Blue Rose
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Toughness: 1d20+8 26 Well. That's about the best I can ask for. And I do believe that doesn't knock me back. Just bruised.
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Kit climbs back to her feet and dusts herself off before checking to make sure the man is still, y'know, not dead from hitting the floor as hard as he did. Though, considering Sam's fine, there's no excuse for him not to be. The girl's not exactly the toughest thing on Earth. The pointed words, though? Those aren't called for. "Hey, all he saw were my memories. From when I was seven. And something from out of a Tim Burton movie. He was clearly overreacting. Besides, he's fine now." She gives the guy another glance, screwing up her face. "Got any rope for when he wakes up? Coulda got more out of him if you weren't here, but I guess we're gonna have to do this the hard way later."
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When you say "psionic abilities," do you necessarily mean good psionic abilities? 'Cuz Wayward is competing for the title of world's worst functioning psychic. :P
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As someone answers the door, Sam looks up from studying her feet, growing more suspicious as she sees more of the familiar form. When Tona speaks, her head snaps up and she meets Tona's gaze, surprise apparent on her face. Crap. She'd been expecting someone else to answer the door. Anyone else. To have a chance to at least get in there and get the lay of the land again. It had been a while since she'd visited the shop. Nothing for it now. She'd rehearsed her approach dozens of times in her head. Get Tona alone, then take a calm, cooled, collected approach, maybe even a little sultry if it goes well. Just gotta keep it together and- "I messed up! I was tired and stressed out and scared, and I overreacted and said some things I shouldn't have and, and... I was wrong. I'm sorry." -and just blurt everything out in one breath, not bothering to put space between half the words as they rush out. "Um... could we, y'know, talk?" Calling hadn't worked. Trying to approach her at school hadn't done any good. Sam hadn't dared coming to the apartment. Until now.
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Notice: 1d20+5 10
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Okay, Sam. Keep it together. Sam walks along the sidewalk, low heels clicking. She would have worn something higher, but she isn't trying to make herself taller than Tona. Weird as the notion of this little mouse of a girl being taller than anyone seems. The ginger opted for a classic. A witch costume. Of course, as a witch herself, she would, by definition, be dressed up as a witch even if she was just in a T-shirt and jeans, but she opted for the option that serves as an excuse to go out in a little black dress. Logic didn't get her very far last time. This time, a little plan B might help. Add a floppy, pointy hat and broom and the dress counts as a costume. A little cape to cover her brand, and the outfit is complete. Of course, everything is black but the broom. She stops in front of the shop to compose herself. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. She rings the bell and waits for one of the employees to answer. "Hi, I'm Samantha. Miss Epst-" she cuts herself off from that reflexive bit of formality. "Er... Lynn invited me."
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In that case, swan dive to teleport, pulling him back inside.
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Oh, no. Slow down, there. Watch that... ...step. A rather eloquent string of profanity runs through Sam's mind, but only one word escapes as Sam bolts from her hiding place, past the capely interloper. A profane sound, painful on the ear and difficult for the mind to process. Something unnatural, in the tongue of demons. The meaning is unclear, but it can't be anything nice. Sam stops for only a moment at the window's edge, making sure she has plenty of shadow to work with, then swan dives after the crook, grabbing onto an ankle as he falls. "Don't resist or you'll go splat!" she explains as she reaches into the shadows, pulling them around herself and the lesser thief. A moment of cold nothingness consumes her, then they reemerge in the nearest safe place Sam can think of. The one freshest in her mind. Right under the desk she was hiding under to begin with. The entrance is about as subtle as the exit, but it should do the job.
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"Stations and titles are funny things," Tatiana muses. "They vary greatly from one race to the next, and rarely translate well. I do try to err respectful. After all, as a Praetorian, you are a knight, in a manner of speaking, no?" She looks over the assembly, new and established alike. The fallen Za’aki king, even. A campaign she was involved in personally. Thankfull, it did not have to end in slaughter, though it remains to be seen if there will be forgiveness, should she be recognized. "So many peoples united under one banner," she says to the F'terrix. "It must be a great task to bring us all into the fold.
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Elite >Tales of the Praetorians: We Are Legion Kit >Back in the Day >Heavy Decisions >A Little Friendly Competition >Mission of Mercy >Mission of Mercy: Aftermath >Some Things Should Never Be Found Wayward >Death to All But Metal >Give Me The Camera >Hate Filled Stars
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Oh dear. Is he on the sunny side of the building, or the shady side?
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A good name, enough information to make contact, there's the easy part out of the way. Getting through to Tona? That's going to be hard. Always so stubborn. "I've talked to Doctor Marquez before," Sam admits. A requirement for ex-supervillains getting a fresh start at Claremont. "He's... a pretty alright guy." She sighs, steeling herself for what she knows she will have to do. "Thank you for your help. I'll try talking to Tona... as soon as she's willing to talk to me again, anyways. I just hope I haven't ruined everything." The nonchalance of the damned. A Samantha Vance specialty. Doesn't make the situation suck less. /end
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This is not the way she'd wanted the conversation to go. She'd wanted unconditional backup. Help to protect Tona, to keep her away from the fight. Instead, she sits there, open-mouthed, trying to think up some counter-argument, some reason she's still right. And nothing comes. "I am such an idiot," she surrenders, head dropping. Here she goes again, dropping to elaborate schemes as the first resort, and ruins everything along the way. "I just hope she'll talk to me at all... Is there anyone you'd recommend?" This isn't going to be easy.
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How dare she try and be calm and reasonable in the face of drastic measures? How inconsiderate. But logic cuts both ways. "With rest," Sam retorts, "And treatment. I know Tona isn't seeing a therapist about any of this. If she were trying to heal, if she at least admitted she needs help, I wouldn't need to do any of this. But without help, and without rest, I won't just take it on faith that she'll just get over something that's been eating at her for her entire life and just got ripped back open. I can't. I hope for her sake that you're right, but... I've seen what happens when it doesn't heal too many times." She starts choking up again, struggling to speak as tears start sliding down her cheeks. "I... I love her, you know? And I can't let her end up like... like that..."
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Sam scoffs in her head at the accusations being tossed about. An image from when she was seven and defenseless into the head of a grown, probably well-armed adult and she's the monster? Pshaw. She keeps up her work. The skeletal figure fades in and out of existence again, this time appearing behind Terrifica, giggling not with one voice, but wit dozens, echoing from every direction, and for just a brief moment, Sam lets the cape in on the illusion, letting her hear the laughter, see a flash of purple and a Cheshire grin before she's cut off again. Then, another phase, and the creature is lying down, head supported in both hands, feet kicking about absently. Lying on the ceiling. Staring straight down at the crook at an angle human necks aren't supposed to bend. "I'm sorry, Gentleman Robber, but the rude lady might have a point. You don't look like a very good robber to me."
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"That's... reasonable," Sam accepts. But where to start? She decides to begin with misconceptions. "I haven't fought Terminus before. My experience is... elsewhere. I was born in Dis, before I escaped. Do you remember your Dante? That Dis. What I know is demons." That groundwork laid, the story can begin. "We were escaping. I'd warped the village across the map, but we came on a bunch of omegadrones. There was infighting. Someone trying to become a new annihilist. He'd wiped out another one's army. The Steam General, from what Tona's told me. We'd opened the portal out, and the Steam General started begging us to save him, to take him with us." With the stage set, Sam swallows, and carries on. "Like I said. I know demons. And what I saw... was a blood rage. And that is coming from someone who's seen demons of the seventh circle fight. She didn't listen to him. She charged him, gouged out his eye, strangled him to death, and spat on his corpse with a look like it was everything she'd been dreaming of all her life. And..." she bites her lip and hopes this next part isn't too surreal. "I... I can sense magic. It's kind of like a sense of smell. Sometimes, even people without magic can do things that have magical consequences. The soul is a very real thing, and it can be hurt, or diseased, or poisoned. When she killed that man, I smelled rot." Or she just imagined it. It's not like her senses are all that sharp, but if nothing else, she believes she sensed it. "If she keeps doing this, then the damage, it will be..." she trails off, not wanting to finish that sentence. The point has been made.
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At that little nugget, Sam screws up her face in thought, then sighs. "If she were here at the time, I don't suppose you could keep her out of it without a fight," she admits. But the gears in her head are already turning, working towards a solution to this new complication. "But her father would probably be able to..." she muses aloud, "But I can talk with him later," she returns her attention to the conversation at hand. "I can't ask you to stop her, but if you were to ensure she isn't informed if she isn't here at the time, and stand by Mister Baudin when he tries to talk Tona down, I think that would do it."
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"Probably a good idea," Sam says, considering just how much damage Tona has taken. The rest of her people could be just as scarred. "They need... a lot of healing. In more ways than one." She takes a breath and steels herself, knowing she's about to ask a great deal. "That's... actually why I wanted to speak with you. Terminus has caused a lot of people scars, and that includes Tona. She's been shouldering more than her share of her world's war for most of her life, and it's... taking its toll." A pang of guilt starts to rise, but it takes only one look at the basket once full of food, a reminder of the Tona she's trying to save, and Sam continues. "Today, she saw one of the men responsible for what happened to her world. What happened after... I've seen that kind of rage before, but not in anything human. He wasn't even a real threat at the moment, but the brutality..." She trails off, confident she's gotten her point across. "If she continues the fight against Terminus, this will happen again. And again. Until there is nothing left of her to come home." She dries her eyes as she takes another breath. "Next time Terminus makes a move, it will probably be here. I'm sorry, but what happened today must have drawn their attention. When that time comes, I know you will have to put out the call, but please, don't tell Tona. I will fight in her place, but she can't be a part of this war anymore. It's become a poison, and I can't let it keep eating her." She makes her case and tries not to beg, but a hint of pleading still creeps into her voice towards the end.
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Sam rejoins her merry little band, hopping into the huddle as she emerges from hiding. These Roman dudes may be a bunch of stiffs, but really, they don't really have their measure. "Well if you ask me, you all know the old saying. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And since we don't know the score with these guys, lets err safe and go with closer. Help 'em out until we see what's up. Easiest way to learn what's up. And if they're doing something shady, we stop 'em." She makes an open gesture, inviting any dissenting opinion, though not expecting any against her sterling logic.
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ROCKED ON by Thevshi Changed Perform: Guitar to Perform: Strings 1PP: Feat: Acrobatic Feint 1PP: Feat: Grappling Finesse Total spent: 2/2 PP Unspent PP remaining: 0
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"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Raark," Tatiana curtsies, despite her uniform's lack of a skirt. A rather demure gesture for such a visibly battle-hardened figure. Her mechanical arm, hidden under both sleeve and glove, betrays no lack of grace or mobility in the gesture, either, motion as fluid as flesh and blood. "May our service safeguard the peace." Another oath. This one, of the Murian military, oft shared as a subtle way to gauge outsiders' ideals. Offworld warriors so rarely agree with her people on the purpose of the sword, or the soldier, but she's long since gotten used to being a moderating voice in joint-force operations.
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Sam, for her part, is in no hurry. She has nowhere to go, and little to do, save for finishing her breakfast, and in the end, finds herself glad she never touched the coffee, instead drinking water brought by the staff, then dozes off for an hour or so before her guest arrives. She takes just a moment to tidy up her hair before calling out, "Come in!" Wait. That hair... Fleur de Joie? That's 'Stesha?' Not surprising, really. Though Tona never mentioned being on a first-name basis with one of the Freedom League's heavy hitters. "Better, thank you, ma'am," she answers politely. "And thank you for seeing me. I'm sure you're busy, so I'll try not to take up too much of your time." She bites her lip, not entirely sure where to begin. And that buffer of good manners didn't do much to help. "Tona mentioned working with you before. How familiar are you with her history with Terminus?"
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"Tona, wait! Please..." Sam throws off her covers and gets to her feet, a hand on the bed supporting legs made of rubber, only making a few steps before her body makes it abundantly clear she's not chasing anyone right now. Instead, she makes her way back to her bed, alone with her thoughts. She only gets a minute to brood over how badly she messed that entire conversation up, what will happen if Tona fights like that again, and if Tona will even talk to her again if she doesn't change her tune- which she has no intention of doing. Then, her stomach growls. A reminder that brooding won't get the job done. One of Fox's lessons. Her response to a botched job or bad news? A good dinner. A good breakfast will have to do, as she spreads honey on another chunk of bread. It would be a lie to say she enjoys it, but it does help clear her head. "There's more than one way to solve any problem," she reminds herself. "Time to get to work." A nurse walks in to check on Sam, probably worried about a patient's guest storming out in a rage, asking if she's alright. "I'm fine. Thank you, ma'am..." a beat, then, almost as an afterthought, "Oh! But would you be so kind as to let Miss Stesha know I would like to speak with her before I leave?" The nurse answers in the affirmative, and then leaves. It's a good thing she knew who Sam was talking about, because she certainly doesn't. But apparently, this 'Stesha' is someone important around here. Hopefully, this conversation will go a little better.
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Perhaps it's a good thing Sam still isn't fully recovered. If she had the energy, there would be a lot more yelling involved. She feels her blood boiling, but that last attempt at getting worked up reminds her why she has to stay calm. "I may not get along with Miss Vance, but she's been at this a long time. She has plans, resources, and allies in place I know I can't keep up with. I am not on Fox's level yet. Miss Vance is. She faced off against her as an equal for decades. I have faith that she can protect Chicago." She sets the coffee down, untouched, and clasps her hands in her lap, her face impassive. Stoic, green eyes piercing into Tona's accusatory gaze without flinching. "And if it came to it? Yes. I would hesitate. I'm not going to rush in and kill someone in a blind rage. It's a choice I'd go into knowing full well that I am ending another human life. Someone who had a family once. Someone who, if they'd lived, could have made a different choice. And I would have to live with that. Killing another human being is not something you do on a reflex, or in a rush of bloodlust. That just lets the rage eat you up, destroy you, and when all your enemies are dead, or you can't get to them, you've forgotten what peace is and you can't live anymore. Then, everyone gets hurt." She closes her eyes, the tears beginning to well, creeping past the tightly sealed cracks of her eyelids. "You've been at war long enough. Please, you need to rest. To get help."
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Lady Gaius takes back her sword, her oath accepted, and sheathes it. Not the sword. Simply a ceremonial piece. Her own blade is elsewhere right now. It's a bittersweet moment as she rises to her feet, looking about at her new brothers and sisters in arms. The highest honor her empire has to give, yet it cost her so much. Her career. Her command. Her place among her people. But I am still the Elite. The sword exists to protect. It does not serve pride, nor glory, nor personal gain. Now, it will simply protect in the hands of a Praetorian, rather than a Murian general. "It is an honor to serve," she whispers audibly, as much a prayer as a statement.