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.
no subject
When she'd been brainwashed, she had moments where it felt as if she could stop herself if she tried hard enough, moments where she blacked out and would come to with no idea how she got there. At least when she'd been a Guardian she could keep track of herself. Any blackouts she had signaled the end of her duty and coming out was the start, even if she could not control her body.
And now she turns at the call of that name and sees Lancelot in a suit, no armor or weapons, the same as she is in the outfit her other self had loaned her, no weapons in hand. She's still exhausted from all that had happened to her, mentally and physically, but she had allowed herself her day of rest. She could allow herself no more and had to see how those she looked after were doing.
That included Lancelot, her former knight, her former friend. She had no idea where they stood now, beyond her hoping he did not hate her for what she had done to her Kingdom.]
Hello, Lancelot. I see you're well.
no subject
[Neither of the two Arthurs in this place are the Arthur he has seen in his War for the Grail. The one in mail, he hardly knows as Arthur at all, so far has she Fallen. This one-- perhaps he should call her Arturia, so as to differentiate her. Perhaps also as she might wish it. Perhaps also because she is not his King, nor does she wish to be.
It is simply reflex (and perhaps a stubborn and pointed insistence) that leads him to use the name he knew Her by.]
I am pleased to see you restored to yourself-- though I am sorry for what you have suffered.
no subject
[She approaches him then, forcing down the memories her 'punishment' had brought forth of her time before the Tower.]
I am just glad you are well. I feared you would think I had done it of my own will.
[Arturia does not question his use of Arthur. It pleases her, somewhat, that he does right now. Lancelot's presence is a comfort to her at this time in this place. As much as had happened between the Lancelot she had known and herself--and even this Lancelot and herself--the familiarity of his presence from even before the Grail War puts her at ease. Here is someone she knows she can rely on, that she can trust, even if he believes he does not deserve it.
Even if she does not deserve the trust he puts into her.]
no subject
If that had been so, you would have faced me, Arthur. Not run me through the back.
I know you at least well enough for that.
[Somehow, the incident has cleared the air between them, if only a little-- it is still enough for going along with, and he cannot be sorry for it, if it has only cost him another Death.]
Your anger must be great, with those who have done this thing.
no subject
My anger was great even before this. [Especially with how much it struck a nerve.] One simply has to look through the archives of the network to see the atrocities the Administrators commit on us and believe we should allow it simply because we should be 'grateful' for being saved at all. It's disgusting.
[And she has never used that word lightly in the past to describe people's actions.]
no subject
That there are those who insist upon believing the lies of our captors, or in trusting proofs provided by them, beggars belief. I do not hold anything provided to me by such beings as Truth.
Anger, I do have, as you know well-- but even so I must look first to my Master's safety before I seek to satisfy it.
What course do you pursue, Arthur?
no subject
For some people, they have nothing else to cling to. For some, it is a relief to be free of their world. It matters not what the individual here believes about the Administrators' stories. The course I pursue is in finding out the truth of this Tower and, if the worlds are truly destroyed, finding a way to restore them.
no subject
But I will say that I find it unwise to trust in those who are Powerful, yet do senseless Harm with their Power.
The Truth of this Place interests me only insofar as it leads me to be able to free my Master and I to return to the War-- and for others to return, if the possibility exists. For I tell you Arthur, that I do wish to Break this place-- to its very foundations.