[ Her middling, restrained voice grows muffled beneath her mask. It isn't the same one she wore back home, of course. That one is long gone. None of her clothes are the same, her makeup isn't quite as fine, her hair is short and shaggy as opposed to long and expertly pinned up... but she's still Emily Kaldwin. A fight, a good fight, well - that's quite welcome right now.
Her abilities here are quite different from the powers she'd had back home, yes, but she's learned to weaponise them regardless. Sliding off the stool, she lands softly on her feet, turning so her back is to the bartop. The neon lights illuminating the back walls glint off her hair, throwing putrid and sickly-bright shadows, bleaching the softness out of her skin, turning her hard and fragmented, turning her polygonal with harsh, cutting colour.
Her hand touches the counter, just lightly, and the glass shards begin to glow.
Her hand curls into a fist and slams - down, fierce, purposed - and the glass shards start to float in the air.
If Alucard touches them, he'll find them quite hot, like they're freshly blown, not yet cooled. They're not glued by her puppetry. He could pluck one out of the air, or he could pluck them all, if he cared to.
Slowly, her pursuers make their way to the back.
Emily glances back at Alucard, held in her peripheral vision. ]
[He’s almost keen on saying that he can leave her to her own machinations, then, and Alucard can lean back and enjoying not-drinking while he watches all of this unfold before sharp golden eyes. But intrigue is a thread that’s wrapped too tightly around him, and the glass begins to glow — when her fist meets the hard surface and those selfsame shards float in the air, as if submerged in water — that thread might as well be a noose, and if Alucard tries to detach himself from these goings-on, he knows he would be strangled by it.
No, the display of her abilities cinches it. It also tells him one thing about her he had no way of knowing before; she’s like him. She’s been displaced, been taken from home and transplanted in this world with reasons unknown. And camaraderie, based on commonality alone, is enough for for Alucard to take up his sword for something as simple as bar fight.
His figurative sword, at least. The blade didn’t come with him, another shred of flotsam lost in the sea when he arrived here, but he’s nearly sure he doesn’t need it.
The barstool whines in protest as its legs scrape against the floor, and Alucard stands, his back aligned straight as he steps softly next to her.]
Noted. And ignored, for now.
[Acutely aware of the hovering glass, he reaches back towards the closest, plucking a heated one from its space one with forefinger and thumb—]
[ She holds up a single finger. (It isn't her middle, no worries.) ]
Otherwise you risk losing a finger.
[ The moment he takes it, it will lose its glow, cooling quickly to better match the environment around them. It's still broken, though, jagged edged. Potentially dangerous when exposed to fragile skin. The other pieces of glass glint brightly in the air, spin once - almost theatrically so - and then seemingly blink out of existence. Well, then. Emily doesn't look at all surprised, though, so he can probably chalk it up to "part of the plan".
A table is upended in her pursuant group's haste to get to the pair of people, and Emily rolls her eyes before assuming a more defensive position. With her feet better spread and the blades of her hands close to her chin, it's clear she's been trained for combat. ]
I prefer to have as few permanent casualties as possible --
[ That's the last words she says for a little while, though, as five men finally (!) get here.
She punches the closest one in the nose and then immediately pivots behind him to cut off the oxygen to his brain, her arm pinned around his neck in an expert chokehold. A few seconds of that before she's leaving the unconscious body on the floor with some slight care.
[The upended table is all noise, like the growing tantrum of a child, when Alucard’s attentions would prefer to be hinged squarely on the show of her abilities with each passing moment. The delicate and theatrical spin of sharp-edged glass (which he can appreciate, in his own showy way), glinting in neon, before disappearing. He wants to ask about it, wants to know how it works, why the twin shard he keeps in his hand remains solid and solitary from the rest. Notes her quickness of settling into a fighting stance — would like to ask where she learned how to fight, with such readiness that implies both experience and constant practice.
And so these individuals, these ruffians sporting body mods and sneering looks, are all becoming quick inconveniences in his mind, despite his willingness to help. One of them is already down, the oxygen cut off from his brain forcing a blackout, making his body go slack and crumpling to the ground. Alucard steps over him as another large man rushes towards the dhampir, shouting something about minding his own business.
A duck to avoid a fist careening towards his face in he form of a hook. Glass shines in his hand, adjusted lightning quick at just the right angle—]
Where’d you learn to fight like this?
[—to be embedded directly into the assailant’s shoulder as his arm whips up to meet it, sharp enough to break through clothing as if it were paper. A scream resonates in his ear as a result, the other lurching away.
This is fine, right? A good place for conversation.]
[ Well, there's no harm in answering now, is there? To Emily, the fact that it would be a curiosity is a curiosity in and of itself, but her situation is only well-publicised in the Isles. Outside of it... ]
My father.
[ Not that she even has access to the full breadth of skills he passed down. That, like many other things, is locked away under the dulling ink stamped across the back of her hand. Each day, the murmurings of the Void get a little quieter; and with it, her gaze gets less sharp.
She'll explain -- ]
When my mother died, she was defenseless. She couldn't lift a single hand against her assailant.
[ Daud, his Whalers. They had the Outsider's gifts too, and rendered Corvo irrelevant because of it. It's still the worst day of Emily's life - worse than any too-long meeting, scolding, hangover or fussy dignitary.
Dodging an incoming blow, she hooks a leg around her attacker's foot, and pulls him right down. Her knee ends up digging into his back. ]
It was important that I not share the same fate.
[ She would not rest on careless expectations like Jessamine, or so Emily told herself - until she did exactly that and Delilah swept in. Maybe she isn't so different from her mother, after all. ]
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finalflight2018-12-25 12:21 am
no subject
[ Her middling, restrained voice grows muffled beneath her mask. It isn't the same one she wore back home, of course. That one is long gone. None of her clothes are the same, her makeup isn't quite as fine, her hair is short and shaggy as opposed to long and expertly pinned up... but she's still Emily Kaldwin. A fight, a good fight, well - that's quite welcome right now.
Her abilities here are quite different from the powers she'd had back home, yes, but she's learned to weaponise them regardless. Sliding off the stool, she lands softly on her feet, turning so her back is to the bartop. The neon lights illuminating the back walls glint off her hair, throwing putrid and sickly-bright shadows, bleaching the softness out of her skin, turning her hard and fragmented, turning her polygonal with harsh, cutting colour.
Her hand touches the counter, just lightly, and the glass shards begin to glow.
Her hand curls into a fist and slams - down, fierce, purposed - and the glass shards start to float in the air.
If Alucard touches them, he'll find them quite hot, like they're freshly blown, not yet cooled. They're not glued by her puppetry. He could pluck one out of the air, or he could pluck them all, if he cared to.
Slowly, her pursuers make their way to the back.
Emily glances back at Alucard, held in her peripheral vision. ]
This is your final warning.
[ If he stays, he's in this. ]
no subject
No, the display of her abilities cinches it. It also tells him one thing about her he had no way of knowing before; she’s like him. She’s been displaced, been taken from home and transplanted in this world with reasons unknown. And camaraderie, based on commonality alone, is enough for for Alucard to take up his sword for something as simple as bar fight.
His figurative sword, at least. The blade didn’t come with him, another shred of flotsam lost in the sea when he arrived here, but he’s nearly sure he doesn’t need it.
The barstool whines in protest as its legs scrape against the floor, and Alucard stands, his back aligned straight as he steps softly next to her.]
Noted. And ignored, for now.
[Acutely aware of the hovering glass, he reaches back towards the closest, plucking a heated one from its space one with forefinger and thumb—]
You don’t mind if I borrow these?
no subject
[ She holds up a single finger. (It isn't her middle, no worries.) ]
Otherwise you risk losing a finger.
[ The moment he takes it, it will lose its glow, cooling quickly to better match the environment around them. It's still broken, though, jagged edged. Potentially dangerous when exposed to fragile skin. The other pieces of glass glint brightly in the air, spin once - almost theatrically so - and then seemingly blink out of existence. Well, then. Emily doesn't look at all surprised, though, so he can probably chalk it up to "part of the plan".
A table is upended in her pursuant group's haste to get to the pair of people, and Emily rolls her eyes before assuming a more defensive position. With her feet better spread and the blades of her hands close to her chin, it's clear she's been trained for combat. ]
I prefer to have as few permanent casualties as possible --
[ That's the last words she says for a little while, though, as five men finally (!) get here.
She punches the closest one in the nose and then immediately pivots behind him to cut off the oxygen to his brain, her arm pinned around his neck in an expert chokehold. A few seconds of that before she's leaving the unconscious body on the floor with some slight care.
It can't remain this easy, certainly. ]
no subject
And so these individuals, these ruffians sporting body mods and sneering looks, are all becoming quick inconveniences in his mind, despite his willingness to help. One of them is already down, the oxygen cut off from his brain forcing a blackout, making his body go slack and crumpling to the ground. Alucard steps over him as another large man rushes towards the dhampir, shouting something about minding his own business.
A duck to avoid a fist careening towards his face in he form of a hook. Glass shines in his hand, adjusted lightning quick at just the right angle—]
Where’d you learn to fight like this?
[—to be embedded directly into the assailant’s shoulder as his arm whips up to meet it, sharp enough to break through clothing as if it were paper. A scream resonates in his ear as a result, the other lurching away.
This is fine, right? A good place for conversation.]
no subject
My father.
[ Not that she even has access to the full breadth of skills he passed down. That, like many other things, is locked away under the dulling ink stamped across the back of her hand. Each day, the murmurings of the Void get a little quieter; and with it, her gaze gets less sharp.
She'll explain -- ]
When my mother died, she was defenseless. She couldn't lift a single hand against her assailant.
[ Daud, his Whalers. They had the Outsider's gifts too, and rendered Corvo irrelevant because of it. It's still the worst day of Emily's life - worse than any too-long meeting, scolding, hangover or fussy dignitary.
Dodging an incoming blow, she hooks a leg around her attacker's foot, and pulls him right down. Her knee ends up digging into his back. ]
It was important that I not share the same fate.
[ She would not rest on careless expectations like Jessamine, or so Emily told herself - until she did exactly that and Delilah swept in. Maybe she isn't so different from her mother, after all. ]