But first, ] I'm Claude. [ To Catra. ] I thought this might've been an excursion for the spring dorm, but if you're here...
[ This sucks. ]
I don't know what's going on here, but it's obvious that we're severely outmatched. I don't want to play along with this little game, but I don't want to test the threat of something that apparently teleport us away in the blink of an eye. I suggest we keep calm and follow along for now.
[ So he's going to start rummaging through the boxes on the western wall as directed. Mostly because he's hoping to find a weapon to arm himself with. ]
[His frown deepens at the end of the instruction. This is no time for complaints, though, so after Claude puts words to his thoughts, he turns to Sakyou and barks:]
Sakyou! Calm down and check the last box.
I'll check the door.
[There's no point in stalling. He heads to the South side of the room, where he puts his ear to the door as directed.]
[yeah, uh. . . Sakyou isn't the only one of this group who is Disinterested in Playing Along. Catra's hiss turns into a slow snarl, and she too has dug her fingers underneath the collar in an attempt to tear it off]
This is. . . stupid! I'm not doing what some-- some disembodied voice tells me to do!
[anyway in her flailing she probably crashes into another box. let's say it's one on the northern wall!! maybe she'll knock it over and spill out the contents and that will count as checking?? who knows. . .]
By the Western Wall, Claude will probably get a glimpse of a few fabric items. A fedora clatters to his feet and a clown nose rolls away.
By Catra, some more gunpowder gets on her! I'm sure that's not a problem.
By the Southern side of the room, Sieg will hear the following, "Hey, did you hear something coming from the Storage Room? I'm going to go check it out."
However for everyone, all of that probably fails to matter at all when they suddenly feel a pinprick in their necks, sharp and cold. Strength will suddenly leave their bodies as they hear the crackle of static again, and then a voice:]
I told you to keep it down. Well, we can always try with the next batch. It'd be easier to discard you if you can't cooperate for even this long.
[A poison works through their bodies - fast. A feeling of ice spreads from their fingertips all the way through their limbs, overtaking them they collapse to the ground. What do they think of in their last moments before the darkness claims them? Loved ones?
[The hilarious thing is that Sakyou has a braincell, he's just mad reactive with a Bad Temper, so between Claude and Sieghart being more level-headed and Sieghart addressing him directly, he actually does settle down...
ONLY TO IMMEDIATELY GET WORKED BACK UP THE SECOND THEY ALL GET JABBED. He's no stranger to being poisoned and/or harmed in generally covert ways, so he's riled up before he even collapses or that rude collar voice even starts speaking again.
i wish he could say that he thinks sadly and mournfully of his loved ones in his final moments and dies in tragic beautiful otome elegance, but in reality he just spends the last seconds before sweet sweet darkness cursing, feeling extremely guilty for putting everyone else at risk and experiencing an intensely murderous bloodlust for this disembodied voice. He's literally going to die mad about it.]
N— [ He immediately thinks to reason, to barter and spin some kind of trap, but Claude barely gets a protest out when the poison steals his breath, stealing his silver tongue before the rest of his faculties.
He thinks his knees hit the ground, though he's already lost sensation if they do, and everything else is drowned out in the blood rushing in his ears, mind racing as he thinks of all that he knows about poison, and how useless it is at this very moment.
It's only because of the sheer frustration imbued in every part of him that he still has the strength to grit his teeth, hands forming fists, before going numb as he eventually slumps forward on the ground.
[He winces at the jab, knowing what's happened by the familiarity of the sensation. But blood usually goes out; not poison, in. It brings Sieghart to his knees as he struggles to remain upright, propped in position with his sword pointed at the floor.
Someone is coming, he thinks before his inevitable collapse. His blood turns cold from equal parts poison and dread. The kids behind him are in danger, and he can't even muster up the strength to stand.
All he can think about next is how he can protect them—because he refuses to accept that this is the end; there's no way—when Soluna falls onto the metal grating with a clang and he collapses onto his side.]
[the sting in her neck draws a sharp, angry hiss from Catra, a reaction not unlike what happens when someone pokes a bear or a beehive. but. . . as willing as the mind may be? the body strongly disagrees]
[with a sharp inhale, Catra falls to her knees as well, hands dropping from the collar to splay against the ground to keep her upright. is it just her. . . or is her heart hammering loudly in her ears, drowning out literally everything else but-for the ice that courses through her veins, squeezes her lungs, dims her consciousness. if she knew she was dying, she might be a bit more somber, a bit more focused on the people-- the person-- she's leaving behind]
[but death, while not a complete stranger to her, is also not an entity she intends to give into so damn quickly]
S-s-show your f-f-face you. . . y-you--
[her words are weak. just like her arms, which give out from under her as she crumbles into a ball on the floor. her body is cold-- so cold, so cold-- but the fury, the anger, the singular word that teeters on the edge of her conscious as the world goes black, is burning hot]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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But first, ] I'm Claude. [ To Catra. ] I thought this might've been an excursion for the spring dorm, but if you're here...
[ This sucks. ]
I don't know what's going on here, but it's obvious that we're severely outmatched. I don't want to play along with this little game, but I don't want to test the threat of something that apparently teleport us away in the blink of an eye. I suggest we keep calm and follow along for now.
[ So he's going to start rummaging through the boxes on the western wall as directed. Mostly because he's hoping to find a weapon to arm himself with. ]
no subject
Sakyou! Calm down and check the last box.
I'll check the door.
[There's no point in stalling. He heads to the South side of the room, where he puts his ear to the door as directed.]
no subject
[like this]
This is. . . stupid! I'm not doing what some-- some disembodied voice tells me to do!
[anyway in her flailing she probably crashes into another box. let's say it's one on the northern wall!! maybe she'll knock it over and spill out the contents and that will count as checking?? who knows. . .]
no subject
By the Western Wall, Claude will probably get a glimpse of a few fabric items. A fedora clatters to his feet and a clown nose rolls away.
By Catra, some more gunpowder gets on her! I'm sure that's not a problem.
By the Southern side of the room, Sieg will hear the following, "Hey, did you hear something coming from the Storage Room? I'm going to go check it out."
However for everyone, all of that probably fails to matter at all when they suddenly feel a pinprick in their necks, sharp and cold. Strength will suddenly leave their bodies as they hear the crackle of static again, and then a voice:]
I told you to keep it down. Well, we can always try with the next batch. It'd be easier to discard you if you can't cooperate for even this long.
[A poison works through their bodies - fast. A feeling of ice spreads from their fingertips all the way through their limbs, overtaking them they collapse to the ground. What do they think of in their last moments before the darkness claims them? Loved ones?
Good night, sweet princes and lesbian furry.]
no subject
ONLY TO IMMEDIATELY GET WORKED BACK UP THE SECOND THEY ALL GET JABBED. He's no stranger to being poisoned and/or harmed in generally covert ways, so he's riled up before he even collapses or that rude collar voice even starts speaking again.
i wish he could say that he thinks sadly and mournfully of his loved ones in his final moments and dies in tragic beautiful otome elegance, but in reality he just spends the last seconds before sweet sweet darkness cursing, feeling extremely guilty for putting everyone else at risk and experiencing an intensely murderous bloodlust for this disembodied voice. He's literally going to die mad about it.]
no subject
He thinks his knees hit the ground, though he's already lost sensation if they do, and everything else is drowned out in the blood rushing in his ears, mind racing as he thinks of all that he knows about poison, and how useless it is at this very moment.
It's only because of the sheer frustration imbued in every part of him that he still has the strength to grit his teeth, hands forming fists, before going numb as he eventually slumps forward on the ground.
Face perfectly positioned atop the clown nose. ]
no subject
Someone is coming, he thinks before his inevitable collapse. His blood turns cold from equal parts poison and dread. The kids behind him are in danger, and he can't even muster up the strength to stand.
All he can think about next is how he can protect them—because he refuses to accept that this is the end; there's no way—when Soluna falls onto the metal grating with a clang and he collapses onto his side.]
no subject
[with a sharp inhale, Catra falls to her knees as well, hands dropping from the collar to splay against the ground to keep her upright. is it just her. . . or is her heart hammering loudly in her ears, drowning out literally everything else but-for the ice that courses through her veins, squeezes her lungs, dims her consciousness. if she knew she was dying, she might be a bit more somber, a bit more focused on the people-- the person-- she's leaving behind]
[but death, while not a complete stranger to her, is also not an entity she intends to give into so damn quickly]
S-s-show your f-f-face you. . . y-you--
[her words are weak. just like her arms, which give out from under her as she crumbles into a ball on the floor. her body is cold-- so cold, so cold-- but the fury, the anger, the singular word that teeters on the edge of her conscious as the world goes black, is burning hot]
[coward]
[. . . and then everything fades into nothin]
no subject