crystal | to the dogs or whoever.

[poleaxed]

FORM: voice / crystal
SENDER: Jone of Denerim
RECIPIENT: Everybody who wants to deal with this bullshit
NOTES: Swearing, possibly actual violence.

I seen what happens to folk with no hope left, or no money, or no food, and how it changes a lad. I seen how it makes them weary and easy bait for sharks and conmen and the worse sort of evil that simple humans bring. Slavers and turncoats have their reasons, but they made the choice. They don't deserve sympathy.

I also have dreams, fearful things and not, about folk betraying or hurting me. And if I woke from that dream with the thought, I better get meself some revenge on those cunts, I'd be even more a bell end than I already am.

But I understand some of you lot want revenge for your dreams. And if you daft cunts really need it, have it out. I killed more than I can proper remember in that bloody dream, and I enjoyed it. I was a monster in both, because I'm always the monster, but I'm sure you lot will only care for the one where I betrayed you, and I did. And I had fun with it.

For every one of you wants revenge on some bugger had the poor luck to end up in a dream where they hurt you, come at me. You lot get one hit each, open or closed hand, I don't care where. No weapons or gauntlets. I'll be in the training yard, easy as fuck to find: I'm the six foot bitch with red hair.

And if that don't satisfy you, will killing a fool really do it? Will rounding 'em up? Shunning 'em? Seeing as they ain't done you no harm but a nightmare.

And, Si? A word, mate.

Comments

[elegiaque]

I feel as if I missed a very important entire half of this nightmare bullshit.

[poleaxed]

Blimey, you talk now?

[thereneverwas]

No need for all that, mate. For my part, I'm bloody relieved.

[poleaxed]

Well, you're the forgiving type, I reckon.

I'd like to say I'm sorry for what I did, but I ain't, seeing as it weren't bloody real.

[acreage]

[ checking recent goings-on on the crystals and then brewing himself a stronger fucking cup of coffee, jesus christ. ]

Any one of us could've ended up anywhere, [ he sighs. sure, the herald didn't place them, but she essentially dropped them into the nightmare and watched what happened. ] I didn't like the spirit fucking with our heads any more than anyone else. But we've got bigger problems to be worrying about instead of wasting time pointing fingers at our own allies.

[poleaxed]

S'what I'm trying to say, mate. If you've a finger to point, get it over with and get on with life. I hear it's for the living.

[pittance]

When did you a get a fuckin' owl?

[poleaxed]

How should I bloody know? None of that made sense.

For the record, luv, if any of that bollocks were real, I'd regret killing you the most.

[glandival]

[ Suddenly, sharp over crystals— ]

You were supposed to run away while I was the distraction!

summoned

[nonvenomous]

[ For those attuned to such things, there is a conspicuous shortage of times Dick Dickerson has engaged in public conversation or acknowledged a summons via crystal.

He wouldn’t expect Jone to be. Attuned.

So there is no shade to his turning up in person, one of -- if not the earliest -- physical responder to her invitation. There’s nothing especially elegant about his arrival either: an odd fit for the training yard on the best of days, and seldom seen here. He is bathed and dressed after the fashion of someone in the throes of a hangover after a five year bender, dark coat and scarf and boots present but not tidy, lapels off tilt. Even the faint, sour stink of vomit is there, complimented by trace notes of hair of the dog.

He is only missing McDonalds coffee and a pair of oversized dark sunglasses.

Those things, and his magical owl. ]

what a doll.

[poleaxed]

[Jone is expecting combatants, and finds a familiar scarecrow instead. She considers tapping her cheek, an invitation to punch or kiss, but it feels wrong-footed in a way she can't quite express. How much of that was real, or fake, and... well, that's what she wants to find out.]

[So she whistles instead.] I was going to ask how you were feeling.

[noonrodeon]

There's ale in the dining hall when you're finished.

[poleaxed]

Ain't you a gent.

[justashotaway]

I only punch people who fight back.

[poleaxed]

Well, you're shit outta luck, then.

[glandival]

Huh.

[ Connecting voice to Riftwatch presence. ]

Do you remember me? Of all of the killing you did.

[poleaxed]

[Yes, immediately, and yet it doesn't seem fair to tell that truth. It doesn't seem fair to imply she felt anything about those killings, even if she can remember... some of them.]

...Maybe if I saw you? Look, luv, killing is what I do. My fuckup was doing it for the wrong side in a dream. If you wanna finish that loop, you know where I am.

[rowancrowned]

My lady, ( warmly, because he does remember that she'd waved the point end of her weapon at the things that were trying to hurt gwenaëlle, ) we can hardly demanding an accounting when we did not do so the first time this happened. We failed to set the precedent.

Did you offend that many?

[poleaxed]

Offending many is... kind of my thing.

[altusimperius]

...sorry.

[poleaxed]

Don't be. I were begging to get topped off at that point. But one day I'll teach you how to go about it better, eh?

[okayimin]

Do not break anything.

[poleaxed]

That ain't for me to decide.

[muckspout]

Don't feel so great about people who did stuff in the dreams getting beaten up. Might start a habit.

[poleaxed]

If any cunt tries going after you, tell me. I'll fix it.

[heorte]

Generous of you.

[poleaxed]

Could you praise me a mite louder? Deaf in this ear.

[unshut]

Surely even Fereldans don't have more than two eyes to black.

[poleaxed]

I've ears to box and a nose to break, lips to split. Believe me, ma'am, I'm a professional.

[highborn]

How altruistic. Do you happen to be very good friends with everyone who was going about betraying and such?

[poleaxed]

[In a tone more nasal than the original message, as though someone is pinching hers-- as though someone was punched in hers--] More less, yeah. What's it to you? Want to take a swing?