say anything binding.

    "Hold up, Sheep. Why don't we let her say goodbye first? This may be the last time we get to see her, you know. Like Mimi used to say: 'Possibility is always infinite, especially when the future looks like it's set in stone'. I wanna believe things will be different this time. And if they are, then... yeah." She smiles, but then almost immediately pouts her lips like a child begging her mother for candy moments after. "Please? We can make it short." Sheep eyes the Artist. "... that depends. Are you willing to go peacefully? Will you remain rational if we give you time to accept your end?"

    The Artist, who had until this moment been paralyzed in pure terror, is finally drawn back out of her stupor by Sheep's last words. She swallows, collecting herself. "... fine. I will go peacefully. But would you permit me one request?" Sheep nods, even though it seems grossly inappropriate somehow for her to be the one accepting such propositions for the whole group. Regardless, the Artist continues. "Would each of you... please take one piece of my artwork with you? I know that they will likely evaporate when you take them outside of this world, but even so..." Her hands tremble. "Even so, knowing that a group of people cared enough to do so can be proof enough that I will be remembered. And so long as I am remembered as one who produced something beautiful - something of skill - then I will move on without mourning."

    Didn't this happen before with the Demon Queen? There was a sudden, inexplicable change in the tone. Everything was fine, but then things grew dismal again. Sheep, Telephone, and bizarrely enough, Arthur, seem to be the only ones who know why. Even Mizuki seems completely baffled, and proves it with her response to this madness. Predictably, she levels her suspicions at Arthur. "... what is the meaning of this? Does this have anything to do with what Apathy has told you?" Her eyes narrow. "I... I trust you have your reasons, but this... it seems as though you are cooperating with our foes. Surely you understand my confusion?"

Staren has posed:
    Staren blinks. Wait, she's actually /listening/? Man, he was so sure she wouldn't...

    Arthur says a bunch of mystic space stuff he can't parse. 'What will happen' doesn't indicate Artist will die --Sheep and Telephone, though, are acting like the villains here to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Staren whirls on them. With ALL the guns. "So that's it? You're the villains all along, using us to get to her? Leave, now. Or die."

    Staren frowns. "Or /worse/. We're in a /world/ of imagination. Ask any longtime ally about /mine/." He pours as much darkness and malice into that last sentence as he can. He's probably bluffing. "I am /reeeeeeally/ sick of all this."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    There's the sound of a lighterflick and then the acrid smell of cigarette smoke hangs in the hair again. Psyber has a crumpled and half-bent cigarette in his mouth. The last of his pack. Psyber then speaks pretty seriously to Telephone and Speaks, "Yeah, she's not dying."

    "I think it was Picasso who said: 'We artists are indestructible; even in a prison, or in a concentration camp, I would be almighty in my own world of art, even if I had to paint my pictures with my wet tongue on the dusty floor of my cell.'" Psyber pauses a bit, letting this thought hang out in the air, "She knew we'd win, and even so, she struggled to live. And that, I find, is the most beautiful art she could have created."

    The Psyber that was harshing on the Artist a moment before is gone as he takes the 11 out of her hand, "Thank you." And then he turns back to the two girls, "Now, I don't know everything going on in this world, I'm a very out of the loop man on this particular incident series, but a lot of people have assured her she would live."

    Psyber sighs a bit, exhaling smoke, "So you wanna try and bring about her end, you're welcome to, but I think it's time I play into this little game of chess."

    He smiles in a display of pure confidence, "This world is Mizuki, and it reflects her in many ways, I know that much. I also know, by her own admittance, that she idolizes the fact that I'm what she believes to be, as I said, the platonic ideal of anti-heroism."

    Psyber smiles and steps towards the two girls, "So you need to ask yourself. Which of us carries more weight in this little world? Is it whatever parts she has designated to play, or is it her belief in an idolized anti-hero to rewrite the narrative?"

    Psyber says pretty bluntly, "Because I'm willing to bet the author in her has a lot of faith in me."

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako blinks her eyes and glances off to the side. If she has an idea of what's going on, she doesn't show it. Instead, she cheerfully walks back to the frozen landscape drawing that she was ejected from a short time ago and gently picks it up. "No matter what happens... I'm taking this one all the same! I like it." She giggles brightly.

Faruja (152) has posed:
The Artist turns aside his words, and Faruja very nearly draws his Blaze Gun in fury. But a flashing thought of Ainsley, Toph, and so many other more tolerant influences has him pausing.

"Please. When /ever/ hath ye known a Priest to spare sanctimony? Mine dear, 'tis approximately one fourth of mine existance to visit such upon others. As I appreciate thine Artistry, appreciate mine Sanctimony in turn."

The mage-knight pauses. His head tilts. Considering the others' words, and especially Arthur's and the Artists' last, he finally grins.

"Still. All such theological concerns aside, I find thine artwork most...intriguing, whimsical, and pure. Before ye go about perishing, might I ask a task of thee?" Questions the Inquisitor. His tail flicks about.

"I shall ask ye true. What think ye of God? The One True God? Of all worlds that inhabit this Infinite Multiverse?" Faruja questions, his fuzzy muzzle smiling wider.

"Name thine price, M'Lady. If ye wouldst but offer me the meanest picture of God...Allah...Faram...Yahweh...et cetera, et cetra, et cetara. One, true, utterly without cultural context nor illusion of God. A painting, mine dear, of the divinity we Monotheists truly believe in. Render unto me this image, dear Artist, in clarity true and unyielding."

Faruja then smiles. If he's to commission such a painting, he had best offer all he has.

"Oh. Right. Price. 125,000 gil. That aught be mine 'net worth' for the moment, were ye to complete such a painting. What shall ye say? A single Inquisitor's dream for all that he hath earned? A commensorate price?"

As for those offering to off Sheep and Telephone?

Faruja thumbs-ups at Psyber. He has plenty of magic for a Bahamut or two at this rate.

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
Kotone Yamakawa thinks for a moment.

"You think of it that way? I think I get it but I was always of the mind of my own work? I do it for my self first and ofrmot if people like it then that's freat but perhaps it's because I work with machinery and not ... the form of art you seem to produce."

She seem to be thinking fairly hard on things but she has to wonder just where this is going. she nods she has no intent ot kill the Artis and errase this.

Kotone nods for a moment.

"Yes, I will happily take some of your work...No matter what befalls you I will proudly display it."

She just looks at Psyber and all the cyborg can do is smile honestly at his words. Still is there another way she wonders...

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
     Eryl smiles as the Artist begins to come out of her funk, as hope begins to shine in her eyes once more.

     And then that stupid, loudmouth boy opens his stupid loud mouth. Then the monochromatic ladies begin to rub it all in. Eryl is a patient man. One does not wander the wastes for months-sometimes years-at a time with nothing to distract oneself from the monotony without patience. But all this secrecy, this behind-the-scenes nonsense has gotten on his last, augmented nerve.

     "No."

     He turns to stare at Arthur, Sheep and Television in turn, the single word quiet, but clear. "I'll not let someone else die, let wonders like those that surround us vanish again. Not as long as I stand here to stop it." His voice is even but with no emotion, his eyes are empty and cold, his face pale and expressionless.

     "I promised her I would not allow her to die, and I will fulfil that promise. You three can try, but I will stop you. I do not care what unexplainable abilities you use, /I will stop you./"

     He curls his hands into fists and stands in front of the Artist. "Do not worry Miss. I will happily take one of your creations, and I will return one day to see what else you have made."

Arthur Lowell has posed:
    Arthur looks hurt - legitimately hurt - to be saying these things. He breathes heavily, his posture shifting as if his heart was clenching in his chest, wincing with emotional pain, making a meek, soft noise of distress for a moment before he continues. "Listen. We both know what has to be lost here. It doesn't have to be everything." He gestures to Sheep and to Telephone. "We don't have to lose /everything/. You understand, right?" He looks somberly at the art around them.

    He sighs and shakes his head. "The rest of you." He says, simply. "Pick your art. When we're done here, I'll... Make sure it's preserved, so it won't evaporate. For later. Bring it to me." He holds his palm up. Whenever anyone brings him a piece of art, with a quick flicker it'll disappear from their hands, and produced from his opposite hand is a single, strange card, jagged at one corner, with a green border, an unusual nonsensical display of colors on the back, and an image of the art in front, on a white background. He'll be giving it to them to carry. These cards glow, softly, with white light.

    There's a harsh, pained look to Sheep and Telephone. "There needs to be no Curate here. Solve this directly." Then a straight-on, serious, terribly distressed look at the Artist. "The way it goes, there is no Curate here at the end of things. Before, that meant the others dying. That doesn't mean you die. You could..." He makes a strained noise. "Can't you give up being Curate? I know what it means for this place, but it's the only way that you don't eventually..." He trails off, with a pained tone.

    There's a long, intense look at Psyber, Faruja, Eryl, and Staren. "She doesn't have to die. You're right. I hope she doesn't. But we're not getting out of this without losing something in a big way. If we keep it safe now, all that happens is we lose it a little later down the line. But the Artist doesn't have to die." Another look is shot back at Telephone and Sheep.

    Then he looks at Mizuki. He shakes his head. "I can't say the meaning and I wish I could." He says, simply. "But I'll say this. I'm trying to get the best possible ending. I'm trying to save what I can. I'm not working for Sophia. But I have to compromise. There's not any other way to... Make this work."

Priscilla has posed:
    It's not as if the Artist is wrong. Making art for the sake of doing it, aiming only to please yourself, could hardly be considered art. A passtime perhaps. Maybe even a hobby. It isn't wrong for her to judge herself against the work of others, nor is it wrong for her to desire their recognition and approval. The extent to which she had taken it is inarguably unhealthy, yes, but it's the kind of obsession that is hard to argue and reason with, since it stems from something understandable, sympathetic, and legitimate. "Certainly, we were well prepared to slay thee shouldst things cometh to it, but only due to the words and deeds sewn most likely by the very same person. The one of whom you speak is a manipulator, clear and obvious." She seems about to continue until Arthur starts talking, and then she becomes totally, hopelessly lost.

    "Prognostics? Happened before? Curate?" Priscilla fails to hold in her stupid questions this time. When she had heard the Artist had lost her number before, she had assumed it to be something more benign. Only now does she grasp the implication of some kind of cycle. Not a loss of some kind of supernatural skill that the number bestows, but a stream of events that result in the numbers being gathered, something 'resetting', and the Artist being born once again, without any of the things she had worked for. Now feeling dangerously uninformed as the Artist begins to grow hysterical in protest, Priscilla rounds on Sheep and Telephone with a wild look in her eyes that is totally mismatched by the calm expression on her face.

    "I admit that I know little of these prognostics, but I see not the reason for thee to place thineselves on some other level than this woman. Thou art pieces of this world, the same as her, correct? If thou art so eager for annihilation, and art so certain that it cannot be avoided, then I see no reason to spare thee from the nihilism thou espouse." The point of her scythe *whunks* into the floor of the shack. "Do not test me. We shall solve this in the way of our own choosing, with no prompting or coercion from either of thee. This is not thine choice to make."

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva can't help it. When she sees that look of pain and terror, she takes another few steps forward. "Do you really have to? Isn't there any other way?" She reaches out, to grasp her hand, trying to show some kind of comfort. The look on that face is something she's seen before. She looks over her shoulder at Arthur as he explains. Huh. "I... see." She says, pondering. Maybe she doesn't really see. She nods to her, and stands.

"We need to preserve something." She seems confused, clearly of two minds. Indecision is clear on her face as she looks between the art and the Artist. Finally, she moves to pick something. She looks for something simple or whimsical. Something off the cuff, that looks like it was done without too much thought or plan, and she brings it to Arthur for safekeeping. Not everything needs to be ultra fancy.

She then turns to the Artist. "Whatever happens... We should work together on something sometime, okay?" She smiles. "I'll see you again. One way or the other."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Sheep's face contorts in horrifying ways when Staren faces her. She 'stares' at him with those perpetually closed eyelids for a long time, unflinching even as the guns threaten her. Telephone, meanwhile, swiftly runs to hide behind her. "Listen, kid." She folds her arms. "You don't belong here. You don't know what's going on here. And excuuu~uuse me if I take some liberties in the ways that I react to things when I have seen this -exact Creation damned scene- eight-nine odd times before today." She balls her fists. "You don't know how long we've been trying to accomplish what we are trying to do now. And you have no idea how much you're fucking things up by trying to play the hero. Yeah, sure, we're the villains. We're the villains because we are sacrificing this world, this doomed hole, for a world with potential. A world that won't follow the same rote patterns century in, and century out. You think -YOU'RE- sick of this? How do you think I --"

    Telephone interrupts her, covering her mouth. "Telephone! Shut -up-!" She's frowning deeply. "Even if we can't tell them everything, we all want the same thing! Don't make them angry, please!" She looks to Staren next, now. "... please, don't hate her. She's just upset. I mean, it finally drove Swan crazy the last time."

    Both of them shut up to listen to Psyber, though. But by the time he gets to the point of saying out loud that she idolizes him, she's already pretty emotionally vulnerable. For the first time, completely publicly, she loses her cool. "PSYBER!" Her cheeks are -flaming- red. "Th-That's...! That's privileged information! Something I told you in confidence! Wh-Why would you...?" She glances fervently between him and all of the others in the room, taking several steps back. She looks dizzy. "... I don't know anything that's going on. And this is -my- world! Nothing should take greater precedent than my thoughts, yet at -every turn- my desires have been thwarted. Psyber, I don't know what it is you have in mind, but if you feel you may have some way to override things, then..." She shakes her head. "... it's as good a plan as any. But I -detest- not knowing anything!"

    She lashes out at Arthur now, more out of complete distress than anything. She stares at him with balled fists and, if he is really paying attention, glistening eyes. "Can you at least tell me -why- you can't say these things? Why is it really so crucial that the -owner of this world- not know any of what's going on? This is my paradise, Arthur! My -home-! And the entire thing is falling apart!" As if the Godkid didn't already have enough to deal with.

    The Artist stares in disbelief at the words jumping around the room, only to be briefly brought back to reality by Faruja. She bats her lashes at him several times. "I..." Blink blink. "I have no idea how much that quantity in 'gil' is worth in your world, but it has no prevalence here. Still... I would be delighted to complete this work for you for no charge, if indeed I am allowed to live. But, truly..." She slowly begins to smile. "... your willingness to compensate me in this way is compensation enough in itself. Thank you. Never have I know such compliments before.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Nor has she known someone to defend her with such ferocity as Eryl is defending her with now. But Mizuki knows that it is not really the Artist that he is defending, but herself. Her world. She is brought to a brief calm by his unexpected intensity, likely sharing a glance with him for a spell. "Eryl..." She sighs. "Eryl, I... I do not know. I do not know what is going on here, but it seems equally absurd to me that the Waterway and the Artist -- no, -my- Artist -- must be sacrificed when we have already taken what we have come for. This... this whole situation is incomprehensible. But it is for that very reason that we all must remain calm." It almost seems like she's speaking to herself here, and she takes a few breaths to calm herself. Jesus, this is too much for her right now.

    No sooner has she said this, though, than has Priscilla said something of similar meaning. She looks to the halfbreed and gives a sigh of relief. "... thank you, Priscilla. Your level-headedness is quite welcome right now. And it brings me to a proposition: if the Artist need be destroyed -eventually-, then there is no need for her to be destroyed -this instant-, correct? Then we have ample time to contemplate Arthur's alternative solutions."

    And speaking of those alternative solutions, the Artist finally sees fit to acknowledge them now. "Earnestly? I do not know if I can relinquish my leadership of this place. Creation knows that I would like to if it is linked to some apocalyptic happenstance." Mizuki interjects here, addressing Arthur again. Forgivingly, though, she's in a better state of mind to do so this time around. "Do you recall when I tried to replace The Arch Curate with Luther? Perhaps we could do something like that. Perhaps we could apply the management of this region to one of the statuettes outside. And then, perhaps, we may at least preserve the artist herself. Goodness knows I'm loathe to part with this place, but if that is what must be done..." She bites her lip. "... -is- that what must be done? Truly?"

    In the end, finally, the Artist looks to Riva. Unfortunately, she looks as serious as ever. "... would you still wish to engage in such partnership if you knew my depravity? Even if I was jealous of you every step of the way, so much so that you would run the risk of my tarnishing your own contributions?" Her expression dips slightly. "... I think not. I am a liability. And yet... I still appreciate the attempted kindness. Thank you."

Arthur Lowell has posed:
    Arthur is looking a little green around the gills. He's breathing heavily and intermittently making soft sounds of stress and tension. "I can't. I wish I could explain everything, Mizuki, but... If I do, everything will collapse, I won't be able to make /any/ of this work. I'm sorry. It's... Nnnnnhhhh... Please, please, you know I'm doing this for you, right? I've got no reason to do anything in this world that isn't to help a friend. I just... Can't say why." He is wrapping his arms around himself now, hunched, learly experiencing some really, truly heart-wrenching pain at the sudden lashing.

    Then he says, "Please, please try. I know what it means will happen, to this place and... Everything around it. But if we don't, then eventually... Eventually..." He seems ot be experiencing severe physical pain just contemplating this situation. "I promise. I promise when this is done, you'll have an explanation, and if I can do this right, you'll want me to have done this. But just... Please, for now, just for now, we have to..." He struggles with the words again, making more incoherent noises of an tension and anxiety.

Staren has posed:
    Staren glares at Sheep. "OH," he rolls his eyes, "WOE IS ME! I must play the part of the villain, and now that people have come in to CHANGE things and make them BETTER instead of repeating the same cycle over and over again, I'm going to NOT TELL THEM, just so that when they innocently repeat it I can blame them and say they were fools! Yeah, STUFF IT. Tell us what's up, or you're condemning yourselves to repeat this cycle /again/, I'm betting. But you gotta TELL us. We're not gonna tear apart the inside of our friend's mind /just to see what happens/. Tell us what you want, and maybe we can find a way to achieve /everybody's/ goals!" He spreads his arms wide. And retracts the guns. "We got the antihero here who can break the rules," he waves an arm at Psyber, "and /I/ am just /itching/ for a chance to /save everyone/ and get the /good ending/ for once," he holds a hand to his chest, "to HELL with the narrative or story or whatever! Give us a chance, or step down and wait for 'next time' and save us all a lot of grief... Maybe we won't be here then."

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako walks over to Arthur with the drawing and cheerfully takes the card he makes out of it. "It's true, it's true. Everyone's really on edge all of a sudden, so... everyone, please take a few deep breaths and calm down." She lifts up her witch hat and places the card on top of her head and replaces her hat. "Okay? Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out." She smiles cheerfully. Her gaze slowly moves to the side, towards Arthur and she says softly, almost in a whisper, "You're trying hard, I know... do your best, okay?"

Faruja (152) has posed:
"Allowed?" Questions the rat, frowning suddenly.

The Priest straightens, and offers a scowl to the room at large.

And just as swiftly, the Inquisitor laughs.

"Mine dear, such an interesting person as thineself is naught but a fount of creation! Come, come! I am an agent of the Holy Church! And shouldst ye dedicate thineself to such a pure endeavor as to depict God Himself in pure form before we whom believe such a True and Holy Being to allow the entire Multiverse to Exist?" Offers Faruja suddenly. He draws his Blaze Gun.

"I wish ye to live. For ye art a Sister of the Holy Church in thine work, and I shan't forget such. To the Abyss with all whom shouldst oppose ye!"

Priscilla has posed:
    Priscilla takes personal offense to what Sheep says to Staren. Not because she especially cares when people are being mean to Staren in particular, but because the girl's newly bared motives are genuinely abhorrent to her. "Repetition is no excuse for apathy. Apathy is no excuse for cruelty." Did she actually just say that? It's strange coming from someone who is so frequently apathetic to the troubles of other people, and who has no qualms about inflicting suffering when it is necessary, but those words stem from something deeply, incredibly personal.

    How long had she spent in her own little world, not much unlike this one? How long had it been since that place had fallen into ruin, and become an endless, silent routine of absolute nothingness? How many days had she spent watching the same beings, barely even aware of the world around them, repeat the same actions, and go through the same movements? How many times had she fallen into the same emotional patterns, cycling through loneliness, despair, boredom, and resolution, over and over again? And yet, at no point, had she ever decided to make a single thing in her sad, frigid little realm suffer for the sake of change. At no time had she ever laid a finger, even on the nearly mindless undead, in the name of alleviating her ennui. Even if others couldn't eventually come to reach the same sort of enlightenment she had achieved in that place, Priscilla is absolutely convinced that there is no good reason for someone to insist on the death those of an old era in order to see something new. "Everything about thee disgusts me. Thou art a thousand years too young to speak in such a way, and in a thousand years, thou may still be too young, if thou yet refuse to grow up." Just from the tone of her voice, it is abundantly clear that Priscilla is incredibly, intensely serious. It carries the kind of calm, iron hard edge that only comes from someone who refuses to stand for something a moment longer.

    Thankfully, Mizuki seems just as lost as she is. That way, Priscilla doesn't have to try and carry on as if she had any idea what Arthur is saying. "Lady Mizuki. Please, at the very least, trust Sir Arthur's intentions until there comes a point at which thou art able to see them. An author is not always meant to know every detail of their work. Sometimes the best parts of it only arise from the imaginations of its readers." For once, she has nothing to say at one of Staren's usual outbursts. She doesn't share his view, but she sees the necessity in his questions being answered.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber sighs heavily, rubbing his forehead. Partially at the outburst from Mizuki, but mostly at the statement from Arthur. The half-angel doesn't look angry at the god so much as he just looks incredibly tired. He takes a long draw from his cigarette and then pauses for a moment. He'll let Staren talk to Sheep and Telephone. And let Mizuki blush herself out.

    Psyber, instead, simply walks over to Arthur, "You and I need to have a talk later," Before he pretty flatly asks the boy, "I'm gonna be pretty direct here. If I trust you, will it work out ideally?"

Arthur Lowell has posed:
    Ayako's comforting words and encouragement actually do help Arthur a little; there's a palpable sense of his willpower sort of recovering. It gives him just enough emotional integrity to speak up to someone else. "Staren." He says. "They're trying. They've... Sophia's explained things to me. You know what I'm like, right? You know I'm going to choose the way that means the least death, the best ending possible. But they're..." He struggles now, just a little more, still stressed out by this. "They're doing the best they can, this is bigger than we thought. It can't just be... They can't just say it!" He wrings his hands in a frustrated way. "They can only explain so much before it becomes... Damage."

    He makes another frustrated noise. "I've been... I've been told, and I still think this is the only way. You know they have to have /some/ reason, right?" And Priscilla's words are another bit of a verbal foothold. "But we can still... Just because it's gone on so long, doesn't mean we can't still treat this with respect, and figure out whatever compromises we can deal with. I don't /like/ the Artist, but we might be able to have this..." He then looks straight at Psyber, and nods, somberly. "Not... not ideally. Not my ideals, anyway. But it's... It'll break through the source of this and it'll save whatever we /can/ save. Everything else will just... End too much worse." He wrings his hands again a little. "I think you'd choose what I'm choosing. If you had to."

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
     Eryl is breathing deeply as he listens closely to the discussions happening in the room. According to the young man who was gifted with knowledge of what was to happen, he is trying to make things better... Sophia had promised that the information would be useful. But having to lose this place... having to let innocents die on the potentially empty promise that it's for the greater good.

     It's galling. Especially to him, who is supposed to save /everyone./

     Wordlessly, he takes a painting-one depicting a cross-section of a tree that has been grown to serve as a house-and gives it to Arthur to captchalogue, resisting the urge to slam it into the young man's chest. That might damage the painting, after all.

     Listening to the talk between Staren and Sheep, he sighs, and supposes he should be diplomatic here. "Listen, Miss Sheep. I understand that you have seen this scenario play out multiple times. But we have not. We are all on edge, and unhappy with how futile our attempts to make things better seem to be." He then turns to Staren and gives a nod. "I understand how you feel. To accept an incomplete victory is galling. But, Mister Lowell has knowledge that we do not. And from the looks of him, I do not think he is lying about it. Miss Sophia does not strike me as a liar either. Due to the nature of this world, I can understand the idea that 'too much knowledge is a dangerous thing.' So please... stand down. Trying to gain knowledge we should not have at the end of a gun will probably only make things worse."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber sighs heavily at Arthur and then puts his hands in his pockets, "Fine. I'll stand down. But you will be talking to me later about this, okay?"

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva shakes her head. "If you think I'm all sunshine and bluebirds, sister, you're mistaken. You're not alone in that and I've felt a lot of what you've felt. Believe me, we're still on."

Riva thinks for a moment, frowning as she listens to things. "Wait... So what you guys are all saying is that in order for this to all work, Mizuki has to not know what's going to happen."

She pauses, and then continues. "Because she's a writer. She wants to write a story. But if she writes the story, she's going to write the same ending she did the previous times and the same thing is going to happen. Is that it?" She looks to Arthur. "Arthur's your friend, right, Mizuki? He likes you too. Why would he want to do something that would hurt you?"

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
Kotone Yamakawa picks out her art a painting of some sort with that done and a promise kept she turns it over to Arthur and she looks to Arhurt and Pysber now at the stardown she is starting to form ideas with this Mizuki is a being of through, what happens when someone like that gets voices in their head? Is it more like more people and she's starting to think. She wonders if she's on to something.

"So if they tell us Arthur? It will become even worse than things are right now? Is that what your saying?"

She wonders how she fell into a world like this where calls like this are made. She just a nobody...how the hell did this happen to her?

"... So almot like a time loop?"

Staren has posed:
    Staren looks over at Psyber. "You too?" He turns to Arthur. "How can this all really be the best option?" Back to Psyber. "How many times am I... are /any/ of us... going to go and try to HELP and FIX things and find we can't?" He starts pacing around in a circle, waving his arms emphatically. "Ohhh, it's /destiny/. Ohhh, it's /how things have to be/. Ohh, it /really is the best option/. Ohhh, /there was nothing we could do/. Ohhh, /it's for the best really/." He stops, facing Psyber. "HOW MANY TIMES?" He turns to Arthur. "I'm the LOGICAL, SCIENCE GUY here, the guy who reasons out what is and isn't and tries to act on it, but I CAN'T keep DOING this!" He looks between them. "Where's all that stuff about the hell with science and logic, we're gonna make things better because we're /just that determined and badass/?" He shakes his hands in front of him, palms up, in a 'come on, show me' gesture. "You said yourself..." his voice starts to soften. "you're the heroes... can't you fix the story and save everything?"

    He hangs his head, muttering softly. 'Or do I need to just keep hoarding more and more power until /I/ can, even without... whatever-it-is, everyone else does instead of logic?'

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki sighs a deep, long, lasting sigh. She was the one who had just called to order, and yet she had been the one who, only moments ago, lashed out at one of her most treasured -- er... more... valuable recent friends. Suddenly, she feels even more anxious and pained. At the very least, she can sympathize, and that's probably why she does what she does next: she gives him a cooldown hug. It's so fleeting that he likely doesn't even have time to reciprocate it, but it's earnest, and it should say all that needs saying before the words even come out of her mouth. "... I'm sorry. That was my anxiety speaking. I -do- trust you, Arthur, and I know... I know that, with what you have been through, you would not wish this upon everyone. Especially a friend." She bows her head. "... I will find a replacement for the artist. And then I will... see to the erasure of the Waterway. If that is what must be done, it is what must be done. And I had best do it quickly before my conviction wanes."

    With that, she steps away from him with a parting smile. She makes her way over to the artist now, but in the meanwhile, Sheep struggles for freedom from Telephone's hand. She wants -so badly- to yell at Staren more, to tell him exactly how wrong he is, but thankfully the girl clad in Christmas lights is there to stop here. Even more thankfully, she's far more level. "L-Like I said, she just wasn't thinking clearly. We've all been doing this for a long time. It's enough to drive -anyone- ballistic. But..." She squeezes her eyes shut, gesturing to Arthur. "... it's like he says. Please don't be angry, but there are some things we -really can't say-. Or if we do say what they are, we have to do it in private, and you have to -never repeat it-. Ever." She frowns. "Look. I don't know you that well, but that other guy - Arthur, I think? - knows almost as much as we do. I'll let him decide whether or not to tell you. He would know better than we would if you would be able to handle knowing." She sighs again. "Please, please, -please- don't be angry. We may seem like the villains who never tell the heroes what's going on to be pretentious, but this whole thing is -rigged-. It seems like that -for a reason-. Please don't buy into it."

    Mizuki, now standing by the Artist but still within earshot, glances at Ayako with a warm, grateful smile. "Thank you." She... bows to her. It's the most earnest expression of appreciation she can give at the moment. "It warms my soul to know that I have people willing to assist me that can be so... collected, and friendly, even in times of so much tension. I could never convey my gratitude in full, Miss Hasekawa, but I sincerely hope that my words will suffice for the time being." That said, she turns to face another, dear friend, and the artist. She smiles to them both, and nods. "I shall promise you both this: you will not succumb today, Artist. You will have your time to complete your painting, and it will one day be on display in a chapel where all will appreciate it, and remember you. Live now knowing that you have a goal, and that you are not lost." She looks to Faruja with an outright broad smile. "... so the tatters of your life have been mended by such warm souls as these, that saw fit to grace my home with their loving light this evening. I feel they may have stayed my hand again from a fatal error."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki turns to Priscilla again before addressing the Artist, finally breaking into a nervous and extremely transient laugh. "Your analogies, Lady Priscilla, are so apt! ... is it I who has rubbed off on you, I wonder, or you who has rubbed off on me? Or have we always thought so similarly?" She bats her lashes several times when she notices the boldness behind her own words, and shrinks back slightly afterwards. "A-Ah... apologies. That was a trifle... loud." Her cheeks are somewhat pink again, now. "... nevertheless, you are correct. I shall ever trust Arthur. In the ephemeral spot since our meeting, already he has proven himself a valuable and steadfast friend. I shall never again overlook that for any reason."

    Some of what Staren and Priscilla are saying may finally have gotten to Sheep, though, because she looks like complete shit. What was once anger has boiled down to yet another quivering lip, and quivering arms. Only, unlike the other people who have been made to cry this evening, she deserved that. Or at the very least, she needed it. And at the very least, Telephone is there for her, ready to embrace her as she is barely able to stifle more wailing. They continue on in this fashion for some time before Eryl addresses the girl whose eyes never open, and she simply nods to him a few times. "A-Alright." Sniff. "Yeah. Y-Yeah, whatever. If you guys will help, I don't care. I just don't want this to happen anymore. Mizuki promised that this would be -heaven-. I didn't know any of this would happen. I didn't!" She squeezes her eyelids shut, again. "I'm sorry...! Okay? I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" Priscilla and others would rightly assume that these are the whinings of a sore loser, or at the very best a misguided child. This may not merit forgiveness, but at the least it demonstrates a possibility for improval. She isn't entirely locked away by her stubbornness.

    At long last, Mizuki finally steps up to the Artist, offering her hand. Mizuki brushes the bangs out of her hair, smiling one of her more confident smiles. "Artist." She bows her head. "If you know what must be done, then please. This is only a formality, I know, but cede the essence of your leadership to me. I will see that it is transferred elsewhere... and you as well." The Artist nods wordlessly. A soft, white light floats between the pair briefly, sinking in time into Mizuki's chest. The world about them responds by darkening considerably, but unlike the other times, purgatorial white does not begin to spread throughout the realm. It's as though something has been taken away, certainly, but not in any lasting way.

    Once this small 'ritual' is accomplished, The Artist turns to Riva. "Truly...? Well." The artist lowers her gaze in contemplation. "Then, perhaps... perhaps we could collaborate on something. Perhaps even in the creation of Faruja's commission." Finally, a smile. "... did you ever tell me your name? I would like to remember you. So that I may ask for you at a later date." Those bags are still under her eyes, but the woman facing her now is a far cry from the angry, bestial person that they had seen when they had first come in. But then, a lot has changed fairly quickly tonight. Or it seems that way, at the least.

Riva Banari has posed:
The Artists asks Riva's name. Riva holds out her hand again, this time in introduction. "My name's Riva. Riva Banari. It's nice to meet you."

After that, though, Staren's words cause Riva to droop a little bit. "Of course I want to save everything, Staren. Everyone does. But I sure don't know what the best solution here is, but Arthur has information we don't. We don't know the whole situation. We don't know the rules and so we don't know what all the options are. Isn't that the thing with science? You have to know the rules before you can learn how to work with them, right? If you know all this stuff, Staren, can you tell us so we know what's up?" She doesn't sound accusing, instead her tone is curious. Maybe he /does/ know more than Riva about what's up.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber looks like he's about to say something to Staren. There's a very quiet rage in his eyes at the rant the catboy just leveled upon him. Instead, Psyber says five words to him, "You just crossed a line."

    Psyber then simply turns and walks over to Mizuki, "I would like to leave now. Please give me the most expedient form of transportation out."

Arthur Lowell has posed:
    There's a nod to Kotone, confirming what she asked, firmly advising her on the subject of Too Much Information. Then a terse, frustrated, hurt look at Staren. "You know the way I think. You know I don't take shit from fate. I don't let someone else's cycles or rules dictate what I'm gonna try to do." He wrings his hands. "I'm trying to fight what you want to fight. It's just... It's all turned around, full of these holes in knowledge I can't fill without breaking everything. You... You probably wouldn't make the choices I'm making. But... Damn it, science guy. You know I don't buy into this kind of shit! Not unless..." He makes another pained gesture, clutching his arms closer to him. "This is it. This is the way the Best Third Option looks, Staren. It hurts, and it sucks, and I'm sorry I can't explain everything. But everything else is worse."

    "Please. We're trying. It hurts us too."

    The cooldown from Mizuki is genuinely helpful, and he reciprocates with gusto, giving her a broad, intense, somewhat vulnerable-seeming hug. "Thank you." He whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of this." Then he's standing straight again, taking deep breaths. He attempts to establish a Gate now, leading back to a safer place. The Clocktower, maybe? Wherever they need going. Casting it with a desolate, one-handed motion, the sickly green light of the spirographic Gate will likely shortly occupy the shack, offering the opportunity for those who wish to leave.

Eryl Fairfax has posed:
     "Mister... Staren, was it? Look at me." Eryl pats the armoured boy on the shoulder, trying to look him right in the eye.

     "I understand your frustration. Back on my world, I have gone against those who believe in prophecy, fate, destiny... and I have come ahead, succeeded in spite of those who claimed I could not. But this is not my world, and it is not yours either. It is Miss Mizuki's."

     He smiles and nods to Mizuki, as if to say what he says next is not meant to offend her. "She is a melodramatic sort, and this world is an extension of her and thus, of that melodrama. Have you ever read a book where characters make suboptimal choices? It's frustrating, isn't it?" He gives a wry little chuckle and shakes his head. "At the moment, we are forced into the roles of such characters. But we are self-aware enough that we realize that our choices are suboptimal and strong enough that, in any other world? We would make it different."

     He gives another little sigh, for a brief moment, looking every second of his 129 years. "It is a hard, bitter pill to swallow, but at the moment, this is the best we can hope for. All we can do is hope that Mister Lowell and Miss Sophia are correct in what they believe is the best outcome for this world. At the very least, we have prevented at least one unnecessary death. Take hope from that."

     With that, he goes over to the Artist again and smiles at her. "Well. I was hoping to save this area and every one of your creations. I am so, so sorry I could not manage that." He gives a deep bow, sniffing once before rising. "I look forward to seeing you again Ma'am. I know that whatever you make for Mister Faruja will be amazing."

     He then gives a nod to Arthur before using his Gate to leave.

Staren has posed:
    Staren crosses his arms and glares at the ground. He mutters, "I'm always crossing lines."

    ...

    After a moment, he drops the angry posture and looks back up at Psyber. "I'm sorry." He feels lost and confused. He can sense that he fucked up, but how seriously? In exactly what way? And how much, if any of it, in a way that he really meant to stand by? Did he lose a friend? Did he really have one to begin with?

    He shakes his head to himself and glares at the ground again. Stupid world. Stupid Multiverse. Stupid people. Stupid Staren, getting into these situations.

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja runs a hand through his hair, and smiles. There's a look to the Artist.

He says nothing at all, merely smiling in confidence. For all that he's faced, the Artist offers him something he's desired, and yet feared to exist.

The Inquisitor licks his muzzle.

"Forgive this mortal his weakness. I wouldst see what ye offer, nay matter the outcome. Artist...Such a simple name. So simple, but...Still, offer me...I beg ye, of Faram...God.." Pauses the rat, shuddering and sighing. A true believer, Faruja all but collapses.

Then, as he looks to Eryl, he pulls himself up. A simple length of wood, his cane, but he pushes himself up to standing.

"I beg ye. Live. And let us share in this Miracle, to look upon the Sight of God. Just...as Ser Fairfax states...LIVE! And paint for me a visage of the deity I exist for!"

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako smiles cheerfully at Mizuki in retrun. "You're welcome, Mizuki. There are important things at stake, so of course there's tention. It's just, we-" She suddenly erps. "Please call me Ayako! Calling me anything else just makes me feel weird..." She glances off to the side awkwardly. Ayako's left hand gently presses against Arthur's back in quiet support.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "Oh, Arthur has it, nevermind," Psyber says to Mizuki, waving his hand, "Nevermind."

    As the man is leaving, Psyber does say rather firmly, "Eryl. I hope the next time I see you the circumstances are better."

    Psyber pauses as Eryl leaves and he looks to Staren, "Look. It kills me that I have to keep doing this, believe me. I wish I could not be..." He waves at himself vaguely, "This. But this is what good is sometimes, Staren. This is what the Multiverse needs me to be. Just like it needs you to be the guy that always looks for the solution that saves everyone, it needs me to be willing to... do what is necessary when people can't save them all." He frowns a bit, "I hope some day you'll be able to understand. And I hope you never agree with me."

    And then he heads through the portal. Poof.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki sighs deeply, her expression becoming some semblance of a scowl. She turns to Psyber first, though. "You may simply imagine yourself at the warpgate before the Clock Tower. You will be able to depart almost instantaneously. And, thank you - truly, thank you - for your assistance this eve. I cannot parse how thankful I am in the limited time that we have." You bows to him...

    ... and then turns to face Staren, bearing an amplified rendition of the scowl she was wearing before. "Staren. I respect your idealism. I respect your desire for change and for a better option. Creation knows that I respect even more your denial that things cannot be made better. And before you begin to feel as though you are being ganged up on -- think. Think back to the first conversation of consequence that we had. /Think/."

    "I am not the sort to accept these things lightly. I am NOT the sort to watch my own -life's work-, and its denizens, fall to pieces without argument. There are many things within you that I adore and admire, Staren, but what I cannot appreciate in the least is your wanton disregard for the effort put worth by my -dear friends- who are obviously trying to improve things for me, and for everyone here. In your analysis of the situation, you disregard the fact that Psyber and Arthur have likely just saved the life of someone. The Artist would be dead at this moment if it had not been for their council. Would people who see fit to save that one soul surrender to the 'Third Best Option' if they did not know for an absolute -fact- that, given the situation, it was necessary?"

    "Staren, I value your contributions this night, and your opinions. But if you cannot accept that some things must be sacrificed when I, the one who stands to lose the most from this whole arrangement, can, then I really must call into question your maturity. Do not take my words as flagrant criticisms. Think of them as a chance for reflection. I do not wish to lose a friend who is willing to think outside the obvious solutions to a situation, but in this moment we must think with the pieces we have available. If we cannot do that, then we will lose even more along the way. And that is not idealism. That is childish pouting for no feasible gain. As one who has spent their entire existence denying reality, I should know this well."

    She deflates once she has finished, looking to Eryl appreciately. "Thank you, Eryl." Then back to Staren. "I reiterate: we are not ganging up on you. Please see the reason in our words. Please see that we are all fighting for the same things, and that sometimes choices must be made. Elsewise, we may lose everything."

Staren has posed:
    Staren looks up at Psyber as he speaks and leaves. Then he looks at the floor again. "What use is the guy that wants a solution to save everyone," he mutters, "If he never /finds/ it? The Multiverse doesn't need that at all..."

    He flinches at Mizuki's words, almost as if struck. He hangs his head and holds a hand to his forehead. "I'm just tired, Mizuki. Tired of things happening again and again." He lifts his head again, turning to face her. "But the reason I spoke, instead of holding it in, was I hoped... I hoped it'd work. That maybe it'd inspire people who don't think like me," he waves a hand at Arthur, "to pull a miracle out of their ass and do the impossible." He hangs his head again, arms dropping limply by his side. "It didn't work. It backfired. It hurt you and Psyber more, and I'm sorry for that, Arthur. Trying to do this drama and convincing and using the narrative thing... it never works." He shakes his head. "That's what I am, the guy who keeps hoping things will work when they don't. Some scientist I am."

Priscilla has posed:
    Priscilla has perhaps a few less choice words for Staren than everything else. His outburst may have been immature and uncalled for, and especially jarring against the common understanding that everyone had just come to accept, but it was sincere and not impossible to understand. "As far as I am concerned, Sir Staren, we art already bending the limits of 'that which must be'. Options that were not previously imagineable do exist, and can be chosen, but there is never such thing as a perfect one. Do all that thou can to avert fate, but learn to accept there is a limit to which anyone, and any group of people, can change the world around them, else all that we know wouldst be thrown into disarray every time someone possessed a sufficient stroke of willpower."

    She smiles vaguely at Mizuki, perhaps getting a little bit better at it after the number of times the young author had made her do it in her presence. "Perhaps the latter. I mind it not. It is rare to hear such words from another." Arthur gets something of a sympathetic glance, but Sheep gets no such emotion from her. Bawling children aren't the kind of thing that softens Priscilla's heart. All that she hopes is that the monochromatic girl will learn a lesson from this. As Psyber decides to leave, she promptly follows after him, giving the Artist one, last, strangely knowing look before departing.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki takes another breath. After some moments of pause, she walks up to Staren and lays a hand on his shoulder. She's smiling again. "Let us keep hoping for these things together. As you hope at this moment for the impossible, I have spent my entire life trying to forge a utopia. A perfect world, which by any rational definition cannot exist. I do respect that you are willing to calm yourself, even if you cannot necessarily accept what you are hearing. I won't suggest that you have some road to improvement ahead of you, but rather say that I feel, slowly but surely, you may come to better understand your friends. Even if you never agree with them."

    She squeezes his shoulder before taking it away. "Remember what you told me that one time? One of the two happiest days of your life? Psyber was one of the people that accepted you then. Who leveled with you, and showed you that he would never blame you. Never think that you're just a mad scientist without a cause." She smiles. "Nor will I. You have friends. No matter how many times you make mistakes, that will always be true of me. Of all of us." She sighs. "But yes, I shall spare you further prose. Forgive me."

Riva Banari has posed:
Riva puts a consoling hand on Staren's other shoulder since Mizuki yoinked one. "What's more important is that someone keeps looking, Staren. Even if we never find the best answer that leads to no one ever having a problem or ever having to suffer, people should still look for it. I'd like nothing more than that myself, but at the same time... Nothing lasts forever, Staren. Just relax and keep believing in yourself."

She shrugs. "Besides, scientists don't do drama. That's being into theatre or literature. Scientists do /science/." She pokes him, then. "So try to do some science at this and see if you can learn those rules. Then maybe you can either find a fourth option... or at least understand what's up with the third one. And then you can bust in the door and yell 'EUREKA!' like a proper scientist."

Arthur Lowell has posed:
    Arthur seems to be wordsed out, so to speak. He doesn't look like he can bear much more discourse on this subject, emotionally speaking. Ayako's support, Mizuki's help, and the various other influences are all that's keeping him from just fleeing or collapsing. So he stays, to hold the Gate open, and not much longer. "Everyone out of the region." He says, somberly. "Things are going to get ugly."

    He flashes back to remembering the enthusiastic, truly spirited sea life that lives nearby, wincing, and looking distraught at the idea. "Mizuki. I'm... I'm g-gonna leave now. And let you finish off the last of this."

    He heads through his own Gate, probably a short time after the last person leaves, eventually. It'll be depositing him back at his home, of course, rather than nearby anyone else. Mostly because it would be impolite. Immediately after leaving, he ceases holding it in, and undergoes an anxiety response colloquially known as 'stress vomiting', profusely.

Staren has posed:
    "It's got to be..." he mutters. "We have to make utopia, one day... can we really just go on saving people by hand forever?"

    She mentions The Day The Multiverse Changed, the day the impossible wish he'd never have dared ask for was granted, and with a start he stands up straight and looks into her eyes. He just sort of blinks at her for a moment. Then he shifts out of the armor, back to his normal form, and hugs her.

    Riva gets in on SUPER CATBOY COMFORTING ACTION. Staren just looks at her, then chuckles at the last thing she says, smiling a bit.

    He breaks the hug after a possibly awkward moment, and heads for the gate.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Finally, the Artist responds to Faruja with a nod, a smile, and for the first time, a considerable brightening of her expression. "I shall make it my mission. You shall have your painting. The likeness of your God shall be known to all in this world, by the skill of my hands. Never again will there be a night when you will be left to feel that his radiance cannot grace this world, too, in some form."

    With that, she gives her paintbrush a twirl. "Also, you may refer to me as Alicia. Alicia Bannings is my true name, rather than my title. I would prefer you to know the name that I shall inscribe upon this work when it is complete."

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako smiles softly at Staren, "The use of that guy is to keep trying, Staren!" She nods her head once. "A true solution will never be easy to find, easy to make happen, and will never be cheap. But it's also something to keep trying to strive for." Her gaze turns off to the side for a moment, "Besides... I think everyone's tired right now..." Ayako turns to gaze at everyone. "And I mean everyone! Don't let that tiredness drag you all down! For now, let's head back and rest. We all will think more clearly after a break." She nods her head once and then heads for Arthur's gate.

Kotone Yamakawa has posed:
Kotone Yamakawa realxes a bit as things seem to take an unexpected turn she looks to Mizuki for a moment and looks at her friend, yes her firne and speaks at last.

"Aim for the stars as they say. My world's been in bad places but one person managed to pull us out of what could have been a mellisal long nightmare. Also your right Miziki if you think your perfect something's wrong. Ao Ayako? I think so we should get some rest, even if I'm noty physically my ghost wants to crash pretty hard."

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja draws the last of his strength, wounded and weak as he is, and points as the Artist known as Alicia Bannings. Tears fall down his single natural eye, and only the pain of his love has him moving beside Mizuki to leave this realm. His hand points to Aicia. Not as an enemy, but as an equal. Point!

"ARTIST ALICIA BANNINGS!" Calls out the rat in utter sorrow and joy alike. Oh, how he both despairs for and envies the woman!

"...I fear I hath offered ye but a pittance for thine work! By /God/, my Lady! Work mine comission, and live! Please! I ask ye naught but his! For an Inquisitor's life is to offer guidance! That others may live less Sinful lives, as we whom seek to show mistakes, falsehoods, and the weakness of Mortal flesh!"

A deep breath, and a look to Mizuki, then the Artist. A smile.

He flicks his tears away, and steps away from the woman.

"Nay matter what...I shall remember thee as a fellow Child of God." He promises. Squeezing his cross, he nods to the Artist, waiting to see just what shall come of all of them.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki returns Staren's hug, letting it last for a little while. She whispers something to him before gently easing out of the hug with a smile. Then she walks over to the Artist's treasure trove and rummages through for something suitable.

    There isn't a lot of ceremony when it happens, honestly. Mizuki takes one of Alicia's vases into her hands with her approval, hugging it to her breast briefly before that light that had joined with her being moments before flows into it. Then, she holds the vase aloft, and drops it to the ground.

    It shatters. Offshoots of white spread from its shards. In moments, those children from the coral city will be gone. The place where Arthur initially met her will be gone. The beaches upon which Mizuki spent so many of her Summer days.

    Gone, gone, gone.

    She shuts her eyes tightly and takes Faruja's hand, giving the halfbreed a lingering glance. She swallows, eventually summoning the strength to say what she must.

    "We had best be leaving."

Faruja (152) has posed:
Faruja's natural eye goes wide. Logic assaults his mind, but faith remains.

The pair collide as he clenches to Mizuki's hand, and the Inquisitor denies the pain that is to follow with every ounceof his moral being. There isn't a single ounce of pride as his emotional side mourns and laments the woman who would offer him both the sight of Faram, and the pure desire to give him such a vision.

Hopefully Mizuki can heal her hand, as Faruja's suffering for the Artist is enough to crush lesser persons. His hand to Mizuki squeezes, and that to the Artist is offered almost moreso.

"W...wait. No. NO! BY GOD YE KNAVE, LIVE! PLEASE! JUST...A SIMPLE BLOODY PAINTING FOR THE PAIR OF US!" Screams Faruja as he falls limp into Mizuki's arms to be dragged away, reaching for the Artist.

Otherwise, Faruja collapses into sobs, too weak and mortal to help the woman he'd finally found common purpose and sympathy towards.

The rat might need at while, now.