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Circle of Vengeance - Glimmering Shell Fin.
🕑 Added 2024-02-22 00:31:01 +0000 UTCWinning Vote: Whisper that Glimmer's dream is pretty, but stupid. The Captain will just use you up and toss you aside. Again. Stand on your own, painfully, but do not fight any more. (Concede the fight. Try to break Glimmer's morale.)
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Your spittle is more blood than saliva, and it stains Glimmer’s hand and forearm with a dappled patina of red as you put your utmost vitriol into expelling it. Even that effort hurts, but it’s worth it for the way your once-friend flinches back ever so slightly.
“That’s what your help is worth,” you wheeze into the silence that falls upon the two of you. “Look at you. Reaching out to help your old friend up, with fingers so broken, you couldn’t hold onto me if you tried.” You retch, and awkwardly pull your feet in underneath you, forcing yourself upwards as Glimmer retracts their limp hand. It takes you almost ten seconds to stand fully, and you’re well aware that any of the Powder Scorpions surrounding you could put a bullet through you at any time. It doesn’t matter - this ceased to be a fight the moment Glimmer opened their fool mouth, and both of you know it.
At long last you rise to your feet, and meet Glimmer’s one good eye with your own. “What do you think would happen,” you rasp, “If I went with you? Back to a Captain whose only use for me was to rot in a cell, until I learned something about his enemy that he doesn’t know? How long would I be tolerated on the Crew, a whipped dog who abandons their master to come back to the one that cast them out in the first place? How quickly would he toss me aside again, once I’d done everything I could for him?”
Glimmer’s lips press bloodlessly against each other and their gaze drops to the floor as you speak, and you know your words have hit home. “No,” they murmur, but their words lack strength. “It would be different. It has to be.” Red fluid begins to leak a little faster from their gouged eye, dripping on the ground with a soft, repetitive cadence.
“Why would it be,” you retort. “Just because you want things to go back to how they were?” You spit again, this time a thick glob of bloody mucous that splatters wetly on the stone tiles in front of you. “People don’t change, Glimmer, not really. They say they do, but what they do always tells true. I don’t know why you’ve never figured that out.”
Glimmer wrings their hands, not seeming to notice the crunch of bone and ligament as their mangled fingers shift and displace. “My ahm warned me,” they murmur. “She said the lives of surfacers were like waves, calm one moment, crashing and breaking the next. I didn’t really understand what she meant back then. You and I didn’t seem so different when we met. Now…” They shake their head helplessly, and look back up at you. “What now? You won’t go with me, and neither of us can stop what we’re working for. What solution is there that doesn’t end with one of us dead?”
You chuckle, a hollow, ragged sound with no humor in it. “There is none,” you say, and you watch a mixture of sorrow and fear fill Glimmer’s good eye. “Kill me now if you’ve got the guts for it, and if you don’t, then run back to the Crew and try to pretend that you can still make things right somehow.”
You take a step forward, and Glimmer steps back without seeming to realize what they’re doing. “But as you worry and fuss over what words will win me over, remember this,” you growl, your voice gaining some strength as a lick of anger rises in you. “You can’t take it back. You went along with the decree that had me locked away. You chose not to speak up, your convictions be damned. You had a part in making this happen, and you’ll own that fact even if I die tomorrow and you live a thousand more years.”
Glimmer slumps, and you know you’ve won. Breaking eye contact with you, they turn to a nearby Scorpion, their expression once more becoming empty. “How much of the cargo do we have evacuated?”
“I’d say three parts in five, Navigator,” the gangster replies, looking back and forth between the two of you in concern. “Are we -”
“Leave the rest,” Glimmer interrupts. “It won’t be long before the Devil Flower gets here, and the Crew values you more than it does bullets. Pack up what we can and get clear.”
“What about her?” The gangster side-eyes you, unwilling to meet your baleful glare. “She said it herself, best to kill her now. Probably a mercy anyway, if she’s training under that demon.” He unholsters a pistol and points it at you, but doesn’t get so far as extending his arm fully before the doors behind you, at the other end of the room, are blown apart by a tremendous impact. They fly open so quickly that you can feel the air buffet you from behind.
By reflex, Glimmer’s subordinate turns to look, and his eyes have just enough time to widen before the hilt of a knife sprouts from his skull. As he falls, cries of fear arise from his companions, faces whitening and shaky fingers fumbling for the hilts of pistols. Their voices expel a list of epithets, their voices quavering as they get ready to die. Reaper Woman, they call her. Demon Blossom, Death Orchid, Old Thistle.
Your master, Violet Petals, is here.
There are twin pistols in Glimmer’s hands, their mangled fingers ignoring their debilitation for the moment. “Run,” your once-friend orders, and levels their weapons at your teacher. Their arms shake, just a little. “Run!” Fire blooms from the barrels of their guns, and the Powder Scorpions flee for their lives as you turn and watch.
Mistress Petals is a small figure, particularly in the large doorframe, and moves without much semblance of a hurry, walking forward at a leisurely pace as Glimmer’s underlings frantically hoist whatever bags and boxes they’ve managed to pack and hurry out of the exit. Even as Glimmer’s bullets sear towards her, she doesn’t increase her pace, instead stepping deftly out of their way in a manner that seems almost accidental. Closer and closer she comes, her gnarled cane tapping on the stone tiles before her, and bullet after bullet skims past her on the narrowest of margins. Glimmer keeps up the rate of fire even as Mistress gets closer and it becomes increasingly clear their efforts are pointless. “Run,” they continue to cry between ever-more frantic bouts of reloading. “Run!”
Mistress Petals stops her approach just outside of arm’s reach, resting her cane on the ground and pursing her lips as she looks from Glimmer to you and back again. Silence reigns for just a moment. Then, their teeth bared, Glimmer levels a pistol right at your master’s face, no more than a few inches away, and fires.
What happens next is over before an eye could begin to react, much less blink, but somehow you see it happen as if in slow motion. Smoke and flame bloom from the barrel of Glimmer’s weapon, the bullet emerging from it swathed in a hellish corona of red sparks. It’s directly in line with Mistress’ forehead, and rockets towards her with speed enough to crack her skull and mash her brain like an egg.
Moving as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, Mistress Petals reaches up with two shrivelled fingers and plucks the bullet out of the air just before it kisses her flesh, holding it with the utmost delicacy that one treats a ripe berry.
As both you and Glimmer gape in respective awe and dismay, your master tuts, casts the bullet aside carelessly, and taps her cane firmly on the ground. “Enough of that foolery now, wouldn’t you say? If there’s one thing I abhor, it’s someone who can’t learn from what’s right in front of their nose.”
Glimmer’s hand drops wearily to their side, their pistols clattering uselessly to the floor. Their good eye darts left and right, observing as they do how most of their underlings have vacated the room, with those few stragglers not far off. “If it bought enough time for my crew to survive, I consider it a worthwhile bout of idiocy, Mistress of the Petal Clan.” They take up a defensive posture, the fire on their arms flaring to life once more.
Your master quirks an eyebrow upward. “Such courtesy! And you intend to nobly sacrifice yourself in that selfsame pursuit, I suppose? Hoping to buy that critical minute of delay with your life?”
Glimmer’s outward breath is shaky, but their gaze is as steady as ever. “No foe of yours has escaped with their life so far, Death Orchid. I only hope to do some good before I go. So swears Glimmering Shore of the Powder Scorpion Crew.”
Mistress’ lips spread outward in a thin smile. “Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t [i]my[/i] enemy, then.” She moves without warning, the wind from her passage whipping so fiercely at your eyes that you can’t help but shut them. You open them to the telltale sound of ripping flesh, and see Glimmer tumbling backwards towards the door, Mistress standing where they were a moment before with a single palm outstretched. The remains of your rival’s mangled eye rest in her palm, glistening like a gory gem.
“Run home and heal, Glimmering Shore,” Mistress says, her voice stern. “Find every reason to fight that you can. Look to your men, and know that without you, their heads will roll. Think of your ship, and fight to save it from burning to the waterline. Behold the whole of this city, and know that it will [color=red]burn[/color] without your intervention. But most of all, understand what the face of your death looks like, and know that it isn’t mine.”
She drops Glimmer’s eye upon the ground and grinds it into paste with a dainty shoe as they stand on unsteady legs. Their remaining eye glances once at Mistress, then flickers over to you for a moment. They don’t say anything, just turn on their heel and stumble out of the door, leaving you and Mistress behind, and silence in their wake.
Mistress turns to you, a quip forming on her lips, but you find you can’t hear her. Your limbs are suddenly as heavy as stones, and a great tide of weariness engulfs you from the bottom up. Darkness creeps over your vision with deceptive speed, and you only faintly feel your knees buckling underneath you as the ground rushes up to meet you.
You dream of past times, when the sun was brighter and things were simpler, and don’t awaken for some time.
VICTORY?
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Choose an interlude:
[] Nautical Terms: As the Powder Scorpions reel, the Captain hears the concerns of his crew.
[] Split Shell: As Shelldrop splinters across factional lines, a neutral party makes themselves known.
[] Reconciliation: An old man with long white eyebrows has a conversation.
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AN: If you guys have any other ideas for perspectives or whatnot you'd like to see, I'm of course always receptive.
