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ringulreith -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (9/1/2014 22:12:51)
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“Hi there. Name's Rowan Michael Harp”. Ranlae had seen eyes like his, swirling with the haunted emptyness of the sea that drove some men to madness. His approach had gone unnoticed, with her focus on Rapier. Those maelstroms latched onto her face with a fierce hunger, and flighty clarity landed amid his wet lashes.
Ranlae turned away at the stream of desperate words that flowed out of this newcomer's lips. There were more important matters to attend to, like the Energy fencer leaping back towards the gazebo, after having avoided the shot. Age had tought her face stoic resignation, but the bitter tang of disappointed anger coated her tongue. She should have... She should have expected for this to start happening again. As it does many things, the sea had washed away her memories, of being a girl, of being treated like a girl, of when the bulk of reputation and respect and fear hadn't disguised her accursed female figure. Of course, here in this arena where canvases came to be washed, people would treat her like any other frail woman. Fool her, for expecting the land to echo the sea.
The pistol was hard in her grip, as she slid it back into its customary position at her hip. A wasted shot, with no time to reload. Useless. Ranlae's body showed none of her inner termoil as that same hand arced back up, to clutch at the second cutlass strapped at her back. Rapier was charging back, and she wouldn't let him get away this time. Fool her, but not without hope. A boon from the lords themselves, for the last gladiator who refused the deadly call of those scarlet sands. A boon from the lords who had sparked her life and shaped it into a female mortal form, and could so reshape it at their whim. Ranlae had ventured to land a woman, and she would die before leaving it as such.
“Her onrushing tide, will sweep all asside!”, a section of the audience were still clammering, and their voices drifted down to join the melee as well. She had a bet waiting to be collected, and damn if she lost it. Ranlae. Bet. To. Win.
The cutlass hissed through the cool gazebo air as she drew it, but there was no time to strike. Rapier was already upon her, deadly sharp blade poised to skewer her through the chest. Ranlae attempted to dodge into his guard. The shift in weight agrovated her twisted ankle, and it complained with jolts that shot up her leg, and turned her dodge into a sideways stumble. The rapier arced past her chest, on a direct path to her right shoulder.
The tip penetrated below Ranlae's collarbone as she lost balance, and continued to score a deep gouge counter to her fall. The path of fire it traced through flesh suddenly flared with tremendous fury, as energy raced down the weapon and into her body. Pain that had been held back behind clenched jaws exploded into screams that sundered the gazebo. White marble dissolved into specks that swam in spirals through a crimson world. There was gravity, and a shrill buzzing, and a flat cloud of cold stone.
At some point, the buzzing petered off into silence, from which rumbled up another sound. It was... Words. “aaa... oooh aaah... Oh crap!” The was more rumbling, but the clarity receded like a tide. There was something about that, tides... Water... Ocean... That clarity too, receded. There were more clouds, but they were warmer and softer. Floating through the white specks, leaving them behind and rising through the crimson towards a distant light.
The world slowly resolved, as if black water was being sucked down a drain to reveal the white porselane beneath.
“If you’ll pardon me saying madame, You look like hell. I bet you that nick you just got, hurts almost as bad as my own shoulder does.” Ranlae came to hearing the sound of... It was Rowan... Speaking above her. It was much, much hotter, and the side of the gazebo was to her back. Sweat glistened on the man's naked torso, and a quick examination revealed his shirt to be slowly redening around her shoulder and upper arm. The deep wound was even visible through the cloth, and generated a constant surge of pain. It was nowhere near as great as the original shock, so Ranlae grit her teeth and bore it. More worrying was the lack of response from the rest of the arm, which refused to carry out the desire of grasping the marble ledge to stand; the entire area was numb. Scrabbling with the other hand, she dragged her battered form into a crouching position. Her breaths came out in sharp yelps, as evidence of some lung damage. The abdominal muscles further down her sides were cramping and sluggish.
There was a burst of sudden hatred towards the face she saw, as Ranlae raised her head up. He was here, witnessing her at her worst and weekest, proving all the insecurities right; she was a woman, and would never account to anything; she was weak and helpless; just give up and become a serving maid, girl, and leave the see to men. Turning her head away, she shuffled away, the gazebo her cruch. She was not dead, yet.
The thoughts came sluggishly, as she reached for that mental switch. The pain had turned it off, but thoughts did come, and her final limb folded out once more. “steam”, she commanded with battered confidence. Hot and humid as the air around her was, it took little effort to plunge the water over. A cloud of steam slowly curled about Ranlae's hunching figure, growing to obscure her from sight.
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