On pins and needles, we are waiting for the fall.

[killtime]

WHO: Moros, Peklabog, & Midnighter
WHERE: Maurtia Falls
WHEN: Forward-dated to 8/9
WHAT: It finally happens.
WARNINGS: Violence and death.



[ It feels more right than it should. She's lived under so many false names and fake identities to the point that Andromache feels stale in her mouth, but Moros feels right. Having clarity and purpose feels good. And some part of her has always been destructive — some part of her has always been drawn to violence and suffering, so it's fitting that as she walks the streets with Peklabog, the tune she idly hums leaves doom and despair in its wake. She carries the godchild on her shoulders as if she really were his parent, and if he sings, her own song falls easily into a melancholy harmony.

Maybe it's sick, but the poignant and heavy dread is almost comforting in a way. It feels like she doesn't have to fight so hard anymore — the way she has been for thousands of years. She could almost laugh. Or cry. People are doing both simultaneously all around her, infected by her godsong. How had she ever doubted she'd be set free one day? Nobody really lives forever. Some of the innocents nearby won't live to see the sun go down. Surrendering to that impending doom, some take their own lives as she passes by, using whatever tools are most conveniently at their disposal — others, in their hysteric fear of that same doom, run wildly by, screaming and tearing at their own hair. And Moros, at the center of it, torn between her own fear of death's unknowns and the strange comfort of knowing it's coming — glad, at least, to be in the company of the one person here that she loves most.

Death is inevitable. For everyone. Even for her. But if it happens today of all days, at least she won't face it alone. ]

Comments

[darkov]

[she's not alone: Peklabog goes where she goes, and she in turn where he does. that bond they forged before their new names remains true -- and, in fact, stronger through the interactions of their powers. as her song stirs the frenzy, he's there for the dying gasps of the weeping and despondent, not as a comfort, but as a certainty.

Is it over? they cry, despairing.

It's over, he affirms, pointing the way.

he doesn't know where they're going, or what that path beyond death looks like, but it's not his job to. all he has to do is point the in that direction, and off they go. he can't mess it up -- they're already dead. it's the most comfortable, most fulfilling role he's ever had, and he embraces it wholly.

that's not to say he's lost the sadness of death entirely; loss has informed so much of his Darkov life that it'd be impossible to shake. rather...he has consolation now, knowing that there's somehow a meaning for him to be the one to do this. why else would he be chosen? (surely not for petty or malicious reasons; Woden wouldn't do that.)

still. it's a little stressful. the dying shriek in his head as much as they do in his ears, and his want to be by Moros' side only makes it louder. the Darkov in him fears as they do, and fights against the pressure in his mind to keep grateful and willing to be here as he is.

both sides can agree they want to stay by her side, at least.

so he's nearby, crouching beside the dying and freshly dead as they drop, doing his work while Moros' song rages on.]

[heliophilic]

[Though there were many things to like about this world, this ever-constant stream of imPort-related incidents was never one of them. Though similar things would happen back home, they weren’t constantly in his backyard, constantly sullying his good name and the good name of people he actually gave a damn about despite his best intentions. Things like this had gotten friends hurt--gotten Andrew killed twice--and yet they continued to happen with startling regularity. He may have thrived on violence, but this was not the kind he wanted to set his watch to.

It wasn’t too hard to track Andy and her little Hot Topic reject kid down, not with the trail of destruction they were leaving in her wake. He gazes downward at the chaos they’re causing from a nearby roof, staring as if his eyes were deceiving him and his computer brain wasn’t telling him exactly what needed to be done. The time was different from the others, this time his opponent was a friend. Someone who knew what he was quite possibly better than anyone he’s ever met... and accepted him anyway. Someone who was most likely not fully in control of her own actions, if the series of newfound “gods” going psychotic were to be believed. ...Someone who, as she currently was, was too much of a menace to society, and who wasn’t going to stop.

To say nothing of the boy in tow with her. M didn't know the boy personally, but knew of him from the time he was hurt, and subsequently from the times Andy spoke highly of him. Considering the boy usually appeared to be afraid of his own shadow, this was a huge difference... and seemingly made him more dangerous too. Despite what people may think, M did in fact have limits, and fighting a child, even one as dangerous as this, was a line he normally didn't cross. Hot topic was currently making it very hard for him to keep him on his side of the line.

This wasn’t how he wanted to cross off "kill a god" off his bucket list.

He dropped to the ground in front of them and crossed his arms.]

Let’s skip the part where you give me the whole song and dance about your godhood or whatever, and cut right to the chase. You’re done.

[No, this was not what he wanted at all. He manages to keep his expression mostly stoic beyond that usual "I-know-how-this-battle-is-going-to-end" cockiness, but it’s mostly a facade. He wants to be wrong. He wants the battle to end a different way.

The thin line of blood trailing down the sides of his cowl prove that he knows otherwise. That there is, in fact, only one way this battle is going to end.

And he’s not going to like it.]

[killtime]

[ She stops when spoken too, turning to face M with Peklabog still on her shoulders. At a distance, they could be a normal parent and child — but up close, there's a certain strangeness that breaks the illusion. ]

I don't fucking dance. Wrong god.

[ Moros still sounds like Andy. That same deadpan voice, that hint of age and weariness. But beneath all that, there's a certain strength — something sharp and honed by time, like a well-worn blade. Battle-tested. She won't make this easy. Maybe she doesn't know how this fight will end, but she knows that a fight's coming. And she's ready.

She crouches to set Peklabog down. ]

Get out of the way. Me and the kid got work to do.

[heliophilic]

[M's lip twitches at the response; if this wasn't Andy this would actually be his idea of a fun time. He normally liked it when his prey talked back.

Normally.

He watches them both closer than usual, seemingly scrutinizing their every move. In truth, he has to in order to follow the scene in front of him--as a precaution against her voice he punctured his eardrums on his way to confront her. With his healing factor, it won't be long until they repair themselves, and when it comes to fighting an immortal who has fought far longer than he has, that could quickly become a curse.]

I know you think that you do, and that's why I'm not moving. I'm cancelling your show.

[killtime]

[ Truthfully, it'd be Andy's idea of a good time too. But this isn't fully Andy anymore, is it? This is Moros — with Andy's voice and Andy's face and some skewed version of Andy's perspective on death and dying. Not to mention Andy's vast combat experience — which, under different circumstances, she would have been amused to test against that clever computer in M's head.

No messing around now though. There's important things that need doing, and she can't stop long just to play. ]

You know I can't make that easy for you.

[ And in an instant, she vanishes. Invisibility — one of her new tricks. Makes her harder to pin down when she preemptively attacks — but maybe not as much as she would like. She still has to keep herself between M and Peklabog, and the sound of her steps as she lunges betrays her. ]

[heliophilic]

I wouldn't dream that you would.

[He silently curses himself the moment she goes invisible. His fight computer's good but it's not infallible, and he put himself at a disadvantage before he even stepped onto the field. He takes a few small steps backward as he scans for the area for anything that might betray her location, and seeing it far too late. He barely has a chance to throw up his arm before she reaches him, but now that she's close he grabs onto her and refuses to let go, no matter what nasty tricks this so-called "god" has up her sleeve.]

[darkov]

[they move so fast. before Peklabog has the chance to really understand the terms of this encounter, Moros has flickered out of sight, and the stranger has already moved to receive her first blow.

that pretty much settles it in his mind: if Moros has deemed him necessary to fight, then he's the threat. Peklabog climbs to his feet from where his work had drawn him and moves to get his back against a wall, well out of reach of either of them, eyes wide and watching in apprehensive silence.

it's not his job to fight, but it doesn't mean his chest won't ache with worry in seeing Moros in danger. but he knows throwing himself in there only makes it worse for her. he has to believe, instead, that she can dispatch him as easily as she did others who stood in their way before.]

[killtime]

[ She'd known after their very first meeting — if her and M ever came to blows, it wouldn't be quick and easy. Her experience, his skill. Both of them capable of rapid regeneration. An unstoppable force and an immovable object. He blocks her first blow, and she twists in his grip when he catches her. She blinks back into view with her teeth bared, trying to earn the space to kick out and break free. There's a knife in her boot. She could try and go for that —

But something says he'll do his best to keep her from having room to breathe, let alone do much else. ]

[heliophilic]

[The carbon fiber in his work clothes tend to protect him from most blows, but they've also never been tested by an angry immortal granted godhood either. The force from one of her stomps causes him to stumble backwards, forcing him to lose his grip on her despite his best efforts to hold on. With a snarl, he quickly throws out a leg in an attempt to kick her shin. M just wants to end this quickly, and with none of the usual flair he puts into a fight. His heart just isn't in it.]

[killtime]

[ The moment she breaks free, Moros tries to put some space between them, jumping back to avoid his kick and going for her concealed knife — and it's no kitchen knife either. The blade she draws is a mean-looking military number, several inches long and glinting in the light with something like malice. Andy wouldn't have wanted to end this fight with someone's life, but Moros has a mission, and Moros knows well enough that death's inevitable anyway.

She lunges again, armed this time — and going invisible at the last second, everything vanishing but that glinting blade as she ducks to the left and swipes with the sharp side. ]