heart of steel

It had been a while since Jasmine had first joined the League. Initially, she had done so to prove to herself that she could; it was a mark of her progress, her determination, her capability. It meant that she had finally become strong, that she could maybe even serve as a role model for others. If she could do it, they could, too, right?

Of course, after she had assumed the position, she quickly realized that the weight of the responsibility was far from light. Plus, she was expected to not only be Olivine’s Gym Leader, but also a member of the League. Which meant sitting down to meetings and convening with some of the strongest, most capable trainers in the entire region. And not only the Johto League, but also the Kanto League; all of these people were now her colleagues, and she would have to get along with all of them.

She had an anxiety attack outside of the door of her first meeting.

Luckily, her fears had proven to be misplaced. They were all able to look past her difficulties, had accepted her regardless of them, and now Jasmine called many among them her closest friends. While she still struggled sometimes, while the pressure felt like it might eat her alive on occasion, she enjoyed their support and company. There weren’t many she kept consistent contact with, but she never regretted speaking with them. They felt like her family - close enough that she could approach them at any time, if she wanted to. It was a comforting feeling.

Given how busy most of them were, visits weren’t particularly frequent. This didn’t stop her from peeking in every once in a while, or from receiving an unexpected guest, but most of her time off was spent in Sinnoh. She liked to bring souvenirs that she knew her colleagues would like, an unspoken apology for not going out of her way to see them more. 

Out of all of them, Lance was usually the busiest. As champion, he had so much going on at any one time that it made Jasmine’s head hurt just thinking about it. But that never stopped him from being kind to her, or checking up on her sometimes, or making sure she was alright before meetings or in crowded venues. He was like the older brother she never had, and she appreciated his kindness and strength.

Today he was here on business. Inspecting the gym and her performance to make sure she was up to League standard. It always made her a bit paranoid, but Lance was good at quelling her fear. By now, it became typical for them to have a bit of downtime together before the proper inspection. She had a couple of matches today that he would be sitting in on, but before that, he would be meeting her at home. She already had tea out and ready for his arrival. She paced by the door, fingers fidgeting with her bow, always in motion, never still.

Perhaps it was less zombies, and more just the walking dead. She assumed they were dead, anyways, because they shambled along and broke into dust and bones when slain. Their eyes gleamed red and sharp and they spoke no language that she had ever heard. Whether or not they communicated, they moved quickly and with a strange efficiency, like soldiers. But unlike soldiers - or perhaps like them, in some instances - they preferred to attack any and everything that moved.

This made travel rather inconvenient, to say the least.

As a War Cleric, she was better prepared than most. This was putting aside her general paranoia, which made her prepared in the first place - always keeping her staff nice and clean, always keeping her axe properly sharpened, always keeping vulneraries and herbs on hand in case of emergency. In the case of thieves and bandits, it helped that she was easily underestimated. Concealed by her dress and gloves, she looked all lace and slender bones and feathery hair. But beneath her attire were hard planes and toned muscles and thin scars from years of hard training and work. Really, her outfit was something for her own compensation. While she never particularly cared about looking ladylike, it was easy for her to become self-conscious of her rough hands and arms.

Most would only gather this after the sharp curve of an axe left them trailing blood as they fled. It wasn’t that she enjoyed hurting people - far from it. Jasmine had taken up a staff before a weapon for that exact purpose, but she hated relying on others to save her. So, she had taken matters into her own hands. Even so, very time her weapon had to bite through flesh and leave someone limping away, she had to bite back a bitter taste of regret and guilt. She wanted nothing more than to raise her Heal staff and watch the wound knit back together, leaving nothing more than a scar in place.

It was better them than her, she had to remind herself every time. She was only doing what she had to do.

This was easier to justify when the enemy was black and purple and inhuman. She felt less guilt when striking down these foes, and more fear, more confusion, more curiosity. Where had they come from? Why were they here? Why were there so many of them?

Her peaceful day felt like a lifetime ago, now. Her trip had been cut very, very short. If this was how Sinnoh was now, her only goal was to get to the nearest port and set sail for Johto, where presumably there were less corpses hoping to slaughter her where she stood. Considering she had to cross all the way across the continent to get there, this was a bit of a challenge. She had thought that moving through relatively abandoned countryside might help; there were less villages to attack, surely, so perhaps they would accumulate farther out? But that was just wishful thinking; even sticking to the outskirts, they seemed to find her.

For once, perhaps not alone. 

Jasmine felt the magic before even catching sight of the caster. There had been some of these monsters that could cast, but it had always felt dark and muddled. This was pure, unbridled energy; it made the hair on the back of her neck and her arms stand up, made the air buzz and hum. While she was no expert in tomes, she had dabbled, and she recognized the signs almost immediately.

A swordsmaster fell by her hand, collapsing into a heap of dust and waste. Her boots crunched in the rocky, uneven soil as she whirled around, mind immediately assuming the worst. Do they need help? Are they hurt? Where are they? They could have been a bandit or necromancer or any number of vile things, but she hardly cared. They were a person, and they were probably fighting these things, and that meant that they were an ally. Hopefully, she wouldn’t regret that.

Her feet flew in the direction of the energy. White knuckles twisted the handle of her axe, and she paused only once to throw her force into a swing against an opponent. Half of her mind was on the battle, the other on the staff slung against her back - if this person did need help, hopefully it wouldn’t break halfway through the job. She could buy a spare, but in times like these, she doubted that was practical or likely. So it would have to be enough.

Cresting the top of the hill, she saw her target: blonde, tall, vaguely familiar? She brushed the thought aside as quickly as it had come and felt the air pulse as he cast another spell. He was holding his own rather well, it seemed, if she could judge from the dust surrounding him. From her short distance, she could see that he was suffering from a few injuries - all minor, but still something she could assist with. Once the problem at hand was solved, of course.

Gaze darting around, she began to move closer to approach him calmly, extend a simple offer of assistance. The thought of that alone made her stomach squirm, so she just focused on staying aware of her surroundings. Her eyes landed on a knight rushing the unaware mage from behind, and her pulse leaped. Now was no time for polite interjections or words of peace; now was a time for action.

“Behind you!” she cried out, a roar steady and true and quite unlike her usual stammer. Without thinking, she rushed forward and met the undead’s weapon head-on with a crash of metal and a shower of sparks. It staggered backwards from the sudden unexpected impact, and she wasted little time in rushing in with a counter attack. Her blade crushed its armor like paper, and it crumbled away to nothing as its owner perished for a second time. She let out a small pant, shifting where she stood and adjusting her grip on her weapon and trying very hard not to feel self-conscious.

With no other adversary to chase down, she simply brushed away the dust from the front of her dress. What was she supposed to say? Apologize for leaping in? Thank him for helping him? Was this when one was supposed to come up with some witty one-liner to win the other over, making him warm up to her so they could have at least some semblance of a meaningful interaction??

that’s right. it’s me. you’re never getting rid of me, WE. never for good.

hello to the people i’m seeing again! it’s great to see all of you and i hope you’ve been doing well. and hello to the people i’m meeting for the first time!! my name is starmy and i’m excited to meet & rp with you!

if we were threading in the past and you’d like to again, please let me know! if we haven’t threaded before and you would like to now... also let me know!! i’m terrible about approaching people and 9 times out of 10 have the plotting capabilities of an acorn, but i’d love to throw ideas around with you. come to me with your au ideas because i eat them for breakfast. i can try and throw up an open sometime soon, too, if that’s more your style. thanks!