Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-5999656-20191112183347

Even crouched low against the soaked deck and dripping with seawater, Lustra was acutely aware of how natural the weight of Jett's sword felt in her hands. Leather grip, balanced hilt, heavy enough to cut deep and yet light enough for last-minute changes in direction, the perennial weapon had a certain weight to it which needles and fans had never been able to conjure. The phrase an extension of the arm came to Lustra's mind. It would have been easy for her to choose a sword as the main form of her weapon back in Beacon, especially given how extensively she had trained with one at Liuxing. But, having been forewarned of her penchant for needless bloodshed, she had gone with needle-fan-staff instead, passing on the responsibility of avoiding murder from herself to her tools. Standing here now, so many years later and with a good deal more self-awareness than she had ever possessed as a teen, she was reminded of just how important it was to have restraint, and not plunge a sharp edge into every suspicious character nearby no matter how strong the urge was to do precisely that.

After a long silence, Lustra straightened up, giving the blade a preliminary twirl that sent a shower of droplets into the air, where a few faint red beads splattered against the face of the Bluthardt medic. She took a single step back as her arm came to a rest at her side, seemingly compliant, and yet ready to strike at the nearest sign of danger.

".... Then help."

Her voice was a low drawl devoid of emotion. It was hidden by a seamless activation of her semblance, but Lustra was holding back every urge to unleash herself on the faceless convoy now stomping around the yacht, the nameless servants of the traitorous blue-blood she'd once thought of as a friend.

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Maris could only stare into Dust's face for a long few seconds, oblivious to Halle's approach and the solemn stride of the woman she had attacked just a minute ago echoing behind her back. Her eyes flicked up and down the cowboy's tired visage, taking in every detail and yet remembering none of it.

"I won't forget." The words tumbled out before she even realized it, and Maris hated how weak her voice sounded. At the same time, it felt like a barrier was being pulled up, and all she wanted to do was speak, or more importantly, to be heard. So the words tumbled out in a flurry one after the other, through a throat choked by tears and rage.

"Shit's so... fucked. But I'm never gonna forget what happened here, you got it? We went to this big auction for-fucking-nothing and now he's... now I'm gonna have to make sure we get what we came for. Info. So I'm not gonna forget anything, because that's all we wanted. That's all we fucking wanted. So I'm gonna remember all of you, and what you did."

Maris raised an accusatory finger at Dust, but lowered it almost instantaneously after, the gesture vanishing limply as the passion seemed to drain from her body.

"I just... we just wanted..."

She was cut off by a sickly thumping noise at her side, and turned to see Tragoedia dragging Sorrel's headless corpse behind him by the leg. Every step sent bits of flesh flying a few inches into the air, and the gruesome sight caused the rest of her words to get lost in her throat. Without thinking, she stepped in front of the towering robot, fists balled and eyes wide.

She knew what the lizard was trying to do - body disposal, leaving the carcass for the fishes to clean up. But she wasn't going to let it do that. Even without a head, that was still Sorrel, everything that was left of him. And Sorrel deserved better than to be lost at sea, picked apart by miniscule fish Grimm.

"Don't take him," she said, voice catching in her throat. "I'll take care of it, okay? Please. Stop it. Leave him - it - to me."

She stared Trago down, looking up to meet the automaton's glowing optics with her own red eyes.