The more Faustite spoke, the easier it was for Waru to see the finished product. He could cobble the building blocks into a sustainable image; into a grand accomplishment won of blood, sweat, and tears. It’d take time, obviously, but he suddenly felt like they had that and then some.
Like there was finally room enough to breathe without the world coming down around them in pieces.
“There’s also Trey, the Sovereigns? Whatever boys you’ve curried favor with over the years while being your sweet self. You’ve got social leeway with more than a few important people,” barbless tease, albite knew himself to be shameless enough to ask for all sorts of things; was sure that if he went about it the right way? There’d be no end of help. “if we sink on this it’ll be together, but honestly Ei’? I don’t think we will.”
He believed in them, in their teams vision and drive. What were they all! If not too stubborn to die without getting what they wanted? Albite believed especially in any vision that lent kindly to others - moreso when that particular vision had Ei’s meticulous plotting scrawled, sharp short hand, in the margins of it all; like a hidden love letter written to the whole of their carefully acquired family.
Rubbing the lingering sting of heat off the tips of his fingers he wondered if Eion realized how selfless he was so much of the time. If anyone’d told him that his caring seemed as boundless and warm as his core; why else put himself through so much stress? All the change and growth required when securing safe haven for others — whatever social graces he lacked? He sure as ******** made up for them by giving — *endlessly* — had a home and filled it with thoughts of everyone else’s needs before the first line or pipe was laid.
He was absolutely going to task Fulgurite with ‘garden things’; raid a plant nursery for basics n put the Super to use. Come hell or high water he was getting his Rift peppers, Sunken Citadel style.
Of course any other thoughts on home improvement were utterly derailed at the mention of vows, he felt a whole different sort of heat for that, dead center of his chest, snapped his gaze from the future beyond to the patternless mosaic of pacing Ei’ wove circuitously through the space; the way the scattered light from the false sky limbed them in smoky indigo contrast to Ei’s dimmed orange hues.
“The honeymoons our reward then, the vows—“ and he knew there were rules for this sort of thing, traditions, timing, and found he rightly didn’t care about norms when presented with the thrill of having such a precious gem on offer for the taking “—it’s good to practice, yeah?”
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Posted: Sat May 28, 2022 11:45 am
"Sound like I've connections to the entire Negaverse," he said as a claw-tipped hand opened out in gesture. "Can't say there's many. Don't have the social capital you do." Waru was ever the one who attracted people with his boundless, if empty-headed, personality. Eion, however, was abrasive and secretive, and many tolerated him only as long as they collaborated. He doubted his welcome extended beyond Taenite, Ashanite, Kamacite and Axinite. For the rest, who was he to ask for help?
Faustite wanted that level of favor with others when he was much younger, and answered to a different name, but now he found that solitude suited him better. He only cared to curry favor with boys, and preferred being avoided by the rest. If he was a tale of volatile fire in human form, so be it — kept the leeches and liars at bay.
He paused in his pacing only when Albite mentioned practice, and his demeanor grew pensive as he stared out the window at the fractured skyline. Smoke coiled up about him as he bowed his head in thought.
"… Don't know much about vows," he admitted at last. "Only that they happen at weddings." And Albite might know, but that irked him for how the cotton-headed boy could know more than him on any subject. If only he could throw a fireball at his boy's face, or drown him in a bucket of cinders if he got wise to the idea that he knew more than Eion.
The cincher blocked view of his fire and dimmed his gaze, but the black, taloned hands that waved about with his each word belied his inhumanity. "Don't suppose you know?"
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Posted: Sun May 29, 2022 4:50 pm
"My 'social capital' works more like lubricant if you ask me," he couldn't think of capital without thinking about money. Wasn't sure if friendship offered with the same weight n ferocity as blunt force trauma counted for much, "I can't buy people with what I've got on offer anywhere near's easily as I can leave those memorable sorts of stains -- like mug rings on wooden tables, or port-wine on a carpet? M'just really hard to get out once I'm in." Waru offered up humor at his own expense like a t-ball pitch, nice n easy with a trailing laugh attached, because even if Eion discounted himself? Waru didn't. He'd always laud his boys ability to provide service with a purpose over his own burr-spiked habit of sticking around no matter what obstacles people threw his way.
Watching Faustite there, a steepled silhouette weaving words between scalpel sharp claws, like the worlds most interesting game of cats cradle. Albite had to sigh for how lovely he was, the way the light caught him through the haze n softened his outline into something sensual; the knowledge that it was *their window* only amplified the feeling. Left him heedless of how his dreads dragged through eons old dust and clinked over cracked stone so he could stand beside Eion and see; except his view was fixed on his love rather than the destruction filled horizon that yawned out endlessly beyond where they stood.
"Mhn, might know a thing or two," everything he'd heard blared through malls on surround sound, or caught while blearily drooling through late-night infomercials on sleepless nights. All the marriage related things people went on about needing in proposals and rings - size, cut, shape, clarity, getting down on one knee - "but this isn't an 'As Seen On T.V' kinda event. You n me? We're the least traditional thing under any sun that exists in this galaxy, and I love that about us." He wasn't sure he wanted to wait for the typical surprise at the altar - reading rehearsed lines that sounded like so many others. He wanted to be sure of things, to hear them once, twice, forever on repeat until he tired enough of them to come up with new adulation's to speak. "I'd never imagined being married before. Not in any way that was real, not until you. So if you wanna wait to compose something pretty, n surprise me with it in front of all our friends? I'll wait."
Were they beyond oaths of death and parting? Had they proven sickness and health would never be deterrents standing in the way of togetherness. Albite didn't know Ei's favorite brand of music to reference a dance too, couldn't cobble together some goth-rock prose to a mixtape of 'good times' and pick sentences to read from that. What he did know? Was sacrifice given in blood and ash, knew living and dying; how murder tasted sweetest, was the most satisfying, when done to avenge a wrong on his betters behalf. He could quote retribution as a binding force of good and adore Faustite eternally. Even if his boy existed as little more than a sentient oil-stain in a jar? He would never not be intelligent, or timeless, or terrifyingly beautiful in all the most dangerous ways. He loved him. He couldn't've willed himself to undo every complicated bit of feeling that came with that, to unlove his boy; not in this lifetime.
Smashing all that into something succinct enough to be said in under three minutes? That was the trick of it.
"But I think I know by now what it is I'd avow to you. Might have to tack something on for our team? I don't want any of your boys hamstringing me in the dead of night cause they figure I'm cutting them out from you." a wince for the latent realization that all the balls he'd dropped in his haste to have such a good thing were bowling sized. People would understand, or they wouldn't, didn't mean he wouldn't feel bad for crushing their toes so carelessly.
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Posted: Wed Jun 08, 2022 12:33 pm
Waru was right — they needn't adhere to any tradition, be it the traditions he grew up on or the traditions that he wanted to forge for himself. They would be something of a first down here, for he hadn't heard of any half-youma officers getting married; usually they either left, or, he supposed, married prior to becoming part youma. And he had never heard of any of the others finding someone, anyone special, after they became what they were now. Truly, they were a unique brand among other Negaverse officers and senshi, and there would be no others quite like them.
Faustite wondered, however briefly, if older half-youma had these struggles. Or if Tanzanite did, being the oldest of any he had met. But these were flights too far from the boy standing beside him.
"Fine, then. Write you something worth waiting for." He looked up at his boy, at his warm honey eyes and his soft demeanor. That, for all his hulking weight, for all his boisterousness, he was some shade of gentle with everyone he'd met. Even the ghosts of his team, now branded traitor — Albite hadn't sought their deaths. Even for Cybele, Albite lobbied for a kinder treatment. Truly, that was admirable in ways that Faustite struggled to express.
But it had no place in war.
Faustite laid a hand on Albite's tricep, let it meander down just past his elbow. "Tch, listen to you. Calling me considerate, then doing something like that." It would be a balm to hear, he was sure.
'Til death do us part. That was the phrase, wasn't it? But Faustite had no interest in allowing death to rob him of this boy, or any other boy of his. The Negaverse's power reached beyond death, and so would he, if ever there came a moment when Albite's life clung to a tenuous string. Albite could be that creature he'd always wanted to be, free to roam the Rift eternally. Someday, he supposed, his human half would be eroded by his exposure to starseeds and chaos, and he would join his boy there in another version of life.
That slow decline — there was something romantic in it. He smiled, if only at the edges.
"Next time, don't wait to tell me you were promoted." Faustite spared him a couple paps on the back of the arm before he turned from the window entirely. "Pick a day and we'll celebrate it. Take the team. Make sure you're well-fed before I pay you back for that heart attack."
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Posted: Wed Jun 08, 2022 5:01 pm
Sometimes? When he caught sight of his love framed between the shadows of hazily shifting lights - he thought about Cybele, wondered if she was right about things. Him. Them. Quietly mulled over which parts of Faustite, exactly, craved the consumption of all existing worlds in some....what was it she'd said? (Something about ascended shells n dead batteries, probably.) Then there was how his own diatribe was all tired repetition, fraught with fiery plot holes.
He probably could've asked, too. Except all his consideration for 'what if's' and 'whys', died in the barest hint of Faustite's smile. His better halves happiness was paramount to his own, tangible as a blood red tether labeled 'fate'. She'd certainly been right about the fact that he didn't have the capacity to care beyond the edges of his own self defined comfort zone, his own very small circle of friends, love, and fun.
If they turned on him? Sobeit - he stayed - anchored in his choices and never quite sad *enough*, to crave having them flayed to the soul just to soothe his wounded center.
All those little hurts could be assuaged vicariously via his Fiance's wrath like radical decay. If all the worlds lived and died in the embers of Faustites eyes? At least then, they’d serve a purpose; like little chunks of coal made to feed his loves ceaseless fires, and subsequently keep his team warm n provided for, even an eternity later. ********, Albite'd even help his beloved do it. Would lob up gentler ideas fulla comradery n togetherness as they were equal gains. Cause Senshi could be damned useful when pressed just right by a fiery half-youma, salivating over a core shaped meal, but willing to spare the Senshi-shaped cherry atop it --- if - if - if...
Albite damned his own distractibility, his promise of patience, despite knowing that the waiting was going to be the best sort of torture.
"You're offering me a last meal, annnnnddd a good time?! Awwh, Ei, you're too good to me." cooed tease and snort of laugh for the soft gesture, the warm silk of a touch that he could've asked for more of as easily as he could've let the words in his head die -- but the thought of next time? Tomorrow, next month, another life? They flocked from his open mouth like free range fowl, hungry little buzzards pecking for more, "Now, are you imagining one-ah us in a crown already, or just makin plans for our next life?" tagged the words onto his following banked heat n well wired heels -- knowing that he could freely touch all that fevered heat, but enjoying the game of waiting.
If he had a tenth of his existence to spend on Eion? Worth it. To envy his loves kind, those long drawn out half-lifes that most youma seemed to enjoy; easier to linger on after instead of spamming rebirth on repeat -- till the sun gave out and it's dying swallowed Praxidike whole. Found the idea of accursed endlessness to be somewhat of a treasure, as long as there were other people to share it with - regardless of their forms. Far better to have that than the loneliness of dead space.
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Posted: Fri Jun 10, 2022 5:34 pm
Faustite responded to Albite's jab with a casual one-fingered salute. He didn't have to take Albite to dinner, or invite the team along, so if it inconvenienced his Eternal so, then he needn't waste his own time and resources. "Making it my good time, then. Keep you muzzled. Feed you through a straw." Or he'd have part of the team take turns baby birding it to Waru.
Albite's next question caught him in a fit of temporary confusion, until he realized where Albite thought it was going. "The latter, in a sense. Neither of us make good Sovereigns.
"Was thinking of you as a youma — that's upgrade enough. Works as a plan for the next life." As much of a life as that was, by whatever scientific standards.
"So." And he turned as he paced, faced Albite and walked backward a couple paces until he backed himself into the wall. A margin of shock for that, and the disappointment and discomfort in knowing that he was unfamiliar with the space. They both were; this was Albite's first time walking through the dust motes and aged debris. Faustite had a count of days on him, hardly enough time to know the dimensions of his very room.
But he stayed where he was, flush with the wall. "Remember your countertop?"
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Posted: Sat Jun 11, 2022 2:31 am
“Worlds above know, your good time is mine *starshine.*” a snarky little guffaw for the imagery; minds eye idea of being knelt down and tied up like some tabled dog at his own celebratory event. Less wordy maw, more good looking centerpiece.
It was too funny! Yet? He wouldn’t put it past his sassy candlestick of a fiancé to try. ********, to be successful in the sort of trying that’d make it all a reality for him — now if only he could suggest a kinder than the one in his own head…wait, no! It was way better to definitely not to that!
Not when Waru liked teasing him into absurdity - pushed those lines of play even as he closed in and let his hands find semi-solid brick on either side of Faustites head to splay; the stonework warm and sooty with grit, yet colder still than the fever dream of a boy backed up against them.
Marked those faltered steps, admired his *catch*, because now? Oh, now, Eion had his full undivided attention -- roaming eyes that started on the floor and slowly flowed up; as if he could see beyond the endless belts, bolts, and clasps. Traced invisible scars shaped like lightning and rusty blades. All of that juxtaposed to his fixed thoughts on youmadom.
Because even Albite wondered what kind of a youma he’d be? Tomorrow, a millennium from now? Stark white bone woven round tight muscle, slick lashes of flesh and a ceaseless smile. Did personality transfer over? Or would Faustite make him into something *more*. An artists touch, brushes shaped like sickle claws, paint made of ichor, ash, and grate char..…
“Mmhmm,” the smile on his face felt familiar, felt better *here*. In a place that was equally shared and theirs! Something so freeing about existing in an unfamiliar space and tasting the air — finding want enough to growl lowly over, because of course he’d want Eion anywhere, “s’ah demolition in progress. Why? You got a wall you want torn down….think the fake marble’d pair nice with the wasteland sheik?”
“Cause there’s a lot to remember about my countertops firebrand. Scorch marks n tea stains, the scent you leave when you come through all ablaze n on a mission — doesn’t smell ******** like incense, by the way, but?” sounds that got dragged over sounds, the rough shift of open palms following mortar paths till they were hip height. So he could press that much closer, and sap a bit of Faustites banked heat as his own.
“This place doesn’t have those yet…s’missing the ‘homey’ touches.” curled his tongue around the words like sin n clucked it softly, a gauntlet laid with dramatic sighs for show.
He thought they should see to fixing that particular issue, *imminently*. Make their home feel owned — *theirs* — intimately.
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2022 5:06 am
Ah, his wonderful, stupid boy fell for it. Faustite couldn't help but smile for him, for his whimsy in believing that everything was exactly as it appeared, that Faustite would never deceive him, could never hurt him out of turn. And perhaps it wasn't out of turn to do so now — for Faustite thought it deserved, but Albite might have other ideas.
Wedged in with hands near his hips, Faustite was content to rest his own hands atop Albite's. Long fingernails were their own little warnings, should he move or twitch or pull his hands away — they would dig deep, find blood, make a mess of him. Things that Waru would like, he was sure. Especially since his heat was muffled to something warm and reassuring.
But that muzzle for his corse had a sinister side effect for retaining all of his smoke. With nowhere to go, it often coated his breath, or sat in his lungs and coated his mouth. So he drew in a breath, held it, counted the seconds while Albite spoke on and on and on and on and on. He could likely outpace Faustite's ability to hold in his air, he knew, for Albite's lungs must have been endless things for all those words, but he wasn't worried. He could always cut his boy off. It wasn't hard to do.
It thrilled him, nonetheless, to listen to how ready and willing his boy was. How he yearned to comply with the implication Faustite set forth. Any other day, any other time, he would've put his boy to work in short order.
He listened a margin longer. Watched his boy exhale something breathy, something exciting.
Then he stood on the tips of his metal boots, and a hand left one of Albite's as he leaned up to kiss the boy. But instead of a hand at the nape of his neck, Faustite pressed a palm over the bridge of Albite's nose and pinched his nose shut between thumb and forefinger. And instead of a kiss, he blew concentrated, noxious smoke into his boy's mouth. Better if he passed out from that, but if Albite only stumbled about while he sputtered, it still granted Faustite more than enough opportunity.
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2022 6:05 am
Tripping the life fantastic under claws tipped like talons. Albite felt their p***k, heeded that careful, thrilling warning and pined in his own stillness. ‘Cause he would always play that game with his boy. Never hated the danger - never halted to bait a shark in its own waters with his own simple way of being…..
Sometimes? He forgot how sharks worked. That he was, on some humanly fallible level, only ever equivalent to prey.
His head wasn’t in it. No bright bloody flags screaming ‘caution’; his thoughts were lower still. Center mass and sinking beneath sashes and belt latches - mindful of where his hands wanted so very badly to *be* - right there and then into that instant. It was all overflowing gutters of ideas.
So Eions inhale set him alight, anticipatory of *next* — and when the kiss came? He gave it up easy, stood pinned like a bug on a board under the barest catch of claw, and opened himself for it. Expected fever warmth and a hint of tongue, maybe teeth if that was the mood - caught himself choking on a deluge of life stealing carbon. Felt the rictus of confusion flash over his face, before his wide eyes watered and his urge to hack or inhale kicked in - autonomic responses gone haywire as he flinched to pull back.
If his magic flared for the betrayal like some slighted thing, it hardly ******** mattered when the world around him was going gray and tasting of chimney.
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2022 6:30 am
What a good boy. An obedient, devoted, guileless boy.
It was easy to stay pressed to him, keep his nose shut and his mouth covered. He wanted to pull back — cute, Faustite thought — to escape the toxins that supersaturated Faustite's body.
Faustite took advantage of that impulse. His free hand curled into a fist and he struck at his boy's solar plexus as he smiled into the kiss. Then he broke away with a smoky, rasping, "Wasn't joking."
If Albite went down to a hit like that, Faustite knew he'd have a count of ten seconds. Best that he work fast, then.
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2022 7:44 am
He loved him.
And that meant living, didn’t it? Hadn’t he promised that as well? ********, hadn’t Faustite all but ordered that of him, how many times now, to cast his worries aside and *survive*.
Even this —-
The pain lit up his center and set him to spitting charred bile, sour and acidic as it came up over his tongue and whet the ground that met his knees roughly— some eerie hindthought for how he noted the hardness of the stone above all that, even through cloth and semi-panicked snarling for air; helpless to do anything other than gasp as his body demanded oxygen on a cellular level.
He was facing *A General* — not some stick thin youth, not some civilian faced man or basic Senshi with a grudge and some hoodoo to call upon.
Not just any ******** General either. *A Youma General*, experienced of years, serious and strong even when he wasn’t on fire. Was tactically — the word genius came to mind — and there was love in the thought, if not the expression on his face; that vapid sort confused ‘why’ which shifted towards ‘pained-rage’ as he caught Faustites smoky words over the sound of his lungs giving out, and only then did he realize that Faustite wasn’t playing.
Praxidike — the desperate thought that became an answer. Albite Felt his magic rise up to tear that youma off his heels, buy himself precious breaths of time by making a drastic attempt at beating his boy *IT* down into the dust with him.
Eternal Sailor Attack: Praxidikes Exacting Justice! All of Albites tattoos appear to tear from his skin, lashing him to his three nearest enemies. They weigh like chains, and can squeeze to the point of bruising. The magic in the tattoos creates the feeling of being choked and beaten by a heavy hand; giving an opponent the sensation of being driven down and short of breath. Albites opponents can still move/fight, but remain bound to Albite until the magic is ended, or the bonds severed. The tattoo tethers are still magical and so can draw no blood. No physical or lasting damage is done, unless the target’s player wishes it. The illusion ends after 25 seconds. In which the bindings vanish along with the sensations. Range: 15 Feet Duration: 25 seconds Number of uses: 1 Number of targets: 3
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2022 8:46 am
"Piss," he hissed when he felt Albite's tattoos seize him like some sordid prize. Teeth grit, he coughed as the ones wrapped about his metal collar tightened down and dragged him off balance. Metal heels screeched their defiance against the floor, but he was yet dragged, closer and closer to the boy he felled.
Muffled grunts and groans eked out of him while he fought his bonds to reach his core. Each gained inch took much too long when won against this dark magic — Faustite knew it would take him at least ten seconds to get his hands over his cincher's clasps, and by then, his advantage will have been lost. All this, because his wiseass boy wanted to retaliate against his comeuppance. All this, because some terrible planet out there had chosen his boy to represent it.
What a trash.
He was twisted off balance and taken to his knees, which reclaimed what tenuous grounds he gained toward unclasping his cincher. With a burning hiss, Faustite's hands gathered into fists, and a pack of youma roiled to life around him. They needed no command to find their target.
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If he survived---
Wasn't that a whole thought? Of the starkly terrifying, adrenaline inducing variety. Albites muscles burned like his lungs, like his watering eyes that watched - caught those black claws balled into fists and the shape his beloved's form as he was brought low by pain and tether alike -- what a ******** picture they made -- prettier by the second as he yanked, mind and body pulled on his magic, where it caught and writhed screaming for youma - crying high for his enemies blood.
Faustite was no light squishy thing this way, albite tried to fight for purchase, to get a leg back under himself and get the ******** up, away; because there were walls, holes, drops that fell stories below, and ********> - images of bay windows that would've ended up shattered irreparably as they hashed things out. He was right back to thinking of how much wrought iron and copper they could squeeze into the place. Pane-less windows; all frame, no glass.
"No." viciously rasped bark of denial, because really?
He knew that sound.
Knew the feel of youma bearing down from all sides. Could imagine their teeth, claws, and how viscously serious Eion was taking this. Such an absolute b*****d. Perfectly equipped for fighting senshi - stripping them apart - Albite couldn't trade one attack for another. No. Had bigger - nastier - bitches to worry about, but especially? His fiancé. Who must've lost his damned *mind*. He told himself that, foolishly, that the fight was caused by some other small misunderstanding well beyond him, some communication error on his part or...on Eion's maybe? Told himself none of that really mattered right then. Not when he felt breath and jaw seeking the meat of his left shoulder, felt claw raking over dread, and knew himself to be a very bloody minded meal to take on.
He hoped he gave them all indigestion.
Eion first, that sweet pained face, he'd rub it into the ground - let him lick whatever mess he'd spilled between them clean. Then wash all the new hurts away with his precious tears.
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2022 3:31 pm
[While he resisted with all the strength he could muster, Albite succeeded in pulling him to the ground. Faustite uttered a choked sound when he went down, shoulder cracking hard against the beleaguered floor, and his baleful, fiery gaze lit on the boy who chose to struggle so much against a fate he earned. For now, the group of youma distracted him. And with Albite so focused on them, Faustite's bonds slackened.
He struggled enough to wrench his cincher off, banishing it to subspace as soon as it left his body. It was then, with the magic mostly faded, that he rebounded to his feet.
Better that his youma kept Albite distracted. If he needed something more, though —
A thought, and a beckon, and Headache joined him. With only a point, the conglomerate creature heeded Faustite's desire and molded itself to his shape and stature. From then on, there would be two, and if Albite was too distracted to tell the difference, then Faustite would have his opening once again.
One youma, something cat-like with the propensities of a squirrel, tried to climb the oafish senshi like a tree. It would surely nest in his hair, all claws in scalp and down his face, if not fended off immediately. And the other, some flying abomination that liked spitting icicles and dive-bombing its prey. A third was a ball of teeth with a lashing, serrated tail — something all weapon, with no weakness to physical attacks. In the foray, Faustite couldn't see the fourth.
Two Faustites then advanced on the boy, silently, though only one of them was itching to suckerpunch his fiancé in the back of the head and bring him low for a moment.
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2022 5:22 pm
He felt the ties slack and shrivel, withering away with his attention, with time as his biggest enemy of all. b***h of a thing, all those sword-like seconds ticking down with middle fingers raised, ever against him.
Albite cursed in his stagger, stole steps while rending the magical shackles wholly, felt the rabid energy backlash for cutting Faustite loose; felt it as vividly as the claws skittering up his flesh -- cutting bloody lines until he felt them catch at his face. That ******** did it, tore the patience he didn't have into ribbons, and he actually bit at the lithe little ******** that'd dared to come at his face, just before wrapping a meaty hand around it, reactively tearing it free to throw at the nearest wall.
He hoped the squirrely b*****d splattered - re-claimed its existence as a mangled bit of dust in the Rift while cursing him and him alone. It was exhaustive though, throwing his attention at a hoard, felt like every second he split between one enemy gained him injury from the next, between the slice of ice, and the sudden duality of twin forms staring him down like he was even less than a meal.
"Elex" a demand for attention in the word, because he wouldn't be that. Refused to be less than anything at all! Felt ice bore, spit cleanly and embedded around beading blood in a bicep, a thigh. Snapped immediately into another attack on automatic, because he could only take so much of being picked apart before his magic snarled for an end to it all. "The actual ********, Firebrand! "
The target hardly mattered now, not when there were so many. The lash - always an unruly, fanged thing, but there - his to call...
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Super Sailor Scout Attack B: Lash of Retribution! Albite’s tattoos appear to tear from his form, lightning quick, and lash out at his nearest opponent like mindless rabid animals. The magical bindings crack loudly through the air, creating a startling warning noise, just before they coil and yank across the opponent like an angry living whip. The player feels as though they've received a mild rope burn (pick body part) for up to thirty seconds, though no physical or lasting damage is done; only the very uncomfortable mental sensation of such, unless the target’s player wants to sustain any lasting damage. The whipcrack loud noise prior to the attack striking serves as warning so the attack can be dodged. Effect: Instantaneous Range: 6ft Duration: 30 Seconds Usage: 3x Times Targets: 1
