[Post 2/2 - Replica] She pulled the whip back from where she’d flicked it into her original, into Sin Err, and now she the Unmentionable_Tamer, the fake, turned to face the White Queen. She felt no remorse for sending her original away, it was as it was intended to be.
Memories came to her in snippets, the memory of being greeted, the memory of being empty, a vessel waiting to be filled. She was a toy and she was ready to play, ready to fulfill her purpose. The memories swept inside her swirling powerfully and giving her a faint taste of emotions and sensations that she couldn’t comprehend.
She remembered the echo of love, of pain, of loss and each one made her feel for a brief flashing second as if she were…but no she wasn’t. She was just a replica, a fragment, a container.
The memories of friends she never had, a boil she’d never loved, hunters she’d never hated, they all filled her and she watched as the cage completed itself and the door disappeared. This was the end of her legacy, this was the rebirth of grief, and she would stay. She would stay because that was what she had been created for.
“I will stay”
She felt a flicker of panic, and then it set in, this was it, she was fading. She was being consumed, and as she faded she wished that she hadn’t been full of all those memories, hadn’t known what those emotions felt like. Now that the end was coming only one sensation rose to the brim of the cup, fear.
The fear was gone, she was gone, legacy complete.
MY STATS
[9 of Clubs] My character's username: Unmentionable_Tamer My character's level: 56 Character's HP: 40 Character's Job Class: Insane Mad Hatter Current party: Current Guild:[Temptation] Location: Small IC description of character: Voluptuous with golden eyes and black hair streaked with pink, this mad hatter is always grinning. Her coat and hat are black with gold trimming, she wears a red top and navy bottoms. Character journal:[X]
Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2014 5:26 pm
[ POST 2 ] [ REPLICA VERSION ]
There was a part of her that felt heavy. There was another part of her that felt full, somehow, or rather fulfilled. She was serving her purpose. It had already begun. And her real self--her other self--was going to be all right, just like she said she would. She was going to be all right...
Brow furrowing with resolution, she stood and sheathed her sword. As she heard the sound of its blade sliding into place, it triggered the memory of a battle. And then that triggered another memory of a friend. Then of a place. Then another memory. And another and another. Countless memories surfaced, each one stronger and more vivid than the last.
She smiled with something like loss--they were her memories, yet she would never make any more with those people, in those places...she wouldn't see the things she had seen before--that her real self had seen...her life was finished before it had even really begun. But how strange it was to say that...because she felt she had already lived. But it didn't matter.
She knew those memories would make for a strong cage.
She stood before the White Queen, body braced like a soldier's, eyes hard, but accepting. She wouldn't be scared. She told herself she wouldn't be. Her original was okay, and that was all that mattered. Now she, the replica, could fulfill her purpose.
As the queen's swaying arms spread about and around her, she didn't look away, but kept staring up at the blankness of the queen's face. She wouldn't be afraid of this--of dying, or of endless, lifeless existence... She wouldn't be afraid. No, she wouldn't be afraid... Those memories the queen was taking weren't really being taken. They still existed elsewhere. They would always exist.
She would always exist.
She closed her eyes and thought one last time--one last memory--of home--a place she had never truly seen, and a place she never would.
As she focused on that old cottage, she smiled, and in her mind's eye she watched it fade into white, as if being bathed in a brilliant dawn.
Brilliant...
[Eskimo]
Anxious Cat
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medigel
Anxious Spirit
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Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2014 5:46 pm
[ shik 1 ]
The land was bizarre, but at least he had a target at last. His problem, however, was that he was growing increasingly sluggish, and on top of that, it seemed impossible to get close enough to strike. killsteal growled as he lumbered towards the boss, but a mirror appeared before him: and there she was.
Being an idiot again.
He knew it was just a vision, just like those trances Medea had put over them before. Just one of many futures. But it rankled the gryphon's nerves that even in a different world she would stoop so low as to lie to him. Him.
And then out burst WarQueen like a god damn bat out of hell. He barely had time to duck before her weapon nearly cleaved him, on instinct returning fire with a swing of his own. "Watch it!" he hissed, baring his teeth in a grimace. It was odd not to be able to bleed here; he missed its comforting scent. "Gods damn it, Shaheen, you wouldn't actually--" He stared her down. Words were never his strong suit to begin with, not when it came to personal things.
And yet in the mirror behind her, he saw the results of that sacrifice. He was not merely chieftain, he was king. The horseman army was a true force to be reckoned with at last, and as they marched to Death's door, literally and figuratively, he touched the single feather hanging from his hair, slightly grayed, and murmured something. Her decision would not be in vain.
And if it wasn't, he would give as much hell as he could before joining her. There simply was no other option.
(She was probably watching now, languid, bored, smirking.)
("You take too ******** you too, he thought affectionately.
Mindlessly he threw his broken ax at the mirror, hitting some ghoul who seeemd more hair than skin, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. They were all disappearing one by one, until even he was consumed by Grief.
What was the point, he wondered for the first time. A fight was a fight, but this was no fight. There were no two combatants going at it. It was a colony of ants trying to decimate a rock. There were no weak points, no taunts to distract it, no source of power he knew how to destroy. It was a machine and he had never understood them. Perhaps it was superior after all.
But he wasn't dying a warrior's death at all. This was humiliating and an offense to all of his senses.
Though one by one those were leaving him too.
He was almost stone anyway by the time he was sure he would be in this stasis for life, or what was left of it. What an awful fate this sounded like: having all the time in the world but being unable to move, unable to talk, unable to see anything except his every regret. Things he had swept aside. People he thought could be thrown away. But then, who was he, anyway?
"I know."
It was his own voice, but it was not his. Something broke the monotony of sterile white Shik had come to hate since Legacy and the chase, a familiar silhouette: his own. Smirking, self-righteous, satisfied.
"You're ******** lucky is what."
Did he always have such a punchable face? He was starting to see the appeal.
The stone-limb effect wasn't as bad anymore, though he regretted having thrown his weapon away. No matter. He still had claws and horns, and he had defeated a copy before--and a white-coat failure at that. This game had nothing on him, nothing.
He was quick to believe he had control simply because he could move again. Because they allowed him to.
"Ready to die?" his clone asked casually, stalking forward with a scimitar. "You won't permanently, of course, but I have to rip a few more things out of you, and it won't be easy." He sounded particularly delighted about that part.
"You first," Shik growled, flexing his fingers. "I have no intentions of dying. Not here, not ever, and hardly for a royal b***h." It was a puppet, no matter what face it bore. He flashbacked to the room of clones, the tablet with his name on it, and it fueled his rage.
"Your words are empty, but your future won't be thanks to me," the copy retorted with a smug look. "What other hands would you put your fate in?"
"Mine!" Shik lunged forward with a roar, arms outstretched to take him down.
An animal backed into a corner would always fight.
And, in true executioner fashion, one strike was all it took.
But it would not always win.
Seussi
Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2014 5:47 pm
[shikkillsteal 2 ]
It was a shame they didn't get a real fight, killsteal thought, as memories like blood flowed from his original and into him. This one had spirit. Or perhaps brash idiocy, given how impulsive the horseman appeared in his memories. It was astounding how in the right he felt about his every action and how little remorse he usually held--then again, this had been conditioned into him as a foal.
There was hunger lingering between these thoughts. He sifted through various fantasies of consuming flesh with raised brows and licked lips, several tasks of which allowed him to sate that bothersome curiosity. Humans. And soon, Hunters--white coats, he called them, how quaint--would be added to the menu.
He remembered the taste of meat shared among War-Brothers and -Sisters, the warmth of a bonfire as they celebrated their success. He remembered the music this one would sometimes play, through various flutes and ocarinas, when he needed to be calm. He remembered the terrified and bold and angry faces of his prey as he shredded and was countered, the taste of his own blood, the exhiliration combat gave him. He remembered eyes, golden and fierce, two-toned and maternal, gray and mirthful, dark and serious. He remembered the stupid damn shack Shikoba had originally holed up in, useless in inclement weather and yet a source of pride; he had survived, he had survived. He remembered the renovations with Shaheen's arrival, the pelts and bones, the rare dashes of decoration, the touch of feathers and the smell of trees.
He remembered the anguish of the Lost when their home was taken from them. And he remembered the vow he had made to seek vengeance beyond simply rebuilding.
These and more began to sink into the hole of his consciousness as he entered the cage, the ax loose in his hand. This was one fight he would participate that his original would not, however--wasn't that a one-up? Although under Shikoba's rules, this would be considered a loss.
Peh. He would be the one necessary loss, then. The one failure that, in turn, became a necessary success.
medigel
Anxious Spirit
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Smerdle
Scamp
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Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2014 5:51 pm
POST ONE - WEST
Having had only minor experience with paralysis and never having thought of what it would be like beyond that, West had no real reason to fear it, so when the mirrors shattered around him and his muscles finally creaked to a halt, he was mostly just annoyed. He listened to Grief because he had to, and when the doors opened and the replicas came, he was only relieved because they brought a reprieve from pale thorns and speechifying. At least he now knew definitively that paralysis in and of itself was nothing to worry about as long as you were surrounded by some form of entertainment.
"I know everything," the copy said. "All your memories, everything you've gained in this dream. I am your container."
"Yeah. Okay."
The replica looked confused.
"You sound nothin' like me. And y'smile way too much. No one who counts'll believe you're me."
"You're not afraid?"
"I'm never afraid," he lied. "Right now I'm just pissed 'cause it looks like I can't even have a dream without some a*****e showin' up and makin' me run 'round fer ages an' then killin' me."
"Thank... you?"
"I would def'nitely never say that."
The replica held up his own pair of trap shears.
"Y'know... you don't have t'do everythin' she says. I wouldn't."
"Goodbye."
West didn't want to die. It was easy to show bravado here in this bright candy-colored world, but now that he had the pointy end of a giant pair of scissors sliding into his chest, all he really wanted to do was wake the ******** up already, just like he had every other time.
He had better wake up.
If he didn't, Levi was going to be so pissed at him.
Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2014 5:52 pm
POST TWO - PUNCHY McSHUTUP
The first emotion he knew was anger.
Punchy didn't like the way the boil dying in front of him had spoke or sneered or rolled his eyes. He didn't like that he had been made from pieces of this... West. Surely he was defective as a result.
He was glad when the press of the white queen's cage ended his life. And, fine, maybe part of that happiness stemmed from the fact that his sacrifice would keep the demon alive. He had only been alive himself for a matter of minutes and he could already tell that being so pointlessly passionate was more than he'd sign up for voluntarily.
Punchy slipped into death just as he had come into this world—with a smile on his face.
Smerdle
Scamp
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Smerdle
Scamp
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Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2014 5:53 pm
POST ONE - BRENLEY
Memories—his own and other people's—buffeted his brain, sending him into shock. He fell to the ground, lying there motionless as the mirrors collapsed and the thorns closed in, regretting his journey here, even though he'd been forced to come. At least one good thing had come of all this. He would never again have to look Piper in the eye after all she'd seen of his mind.
He felt genuine fright as his doppelganger leaned over him.
"Thank you."
He would have reflexively said, "You're welcome," but he found he couldn't speak. It was probably for the best.
"I am to replace you. I hope I do a good job."
He was suddenly sure the puppet would. Even his mother wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
"Goodbye."
As his lovely Cheshire coat caught fire, Bren wished he could scream.
Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2014 5:54 pm
POST TWO - BIGIDEAS
It was uncomfortable, this "killing your creator" thing. Big watched himself burn with an intense curiosity, the same sort that he was certain Brenley would have felt.
The boil was right. No one would miss him.
But that didn't mean he didn't deserve to live, to become someone people would miss. It didn't mean Big should take over, no matter how much he wanted to.
He slipped away without a fight. For the first time in Bren's life, as well as Big's own, he wanted to put up one.
Her mind was still reeling from the vision, brushing away the frantic apologizes of the hunter with a brief wave and a quick "it's fine." Pokerus was sure he wouldn't be apologizing if he knew just who she was. She would have to recover quick as she heard the sound of countless mirrors shattering, and saw the white queen was fading away. Good, awesome, they could get the ******** now, she had enough adventuring, now she wanted to go home and rest.
But she wouldn't be doing that. Instead of disappearing the white queen began to pull her closer to it, vines shooting out and trapping her in their grip.
"What the- LET GO DAMMIT!" She roared, swinging her lance at the developing cage and when that didn't work she bit, scratched, and tore at it instead. But nothing would break this cage no matter how much she fought against it. But as she smashed her head against the cage she could feel parts of her crumbling away. "Jack damn it!" She shouted again, the grief of the white queen beginning to overwhelm her. For a brief moment she wondered if Wilson had any power in this realm as the previous white king, but her thoughts and memories were being stripped away, and her struggles lessened until she could barely feel who she was anymore.
Crash!
The cage around her broke, and all sense of herself was returned. With her strength at it's peak she spun around, ready to deck the stupid b***h a few times.
A hand from behind was then placed on her shoulder. "Hold on, let me have a go at her."
....She knew that voice. And turning around, her suspicions were confirmed. She was staring at herself.
"...." There was a slow, measured blink, before a long drawn out sight. " So are we doing the hole 'face your copy' thing again?
"Sorta, but I'm not here to pick a fight. At least with you anyway." She grinned.
The original chuckled. "Good. You are like the...fourth, fifth version of myself I've had the pleasure to talk to? I must be going insane, I already have two 'me's sitting in my head."
"I know." She tapped her head. "I've got all your memories."
"Up till now? Well I guess that saves us some trouble. Now there's double the Pokerus, double the power. We'll be able to take her down" She laughed.
Her copy did, but then stopped. "Sounds fun...but we can't do that."
"Why's -!" She turned to say, but she found she had a lance sticking through her chest. "You need to go home, that's why."
Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2014 6:01 pm
[ Post 2 - Replica ]
The grisly deed had been done. Or as grisly as a painless death that actually wasn't a death could be. The replica sighed, watching the original fade away as she heard the closing of the door that was the only way in or out. She was trapped here, and she would die here without even lifting a finger.
How long had she existed? There was no way to tell time here, but she felt it was long enough to start liking the idea of existing. She had been given these memories, and she reviewed them as if she were watching a movie. The various scuffles and fights her original had gotten into, her bravado and fearlessness as she charged in without a concern for her own welfare. She had lead a interesting life, and it was a shame she herself could not live some of it.
The replica frowned as the queen began to renew the cage that had been broken, the vines surrounding her and cutting off any means of escape. The grief that made up this entity pieced her being, and she lamented at how unfair it was. Why did she have to die? She wanted to fight, to exist and to experience more then this brief feeling of life. But soon the cage was complete, she was drawn to the white queen and the memories that had been given to her were being stripped away.
The last thing she did, before her existence had been wiped out and her mission completed, was to show the white queen her middle finger in one last act of rude defiance.
Hey, she had to do something before her existence was taken away. It felt good, and at the very least he knew that while she would be gone, her original would still be there. Fighting onwards.
It never failed. En masse, he and himself were trapped within the cage they had fought against. Otto fought against it with all his will, feeling how futile his fight was the more he tried. He was trapped, and he was fading. He was at the mercy of a greater power. The story f his life.
He didn't want to give in. He didn't want to stay.
He didn't want to fight anymore.
A great darkness washed over him as bits and pieces were taken from him. His instincts of survival and self preservation. He was just too drained. Too tired. He felt everything about himself fade and cease to exist. And as his eyes went dark, he felt that it was probably for the best. Maybe this ought to be where he died.
But then it shattered.
He was almost angry. He was tired of travelling back and forth from the brink of death. His mind felt a whirlwind of confusion. Disoriented, he watched events unfold. Figures appeared from the door. He knew them, as they all mirrored the appearance of the players in this world. Just what game were they being played in now?
One of them approached, and stood before him. It looked just like him. Even got kind of uncomfortable being stared at, much like him.
They eyed each other wearily for a while longer, the real Otto untrusting while the other felt uncomfortable and impatient. "I know." He said finally to the real Otto. "I know everything you do."
"Why?" Otto sniped back quickly,
"I'm your container." He didn't have a chance to ask more questions. The other self took up the trident Otto had once brandished and aimed it at him.
"Thanks… this is goodbye."
He felt no pain as the weapon cut through his false body. He wasn't confused anymore, and no longer attached to the form he'd been given.
MY STATS
My character's username: Gravity My character's level: 28 Character's HP: Character's Job Class: White Rabbit Herald Current party: Current Guild: Vicious Rabbit Location: Small IC description of character:Visual Character journal:HERE
Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2014 6:13 pm
[[I Am The Replica]]
He was to be the sacrifice. New memories at his arsenal, he was created for this moment. Born for it. It was his purpose and it was out of his hands. This would be his end, even though he felt he'd only just started this life. If it could be called a life.
Created in Otto's image and mind, he would be used in that boy's place here to be sacrificed. The original was the important one. Not him. He, here, was to be used and thrown away. Disposable, but required.
As the world grew dark, and his cage grew small, this replica would endure what his original had been about to go though. To be rendered obsolete. Deleted from existence. Snuffed out and every other word or phrase to describe his end.
He was sad as he faded. Empty and alone. Not unlike the feelings his original seemed to be feeling more often in his latter days of late. Fate had it's claws on his soul, and the ability to fight back was squashed at every turn.
He faded. He was gone. All that would be left or felt before his end was grief.
MY STATS
My character's username: Gravity My character's level: 28 Character's HP: Character's Job Class: White Rabbit Herald Current party: Current Guild: Vicious Rabbit Location: Small IC description of character:Visual Character journal:HERE
She had closed her eyes, prepared to wait out the end alongside the fallen shell that had once contained Pachua's consciousness. She was uncertain as to how her own end would come about, if her own consciousness would be released upon the total petrification of her body or if she would be trapped within it eternally. Should she open her eyes so she could still see everything were that the case? Or should she keep them closed and see it as an eternal sleep?
Another dream...
Click.
At the sound she felt Pachua, Ouroboros-tea, stirring. He rose to life again and she felt the corners of her lips curve into a smile, light filling her eyes even as she remained seated on the ground, her own body still too heavy to move. It was enough knowing that he hadn't died, that...
"This is the end of your legacy." The thought was drawn from her as Grief began to speak, a panicked look replacing any joy that she might have had; any hope for the future of her friend that she might have. Her eyes drifted down to her fingers closed around the handle of her blade, ready to fight, ready to defend...
But she was fading. As a Cheshire Cat she had always been able to phase in and out, upon achieving the rank of Wraith the phase had been a bit more erratic, but this... This was something new. She was losing parts of herself. She was... She was...
"I will take your essence, your memories and make them mine. You will stay. I will stay."
"No!" She croaked, frightened. She had lost memories before. She didn't want to lose them again, refused to lose who she was again. This wasn't... This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
Snap
The cage shattered, splintering into white fragments again. Something had happened. A door had appeared and from that door flooded... An army? Reinforcements? Had someone come to save them?
No. Replace them.
A perfect replica of herself took her by the wrists, drawing her to her feet. "You don't have to speak. I know everything," The replica spoken in a tone that was all too familiar. "All your memories, everything you've gained in this dream. I am your container."
Her lips parted, confusion evident on her face. Her replica paid no mind to it, instead making sure that she was armed with a blade in each hand. "It's the least I can do to thank you..." The harpy ghoul in Cheshire Cat form murmured before drawing its own, her own, dual blades. "... Goodbye."
At first she didn't know what was happening, why she had been brought to her feet and armed... And then it all came crashing down. She knew. It all made sense as the blades slashed her apart before she had a moment to defend. The clone, her replica, knew her well enough to know that the last thing she would want was to go down without a fight; without a chance.
Her blades fell from her hands as she fell to the floor. There was no pain. There was no suffering. There was only gratitude. Thank you...
Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2014 6:16 pm
[ Death Solo - Replica - CorvidaeCat ]
She drew her blades out of the lifeless marionette; the shell left behind by the young harpy that had given so much of herself into her own creation. It was something that she admired about the ghoul who had bestowed memories upon her; she didn't do anything half way. All or nothing. Won't go down without a fight...
It filled her with a brief sadness that she could not do the same for she had been created with a purpose and that purpose was at hand.
With her original now safe she turned to face Grief, standing tall and proud. If she couldn't fight it she would at least look it in the eye and she would do it alone, just to prove that she could...
Except she didn't have to.
Her eyes widened slightly and she felt a slight twinge of color touch her pale cheeks as she felt fingers twine with her own. Ouroboros-tea. While she recalled the ghoul's memories of things present and past, she had not expected the actions of the Doormouse, having summed a good bit of it up in her own reflections as a magpie enchanted by pretty things. The gesture made it seem like more than that. It brought a soft smile to her lips as she returned the squeeze, maybe just a bit tighter to feel it for just a bit longer as they began to fade.
"This is the end of your legacy."
The beginning, the end... She closed her eyes, sending positive thoughts after the harpy that she had sent away. I hope you know this peace. I hope you know this contentment. I hope you know... I hope you know that I have had no regrets.
Like any good game, they let her wake up to watch the final cut scene.
It is terrible, and great, and beautiful in an awful way, to watch the Queen move and exude her air of unfathomable being, a being which begins to fade after only a few moments more. Thoroughly distracted, Abbi let herself down into the cage that formed around her with a sigh, much too tired to bother fighting. When she was told to stay, she let her eyes close. If she is still and quiet, this too will pass.
There is a snap, a clatter of uncertain feet against the ground and then a small giggle. Rise and shine, Princess! Princess? Unused to the name, Abbi opens her eyes to find her image reflected above her, only this one is standing and wears no Dormouse costume. O-K, so the greeting's a little rough, but no time to dilly dally! We gotta go, so c'mon, c'mon! The Dormouse frowned as she pushed herself to sitting upright, turning the pout to her counterpart. What's going on? She was... Dead? Nah, just... Momentarily KO'd. Phoenix Downs, Revive, whatever you wanna call it. Anyways. The Other Her popped her hip out as she stuck a hand onto it and gestured with its sister. I know everything! About... Well, Everything! You, your memories, this game, all of it! I'm a container! She sounded awfully chipper about it... Well, you said you wanted something happy...
That strikes Abbi harshly and despite the blow she finds herself smiling. Yeah, she did say that. Then c'mon! The Replica tells her with another giggle, bunny hopping forward once to bend at the middle and make grabby hands at herself. You still got a really cool cut scene to get through, so no more time for lolly gaggin'! With the help of herself, the Dormouse stood, careful to hold onto her own hand for a little longer. It is odd to find comfort in herself, or a version of herself since she is honestly still a little hazy on the details, but there is no shame in it. Rather, there is an inkling of a promise, as though when this is all over there will still be this feeling to return to, to expound upon in the future if she wishes. It'll be fine, pinkie promise. Their pinkies wrapped and the two girls shared a smile. It is a perfect mirror image, one last clear reflection before the illusion is shattered. An axe comes between them, a weapon familiar but out of place enough that somewhere, very far away, a voice tch's at Abbi is bemused disdain. Thank you... They say at the same time, but it doesn't hurt this time.
My character's username: Unmentionable_Tamer
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