tɦɛ iɳquiรitѳʀ (freemarched) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-03-23 10:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, maxwell trevelyan (the inquisitor), revy |
Who: Max & Revy
What: REAPER FITE
When: Yesterday
Where: At a Home Depot, of course
Rating/Warnings: There's a lot of magic and bullets going on here
Status: Complete
Revy liked the opportunity to shoot the shit out of things every now again but what the flying fuck was all this? In the far distance (hard to miss, fuckin’ massive was that crazy shit!) she could witness what looked like a colossal machine-shrimp slowly stomping around, pulverizing everything in its path not only with its weight but these long, infra-red lasers coming out them, blaring like monstrous sirens and obliterating everything it touched. Rubble, flames, carnage, war on the streets, some areas unrecognizable. That alone would have been enough of a reason to say they were all fucked, but it didn’t come alone. It had fucking minions. All kinds of ‘foot soldiers,’ hundreds of them on the ground. Thousands, maybe, if she had enough goddamn time to count them all. Human-like cybernetic zombies with barely any flesh scaling the walls like reptiles on cocaine (they didn’t take much to kill but fuck they were fast), and from their own carcasses these deformed blobs of what she assumed was flesh with six eyes would feed off them - no, literally. The gunslinger had seen it with her owns and had used their hunger to her advantage to shoot them dead as dead could be. Thing is, it didn’t always take one bullet to put them down. Maybe carefully aimed at their head (because let’s face it, how many things could survive without a face), but any other critical spots were useless - therefore, she had to learn a thing or two about precision, discipline, and rationing her ammo. It wasn’t the sort of scenario to run in, jolly rogers blazin’ and silver bullets zinging through the air like she had no care in the world. It really had her miss Midna and her arachnid form; think of all the damage the two could have done. Stocked up on ammunition and supplies, today she decided to brave it on the fucking roof of a Home Depot. Wide enough space, the place was abandoned and not in bad shape - which meant the the sheets of metal and other supplies - could be used to her advantage, and a makeshift ‘cover spot’ was. Why would the bitch need cover, you ask? Because some of them had guns. It was a firepower she hadn’t seen before. These fucks were trickier, had some kind of armor plating you had to really break through to get to those vulnerable spots, and they could get you from long range. Hence the need to hide behind something every now and again to avoid getting shot, and Revy had done a decent job thus far coming out without holes. Scrapes, bruises, dirt on her face, sure, but nothing important punctured. “On the roof,” she said in between trigger pullings, cellphone caught between her ear and shoulder. The reception was shit but better than nothing. “Get inside, up the stairs. Watch for those fucking zombie things, Max.” They were really due for a county-wide disaster, weren’t they? Max was honestly surprised it took this long - at least it wasn’t something Thedosian, though he sympathized with whomever had a dreamworld that spewed out filth into this modern-day hellhole known as the OC. Well, they’d batten down the hatches and all work together. They’d get through it. They’d defend their home as they always did, used to the quirks and need for extra insurance policies by now - that was just the way it happened to be. “Coming,” he said into the phone, and he hoped Revy heard him - the reception really was shit, crackling and popping, cutting in and out, but he was about there anyway. Trevelyan didn’t get a chance to really team up with her much last time there was an infestation of something to kill (namely, demons) so he hoped to make up for it now. “Sorry if you feel the chill from where you are - just call me Elsa.” That was a joke, but also partly serious. Because he didn’t have an interest in raining fire or lightning, damaging the building and leaving Revy stranded on the roof - and his Necromancy spells would be utilized when he had her in sight, and could offer another bit of protection. So strictly the more frigid side of the elements it was, specifically, ice. He was wearing his own Inquisition armor, lyrium-infused arm in place, and had the Wrath of Lovias which was a staff best meant for winter magic. Only a few milliseconds were granted for him to bring the weapon up from behind him and fire off a blast or two, literally freezing the zombie-like creatures in the air where they leapt. Ah, the icy and numbing embrace of death - more blasts, a stifling cold grip, and more ice statues began forming. Then he just ended up swinging the staff and damaging them with blunt force and a decapitating blow as he trekked onward. Max was also going to guess that the elevator was out of service, so the stairwell it was. “Brought you some extra ammo,” he said once he emerged onto the roof, and showed Revy the grenades he’d crafted; their bright violet glow was entrancing. “Throw them at the enemy, they’ll get confused and start attacking each other instead of us.” He thought it was the best bet, since sci-fi creatures wearing armor didn’t always go down against melee weapons or fire or, unfortunately bees (he really wished he could have used those). “I also have some healing mist if you need that.” By the time Trevelyan popped up, she’d been able to penetrate the plating of her that weapon-wielding target and hammered the son of a cunt with a fray of bullets before it finally, finally hit the ground, the body’s twitching due to whatever nerves it actually possessed. Revy guessed not much. It definitely wasn’t fucking human, but she couldn’t tell if it was even living, robotic, or… Both. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she smirked, hoarse and rugged but lively, definitely in her element - war. There was a pause in things shooting at them but the hisses and moans of people (human husks, really) haunted the air. “I’ll take the grenades but let’s keep your healing mojo when one of us gets their fucking kidneys shot, stabbed, or half-eaten.” Weapons lowered, she propped herself down on a heavy sandbag meant to hold up the steel sheets erected around them. “You alright? Nice Dungeons and Dragons get-up, by the way.” Effective shit, no doubt. Revy was informal as usual, combat boots and ripped denim, gloves meant to cement a better hold on firearms and a top that constrained the tits. Didn’t need those flying out and smacking her in the face in the heat of battle. “I’m good. I like your getup too - “ Yes, Revy’s battle armor selection was always, uh. Nice. In its own way. “Let’s hope we can avoid the dragons part though. And the dungeons too, come to think of it,” Max chuckled, surveying the scene below. The ground was crawling with nasty ‘visitors,’ and it almost seemed like they’d need to just burn the county down and start over to get rid of them all - but no, when there was a will, there was a way. He flipped his staff around to grip it in his good hand, having it at the ready. The subtle thrum of the prosthetic arm, blue with veins in all their phosphorescence, wasn’t even something he noticed much anymore - and he felt fine, for now. No danger of passing out while wearing something infused with lyrium. His fingers curled into a fist, flexing and uncurling once more. “So, plan?” he started. “Want me to take out some of those zombie things? I’ll mark them - and then their spirits will rise and fight against the...bigger, uglier things. Double whammy.” Seemed like pummeling the bigger ones would help, since those weren’t so easy to kill. And it’d save bullets too, potentially. Dragons. Fuckin’ christ, that’d be the icing on the cake. Revy cackled, spit, and like the dame she was went to light a cigarette. No time like an invasion from space to blacken the lungs and she’d had stocked up (with crap food, not like she had much choice) in case she was up here for awhile. “No concrete plan,” she told him. “It’s been me shooting things and getting an idea of what the cannon fodder’s like. I’ve seen a couple different ones from this view, and they’re all -” Hell, she couldn’t come up with the right words to describe ‘em. Vulgarity wouldn’t do justice. They didn’t discriminate, were bloodthirsty, and had one goal: kill everything. Smoke exhaled, she shook her head. “The ones crawling up shit, they’ve been easy. You’ve got ones that eat the dead ones. Get ‘em while they’re feasting. Then there’s the ones with actual guns - didn’t know that was a thing ‘til today. But I’ll go with your suggestions and share the slaughter, yeah? That’ll make things interesting.” Max throwing some magic out there, fuckin’ go for it - she’d encourage anything that would bring the numbers down on the other side, and it was bound to be one hell of a spectacle knowing him. And his arm. Time to see it in practical action, and the timing was damn good. A blur of black erupted from the heavens and impacted the battlefield that’d once been the parking lot. When the explosion cleared, it revealed a brand new wave of shit that needed to be killed. Human husks, dozens of them, sprinting towards the building the moment they detected human life and with them, those ugly-as-shit gun wielders. “Motherfucker,” she growled around her lit cancer stick. Maker’s breath, it was like the rifts all over again. Black instead of green, here comes their doom. “The zombies, those are definitely the minions?” Max quirked an eyebrow, and he concurred with Revy’s observation of motherfucker. “Okay, let’s see what kind of chaos we can create here.” He tended to use spirit mark on a giant or other large, hulking monsters and then killed it, since if you marked one they helpfully did a lot of stomping for you once their spirit was fighting at your behest - dragons, hadn’t tried it on those majestically deadly creatures, but speaking of those bee grenades, they were pretty helpful at taking out a wing at a time. Oh, Sera, how Trevelyan missed her. She would have loved this. Regardless, it was show time. He focused on the husks making a dash for the building (they were loud too, let it be known), channelling as much magic was possible from the Fade - it shot from the end of the staff, both his body and the weapon as conduits, the power crackling along in a circuit and then blasting outward when it hit the target. A flash of purple, attacking spirits beginning to circle and circle like vultures; the husks perished, but their spirits lingered. They all glowed purple too, blindingly violet, and went for the ones toting guns. “Wonder what kind of gun that is?” Trevelyan mused, ducking behind a steel sheet when bullets from those guns flew - sounded like death down there, but wasn’t that just music to a Necromancer’s ears. Shit, wasn’t this creepy all around. Ghastly things attacking half-machine animated dead things. It was like a living fucking crossover of the Alien movies, Dawn of the Dead, and Ouija - only in this shithole of a home, that’s for sure. “No fuckin’ clue,” she mumbled, and the cigarette had stopped burning but it still hung from the corner of her mouth. Revy was thinking. Probably a damn good time to try out one of those magically crafter grenades, huh? It didn’t take long for another mass of fire shot from the sky, exploding and unleashing another wave - those cannibalistic ones making the trip this time, too - with more husks, more of those armor-plated fucktards. There was a brief window where the firepower had quelled on their side (thanks to the necromancer’s summoning of ghosts), and that’s when she emerged from cover and tossed. Revy had a damn good arm, so it went the distance - it hit one, and exploded into a mass of confusion that turned their attacks onto one another. A massive clusterfuck among the enemy that kept the attention of her and Trevelyan for even a little bit, and both her hands went back to wielding her custom pistols. Bang, Bang, BANG. “Want a drink after this?” BANG. “I got rum in one of the bags.” Because why the fuck not. “Nice shot,” Max complemented, referring to the grenade - they were handy to have sometimes, when you were fighting a shit ton of enemies all at once. Like in this instance, when they just kept coming and popping up over and over again, like either bad pennies or endless weed growths. He decided to keep doing what he did before - meaning, he’d take care of as many ugly zombie things as he could, it would give Revy room to shoot at the ones that fed off the corpses (and maybe without a constant stream of sustenance, they’d die faster?), and hopefully they could hold off more from coming. Perhaps get to a point where the waves just stopped, and receded entirely. Another blast from the staff, bone-chilling cold and wintry frost - he erected an ice wall to give them something else besides bullet-riddled sheets to take cover behind when need be, for the purposes of reloading, and then called upon a blizzard to help them out even more. It covered the area below them, snow and ice, strong winds, all of it beginning to slow the incoming nasties down even more just because it was so fucking frigid. “And yes, I want a drink,” he huffed, blinking to clear his vision - his arm was starting to get hot and tingly, all up his shoulder, which meant he’d probably need to not summon vast amounts of magic from the Fade for a minute or two. “Fuck knows I could use one. Rum sounds perfect. We can simultaneously celebrate victory and catch up on life.” All that chill Max was summoning, it was fucking godsent - the weather was stuffy, the air thick with smoke and fire from the chaos amuck around them, the constant heat of bullets whizzing, and also just being in constant action. There’d been times before he arrived, when the husks would scale the walls like spiders and come at her in mindless bloodlust that took some physical combat to fend off. Revy’s skin had a sheen of sweat from combat. Bullet casings hit the ground, and a couple seconds of pause were necessary for a reload and lock. “Catching up on life,” she huffed a laugh, squinting for a better aim - tough titties that she didn’t have scope modifiers for her babies, it’d help the precision part of this bullshit a lot more. “During a fucking - whatever invasion, yeah, you got it. Max.” Assuming another round didn’t come their way, christ. Revy hoped not, but at the moment they made an impressive sweep of what came at. If it came down to it, she’d brought her grenade launcher for those extreme cases. A grenade launcher, now that was some impressive firepower. As it was, Max’ ears were ringing and ringing from the sounds of rapid gunfire - plus the sounds of crack and snap and all those things, that seemed amplified in the heat of battle. The sounds of death as well, the smell of it. It was something he remembered clearly from traveling all over creation to close rifts, and running into everything from wisps to dragons along the way. “A whatever invasion,” he repeated, laughing too, wiping sweat off his brow with his good hand. “There are too many of them, that’s all I know, but it looks like through the smoke maybe it’s cleared a little.” Frozen hunks of ice, bullet-riddled corpses, guts splattered everywhere. He could only imagine what it would look like closer, down on the ground. Blood was what he noticed dripping on his hand next, coming from his nose. Too much exposure to lyrium, too fast, but they’d made progress so he was glad for that. It’d all come in waves again, sooner or later. Revy guessed it wouldn’t be over until that fucking thing in the distance was offed - looked like their was some battle in the air too, with firepower raining from the sky at it. She’d never seen anything like it living here, and there way in a shit-snacking-whore’s hell she was getting into that stomping vicinity. Though she imagined that’s where the civilians needed help the most. It had her worry about select people that thought going into that fray was worth it, but she knew she was best suited to work those muscles and fight, not play rescue and medic. “I think we got ‘em,” she mumbled, tentatively lowering her guns. “Gotta count what’s left of the bullets, but -” A glimpse of red on his end caused a pause. Scuffs and wounds were expected, not random nosebleeds, and she wasn’t versed well in the art of fuckin’ magic to be assured there was a connection between the two. “The hell’s wrong with you? Do you need to sit down?” “Got them for now,” he nodded, and he was well-versed in shit coming in waves. All of it tied to one bigger pain in the ass, but they did what they could in this particular pocket of the county - it would probably give those fighting the planet-eating entity or whatever it was more room to work; so basically, however he could contribute, Max was fine to. He caught the blood with a handkerchief, and the flow didn’t last long - not like he was gushing everywhere but rather, it was a warning to not overextend himself. A warning he should probably heed. “The lyrium that sort of makes the arm move causes side effects,” he explained. “Particularly amplified during battle, but I’m fine. No sitting required,” he managed a crooked grin. “Well, that was fun, huh?” Now getting down from the building, into the carnage, was also going to be fun. Revy wasn’t one to particularly fret and baby someone - anyone - but this was unfamiliar, and the quirked brow was a sign of concern, but… “If you say so,” she shrugged. At least they had a break and, as promised, she went for the bag with the goods and unzipped it. Kraken. Black spiced rum. Delicious tar. The depiction of some monstrous tentacled thing was almost in honor of whatever the fuck that other thing was tearing shit up in the horizon. It was a big bottle, ring handles on the side, so it took two hands for a thirsty gulp before she passed it over. There was water around here too, and cold pizza (because why the fuck not, the bitch had to eat). Her version of ‘supplies’ was whatever the hell she lived on, daily. “Your castle didn’t get fucked by all this, did it? I know some areas have gone to total shit, but it looks like they’re targeting whatever’s got the most people.” To her, it seemed eerily intentional. The fuck was the point of all this? “Thanks,” Max sighed in relief as he took the bottle of rum from Revy and also downed a generous glug of the stuff - he tasted a bit of everything, cinnamon and cloves, molasses, licorice, vanilla, but he had one very important association going on here. “You’re more of a pirate than I thought,” he teased, but she really was. Between the pistols she wielded and the general ambiance of her dreamworld - modern day piracy, really. It was interesting. Though he did sit, just for a moment, to indulge in alcohol - interspersed with water sips, so he didn’t give himself an unnecessary buzz - and eyed the cold pizza with interest. Really? But, alright, you know what? It actually looked good. Even if on most days he would probably be wrinkling his nose at Nasir eating cold pizza for breakfast - which his better half was prone to doing. Now maybe Max was just famished after all that exertion. He passed the bottle back to Revy, for her turn. “Skyhold’s fine, last I checked,” and here he’d knock on wood if he believed in that stuff. “There aren’t many people there, just the caretakers. Think it’s some kind of annihilation, take over the planet thing?” Fuck yeah the pizza looked good, riddled with a fuckton of pineapples - and it’s not like drive thrus were open or anyone was delivering this time. It was leftovers courtesy of home and her addiction. Couldn’t bring the pudding cups, though. Revy slid to down to plop on her ass, back against the sandbags, and if something hit again they’d hear it. Same those piss-poor shells of what might have once been people climbing up the walls, with their hisses and moans. Time for another rum-chug, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and cringe. Again, tar. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” she snorted. “I’ve heard about some end of the world scenarios that hit this place, and sure as fuck seems like one of them.” Considering these things were coming from the sky? Yeah, that’s some Independence Day alien shit. The OC finally went a little sci-fi on them. “Where the hell’s your boy, anyway? He tackling things to the ground or what?” See, Max thought he was the only person in the world who liked pineapples on pizza. Nasir claimed pineapples ‘didn’t belong’ there but he was so utterly wrong. Revy was a kindred spirit. “End of the world scenarios, just another Tuesday,” he snickered, taking another drink of the beautiful rum-tar. You probably could swab a deck with it, bless this stuff. “But yes, you really can’t keep Nasir away from a fight. He has his spear and battle cry - “ Or hiss, in his case, “...so he’s good to go. I also armed him with extra grenades too, stuff to enhance the blows from the weapons.” He liked that sort of thing, and Trevelyan was happy to provide. This was why he made extras and kept a supply, in case Doomsday in the OC happened to pop up at whatever point in time. And it sure as fuck was doomsday. Goes to show that the OC required a yearly apocalypse of sorts as a wake up - jar them from the comforts of all things mundane. Revy couldn’t deny the excitement was welcomed. It helped she wasn’t the kind to dwell on casualties as shitty as it sounds. Because with something like this? Oh, there’d be casualties. Innocent civilians dropping like flies in the fray of it all. It sounded like war around there, and it was. The world was a cunt. A cruel, unrelenting cunt. “You worried about him out there?” she asked, popping open the lid of the pizza tupperware. Gourmet Italian shit right here, deliciously cold, because leftover pizza always seemed to taste better than it fresh in the box at her door. At least she always thought so - fuck you. “Could be a little dicey out there depending where you’re at. Some of those fuckers have guns -” Which, huh. Actually, she should see if there were any among the riddled corpses of them that were left undamaged. “I bet getting shot by one of those damn puppies hurts.” Max would definitely advocate for looting the bodies. If some of those guns still worked, why not? Having toys that belonged to the enemy could be helpful for the next round, whenever it came about. “A little worried,” he admitted - he’d only take one slice of pizza, and leave the rest for Revy. She looked hungry. “I even worry when he does his MMA thing sometimes.” It was still fighting, and violent, and maybe there were rules and regulations and yet still a lot could go wrong. “But he’ll be okay - I have to believe that, so we can get through everything and then deal with the cleanup.” After surveying the shit on the ground one more time (actual shit, like, it really did look like a lot), he winced. “And there will be a lot of cleanup.” They’d all get through that too. Because what other choice did they have? Pizza, rum, cigarettes, things to shoot. Fuckin’ paradise right now, and she was tearing apart that her slice like a wolf to prey. “I’m better at the killing, not the not the cleaning,” Revy grumbled, but she guessed she didn’t have a choice in the matter either even if she wanted to sleep for days after this bullshit was said and done. It was home, and she didn’t want it looking like this let these invasive fuck-for-brains cock it up more. Moans could be detected in the background, the volume increasing, the sound of hands and feet hitting the concrete of the building, up and up. Another body to add to the mess. Revy licked her fingers clean before loading up her pistols against. “Unless we’re having a massive fucking bonfire to toss alien remains in, then I’m on board.” A clean up was necessary but so was a damn celebration. Two birds, one stone. |