Counter Guardian Arturia @ Tower of Animus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
no_longer_a_king) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-04-17 07:47 pm
no_longer_a_king) wrote in towerofanimus2013-04-17 07:47 pm
ITP: 'Tis only a flesh wound
Characters: Saber Lily; open
Setting: All throughout the tower.
Format: Prose. Will follow what you reply with.
Summary: Arturia is in D Group and being made to do things while screaming in her head the entire time. It's almost like being a Counter Guardian again.
Warnings: Brainwashing, violence character death, and so on.
Note: If you want your character to die please let me know in the subject header of your first comment.
[A: Various ]
Her body ached. Arturia had dealt with worse pain in her life: broken bones, stabbings, near disembowelment, the very surreal experience of Excalibur being stabbed through her own gut, the general exhaustion after a long war. This was different. This was her very skin being tugged on, pulled at, as if it were several sizes too small.
Which was true. She had armor grafted to her skin, black as Lancelot's had been in the war, and a sword sheathed at her side that was not Caliburn. The sensation was like her skin should rip itself off at any moment, but simply did not have the space to thanks to the armor holding it together. Painful, yes, but not the worst pain she had experienced. That part she could deal with. It was the fact she could not control her body at all that unsettled her.
Despite whatever Jason had done to her to make her body walk these halls her mind was still hers. For that she was grateful. At least she could still think, much as she despised the current situation. This hit too close to home, too close to those memories of screaming and ohgodmakeitstop in the back of her mind. If she'd been able to, she would have screamed when the first thing she'd done upon awakening had been to throw the piece of the Round Table she'd been given into the incinerator. Her one reminder, her one clue that she still existed somehow in her world was gone now. Was this why it'd been given to her in the first place? If so, then damn Jason. Damn him to hell.
What would be a true test would be if she came across someone else. If she were made to attack them, if she were once again little more than a killing machine with no will of her own, then this would truly be hell. Hopefully she could hold herself back long enough to keep from hurting anyone.
Spoilers: she won't
[B: Dormitories]
When she next came to, she was at the foot of someone's bed. Arturia started at the realization but found she could not move her feet. It was troubling, bringing up far too many memories of her time before the Tower, but at least she was not being forced to attack. At least she was not being forced to do anything she did not want to do.
Watching over someone at their bedside while they slept was fine. She found she could make tiny shifts in her stance to try to relieve the constant tug and pull of the metal grafted to her. It wasn't much, but at least she had some form of freedom. That might change when the person awoke, but for now she enjoyed the small reprieve she had from what had been done to her.
[Addendum: 4/21/2013. Event fallout to avoid spamming the main comm.]
[C: Dorm Hall, by the terminal]
For once, Arturia wanted to simply sleep, to lay still after being forced to move for so long against her will. Her body ached from the surgery, phantoms of pain lacing through her skin from where it had pulled. She never thought she would feel grateful for the lightness of the dress she'd been forced to wear, but after having that armor grafted to her skin.
But she at least had to check on the state of the Tower after so much chaos. The best way to do that was the Network. So Arturia heaved herself out of bed, did not bother to put on her shoes or do more to her hair than run a comb through it, and headed into the hall. The terminals were located at the end of the hallway. It wouldn't hurt to check.
....naturally, it turned out there was yet more sinister things going on with Jason's experiment. Arturia sighed wearily, her mind tired. Of course nothing would be that easy. Once she had a chance she would need to ask the others if the information they found down below had been compromised. No sense letting the resistance be discovered. She conversed with a few people for a moment, not quite wanting to move yet and enjoying her freedom yet again. When she finished she turned around to find someone a few feet away from her.
"I'm sorry. Do you wish to use the terminal?" Arturia really did enjoy being able to talk again, even if she sounded as weary as she felt.
[D: Dorm 3-17]
And then she spent the day languishing in bed, for once simply wishing to rest. She could check up on the others tomorrow, after she didn't feel ready to fall over. The only time she got up was when someone inevitably knocked on her door and she forced herself up to get it.
"Yes?"
[E: Various; Shortest prompts ever.]
And now that she had had her moment of rest, she dressed properly, put her hair in its now-customary tail, and began to walk the Tower to ensure those she cared about were safe.
Setting: All throughout the tower.
Format: Prose. Will follow what you reply with.
Summary: Arturia is in D Group and being made to do things while screaming in her head the entire time. It's almost like being a Counter Guardian again.
Warnings: Brainwashing, violence character death, and so on.
Note: If you want your character to die please let me know in the subject header of your first comment.
[A: Various ]
Her body ached. Arturia had dealt with worse pain in her life: broken bones, stabbings, near disembowelment, the very surreal experience of Excalibur being stabbed through her own gut, the general exhaustion after a long war. This was different. This was her very skin being tugged on, pulled at, as if it were several sizes too small.
Which was true. She had armor grafted to her skin, black as Lancelot's had been in the war, and a sword sheathed at her side that was not Caliburn. The sensation was like her skin should rip itself off at any moment, but simply did not have the space to thanks to the armor holding it together. Painful, yes, but not the worst pain she had experienced. That part she could deal with. It was the fact she could not control her body at all that unsettled her.
Despite whatever Jason had done to her to make her body walk these halls her mind was still hers. For that she was grateful. At least she could still think, much as she despised the current situation. This hit too close to home, too close to those memories of screaming and ohgodmakeitstop in the back of her mind. If she'd been able to, she would have screamed when the first thing she'd done upon awakening had been to throw the piece of the Round Table she'd been given into the incinerator. Her one reminder, her one clue that she still existed somehow in her world was gone now. Was this why it'd been given to her in the first place? If so, then damn Jason. Damn him to hell.
What would be a true test would be if she came across someone else. If she were made to attack them, if she were once again little more than a killing machine with no will of her own, then this would truly be hell. Hopefully she could hold herself back long enough to keep from hurting anyone.
[B: Dormitories]
When she next came to, she was at the foot of someone's bed. Arturia started at the realization but found she could not move her feet. It was troubling, bringing up far too many memories of her time before the Tower, but at least she was not being forced to attack. At least she was not being forced to do anything she did not want to do.
Watching over someone at their bedside while they slept was fine. She found she could make tiny shifts in her stance to try to relieve the constant tug and pull of the metal grafted to her. It wasn't much, but at least she had some form of freedom. That might change when the person awoke, but for now she enjoyed the small reprieve she had from what had been done to her.
[Addendum: 4/21/2013. Event fallout to avoid spamming the main comm.]
[C: Dorm Hall, by the terminal]
For once, Arturia wanted to simply sleep, to lay still after being forced to move for so long against her will. Her body ached from the surgery, phantoms of pain lacing through her skin from where it had pulled. She never thought she would feel grateful for the lightness of the dress she'd been forced to wear, but after having that armor grafted to her skin.
But she at least had to check on the state of the Tower after so much chaos. The best way to do that was the Network. So Arturia heaved herself out of bed, did not bother to put on her shoes or do more to her hair than run a comb through it, and headed into the hall. The terminals were located at the end of the hallway. It wouldn't hurt to check.
....naturally, it turned out there was yet more sinister things going on with Jason's experiment. Arturia sighed wearily, her mind tired. Of course nothing would be that easy. Once she had a chance she would need to ask the others if the information they found down below had been compromised. No sense letting the resistance be discovered. She conversed with a few people for a moment, not quite wanting to move yet and enjoying her freedom yet again. When she finished she turned around to find someone a few feet away from her.
"I'm sorry. Do you wish to use the terminal?" Arturia really did enjoy being able to talk again, even if she sounded as weary as she felt.
[D: Dorm 3-17]
And then she spent the day languishing in bed, for once simply wishing to rest. She could check up on the others tomorrow, after she didn't feel ready to fall over. The only time she got up was when someone inevitably knocked on her door and she forced herself up to get it.
"Yes?"
[E: Various; Shortest prompts ever.]
And now that she had had her moment of rest, she dressed properly, put her hair in its now-customary tail, and began to walk the Tower to ensure those she cared about were safe.
Yeeep~!
But she has wielded a sword practically from the cradle, trained with the blade almost every day since she could hold one. Even after she became proficient in the use of magic through prana burst, she had trained and trained and trained. That was how she could keep driving the sword though she was powerless, that was how she could remain standing even as Lancelot began to fall.
He says her name--not her true name. The name that had been intended for her at birth until they saw she was not the boy that had been wanted. The name Lancelot had called her despite her saying it was all right to call her Arturia in private or with Guinevere. It's like a stab to the heart to hear it that way, yet she cannot stop as his body begins to fall. Even worse, her body began to pull the blade out. It was not quick, not with the bulk of bone and muscle and organ and metal she had to work through. She could only pray he would not be in agony for too long, even as she was forced to look down on him impassively as he bled from the hole she had given him clean through his gut.]
Exeunt, Sir Lancelot
Life is leaving him. Can it really be a death wound when he has been truly dead for more than an age? It feels enough like one, leaving him cold, all there is of warmth in him leaving with vaguely worrying swiftness.
Arthur's face. He cannot die in his blood, lying on his face, while Arthur looks on. That would not be fit, not when he has waited so very long to see her. He must see Arthur's face.
It is an effort to turn. His armor is heavy now, and he wishes that he could let it go. But he never can. Never can let it go, let the least thing go-- and Sir Lancelot would never think to crawl away.
Back, then.
But now Arthur is above him, as she should be-- though she looks all wrong to his eyes. The image swims, as if seen through a veil. A Black Veil, flowing between Lancelot and all things living-- smoke rising from dying fire, carrion crows descending upon a battlefield, dirt in bright hair, a torn banner waving, shredded shadows of low cloud moving over the downs, a black rain.
He cannot truly leave this place in Death. Still he asks the question, though he can no longer feel his lips to know if they move, though the thought likely goes unheard by any save his Master. Do you know me, Gwen-- do you know me?
If there is an answer, Lancelot, lying lifeless in a spreading pool of his own cooling blood, has passed beyond hearing it.]
Bravisima~~~
But inside she is that screaming sobbing broken no-longer-a-child on the Hill, surrounded by the bodies of the fallen, those she called friends who deserved better than this. Those who had families to go home to and what had they been fighting for all this time? What had been the point of it? Her dream? Her wish? Her deception?
Her ultimately destroying all she had built? A false King who betrayed everyone she held dear? Who murdered the person she swore to protect when offered the Grail at his hour of greatest need? When he saved her from a fate worse than death not even a day before?
Arturia fights when her feet start to move, steps coming in jerky motions as she turns. Is this truly her fate? To once again become a mindless killer no matter how she screams? To literally cut down everything she holds dear?
Somehow, as she turns the corner, she manages to turn her head, to let her eyes linger on Lancelot's cooling body, and then she's gone. Gone to perform other duties she knows nothing of, but her body does.
Inside her head she was screaming.]
(ooc: If you wanna pick this up post-event, just lemme know, okay? He'll be among the people she looks for.)