This wasn't the first injury Kislap had dealt with, and it wouldn't be her last, surely. She wasn't expecting to get attacked before she even arrived. Lives-on-the-line thing usually implied AFTER you arrived. Ugh.
Her whole trip was a misery, having temporarily patched herself up with bandages made from strips of her undershirt. India was hot, anyway, so there was a good chance she'd be changing to summer clothes once she had the chance to.
She should've fired a gun into that messenger's skull when she had the chance to. It wasn't that she couldn't take a grievous wound, or anything, she'd had plenty. It just sucked to be bleeding out of your fucking waist as you limp yourself to the infirmary tent with proper first aid supplies. It'd be cool if she could stitch this thing up or something.
She let go of her side as she entered, peeling off her coat (now with a nice hole and blood), and shook the blood off of her hands, preparing to search through the supplies for a needle and whatever thread they had to stitch things up. Gee, the supplies in here were nicer than she was used to, too.
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By the time the sun started to set, Kislap, having changed into cooler clothes, stood at the front corner of the infirmary with one foot directly in front of the other. Slung across her back is a rifle attached to a strap, securely in place. She'd pulled this sucker out of her luggage pretty quick. If she'd had it in the first place, she wouldn't have been stabbed. She assumed, anyway. At the very least, it could serve as intimidation in case anyone wanted to try something similar.
Carefully, Kislap moved her back foot forward and placed her heel against the tip of her boot. She was pretty used to injury so the sting from each step she took wasn't going to kill her. It just made her exhausted. If she went to sleep and rested for awhile, it'd take away from her time to familiarize herself with the place and have the advantage over others. She could sleep later.
With an elongated yawn, Kislap stopped her motion once she reached the corner of the bestiary. She mad a few silent tabulations in her head as she took in the surroundings. Mm. She wished she'd brought paper out here.
Her eyes halted on a figure entering her periphery before she pivoted to face him head-on.
"... You are... the train thief, yes? Cowboy, was it?"
She spoke in English, assuming Sally would understand. Her accent was pretty thick, however, being some unholy combination of cockney and Filipino accents.
As before, white petals fill your vision once again. until it all that’s left is a blinding light. You cannot move. There is nothing.
A dream forms. You feel memories flowing into your mind.
You wake up to the sound of your brother moving in the top bunk. It’s not even dawn yet, but the two of the other three beds in the room are already empty. You climb out of bed, waddle to the window, and struggle to push it open with your tiny hands. Outside, one man, your father, and two twin boys, Efren and Venancio, walk away towards the mines, toting large sacks of equipment on their way out.
You reach out and wave as they leave, and they return the gesture with wide smiles. “I love you!” they shout. “I WOVE YOU TOO!” You respond. You’re not the best at speaking just yet, are you?
You blink and find yourself in your mother’s clinic, talking to a boy a few years older than you. A cast secures his leg in place as he opens up a basic school workbook and shows it to you. He reads each letter out loud and explains the basic sounds without too much detail. His teaching methods aren’t that great, but you like hearing him talk and you like spending time with him.
“Alon, I’m almost old enough to go to school, right?” You ask, leaning forward on his cot and kicking your legs.
Though Alon’s face before seemed to be filled with pride in his abilities, his expression shifted into a grimace. “No, there’s no girls at school except some teachers. They said girls have cooties.”
“But I don’t have cooties, right? Maybe they’ll let me come!” You state excitedly! Alon just… shakes his head.
Years later, your father leads you out into the woods, holding onto a gun in one hand, and your own hand in his other. He coughs periodically as you walk, exchanging warm conversation.
Once you’ve made a decent way in, he takes out a pocket knife and begins carving a target into the trunk of a tree. Your breath puffs in front of your face as you sit in the snow and wait. This isn’t your first time with gun practice, despite the fact that you’re likely far too young to hold a gun. He hands you the rifle and watches as you practice shooting.
You’re father’s in bed. He’s dying, and you know this. Even standing up causes him to cough. You’re not sure he’ll last too much longer, but you’ve been taking care of him while the rest of the family is at work. He gestures to you to hold his hand, which you firmly take with your now-calloused hands.
“Take care of everyone when I’m gone, Bituin.” He whispers. “Don’t tell the others I said this, but you’re going to grow up to be the strongest, I just know it.”
Days later, he passes away.
You and your mother come across an unconscious traveler and take her into the clinic to nurse her back to health. The traveler, Lilibeth, takes a few days to gain enough strength to leave once more, though your mother tells her to stay one more night just in case.
You left your toys in the clinic, you realize, after you and your mother arrived home. Unable to wait the rest of the night, you sneak out to go back and get it. When your peer inside, you see Lilibeth walking around, a strange glow emanating from her hands as she works to heal the other unconscious patients. She seems surprised once she notices you, and panics, flustered on how to explain the situation.
Eventually, she takes you outside and slowly weaves a tale of magic and science, explaining how miracles could be made by humans, just like the spirits could. She shows you a few tricks, though she doesn’t explain how to learn them. Finally, she offers an oath of secrecy, insisting you don’t say a word about it to anyone. You agree.
Obviously you can learn to make use of this magic thing for yourself, too. Maybe to help with chores. It’s a long series of trial and error with goggles and telescopes and dictionaries before you break the oath of secrecy and ask Alon for help. Alon suggests something different: a map.
The two of you hold hands as you enter the city to meet a cartographer, whom Alon referred to as “Sora.” You pick up the map, head back to your secret firewood shed hideout you coerced Efren to make for you, and give it a few more shots… until it worked. You watch dots light up on the map to view every fox in the forest.
You aren’t expecting to use your new skill so soon. When your brothers and father fail to return home, you, Alon, Efren, and Lilibeth rush to Sora’s store to view a map of the mines. With a hair of your own, the parchment lights up with a mass of dots caught in a strain of the mine. You request Lilibeth set up a telepathic connection and send Efren down to lead a group of former miners to rescue them as you guide the group from Sora’s shop. This is your first task as a leader, as you slide down the slippery slope of responsibility. Though rescued, many are injured. You watch in dismay as they take your freshly amputated brother away from your family due to his inability to continue his work.You have no idea what his fate will be.
You blink and flash forward to the inside of a train. The rumble and groan of the wheels along the track finally comes to a halt as you steel yourself next to stacks upon stacks of boxes containing ore. Once the screech of the breaks halts, you stand up and peel open the door, gazing upon a station leading up to a port. A crew of men enter and help you load the crates onto a wagon, which you then climb on top of and ride towards the pier.
The man guiding the wagon turns back to look at you and raises an eyebrow. “Awfully young for a shipper, ‘eh?”
You quietly nod. This is normal for you, children your age performing manual labor.
He chuckles and points to the gun strapped to your back. “Ya like guns? Ya want more of those? Surely a kid as weak as ya can use another one to fight off looters ‘n whatnot. I reckon I can get ya extra bullets fer cheap if ya don’t tell anyone. Maybe I can get ya more fer some coin. The name’s Julian.” The man, an American, holds out his hand to you for a shake. You place your MUCH smaller hand in his and shake it.
“Ok.” You say. “But isn’t it illegal to have more than two guns in a family?” You don’t get why. Guns mean food.
“The English don’t like smart lil kids like ya to use ‘em for an uprising, ya see. They learned how revolutionaries use ‘em in America.” He took his hand back and winked. “But I bet if ya collect enough, ya can manage something similar.” You can’t tell at the time, but this guy is trying to take advantage of your youthful naivete. Lucky for him, you’re good enough at this smuggling thing to keep him in business for many years to come.
Your mother passes away. You open your eyes, laying in the snow in the woods. You can’t feel your body anymore. You were stupid to think you could survive out here by yourself in the middle of winter in order to get away from the stress for awhile. You’re still far too young to manage that. As your vision fades, you see… a girl, maybe a little older than you. She’s unfamiliar to you. You pass out.
When you awake, you’re next to a fire in a cabin as the girl from before prepares you warm soup and drinks. She passes the food to you. When you thank her and ask for her name, she assures you that it's none of your concern.
You remember this kindness though, and repeatedly look for her again and again and again until she becomes your best friend. You two love each other the most in the world, after all, as you induct Chesa into your group of revolutionaries.
Years pass before you begin actually fighting the war, making use to the guns you stockpiled while working in shipments. Its starts with your hometown, as you lead your people into a successful siege. Your influence expands to the nearest port, fighting directly on the front lines in your battles. You kill. One, two, three… twelve people, for the sake of your country. It takes a toll on you emotionally, but it’s a necessary sacrifice. You’ll never forget each one of their faces, carved in detail in your mind as you take their lives. You do it because you have to.
It’s quiet in your makeshift camp as a patrol returns from checking out your next planned area of siege. You relax, making plans with your team, when you hear gunfire outside. You panic and grab your musket, rushing outside of your tent. You’re face-to-face with enemy soldiers in uniform. One in particular is a familiar face… your missing brother, who was taken after being injured. He’s wearing a British uniform. Your ally aims to shoot. In a split-second decision, you race out to defend him, screaming as a bullet pierces your knee. You fall, begging them to leave Bayani safe, before bartering with Bayani to join the cause between labored breaths. You reach out to him. He takes it.
Later that night, Bayani shoots your other brother and fleds. Jonah’s sent home, no longer capable of fighting. You don’t pursue Bayani further. There’s nothing you can do for him anymore.
The battles continue. You’re no longer able to fight on the frontlines, but you continue your work leading the troops. You intend to see this through to the end. Your team brings you in for a meeting.
“Listen, Bituin, we’ve been talking. Without ya, sorry about that.” Alon speaks, spinning his pen in his hand. “We need to start thinking about what to do for the government after this, and I know you’ve been avoiding that talk. So… we did it for ya, a bit.”
What is this all about? You furrow your eyebrows.
“We think you should be the queen. The people support you. The transition would be easy from here, so we feel like you’re the best option. Besides, you’re plenty skilled for it.” Lilibeth offers a weak but gentle smile.
You stand up from the table and begin to leave. “Absolutely not. I refuse. Don’t ask me again.”
They keep asking, though. The pursuit continues, well up until you meet a peculiar messenger, bearing a letter in your name. An invite. You’re surprised at first, as you examine the contents. After much debating, you choose to take the invite. Perhaps if you disappear for awhile, they’ll pick someone else to lead the country.
You open your eyes, staring at your hands. Your fingers click as you tap them together. Clickity clack, tappity tick. You giggle, amused by the sound before you raise your gaze to a filled room of upset people. Who are they?
I Follow the Winds || Kislap || Secret + Exe reaction
"..."
Kislap respectfully watched Chandra's final moments. It was... tough, and oddly cruel for someone who claimed to be a mother, or motherly-like. Hahhh.... Kislap was running out of matches for rites. Maybe she could bum some off of Xiangnan before they left.
Hurts, don't it? To see an ally fall. Kislap tried her best, and that was what mattered.
She closed her eyes as the memories flooded in. First Chandra's, then Efimiya's, then.... Oh. Who's that? That's....
After taking in and reviewing the scene, she opened her eyes.
"... Huh. Alright."
That... certainly was a secret, and she was probably the best person to get it, considering the behavior of the others around. Kislap rubbed her neck and stood up in the car, glancing to the rest of the group.
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Fragrance at the Palm of Your Hand || Kislap || Trial 2 || RE: Bungle
"War and death IS my reality, yes. I've seen more death than most people here can fathom. But that doesn't mean I like it. I don't regret killing any of the people I have, but I never took pleasure in it. I simply did what I had to do. But that's exactly why I'm here, yeah? So no one back home has to anymore."
Ugh. The fact that Bungle felt that way was... Cold. Ruthless. Frustrating. Maybe Kislap's life would be easier if she took that same kind of joy from fighting, but...
"The highest votes were for Arthur and randomizing among the group. As those aren't things you can split, perhaps we should randomize? The burden of the knowledge wouldn't be Arthur's alone, as he has voiced hesitation on it."
It WAS nice to know that her original suggestions were the most popular. She did get satisfaction in that.
Anthem of Flower and Wind || Kislap || RE: rewards || ATTN: Everyone
"..."
A part of her didn't like that they were all ignoring Espada's upcoming death. Actually, a large part of her didn't like it. The difficulty was whether voicing that feeling or not would be advantageous.
"... Are ya really going to not even give a thought to Espada for a moment? The woman ya just condemned to death? I'm all for discussing where the reward should go, as I have discussed it earlier myself, but do think for a moment on that."
She took a breath.
"Espada, I'm sorry. I still don't approve of your collaboration with Grigorio and the fact that ya handed him something he did not deserve, but I truly didn't want ya to die. I think ya deserve a moment."
... That was the least she could do. If nothing else, Espada deserved that much.
Placing that acknowledgement aside....
"I absolutely do not trust Leaf or Bungle with any information whatsoever. They will spill things publicly with no thought, and are the most risky options. The most popular option seems to be Arthur, yeah? Personally I'm only ok with Virgo, Parian, Espada, or Arthur having my name and magic. My magic is less effective when people know what it is, and that's the only real secret I have. Everything else can be inferred based on my occupation or I'm not really trying to keep quiet about.... Eh, well. Except maybe my shattered kneecap, but that's not a problem for me anymore after the surgery."
She shot another, very VERY noticeable glare at Sunny, who was conked out on the ground, anyway.
"I'd like to make a further argument in favor of Arthur receiving our names. Arthur's magic, being able to speak with us after death, is contingent on knowing our names. If something were to happen to someone, and no one living knew what their name was, him automatically having those would be to the benefit of the deceased. He's also kind and level-headed, so I believe he'd keep things to himself unless vital to a case. As Arthur suggested, I'd like to put this to a vote, however. I'll list off the names of everyone still here. Raise your hands to vote for them. In the event of a tie, we can split the secrets between those tied. I'm fine with voting for more than one person. ... Do note that I will absolutely kick the shit out of you if ya try to target Arthur, by the way. And leave ya alive, so ya suffer from the pain of it."
IC STRAW POLL ERRYBODY
Interestingly enough, she did not vote for herself.
“I do not presume to know the intentions of the sleeping goddess, but if you all fail to point out the killer, the curse of a single death might likely be spread out among you. Therefore, you likely would not die.” Mod translation: mistrial will likely be just a punishment for everyone.
At Four’s mention, Mother looks down.
“I wish I understood...” she mutters softly, obviously uncomfortable with the topic.