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becomehero2023-09-30 10:12 pm
becomemod) wrote in becomehero2023-09-30 10:12 pm
Entry tags:
Week 1: Execution
week 1:
execution
Sunday morning starts off quietly enough, almost peaceful after the events of the past few days. Today, the alarm on everyone's phone starts at 12 PM, with a reminder of the execution to take place at 1 PM at the stadium. Unlike the Saturday notifications, however, this is the only reminder you get. It appears that attendance is not mandatory this time.
Well. Not for all of you, anyway. One of you feels a compulsion to head to the stadium, heading straight inside and following the staff to ready themselves for what's to come. All others who arrive at the stadium, hero or civilian, are led to spectator seating.
As the clock strikes 1 PM, Argalia walks into the arena. On the opposite end of the field, Nimona steps out to greet them. As long as they both live, neither will able to leave the area, nor will any outsiders be able to enter.
You don't have to watch, of course. That's your choice. But with the event being broadcast all over the city, it may be hard to avoid. In-person or across town, everywhere is buzzing with gossip of the newly discovered villain about to face justice. Regardless of where you go or whether you choose to watch, the only thing to do now is wait.
Well. Not for all of you, anyway. One of you feels a compulsion to head to the stadium, heading straight inside and following the staff to ready themselves for what's to come. All others who arrive at the stadium, hero or civilian, are led to spectator seating.
As the clock strikes 1 PM, Argalia walks into the arena. On the opposite end of the field, Nimona steps out to greet them. As long as they both live, neither will able to leave the area, nor will any outsiders be able to enter.
You don't have to watch, of course. That's your choice. But with the event being broadcast all over the city, it may be hard to avoid. In-person or across town, everywhere is buzzing with gossip of the newly discovered villain about to face justice. Regardless of where you go or whether you choose to watch, the only thing to do now is wait.
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EXECUTION
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[his ever-present scythe is no longer with him, nor is the accessory he usually wears on one ear; he seems collected, though, despite what he knows they're here for, striding out with a little hum to himself.
the field this week is set up not for a sports day, but for... marching band? it's band. there are instruments arranged in patterns here and there on the field, various percussion instruments surrounding it, and as he steps forward to take it all in...
he makes a sweeping, elegant gesture with one gloved hand as he bows to nimona. blue waves ripple out from him, resonating, reaching those instruments and making the entire percussion section all reverberate at once in an unsettling but not entirely dissonant chorus, echoing and echoing around the field.]
Come, then. Share this last performance with me.
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she seems surprised to be here, but not enough that it throws her off balance. she walks forward, glances up at the crowd almost nervously, and then looks at argalia. just in time for all the instruments to go off, which makes her jump. it's clear she doesn't really like being watched like this, but. whatever.
she promised. so.]
Yeah. Okay - how do you wanna do this?
[she's already pulling her phone out, actually.]
It's your show, man. You lead.
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[they've talked about it. she knows what he had to say, what he'd told her in particular about it.]
It'll be a little difficult, like this, but...
[he scans the field, searching; anything is an implement if you work at it, you know? he doesn't think either of them has any problems with that. when he finally lands on something, strolling over and leaning down to pick one up-
it's a flag, which he gives an experimental little spin before pointing it at her like it's a real weapon.]
This will do for now~
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and then, when he picks up a flag, she sort of just laughs.]
Great. Uh, okay.
[and she goes to pick up one too, but - what she does first is she pulls up music on her phone. something classical - something high energy and intense, dramatic. she figures he might like something that frames a battle like this.
carefully, she puts her phone down on the stage, blaring loud enough for them to both hear it, and then she grabs a flag. and. holds it, but clumsily. like a kid holding a sword they made from a tree.]
... Ready?
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high energy. dramatic. she does know how to pick them, doesn't she?]
You know... it was a little fun, playing the villain, but this has nothing to do with that.
[when he says it's a performance, he doesn't mean that one. this is different; she knows, he's sure, in exactly which ways that's true.]
Ready.
[he'll let her make the first move.]
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[she does know, they talked about it - she knows all the ways they're similar and all the ways they're not, and how it feels like the low, uncomfortable sound of the percussion droning in the background.
she rubs at her face a bit. shakes out her limbs, takes a deep breath --
and launches herself forward. strikes first. she aims a slap of the pole at his side. it's like, surprisingly nonviolent, maybe? like maybe her heart just isn't fully in it, but she's trying.]
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argalia spins his own flag to knock hers out of the way at the last second, sidestepping along with it and shifting past her in a way that looks more like he's playing with her than anything else.
the flag lifts, then drops to bonk her on the head.]
Ah, anything hurts if you swing it hard enough, you know?~
[come on. again.]
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she actually looks offended when he bonks her on the head because that's more embarrassing than if he just like, knocked her ass over. her fingers flex, shifting her grip on the flag. she doesn't ever really use weapons, so this is new, but - she promised. so this time, when she swings, it's full-on barbarian, no technique, just with a:]
Rrrrgh!
[as she swings it down at him, and then again, and again, top down, to the side, at his leg.]
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Don't think of it as just a thing you hold, but as an extension of yourself. Much like a cat has claws, no?
[is this the fucking time for lessons
after the first hit, he uses his own to catch it and spin it away again, aiming a jab at her side with the tip of the pole.]
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Don't - teach me how to try to kill you, I can do it fine.
[but even as she's saying this she falters, which is why the jab in the side connects and makes her make a noise like a cat's tail being stepped on. ow!! rude!!
rubbing at her side, she huffs, and darts back just a little. and then she moves in again, holding the pole with white knuckles. this time she whacks in the direction of his head, clumsily, but it's more meant to be a distraction so she can use all of her strength to try and hit him in the ribs.
it doesn't quite occur to her to jab, really. she usually fixes her problems by beating them to death.]
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[it's difficult to say if the distraction works, or if he just takes the hit in the ribs... but it connects, with a rough exhale breath as it briefly takes the wind from him.
then, while she's still close-- the flag he's holding ripples with blue waves before he swings it right at her torso, using it as a conduit for those vibrations to run through her in turn. they increase in intensity, for a few moments, the waves overlapping on themselves and stacking, then going no further.]
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that startles the shit out of her - she's felt those vibrations before, when she tried to steal his scythe so long ago, so she recognizes what he's doing when the hit connects. for a second her eyes go wide, and she freezes, nearly dropping her flag. a bit of blood leaks out of her nose, and she wavers, catching herself in a stagger.
but it doesn't have her down long - whether the vibrations continue or not, she makes a sort of desperate sound and hits him again, trying to get his flag away from him, just hit after hit, swinging with a sort of mindless rage.
she doesn't transform, though. who knows why.]
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after she recovers, swings at him again and again and again-- there is a sort of violent rhythm to it despite the rage, he thinks, one he falls into with all the ease of someone used to improvising to an unpredictable beat. it's best this way.
his own flag still reverberates as he uses it to deflect, beat after hit after beat, before he aims to end that buildup with a sweeping strike toward her knees.]
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he follows her every movement like he's meeting her in some sort of dance. he deflects, and she tries so hard to not think of the last time she was in tune with someone like this, in a little dilapidated hideout on the edge of the kingdom, turning up the music as loud as it could go until it hurt to listen to.
it hurts to listen to here, too. literally - the longer the waltz goes, the more she bleeds. the nosebleed gets worse, dripping down her front, and at one point, her ears start to bleed as well. she's dizzy, but it doesn't stop her. she's been through worse. this feels worse than it hurts. evil, he's evil, everybody tells you he's evil, and maybe he is, but the world made him that way.
the reverberations are what knock her off center - the swipe hits her knees, and she lets out a little gasp and stumbles backwards, and then falls to the ground, scrambling. her flag clatters off to the side.]
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was it truly a tragedy that i lost her? who defined it as tragedy? i raised these questions, and worked out an answer slightly after.
she falls to the ground in front of him, blood staining her, and in a smooth motion he spins the flag to point the tip of the pole at her throat.
a coda. the pole draws back, in preparation.]
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and you wonder if anybody ever understood, would it be different but. even when you have that understanding it doesn't matter because it's inside you now. it's rotted. there's only one ending. there was only ever one ending for him. and for her too. right?
nimona falls back, staring up at him, and for a second - she thinks, i'm tired. i'm so tired.
for that second, she doesn't move, when he points the pole at her throat. her head hurts so bad, and blood drips at a steady one, two, three beat from her nose, and maybe she just lets him do it. let the villagers burn you.
to feel lost is human. if you really want to help me, then do your best to stay alive, at all costs.
there's still time to rewrite your ending. i can't imagine what it took for you to get this far. i've got you.
hey nimona? thanks.]
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and very suddenly, there is a very pink rhino, and it's pissed. yeet!]
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the rhino is unexpected, after she's spent so long not bothering to transform-- she shifts, and in that moment it's easy to knock him off his feet, flying a short distance away onto the field, tossed onto his back.
when he picks himself up, he's laughing, delighted, darting back toward her to take a swing at her larger form.
da capo al fine, then.]
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he swings, and he probably hits, but it doesn't even seem like it hurts. she tosses her head, and snorts, and then charges, straight at him, full force. you can dodge a bullet, but can you dodge a rhino?]
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normally, none of this would be a problem, but in a place where all the alterations made to his body don't matter, where he's as normal as any other human? yeah. getting hit by a rhino is a problem!
argalia shifts in an effort to avoid that charge, quick on his feet as ever, but nimona is fast, too. even a sideswipe from something like a rhino is rough; he avoids being trampled entirely, but he's knocked heavily aside again, not quite as quick to stabilize the second time.]
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and the rhino, it lets out a noise that's half a screech and half a roar, something that rhinos absolutely should not be able to make. it's oddly human.
and then it turns, and it races for him again, not even letting him catch his breath, not letting him stabilize. it rams right into him, tossing its head up and throwing him into the air, gouging its horn into him, if it can.]
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there's something beautiful about it, he thinks. not the kind most would picture, but the sort of raw, jagged beauty of something you hear once and never, ever forget. something that stays with you, something you don't let go of after hearing it; it embeds itself, and it never heals over.
(like a melody he heard once. the one he heard so, so clearly before that terrible, beautiful instrument.)
he doesn't even care that it's followed by the rhino ramming into him, by a pained sound of his own when it throws him and jostles what are certainly broken bones. he wouldn't care if it ended right there, on that horn.
it's almost a disappointment when it gouges into his arm, the flag falling from his hand with a soft thunk against the ground, a little punctuation.]
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and then it turns to him, and rams him one more time with full force, to toss him to the ground, make it so he can't get up. hurt him, for hurting it.
but after it tosses him, it hesitates. it looks. is he getting up?]
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he has it in him to shift a bit, lying on his back, but that's all; it's so that he can fix his gaze on the sky from where he lies sprawled there, breath coming with a little difficulty, his bleeding arm nearly useless.
alas, i didn't shed tears before that piano where your body rested-— for i soon realized that you were no longer there.
that's right; you're the gentle breeze that brushes past my face, and the clouds that fly in the sky.
as he is so often, he's smiling.]
Ah... has it reached you, Angelica?
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