4619/Walk On Water

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Walk On Water
Date of Scene: 30 September 2016
Location: The Brutal Lands
Synopsis: Ophelia tries to tempt Inga into the water.
Cast of Characters: 975, Inga

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The Tower of Pleasure. Once the home of LionWhyte, the ambassador of humanity's slavery to the demonic Tainted Coil. Here the lap of luxury was supported by beautiful women, soft beds, broken backs and an acknowledgement of demonic superiority. It was a pillary of Vegas style excess, with massive wading pools, smooth granite paneling and a giant phallic white tower from which the former Master of Slaves looked on his peons below. Spreading the taint of security for the price of freedom.

Now it lay shattered, tumbled like a child's toy, with monstrous iron maidens laid in craters where they had impacted. Of the twisted, insane creations called 'Bleeding Deaths' that had torn down the place, there was no more sign - likely torn each other to pieces, or simply died as their life force was given in the service of more destruction.

It is here that Ophelia waits - Standing beside the Hearse. A rolling temple to Death Metal, the hearse was one part corpse carrier and one part hot rod, massive golden blower growling like a chained beast as it shudders and feeds flickering flames from golden exhaust pipes. No fuel known to mortal beyond the hallowed continents of the Brutal Land would sate it; It was a creature forged from the remnants of ORMOGEDDON by the will of the Dead Titans; His mighty death roar, his ferocious speed, his metal flesh, his incinerating flames. It was alive as anything else in the Brutal Lands, and it owed allegiance only to Sorrow.

Ophelia's face is drawn, black lips in a thin line, one arm crossed over her trim tummy to grip the other. Hands curled into fists. This place had bad memories; But what better way to hurt herself than to come here and meet an enemy?

Inga has posed:
Perhaps it was madness to agree to meet Ophelia alone. Even with all her precautions, she knew it was not exactly wise. That said, sometimes it is necessary to take risks in order to accomplish something important. If Ophelia wanted to speak with her, there had to be a reason for it. Inga would keep her hand close to her Agartha conduit in the event that she needed to make a hasty escape.

She'd walked from the portal to this gods forsaken wasteland, leaning on her staff as she approaches the hearse where Ophelia leans. A strange, ruined place, and one that was perhaps better off that way, if what she has glimpsed in the wyrd is any indication.

Swathed in a grey-blue cloak, Inga remains hooded, regarding Ophelia with a keen, cautious gaze. "Ophelia," she greets, stopping close enough to speak but far enough away that she felt she'd have enough time to react with a lightning bolt if Ophelia sprung. "This is a ....very peculiar place to want to meet," she observes. Inga's not sure she wants to read too much into /that/.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The Queen of Tears turns her head slightly. A single claw running along the bottom of her eye, and flicked aside; Where the ichor strikes the ground, it -sizzles-. Potent. She keeps her back to the prophetess, looking back towards the ruins as she shifts her hips. "Mm hmm.. well, I did offer you a seat by me at my shores... It's not my fault you wanted somewhere else." She gestures with a hand, claws upwards. "Behold, the death of Humanity's future; Lars was killed here, because he was so ****'ing stupid as to hope for better. Lita lost her mind here. Ed-" She stops herself, hands curling into a shaking fist once more. ".. That ****'ing moron betrayed me here. The final betrayal. The last one before I just ****'ing stopped caring anymore."

At last she turns, bright white teeth smiling behind black lips. Arms wrapping once more about herself; Brittle as glass, yes, but as sharp as well. "It's a place that hurts. Almost as much as the Sea of Black Tears. So perfect, right?" She giggles, a broken sound, half a sob briefly choking in her throat before she dips her head. Pressing lips to a fist, eyes closed for a moment. When they open, the wicked smile is back once more. "My offer, sweetie; Have you given it thought?"

"Freedom from your ****'ing gods. And this time, no ****'ing pedestrians to interrupt us."

Inga has posed:
Inga looks toward the bit of ichor that Ophelia flicks aside, watching it sizzle. She remembers first seeing Ophelia, worrying about the Filth...it is not so different, is it? Less...virulent. That was the true worry.

They've met on many occasions now. Inga knew just how fragile Opehlia was. It was so easy to break her composure and send her into a rage. But that isn't Inga's mission today. She knew Ophelia, perhaps better than anyone now. A strange realization.

Stranger still, when Ophelia again makes her offer. Inga realizes that in her strange, broken way...Ophelia /cares/ about her.

It takes Inga some moments to respond. "Why don't you tell me...tell me what happened. Tell me more about your world," she asks, not giving her answer just yet. She'd seen much in her vision, but it would be better for Ophelia to tell it. "What do you mean, the death of humanity's future?"

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
That was always the danger with the Death Metal Queen; Her weakness was her power. The more she suffered, the deeper her Sorrow ran, the stronger she became. The smile fades to a thin line once more, bright white eyes searching Inga's own for a moment. Before that quiet, cold little smirk rises once more. A claw lifting, shaken twice to the left and right.

"Uh uh uh. Tit for tat, Inga - I tell you something, you tell me something about -your- world. Someone told me I talk too much..." Chin rises, as Drowned Ophelia glides around the back end of the Hearse. Claws drag lightly along the metal, the creation shuddering - an animal in fear. Or pleased at the touch. It was honestly hard to tell. "And maybe they're right. By force or by choice, every little light in the fucking sky is going out." Her ankles do not appear to move; Just gliding forward, until she moves past Inga. Gesturing out to the Brutal Lands; Majestic, in their own way, but harsh and unforgiving.

"Lars." She begins, curling claws as if to grasp the sinking sun. ".. was the King of the Humans. Or so they would have you believe." She glances aside, a conspiracal smirk. "In truth, his rebel band was weak, pathetic, and dying. Humanity was conquered; A species created in mockery to the Titans. He was proud, and honest. Daring. Noble. All the worse things in the world; He walked up to the Emperor of the Tainted Coil and boldly declared his intentions to rise humanity from the ashes. An honorable challenge."
Her claws fall. "He was gutted for it like a fucking fish on a stick and tossed aside. All because he believed in our -.. in -their- 'choosen one'. If only they knew~.. but more on that later." Another soft giggle, before she offers her claw outwards.

"Now you."

Inga has posed:
Inga meets her gaze, unshaken, only returing the intensity. She nods at Ophelia's offer of exchange of information. It is only fair. Inga places both hands on the top of her staff, fingers intertwined as she listens, the pictures forming in her mind. "Their chosen one? And who would that be?" she asks. She didn't miss Ophelia's slip-up. She simply chose not to draw any attention to it.

"My world...it is long in the past for most worlds--as far as most people percieve time, anyway. In that time, in that place... I was a well respected Seer, taught to honor the gods. Odin, Thor, Freyr...all the aesir and vanir, the spirits of the lands and thet ancestors. Freyja was my patron... a Seer like myself. A goddess of magic. I traveled and spoke my prophecies to the leaders of the lands...and on holy days I helped to make sacrifices to the gods. Every nine years at Yule at the temple of Uppsala we would sacrifice nine of each animal, hanging the bodies from the great tree, blessing the blood and annointing ourselves with the god's blessings," she says, her voice falling into a storytellers rhythm. "I am a chosen one. Saved by the gods. My parents left me to die...Freyja rescued me and gave me purpose. I am not a slave you see....I simply owe a debt."

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
"A debt you can't pay is slavery, by any name."
Cackles the broken creature, throwing a hand dismissively. Turning the full force of her scrutiny once more towards Inga, curling a claw upon her upper lip. "We're more alike than you think, sweetums. My parents left me too.. albeit, because they were fucking Tear Drinkers and went to sink beneath the shores of grief for the last time. You know; Back when my blood was red." She then pauses, eyes flicking aside towards the broken palace. White teeth gnawing at the edge of her dark lips before she straightens.
"-Eddie-." She states, practically forcing the name between her lips. Eyes close once more, as she releases a slow breath - frost curling down her lip and chin. "They're fucking 'choosen one'. If they knew, what -I- knew? What -I- saw when he picked up that fucking axe, wearing -THAT- sigil? ... They'd have torn him to pieces. Oh, they hated me.." Claws opened on her face, a smirk. "They hated the very sight of me. I reminded them of what they'd lost, you see, when they took power from the Sea. But at least they didn't try to kill me. Well, not until after Lars. HE was the last one with vision. But Eddie? They would have scattered his ragged pieces all over Bladehenge had they learned. Luckly, they're all so fucking stupid - they never listened to the whispers. Never read the old legends. Never wandered beyond the fucking safety of Bladehenge, like I did, trying to find something.. ANYTHING.. to break the Tainted Coil. I kept his fucking secret, I kept him safe. He didn't even know it himself. And he was going to save us all; The power of Metal shattered the armies of LionWhyte. Smashed through all that we had come to believe was impossible. He was pulling us all together, from the KillMaster to the girls I rescued. And then..."
Her voice fades away, as she stares at the broken Tower of Pleasure. Shuddering, the miasma of Black Tears rising about her, tendrils of smoke curling about her form. ".. The fucker betrayed me."
A curl of fingers. "Do you want this curse? And don't fucking lie to me about it being a blessing.." She begins, smiling coldly. "I don't need your power to tell you exactly how every fucking thing ends, if you look far enough out. And that's got to sting~"

Inga has posed:
Inga listens. She doesnt understand all of it, but the big picture is there. Her lips curve into a gentle frown, brow slightly furrowed. There is no doubt...Ophelia's story is a sad one. Perhaps that is why Inga keeps trying to save her. She keeps trying to break through, hoping--because that's what she needs. Hope. After Eddie's betrayal...it broke her. Inga could place herself in her shoes, easily.

"A man wronged me once. Took me, tried to make me his pet prophetess. I slit his throat in his sleep after drugging his wine, sacrificed him to Freyja," she answers. "I understand revenge Ophelia. I don't even begrudge you...but there is a difference between getting vengeance on the man that wronged you and burning down his whole hall with his family inside," she continues.

Inga sighs, shaking her head at Ophelia's comment about her 'curse'. "Ophelia...there is no end. That is what you do not realize. There's no one, final end. There are small ends, small beginnings, knots in the wyrd...you think, in the end, everyone dies, everyone is alone, everyone betrayed...but that is not the case."

Inga sighs, tracing some o the runes carved into her staff with her finger. "I...appreciate your offer in the spirit that it is given...for I think, your way, you actually want to help me. But I cannot. It is not my fate," she answers.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The smile, brittle as it was, fades away from the Queen of Tears. She sways slowly, and - for a moment - the very air itself is tense with a vague threat of violence. Something said had twisted the metaphorical knife. But that same deep breath again - Ophelia showing a surprising amount of restraint for someone so driven by gothy emo dives - cold frost brushing briefly along pale blue skin. Before she answers, at last.

"And why not burn down his house with his family inside? They'll come for revenge as well. It's like blood in fresh milk; It just spreads and spreads." Her fingers spread open as well, before clenching. "Best to kick the fucking cup over and at least enjoy the noise and the sight."

And then she's heading back for the Hearse, cracking the door open. The vehicle seeming somehow to come to life; Crackling a bit faster, eager almost. She pauses, however, and looks over her shoulder. The cold smile gone, eyes searching.
".. fate can be fucked, you know. There is an end, a real, final halt - we just have to fucking choose it. Just like I choose mine." No smile, this time, her face remaining serious as ever. "Come to the Sea of Black Tears; Look deep in that well, and tell me you can't see the end of it all. The shattering of your fucking future. No more fates, no more destinies, nothing but the hammer of Death Metal to soothe the loss. Misery can be a strength, you know; Even I don't know what power your broken heart can unleash. Taste of my sorrow, and -see-."

Inga has posed:
Inga shakes her head. "Because they might not. You cannot base justice on what you think someone WILL do--not even I can do that. People have their own choices to make. Fate has many paths...and even yours is not at an end," Inga answers as Ophelia turns to make her exit.

A sigh, Inga's shoulders slumping slightly. "What if I look, Ophelia? What if I look and I don't break. What will that mean for you?" Inga asks, then turns and starts to make her way back to the portal.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
"Some don't. Demons, mostly - those who don't know mortal pain."
States the creature, with surprising amount of sobriety, before the broken laughter bubbles up from somewhere within once more. "But oh! I can -feel- your suffering, Inga. And you're going to feel -mine- as well." With that omenous phrase, the Queen of Tears slips into the seat, slamming it closed. The Hearse ROARS to life - howling as it draws air in through the blower, flames crackling and leaping from in-line exhaust pipes like a firey spine. Wheels spin hard, kicking up dirt and earth as it tears the hell out of there. Snarling and twisting through what debris had rolled away from the collapsing tower..
And above it, storm clouds bubble in the sky, as if to mark it's passing.