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Super Sailor Walküre really ******** hated not being the leader. A temper tantrum was brewing inside of her. She always figured out the situation. Always.

Here, the door got kicked down, and she wasn't the one to do it. This was a shame. Never again was she going to allow herself to be out-skilled by these clowns. It just wasn't right. That's not the natural order of things.

She walked over to the stairs, and pushed her way past the pink haired girl. "Pardon me," she said with a venomous bite. Walküre was wider than the other girl, and she wasn't exactly careful when passing her.

Continuing down, she came to the girl in the kimono. They had met before. It was a long time ago though, and she couldn't remember her name. She just remembered she was with the Negaverse. Everyone's uniforms were so confusing and not "uniform" at all, and Walküre really couldn't keep track of who was on which side. Not that it mattered. She was sure they'd all identify themselves later.

Squeezing past her, Walküre muttered under her breath, "I have to get away from these incompetent people." Although she was sure that if push came to shove, she could take any one of them in a fight. Even without powers, she could still throw one hell of a punch, and she was agitated enough to try it if she felt she had to.

Brash as always, Walküre found herself at the head of the pack. She gave a smug smile.

Looking to the only other male, Marlo smirked. "I half expected you to be the first to rush down blindly into possible danger." Marlo glanced to where their companions, however disliked or reluctant, had gone. "So far, no screaming death cries. For the record though, I am glad you didn't simply rush down." Nodding to the women who remained, Marlo turned and went down the flight of stairs.

Even though Lyra was near the door when it was busted open... she was one of the last to exit. She was thinking about taking the pitcher filled with water (who knows when the next time they'll get to drink was), but instead voted to leave it behind. She felt it would hold her up.

She noticed that the room they were in was empty minus a table now - oh and apparently a pitcher being held. She also just managed to catch the minor squabble between Serandite, and the other senshi. Lyra had to admit it was good to have another senshi around but... this one seemed a biiiiiit pushy. All the same, Lyra followed everyone else down the stairs.

Serandite's kick sent Sailor Walkure tumbling down the long flight of stairs.

[SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS:
WALKURE, unfortunately you have been kicked down a long flight of stairs at hazard to your health. Please make a post generating a random number from 1 to 10,000.

If you generate a 10,000, Walkure has died.
If you generate a number from 9,990 to 9,999, Walkure has broken her arm.
If you generate any number from 1 to 9,989, Walkure survives the fall unscathed.

ALL PLAYERS, please be aware that this is a live stage, and any actions you take could put other characters' welfare at risk as well as your own. In this case, Walkure's chance of death or injury is extremely low; however, in general remember that actions in live stages have reasonable consequences -- GMs can and may intervene and force you to roll for the outcome of those actions.]

Blink blink went red eyes as adorable little Serandite demonstrated in perfect clarity how all powered individuals were just a little bit mad, and kicked the busty blond down the stairs. Her mind had several reactions. One wanted to giggle just a tiny bit, another was shocked and somewhat appalled at the kick, and her favorite third was that she hadn't thought of doing that to Hector first.

Though hadn't she just resolved to ignore him? These conflicting thoughts had her settle on a course of raised pink eyebrows and a fairly arch look at Serandite. "My my. You really do wake up perky, don't you?" It was the best she could do, mild disinterest and disdain that a senshi would allow herself to be caught off-guard like that. Black Lady was the poster child for the word hypocrite. Brushing lightly past, she went all the way down the stairs and stood there, waiting the group. She'd seen horror movies too, after all.

Serandite had endeared herself to Ametrine somewhat for her outburst. The arrogant senshi went sprawling down the stairs, and the lieutenant couldn't have been happier-- except that this was not what they needed right now. Yes, having someone overtly sided against them in their little quest might well prove to be inconvenient.

... But who was Ametrine kidding? It was bloody hilarious. In fact, she would've liked to have seen it replayed in slow motion. Still... still, now was not the time. Pity that. "Well," she said, peering down the stairs on her progress to the floor below, "I suppose that's one way of going down stairs."

Really, really not the time or place for it. No, she hadn't so much as tried to help the senshi. It wouldn't have benefited her, and even if it had, she wouldn't have been able to reach her in time. Shrugging her shoulders, she continued down the stairs, joining Black Lady at the bottom. "Let's not repeat that, shall we? Priorities, and all."

Popping back up quickly, Walküre dusted her, yet again, dirty white skirt. Why did everything have to be so dirty here?

"b***h!" she yelled at Serandite, and she crossed her arms. Rolling her head, she could hear and feel several bones crack. Overall, she wasn't hurt though. That was a lucky break, or rather a lucky un-break.

She was boiling with rage. Walküre's first instinct was to run back up the stairs and throw that girl down them also, but somehow her logic kicked in. She would wait for the right moment to get back at her for that.

Nobody throws baby down a flight of stairs. Nobody.

The Living Room

The stairs were a little taller than they had expected, but otherwise they were plain wood stairs with a hand railing. The hand railing hadn't been much use to Walkure, but eventually they all reached the bottom of the stairs.

The staircase opened into a very large room. Everything seemed to be just a little larger than life -- and even for what was mostly a one-room cabin, it was surprisingly big.

The house was a mess. It was full of tables, cabinets, appliances, and things on and in them wherever they could see. It looked lived in -- a little too lived in, really.

Along the north wall was the staircase they had walked down, leading up to the second floor of the house and its single bedroom. There were also two doors -- a closed door and a half-door, like you might see in a barn. Through the half-door, they could make out some greenery, but nothing distinct.

The east wall seemed to comprise the kitchen. There was, at the center of the wall, a large ceramic basin that seemed to serve as a sink; on either side of it were countertops with kitchen drawers beneath them. There were jars atop the counters, and some assorted dishes of different sizes, and the stains of several dried-on sauces that they couldn't identify. Above the sink basin were a row of overhead cabinets.

The south wall seemed to be the entryway and living area. Here there was a wooden table that looked like some sort of work table, marked with more stains. There was a single window, high up, crossed with a wrought iron diamond lattice. Through the window they could see that it was sunset -- had they slept for an entire day? Along the wall was a large, closed storage chest, a cloak rack with a fur-trimmed white cloak hanging from it, and, most importantly, an overly large wooden front door to the outside. Their hearts swelled with longing at the sight of that door.

The west wall was . . . the west wall was disturbing. There was a bookcase there, with a number of books on it, but this was the most innocuous thing to be seen. Directly next to it was about the only thing in the room that seemed to be their size: a horrifically lifelike iron maiden, the sculpted mouth on its face apparently crying out in agony. There was a huge, ugly red bloodstain on the floor beneath it. Next to that was a spinning wheel that seemed to be threaded, but not with yarn, with -- human ligaments? Was that possible? There was a small, locked box atop a rickety footstool -- every so often the box shook unnervingly. Atop the box was a dirty rag.

But in the center of the room, there was -- a woman.

She was nine or ten feet tall, and staring directly at them. Her hair was white, threaded with silver-gray, and it was pulled back into a french plait that then loosened into a full fall of hair down to her knees. Her eyes were milky and bluish, and she wore a silken dress whose color was the exact shade of the world in the middle of a blizzard when the wind was blowing hard and ice seemed to bleed out of your pores -- they felt cold just looking at her. Her kirtle was belted with silver in a snowflake filigree pattern, studded with glistening opals and white seed-pearls. She was beautiful, in a way, but ancient; she looked similar to the girl in the upstairs painting that Serandite had leaned against, but not quite the same. Her skin was pale, pale as snow, and had a softness to it that came with old age, tiny wrinkles of the sort that young skin couldn't fold into. All of her was white, white and silver, all but her mouth: she had lips as red as blood.

"I am the Winter Witch," she said, and they found, of a sudden, that they could not move except to speak.

[OOC: All characters are now at the bottom of the stairs. During this turn you cannot move anything except your face. You may not execute any actions except for looking and speaking.]