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[ ROUND 2 - ANGEL_MOON'S HP / 40 HP ]

He tried to move away, but with his movements so sluggish he was unable to evade the next mirror and it's contents -

He was with Solia. They laugh and giggled with each other, walking down the streets of Paris as they held hands. There was no Deus Ex to be found, it was only themselves and the world. He had promised to take her out to one of the more expensive restaurants, and he was only too happy to.

"J'espère que le restaurant sera à votre goût" He said, and Solia sighed at his ability to speak flurent french.

....This was actually a very nice vision, but then it was spoiled by the Queen suddenly appearing and, being himself, Angel_Moon attack the mirror only to hit someone else when it shattered.

..."I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to." He said, sounding on the verge of tears.

[ ROUND 2 REPLY TO NIGHTBLOOM: HP 10 / 40 HP ]


The man snatching her up by her hair was terrifying. Weakened by the hits he had already taken, Teddomination watched in mute horror as the girl before him was tortured. Beaten.

In a way, he could not blame her for her anger. He did not know who these people were, but he would have hated them, too. And whoever the man they had taken was, she clearly loved him.

He probably would have killed this Stacey, too.

The girl from earlier crashed through the mirror, and Teddomination was flung backwards, and skid across the ground.

HP CRITICAL. HP CRITICAL. His pocket assistant was chirping at him angrily, but Teddomination payed it no mind. He shakily pulled himself to his feet, and offered the girl a weak smile.

"M'okay. Just... just a little battered," he breathed weakly, toddling over and papping her face in reassurance. His smile faltered, however, and the bear looked weak and worn.

"I do not like this game anymore, friend."

He fumbled back away from Leslie, away from the stranger, away as much as he could from the unfurling chaos, and instead found himself face-to-face with another reflection.

[ ROUND 2 - 30 HP / 40 HP ]

The office had once been Caelius's (of course); the weapon, though, was his: he was absently twisting the tip of Fionnghal's blade back and forth against the palm of his hand, and he'd started the habit because he knew it looked impressive--because there was something profoundly satisfying that Taym had clawed his way into this position with a dainty little frippery like Fionnghal instead of a sweeping scythe or heavy bladed sword--but he continued it now because he had never stopped, not even now, needing something to do with his hands.

His assistant was chattering away, half in English, half in Russian in a way that made him think with a pang of long-gone friends. He'd outlived almost everyone, against every expectation and in the beginning against his own desires, and he understood more clearly now the strangeness that had always been a part of the leadership, at least since he'd joined. He tried: he tried so hard to be just, to be fair, to be sane, to be forgiving. But the organization was not what it once had been. Ouroborous had torn the ranks asunder and he'd been at the forefront of the rebuilding but he had no gratitude for what they'd allowed him to become: only resentment. He had been determined to usher them into a better and more compassionate future. He'd had to break necks to do it.

"Additionally," she said, suddenly tentative and tactful, "it appears that your--that pod 87C is--is perhaps approaching awakening."

"Schedule Koss," he said, still absently staring into the middle distance with his one remaining eye, still twisting Fionnghal back and forth, back and forth.

"Would you like a notification?"

"For a trainee awakening?" He snorted. "Exactly how devoid of commitment do you think my ******** schedule is? I ask you that," he added acerbically, "as the woman who makes the ******** schedule."

She hesitated but nodded, scribbling Koss's name down. "The reports came in," she added with smooth finality, depositing the manilla folder on his desk because like his predecessor he had a fondness for hardcopy paperwork.

"Are there names?"

"A half dozen, with proofs. Down two from last month. The insurrection appears to be faltering."

"Take steps," he said, and this was code. He tried: he tried to be just, to be fair, to be sane, to be forgiving. He'd never shot a trainee for insubordination. He'd never tried to claw territory out of some rival's hands with a litter of corpses as collateral. He tried, he tried, to make the executions humane, and swift, and compassionate. "Stephens?"

"Yes, sir, his name also."

"Capture him first and make his public. Be humane. Firing squad, injection--your call. We don't want public sentiment turned against us. Just want an example. Dig up that bulletin we shelved for Nguyen's, and broadcast it alongside."

"Yes sir."

He twisted Fionnghal back and forth, back and forth, and he watched out the window the to and fro of the hunters, his hunters, engaged in the daily trivialities of making the world a better place.

The Queen smiled at him, a little mocking smile, and he didn't mean to swing--he didn't mean to attack, not after what had happened last time--but he did, inexorably, hating himself and hating her, and the dagger plunged through the reflection and into Phoenix's ribs with a soft sighing sound.

She moved sluggishly onward, hands trembling. The closer she moved to the queen, the more she felt she was losing her mind. Somehow she was unable to control what she was remembering. She saw visions all around her. As she grew nearer, she saw something else--her own vision--a memory of her own.

She was a little girl. Her fear had materialized itself into a broom some time ago, and she was just learning to ride it. For the first time, she was successfully steering it over the cottage roof, coven mothers squawking at her to be careful and not to fly to high. She felt utterly victorious...but...she hadn't thanked Hennie...even though she had helped her so much.

She hadn't thanked Hennie.

SOMEONE FORGOT TO ROLL BUT IT WASN'T ME

[ ROUND 2 REPLY TO ANGEL_MOON'S: 20/ 40 HP ]

She hadn't even gotten a chance to breath and yet another mirror was there and she was attacked again. She screamed and lashed back out in rage.

"Stop it! Stop it stop it stop it!"

[ ROUND 2 - SlKiiNL3SS's HP 40 / 40 HP ]

He was watching from a distance.

Dark, coal red eyes narrowed. Lonely. Searching. Longing. Yet knowing that nothing was about to change. Nothing had changed, in fact, and he looked into the distance, his eyes skimming the surface of the lake he'd made a home beside. Away from everyone. Away from everything. As it had been before he even got away from that woman all those years ago. As it had been during school, he thought in passing. As it had been for as long as he could ever remember...

Kiin blinked at the mirror, his own eyes narrowed and full of...was it anger? His hand clenched around the hilt of his flail as he watched the vision of himself, years older, beginning to fade in the mirror that he'd come upon. The more it faded, the more he could see the queen inside the mirror. He didn't even hesitate; the mad hatter lunged and swung his weapon, only to have the mirror shatter mid-strike.

And the spikes of his flail hit another target. His eyes widened slightly, and though he'd never been the sort to particularly care before, this time it was without a doubt his mistake. So, he at least leveled with the guy. "I thought I, uh. And she w--. Right. So. I'm s--" and he stopped short of apologizing, instead clenching his jaw and clearing his throat before continuing. "You okay?"

[ ROUND 2 - 30 HP / 40 HP ] (Prompt #3)

BigMac stared down at the thin glass goblet in his hand. The last of the apple cider. Well, the good stuff. Throwing caution to the wind he downed it.

Later, bracing himself against a tree as he emptied his stomach in the bushes, he vowed that he would never make such a poor decision again.

Soren beat his head against the mirror, trying to drive the point home before accidentally shattering the mirror and headbutting whoever was behind it.