Open | My Oh My That Moon's A Fright

[stitch_witch]

WHO: Lark and You
WHERE: Temba Whale Comb Sent Her, Temba in general
WHAT: Storm affecting a mage by manifesting ghost-devils, and driving her magic wild
WHEN: During the storm
WARNINGS: First starter involves possible crushing/choking risks from magic gone wrong, or possible nudity (listen she's a thread mage), Second starter involves ghost-demons that will attempt to hunt people down.

I. Thread Magic Gone Wrong | CW: Magic might strangle/restrain/choke those approaching her wearing fabric, or may fall off a person completely

No amount of hiding from the storm could guarantee one would come out of it well. This was something Lark realized quite early on the first day. The fog was thick, almost magically so, not that she could sense it. Not that she could sense anything. All of her power had shuddered away from her when the fog had come, leaving Lark horribly nauseous and anxious. She had rarely felt so drained in her life, and she longed for the teas Rosethorn created that might soothe her.

Weak and tired as she was, Lark resolved she had to find something to soothe her belly. Mint collected from the greenhouse she thought as she looked out from the Whale Comb Sent Her and save the evening clear. The fog had retreated, and not thinking to look up, Lark resolved that she must seek supplies now if she was ever to find any. Tea leaves first, then perhaps she would try and set out for the ships.

So she slipped out into the night, not aware of the danger she was putting herself into as she strode out into the open night.

She didn't make it too far from the doors before it happened. A scream tearing through the air, the moon's call shaking through her and through the city. With it came Lark's magic in a rush, swelling within her in a tide she could not center and control, before it started screaming free of her, seeking threads and fibers and cloth around her to grab, to pull at.

Any fibers around her might easily be caught in this burst of raw magic, and oh but the horrid ways the pulling could go. Seams might give and clothes fall off from around the one wearing them, before the cloth and strings and fibers might try crawling toward Lark. Worse, though, might well be the threads that could not so easily pull themselves free, for those could quite easily contract, squeezing and constricting painfully around wherever they hang, as Lark's own habit did now. The green clad mage was soon screaming in pain as her own clothes started to constrict around her, crushing at her limbs and causing her to collapse.

II. The Ghost-Demons Are Real | CW: Chance of being hunted/attacked by a demon

There is quite a bit to be said for how unprepared Lark was for all of this. She'd heard talk of the storms of course, but the last two that had come she had found herself in Sh'Ka during. All she knew of them she had heard from others, and so it did not prepare her for what was coming now. A figure in the fog, a flash of green robe and crimson hair.

"Rosie?" Lark gasped, then gave chase after her. "Rosie, it's not safe outside!"

She followed the figure, and froze only when a flash of crimson light cut the air above her, lightning almost seeming to shriek. As the light faded the mist around her grew dark, swirling and shifting until it became quite like the form of a floating beast, eyes crimson, claws razor sharp, and oh but it reached for her.

"Yerui," she whispered, eyes wide as she started to back away. "Oh Mila, it can't be."

And with that she turned and ran blindly into the fog, intent on flight.

III. Tired But Sheltered

Hiding. She was hiding. Lark was very aware of this fact. Dealing with the Yerui, dealing with her magic gone wrong, it was all far too terrible. Lark, strong and experienced mage, Dedicate Initiate of the winding circle and thus in many ways priestess of a goddess, woman who had seen so many horrible things in her past, was hiding.

Cowering.

The very idea of it left a bad taste in her mouth, and Lark had to push it from her mind as she laid there in the Whale Comb Sent Her, trying to rest. Rest was not nearly so simple as it might have been, though.

"How long until this horror might pass," she asked of the room around her. "Oh Mila, let it not be long.

Comments

2

[fatedsacrifice]

Noctis was outside although he was on his way home. That damn moon thing again and it had him cover his ears. He didn't know what the hell was going on but he was trying to get home to Gladio and make sure he was okay.

But as he was on his way, he thought he saw a familiar figure and so he tried to approach, but Lark was running past him so he went to pursue.

"Lark? Wait! Where are you going?"

[stitch_witch]

"Away," she says, pausing only long enough to grab the man's hand to try and pull him with her. "Quickly. The Yerui is coming. I can't keep it away. We must hide."

Because it doesn't look like the man is wearing blue, so they can't keep it away at the moment.

[fatedsacrifice]

He's so confused as Lark grabs his hand and takes her with him. "Who?"

Noctis turned back and didn't see anything but that wasn't the point. Whatever it was that was hunting her would be dealt with, he'd make sure of it.

[stitch_witch]

"What, not who," she says as she hauls him with her. "Ghost-demons. They consume and destroy. Will eat any living thing with a soul in their path. Unfortunately for us, that describes us."

And she needs to find a building. Soon.

"Do you have any bells?"

[fatedsacrifice]

"Uh..." Noctis replied. He wasn't even sure if he had a soul anymore but that wasn't important right now. All he could do was try and keep up.

"Bells?" the king asked. "No. That's bad, right?"

1.

[crystalmaster]

Radley remembers what he has been told of the storms and is concerned when he sees Lark slip out. He follows, but swiftly regrets it when her powers go berserk. He is not wearing his most favorite clothes, but he definitely isn't pleased when his T-shirt starts to come undone.

"What the ... ?!"

He grabs for it in frustrated bewilderment. Then he sees Lark collapse with a scream and his attention is elsewhere.

"Are you alright? We need to ... get back inside ..."

Now he's grabbing for his pants as well, his attention divided. This is the most bizarre thing that's ever happened to him, and that's saying a lot.

[stitch_witch]

She would apologize for the thread misbehaving if it wasn't for the fact that the woman was in so much pain from it clenching her.

"Knife," she gasps out. Her magic has run away from her, she can't get the threads to stop constricting. She has to have them sundered. She has to be free.

[crystalmaster]

Radley manages to get his knife out and finally has to just ignore the clothing problem with himself. He stumbles over and reaches to cut the threads around Lark.

[stitch_witch]

There is luck and poor fortune to be had here. The luck was that she wore only her green robe, which meant it didn't take too much effort to at least cut that enough for her to get some relief. The poor fortune was that the threads kept trying, and she was sobbing in pained frustration.

"Knock me out," she whispered. She didn't think she woudl need to be out long to interrupt the spell, but she needed it cut off. Now.

I. Thread Magic

[in_extremis]

Losing control of the Iron Man at consistently the most inconvenient time was unsustainable. A slower, less efficient Iron Man was still better than an entirely inert one just because it relied on its connection to Extremis. But it was slow--not in its propulsion, but in every command, the input, process, response time so sluggish to Tony that he was gritting his teeth in frustration as he navigated back into the city from the forge, and contemplated turning around to continue the work. Engrossed in the less intuitive flight, and in the possible avenues to shave time off of every input, he also didn't think to look over his shoulder at the looming moon.

It all happened at once. The shriek could have been the rending of metal as the Iron Man suddenly burst, clashing into itself, tearing away, crushing around Tony--every input happening concurrently as Extremis suddenly flared online. It could have been Tony himself, suddenly thrown into open air as the Iron Man was flung apart, thrown forward as his flight control was snatched away from him and crashing to the ground, abandoned by his own suit. He went skidding across the road, flailing to try to make any purchase and stop himself before his inevitable collision into an unforgiving wall. He slumped to a pained halt, panting in the dirt, listening to the plates of the Iron Man continue to bounce against the city, crash through windows, and disappear into the night.

The dust settled, and the nanoweb continued to slither chaotically around him, patterning his skin with gold that glinted in the cold moonlight as he gingerly pushed himself up. The screaming hadn't stopped, though. He took a breath, trying to listen over the ringing in his ears; a pained howl, not far away. He had to drag himself to his feet, balancing against the wall to try to gather momentum and start running, ignoring the blood and the road rash and the way the edges of his vision glowed. He ran, and then it was hard to stop as he came stumbling into the square, throwing himself back to the ground to crawl the rest of the way toward Lark, then freeze with both hands over her, searching in panic for the source of the pain. "Hey, hey, hey," he could hear himself saying as his hands moved like he could sense the problem through them, "talk to me, tell me what's happening."

[stitch_witch]

What was happening might soon become apparent, as he clothing continued to shrink around her, clenching tighter and tighter. Her magic was flaring, rushing, burning out in a way that, as it was torn from her, might well kill her. If only she could get it to stop.

"Hurts," she sobs out, aware of someone there but not processing who it is. "Crushing. Help."

[in_extremis]

'Hurts' was already abundantly clear, but what exactly was hurting was still confounding to Tony until he realized that strange squirming wasn't Lark pulling at her clothes. They were shifting on their own, drawing into deep furrows as they grew taut that Tony watched with wide eyes as he struggled to process this problem. Abruptly, he grabbed at one of the folds, bracing Lark with the other hand to try to pull, only to quickly abandon that move and start scrabbling his way up to her collar as he realized the most pressing concern was going to be her breathing, and they could worry about any other damage after.

"You made this, didn't you? 'Course you didn't make something that would just tear--" he was grumbling as he searched for a seam to rip. As he gathered her to move with one arm around her middle, he smeared the other hand through the blood that dripped from his nose to try to jam his slick fingers under her collar and at least stretch the threads and buy them more time with the moisture. They constricted around his hand, tight and burning where they dragged. He had to get Lark out of this. He dragged, then carried her blindly back toward the nearest building, slamming his shoulder into the door to throw them inside and search wildly for something sharp.

[stitch_witch]

Forgive her for taking pride in durable clothing, especially since it is her primary garment all of the year round. Yes of course it's durable. Though now she's regretting it. Could she breathe easily she would thank him for the help he was already offering, but for now all she can do is try and focus her will, and magic, on holding the clenching back.

It wasn't really helping much.

"Tony," she chokes, before trying to gesture at her pouch. That, made entirely of leather, didn't seem to be affected by all of this. And it had the advantage of being magically warded unlike her clothes.

More importantly, it carried the scissors he had made her, but she can't find the words to explain.

3

[quark_assassin]

"Fuck knows."

Dustin's voice doesn't carry the sort of brash irritation that such an answer would usually be delivered in. Instead, the boy just sounds tired. He looks the part, too, curled up against one of the walls near Lark with his head propped on one of his sweaters as a pillow. The smell of his own blood staining the fabric is keeping him awake, among other things. It's not been a fun few nights for him, and in spite of his now less-than-exceptional memory, Dustin is having a hard time shaking the images of various hallucinations he's experienced from his brain.

"Don't know anything anymore," he continues in a sulking mumble. "Shit sucks. Let everyone else sleep it off, would you?"

As if she's solely to blame for his lack of sleep. Lacking a tangible target for his other concerns, unfortunately Lark has become his substitute outlet.

[stitch_witch]

Yes, because talking like that absolutely solved problems. If this was the circle she would most definitely have the young man doing extra chore for that sort of commentary.

"Would it not have been easier to meet my question with silence, which would not provoke a response?"

[quark_assassin]

She has a point, but also Dustin is a mopey, sullen teenager that won't let shit die. He moves his head a fraction to affix Lark with an exhausted glare.

"You started it."

[stitch_witch]

"Yes, but I was inviting conversation. By engaging, did you not agree to the conversation and suggest it should continue?"

Seemed rather rational her to her to take it like that.

1

[buildingitsir]

He was trying to find Richie. The man had said the hotel but it wasn't clear which hotel floor or room and York wasn't going to try every single damn door in this place trying to find him. After trying to figure it out through some basic scanning and failing, he figured he'd back to his factory. After all, maybe Richie was just trolling him and had only offered to have the android move in as a joke.

Then he went back outside with the intention of getting to his factory. Instead of an empty street he sees a woman in obvious distress and... trapped? Maybe? A scan shows that her clothes seem to be too tight? There's a piece of his programming that wants to leave her and go but there's a different part. One from seeing others help each other here, help York himself and knowing... yeah, he knows what Markus would do.

The android runs over. "What's wrong? Something with your clothes?"

[stitch_witch]

"Tight," she groans, pain clear in her voice. She'd reach for the young man to beg help, but the fabric of her arm was clenching faster, tighter. It was constricting movement so she couldn't even lift her arm.

[buildingitsir]

Tight. His brow furrows while his programming races to find a solution. He has nothing sharp on him; there might not be enough time to go find something; he could try to find someone that did have a weapon, but that was more precious time. The threads looked like they were tightening with each passing second.

"Sorry-" it's all he could say because the only solution was one that wrecked something. But it would have to do and she could chastise him later for it if she wanted. But his fingers wiggled under the fabric trapping her arm, and he started to pull.

York wasn't strong like a construction android or anyone like that, but his hardware didn't have the same limitations as a human's. He could hear it starting to tear, the threads and fabric fraying as they were pulled apart. "What the fuck is doing this? Another shitty thing this city is doing?"

[stitch_witch]

"Magic," Lark groaned, and she winced at the sound of tearing. The threads were trying so hard to reach across the damaged area and respin themselves together. Luckily York was indeed making progress.

1;

[sinistral]

The coming of the fog meant rough times ahead; the Soldier had been a resident of the planet for long enough to understand that strange weather forecasted stranger happenings. He felt it when he awoke, weaker than he should have been, arm a dead weight at his side. It was a sign, one that told him to provision and secure himself for rough days ahead. As soon as the fog lifted he'd set out; he'd simply have to navigate the danger of the rising moon.

Foolish perhaps, but he was the Winter Soldier. More foolish to stay around others, when there existed the chance of being triggered into violence.

The scream cut the air, loud and long and nearly knocked the Soldier flat mid-stride as strength rushed back to his limbs. Then a second scream, one much more human reached his enhanced hearing; he broke into a run automatically. Reeve or Billy could be in danger, and he'd promised himself—

Neither, but a woman on the ground. And the uncomfortable sensation of crawling against and over his skin, his shirt feeling alive underneath his jacket. At her next scream it squeezed hard enough to make him grunt, the fibers crawling along skin, twisting into metal.

Focus: the woman's scream, her obvious pain, and the fabric. He moved to her side, knelt down to put a hand on her shoulder. "Can you hear me?"

[stitch_witch]

A voice. A strange voice. It cuts through the pain, the constricting pain, the burn of the magic in her mind. Lark whimpered before looking up at the stranger. She can feel the fabric he wears, the way it clenches under the horrible compulsions of her magic out of control.

"Help," she whimpers at him. "Can't control. Hard to breathe."

The words are almost gasps, and with each second the threads of her green habit wrap tighter, trying to get closer to her. They don't mean her harm, they just love her and her magic is screaming for them all to be closer. Screaming in a way she can't silence.

[sinistral]

As she spoke a thread worked its way past the cuff of his leather jacket, trying to crawl down his hand to reach the prone woman. The Soldier recoiled but that motion did little enough to interfere with its progress.

Well, drastic times meant drastic measures, or so the saying went. And the Soldier never went anywhere without at least one combat knife.

"Try to be still." Likely easier said than done but with the unpredictable movements of the fabric he wanted to minimize the chance of hurting her as much as possible. Then again, how many people would trust the man Beck turned into his personal puppet? "I don't mean you harm."

[stitch_witch]

Yes, threads would do that sometimes with thread mages around. Silly little thread, go home. Not that she can manage to force the matter.

"Trying," she whimpers, even as her body trembled from the pain. It's not working the best that it could.