holyspirits | W2 PLAYER CYOA: Basilio, Koharu, Saber, Wiš'adel

[rage and a sense of vengeance, with a lingering feeling of-- something not being right. not in the sense of being unsettled, but that there's something about the world that needs to be corrected, that she needs to correct, it's just that she has no idea what it is. the violence that's always been a part of her, in her very blood.

right now she is, more than anything, a gun with nothing to aim at. a knife in need of something to cut. in either case: a weapon just as likely to turn on its wielder just for something to do, someone to hurt.]

[she is led back to the same room as before. the same woman is still in there. the situation is a little more permanent now; she has an altar, a round, flat, stone disc, that she's been chained to with chains made with magic. and she's been through it, beaten, hurt, tortured. by someone other than you. (or maybe it was you, and you don't remember? how would you know?) otherwise, same situation, same tools. same person in a hood and mask.

...not that wis'adel knows, because she doesn't remember that, either. she also does not know this person. there is not a flicker of recognition.]

You're still learning. But you need to make her scream. You need to hurt her.

[ah, the altar. a different wiš'adel, one who remembered, would be sickened and enraged by seeing it-- qalid'čoa impassively describing what happened. "the present of sarkaz needed her to die. the future of sarkaz needed her to live. she was a sacrifice to the myriad souls, to kazdel, to all the past and future sarkaz."

but she doesn't, now. she doesn't know her. she doesn't care. make her scream-- yeah, she'd like that. it won't sate her, but maybe it'll help take the edge off.

maybe it's something stuck under the surface that makes her choose this, something she remembers only subconsciously that leads her to sink the blade right into one of theresa's hands.]

[she screams!

but, and it's just so unfair, but as soon as she does, the wound on wis'adel's hand also flares with pain. the feeling of a knife going into theresa's hand triggers the same feeling in her.]

Why-

[she hisses in pain as she feels that stab, yanking the knife back out. the woman is screaming. that's what she was supposed to do, right? so why is she being hurt for this?

anger flares in her, and she drives the knife back in. again. try it again.]

[the pain doesn't recede, but it doesn't get worse, either. it continues to pulse, the same as it felt when she first received the wound.]

Well done. You can endure.

[approval! keep going, then?]

[endure. all right. fine. she'll show them just how much she can fucking endure.

wiš'adel twists the blade, this time, before pulling it free; she hilts it in theresa's shoulder next.]

Good, Griefblade. [oh... you got a name! yay! keep on going...]

[good, huh... well. at least it's something. it's somewhere to aim the blade that she is.

she doesn't have anything to grieve, without knowing anything about herself-- but she can make this woman regret whatever she's done to get here.

i'm just gonna tell you now that this will continue, regardless of any pain feedback she might get. she's good at this, at harming someone without letting them die.]

[good. we don't have to roleplay it all out, then. the woman will scream, try to remind wis'adel who she is, ask her to stop. but after she finishes her work, she will be led back to a barracks.

she was so enthusiastic that she's not locked in. and there is a guy waiting in there as well.]

Wow. It's one thing to comply, no one likes a beating, but you really do take it to another level.

Yeah, and?

[does she know this guy? even if she doesn't, she's finding somewhere to sit and kick her feet up. her hands still have blood on them.]

If you wanna be next, I can arrange that.

[she doesn't remember him, but he's acting like he knows her.]

No thanks. I always enjoy you the least on the first day after they erase your memories.

The first day? How much do they do this?

Why do you give a shit, anyway.

Theoretically, I think we're friends. [not that he expects her to admit that now, if ever.]

They do it to you a lot more than the rest of us. No idea why, since I cause trouble and you're always so happy to do what you're told.

Oh, can it. It's got nothing to do with being happy about it.

[but what else is she supposed to do? (if he's not full of shit, if they are friends of some sort, has she ever asked that question?)

her tail lashes, annoyed.]

No? That's a relief. I was starting to worry you were going to start liking it.

[he does talk shit with the cadence of someone who is like, used to talking shit with you.]

[she can fall into that, at least, even if she has no idea who the fuck he is.]

And what if I do?

[suddenly meaning it way too much: ]

Then I feel sorry for you.

[... it's uncomfortable. both the sentiment, and the shift in tone.]

Good thing I don't need anybody to feel sorry for me.

Good thing I said if. Like I said, it's one thing to comply, but I hope you don't actually become one of them.

I don't even know who they are! What the fuck do you want me to do, then?

[she already doesn't remember herself, or this guy. what does he expect? how is she supposed to know what to be, or not to be-- if they apparently do this to her a lot, then is there going to be a point she becomes one of them just because she doesn't know she shouldn't?

she almost asks, why shouldn't she... but as little as she trusts in general, she does feel more inclined to listen to him than to the woman who just told her to start torturing.]

[yes, and that's the problem, because no matter how many times you can have this conversation, they can take it away.]

People who want you to obey them, and tell you to hurt whoever they say you should hurt. That's who they are.

[the cost of saying no to it is high. it's not like that's the right answer. maybe the only way out is to do exactly as you're told, always, and live another day, while still holding on to the one piece of your heart that still wants to rebel.]

[ugh. she didn't want to have to actually ask this one, but--]

Fine, then who am I to you.

[how is she any different. why does it matter.]

Someone in this place still worth talking to, most of the time.

[but then there's the sound of footsteps in the hallway. it seems to jolt him, like he knows he shouldn't be here, talking.]

I'd probably better go.

...yeah, alright. Get out before they catch you doing something stupid.

[making shooing motions... go on, then, don't get in trouble.

and let her think about this in private.]

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