[F02-PP] Coruscating Winds of Change <<Feeding Your Enemy>>

[Freyd 0]

"Well, to be fair," he began, grateful for her tender touch, yet also impressed by the sheer wall of gathered goods arrayed against them, "my shop actually used to be my backyard, and surrounded by a zombie-infested wilderness.  It didn't feel right leaving all of this stuff stacked out in the open in Urbus, when I relocated.  And you wouldn't want to see everything else I already keep in my inventory."  Sheepishly scratching at his own bearded grimace, Freyd hesitated momentarily. 

"I might also have stirred the old Angel's Point mess on purpose, occasionally, just to drive Quip crazy and keep her on her toes - and occupied.  You've met her.  That woman's tongue could whiplash the most silver-tongued devil.  Distractions were always key to survival whenever she was within shouting distance. Plus, her brother, Dingo, has always been kinda useless." 

Stepping carefully into his workshop he gently tapped the familiar haft of her weapon.

"You might want to keep that stowed, or at least be careful what you poke at.  Most of the gear in here is still unidentified.  Who knows what you might unintentionally trigger.  Samael's Pride, your own weapon and many other pieces of current frontliner gear had their origins in this trove."  Gingerly straddling the first barricade, made mostly from stacked tunics, breastplates and vambraces, the entire space was brimming with so much stuff as to be virtually unnavigable. He just didn't want to poke his own bits by accident, if it could be helped.  Part of him envisioned them astride an icebreaker looking for some deep diving arctic kraken, just waiting to give them the full, frigid tentacle treatment.

"Yeah.  Okay.  I get your point."  There was simply no denying truth that required a full game of Twister just to walk through.  "It might be high time I actually sort and organize all of this.  Just don't tell our friendly neighbourhood Scottish typhoon that I said so, or she'll never let me live it down."

A rack full of loosely laid swords and polearms shifted and fell, clattering all over the surrounding goods - no chance it could ever find a square inch of reachable floor in this place.  Something gave a high pitch squeak and darted away from the noise.  Freyd swore it looked like one of those old WWI German helmets with the spike on top, forgetting where he might have gotten such a thing.  Diving for the nearest cavernous dark, Freyd slipped through shadows in full Scrooge MacDuck style, only to reappear directly in its path.  

"What the--!?"

Wait is that... and is it.. frolicking?!

He really hadn't expected the helmet's base to suddenly gleefully open to reveal a wide slurping maw full of tentacles and teeth that instantly leapt to latch itself onto his face.

"Mhdhsjhskg.... get it off!  IT'S CUDDLING ME!!!"

Edited yesterday at 12:51 AM by Freyd

[Elora 0]

That was easier than I expected., she mused, admiring Freyd's own conviction and willingness to change. Or, at the very least, to consider the prospect of undertaking such a monumental endeavor. Fashioning her spear into a sort of walking stick, Elora slinked behind her trailblazing partner. Their 'path' ahead, however, appeared more obscure than the majority of Aincradian forests she'd ever had the displeasure of bushwhacking through. Clutching the weapon even closer to her chest, she did her best to squeeze between towering stacks, maneuver around strewn piles of potions and armored plating. All the while, she went against Freyd's instruction, sending cautious taps from the pointed blade or its hefty hilt to test the integrity of anything she dared traverse.

By the time they'd trudged only a few meters in, items had begun to slide and fall from their perches atop many others. It was as if journeying through the junk was like entering a living organism, one whose sensory network sent distress signals to every other corner of the room. An unexpected squeal diverted her attention from exploring the metaphor any further. 

"What was --", she exclaimed just as Freyd had done the same. Before she could even ask, whatever poltergeist they'd been chasing had lurched into the air. Like a sticky hand slapped onto the underside of a ceiling, the creature suctioned around Freyd's face, reducing his screams to a horrific muffle. Elora immediately brandished her spear, her mind, blessedly, sparing the seconds necessary to refrain from severing her boyfriend's head from the rest of his body.

"WHAAA --! F-FREYD, HOLD ON! DON'T PANIC --!!", she cried out, her brain in limbo between several different responses. "W-WHAT DO I DO?! STAY STILL FOR A SECOND!", she demanded as limbs erratically swayed and slammed into their surrounding objects. As if by some hilarious and cartoonish law of nature, the piles around them began to shake. Elora watched in disbelief as mounds of the horde began to teeter and cascade into one another like calico dominos in the distance. Shaking hands tried and failed to aim between the slim hit box of the the insidious abomination and her lover's countenance.

With no other means to save him, she cast her polearm to the current of clutter and dove into the fray.