oddsandends | 92nd ♫ | the quietness, profoundly consuming silence

Name: Brynhilde Pendragon | Champion of Ashes | Draconian
Age: 18 | Species: Human, dragon | Occupation: Wandering ~~troublemaker~~ adventurer
Likes: A good fight, hot food around a campfire, adventuring
Dislikes: Humans, princes, losing.
Traits: Adventurous, impulsive, cheerful, vengeful
Trivia: She likes to be called Bryn.

[ Physical impressions cliffnotes here! A traveling warrior with as many braincells as she has functioning eyes (which is to say, one). She was raised by a dragon as part of his horde until a prince whose name and face she's yet to find out went and slayed him. After taking on the powers of her Dead Dragon Dad, Bryn has set out on a Revenge Road Trip across the continent of Seidrfold, a Fantasy Kitchen Sink setting full of all sorts of neat European mythological nonsense. Despite how edgy that description makes her sound, she's actually a cheerful, high-energy sheltered weirdo who cannot be trusted with her own braincell and is having SO MUCH FUN out here on her wild adventure. She can get kind of weird and condescending about Regular Humans as a consequence of her upbringing, and she's also kind of cheerfully bloodthirsty about seeing culprits executed??? I'm sure it's fine. ]

[What If Though]

[ WHAT IF INDEED

RNG says they're in a mall which i think would be VERY funny and i didn't bother rolling for a scenario yet bc i know this is just going to be a thread where we get Very Sad About Siblings ]

[Though Einar hasn't slept in over sixty hours, he has nothing to show for it. Military genius offers no wisdom. He's gone over and over and over the battleground, the lay of the land, the foe's position, and found only walls he cannot scale, lines that defy breaking, enemy strongholds without weakness.

There's no way around. There's no way through. There's no safe retreat--no, there isn't even a risky chance.

'Guess what happens if you don't make some bodies this week! Whoever you love most? They die. It won't be fast; it won't be pretty. It won't even make sense! One second, life's going on as normal without you. The next, your best friend forever, your daaaarling pet, your most precious little "family member"--whatever! Whoever your poor, sweet, dearest babyboo is will just be a nasty smear on the ground, and no one will eeeeeeeever know why.

'Geez, come to think of it, I haven't gotten to murderate someone up close and personal in waaaay too long. And here I've let you guys have a whole megamall of death to yourselves! Everything's a two-for-one deal minimum for you chumps! You know what? Since I've been so left out, I'll treat myself to some super creative killfest or grab a double helping of your loved ones or something.

'So like, tl;dr? I'm saying kill... or I will. Toooooooodles. Hahahaha!'

His wife. His child.

If he does nothing--if he does nothing and no one else acts--she'll kill them. Should he do nothing and someone else acts, all of them in this mercantile greathall could be killed, including his sister. If he kills and his fellows find him out, he leaves Naja and their daughter alone, and if they do not--

He fails Brynhilde. Again. He lets her die stolen, captive, manipulated, again.

Einar Ulf Herleifr, the last prince of Askajord, husband, father, and brother, sits on the tile floor, face lowered into one hand and combat knife unsheathed in the other. He sits with his back against the side of the cheerfully-painted mall train that now stands still and silent in the night, unable to make one move that does not harm the ones he loves.]

Edited 2021-10-01 18:29 (UTC)

[ What little sleep that Bryn manages to get that night is unsettled and fractured by flame-licked dreams. She never would have considered herself someone with hostages to fate, but as the week has gone by and the reality of the threat they've been issued has sunk in, she finds herself thinking more and more of the friends she's left behind. Maybe they're wondering where she is. Maybe they're worried. Either way, they're surely not prepared for the insane woman who plans to go after them should nothing happen.

It's the first time in weeks that she's felt... tempted, really. Which is bizarre, considering that her brother is also here. She tells herself that it wouldn't really count if she was to put a blade to him here, away from home. It just wouldn't feel right. That's the only reason she's hesitated.

Now, though, she doesn't feel very hesitant. Her lack of sleep has her feeling frazzled and electrified when she creeps out of her room. She tells herself she's not looking for anyone in particular – that she's just patrolling, to ensure nothing happens. And if she has a knife, well, that's just for self defense. She tells herself all that over and over, but she never starts believing it.

And she doesn't even pretend she's surprised when she comes across Einar, looking wrung out and half-dead before Bryn has had a chance to even think about sinking a knife into him. She hangs back, wrestling with the question of whether or not to approach. Whether or not it's too late to run away. ]

... so even you have things you're willing to break for.

[He doesn't laugh. The flat, mirthless noise that escapes him isn't even acknowledgement. It's simply punctuation.]

Willing? No.

[A man need not be willing to be broken.

Einar lifts his head from his hand, then, and blinks when he sees Brynhilde there. No surprise registers. The space behind his eyes feels packed with grit, leaving little room for anything else but pre-supposed regret.

His knife sits loosely in his hand. It remains so, as if he's unaware he holds it. Finally, he sighs and lets his gaze fall to the level of Bryn's knees.]

You wouldn't consider going back to your room if I asked, would you? You might... simply forget about me.

[ Bryn lets out a laugh too – or maybe it's more like a snarl, a horrible noise from low in the back of her throat. ]

I'm afraid I've never been particularly good at doing what's asked of me.

[ It's a lie, of course – both of them know that. The only reason Bryn is stood before him as she is, the white rose taking the place of her eye, is because she has only ever wanted to do what was asked of her by the ones she cares for the most.

Maybe that's why she finds herself hesitating. ]

I imagine you might give me the same sort of answer, if I were to tell you to pretend none of this was happening and to leave? [ Before he can form a response, she scoffs. ] That's a foolish question, isn't it? You don't have a choice anymore.

I... [The words trail off, as if he didn't actually know what he was going to say. He's so tired.] No.

[Einar rubs his dry, worn eyes with the pads of his fingers, then, letting the knife fall, the heels of both hands. A choice? He hasn't even a path forward, let alone options to choose from.]

I had hoped...

[And now he has no hope, none whatsoever. No hope his daughter might curl her tiny hand around his finger ever again. No hope of reconciling with the strange, lost sister before him. No hope of finding himself in Naja's sweet, familiar arms, safe at last. He missed Brynhilde's childhood, and his parents sold his own away as well. It makes a despairing sort of sense he should lose his chance at all the rest.

This is the end of all his hoping. All he can do now is refuse the worst of these unhappy endings. The knife still lies at his side. He can defend himself if he wishes. That's not what he wants to have to use it for.]

Brynhilde... will you tell them? Could you tell them... that I did all I could to return?

[ The little seed of unease that had been planted in her heart with the motive finally takes root and blooms into a feeling of alarm that makes her breath stop hard in her throat. She hears what he's saying, but she finds herself refusing to accept that he means what it sounds like he's saying. Or rather, she'd already known this would be where they'd end up this entire week. Maybe she'd just wanted to believe that somehow, things would turn out to be different. ]

You can't–

[ She stumbles all over her words, not even certain herself what it is she intends to say to him. This is what she wants, isn't it? For him to die. Whether it's at her hand or his own, that doesn't matter. In fact – for him to die here like this, leaving behind those who love him, isn't that the most perfect penance she can imagine?

Why does she feel so ill at the thought, then? ]

You're really going to give in now? After how far we've come?

[Later, if he lives to know a later, he might realize what now gives him the strength to raise his head.

'We.' How far we've come. With that word, Brynhilde pulls his eyes up to look at her, forces him to recognize what he's saying and to whom. He swallows thickly, too exhausted and dry to tear up. His eyes can only burn dimly.]

What should I do? Wait for someone else to die--to be slaughtered so I might live? Hope another innocent is killed, so I might once more hold my--

[Einar's voice breaks then, splintering like dry wood for a fire, and he stops talking. He stops talking, but not looking at Brynhilde, as if tiredly trying to memorize her face before he goes.

And then he does stop, weaving his fingers together and letting his eyes rest against the joined hands. His voice, when it returns, returns softer, less solid for its breaking.]

...My daughter... in my arms, and promise she'll be safe, though her father did nothing, nothing at all to make it so?

[ Her throat feels like it's burning. She hasn't managed to summon even a whisp of an ember since they'd woken up here but this horrible feeling twisting in her chest has managed to set some sort of heat aflame. She's never felt quite so powerlessly angry before – rage and frustration with nowhere to go but the scowl that twists her face and the snarl that curls into her voice when she snaps at him. ]

Don't you think the thing that matters is that you'd be there to hold her at all?!

[ This is cruel, to both of them. The longer she drags this out, the more agonizing it becomes. The more risk there is to all their loved ones. This is selfish. But Bryn isn't a very selfless girl. But she is stubborn beyond all reason. ]

Wouldn't she rather grow up with a father who had done anything to stay by her side and make her happy? Rather than being left with stories and having to imagine what that might have been like – don't you think they'd both rather have you?!

[ Of course he knows that. Bryn knows that everything in him must be screaming to return to them both. This isn't his choice, not really. It'd been taken out of their hands so long ago – but she can't just let this happen without a fight. ]

[What comes rushing down the usual channels Einar's guilt and pain take turns out, strangely, to be surprise. There's something cleaner about surprise. It knocks loose some of the familiar old despair and washes it temporarily away.

Yes, of course he knows. He knows what it is to be the child abandoned in a hard, friendless world--he knows what it is to bear a country's dreams on one's shoulders alone, without an ally close at hand. Still, there's no reason his wishes--or even his family's, or the whole kingdom's--should supersede anyone else's. That's what his parents taught him when they sent him so far from home; they taught him no bonds, no filial duty, no oath to people or country cannot be broken for something greater or more powerful.

Somehow, he didn't know Brynhilde would know that, too. That she would still know that, having forgotten their family. That, of course, she should know that better even than he. Better than anyone in the world.

He didn't know she'd bare that knowledge to him, of all people--the one who took the only family she knew away.

Einar stares forward, eyes wide beneath the long fringe of his hair, then blinks up at his lost, half-feral sister. After a moment, he repeats the question, quieter and even more genuine:]

What should I do?

[The tightness returns to his throat, to his chest, aching along old scars.]

If no one does anything, they'll be... But I can't let any of us here be killed, either. I will not.

[His voice is a ghost, but it's the ghost of firmness, still possessed of stubborn, princely pigheadedness. He sets his mouth in a line.]

You won't allow harm to come to your people, either, will you? What should we do?

['We.' It's 'we' again, now. That's how it always ought have been.]

[ She's– relieved. She doesn't know why and decides that in this moment, it doesn't matter. All that matters right now is walking him out of this foolish trap they've all been backed into. She wishes she had something, anything more concrete to give than her indignation – but she doesn't, and it shows in the way her shoulders sag and the frustration in her eventual response. ]

I– I don't know.

[ It feels like a shameful admission to make. But she shakes her head once more and pulls herself up to her full height, forcing herself to square her shoulders.

They've faced worse odds before. She's certain of that. ]

But– we know the person responsible for all this, don't we? And yes, she claims to be all-knowing and all powerful – but are you or aren't you the man who slayed the White Dragon of the Northern Mountains with nothing but his sword and a refusal to die?

Is this truly a trial more insurmountable than that?

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antidraconian - 2021-10-15 22:30 (UTC) - Expand

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draconite - 2021-10-16 21:36 (UTC) - Expand

[As a Perfectly Normal Human, Mobius doesn't really mind belittling comments about his species. Humans are prolific through the universe, somehow always surviving in spite of everything, but they're petty squabblers with no magic or inherent powers of any kind. Pretty lame! This did not used to be a problem, but here on the island...

...Well, actually, he's pretty here for being on an island, all things considered. He's hanging around the vending machine, rubbing a couple of gacha coins between his fingers.

yes he's hoping for keys or something to a fuckin jet ski don't call him out]

What do you think are the chances this thing spits out actual snacks and drinks from whatever interdimensional pocket's stored in there? I'd kill for a soda.

[...Was that poor phrasing or a joke??? Mobius???]

[ Apart from all the microaggressions, Bryn's far from the worst person to be tooling around on the island with – she's high energy and prone to mischief which are weirdly good traits to have in a situation like this, outside of Thursday evenings. It's kind of a miracle she hasn't been taken out sooner, but she seems to be taking things on the chin well enough. Don't worry about it.

Instead, worry about the way she's examining the vending machine, tapping away at it like a cat examining a glass it's about to knock off the counter. ]

I've no idea! I've never seen such a strange machine before... you say it's common for them to store food and drinks?

[ Her eye is twinkling pretty gleefully at the prospect. ]

[She's weirdly like a little stupid dragon version of Loki in a way. Chaotic and energetic and does what she wants just because she can. Just...just without all the cunning and plotting and scheming. And without the blatant self-loathing.

Listen, someone needs to make sure she doesn't hurt herself, might as well be him.]

Careful, we don't wanna break it. Probably. Yet. [It would not necessarily be the worst idea, but he's seen occasionally useful things come out. Or sentimental, personal things. Haruna got a teddybear out of it the one time, and it was a whole thing? So there's a lot of possibility in there. Might be worth seeing the mechanism inside to pillage.]

It's a pretty common machine after a certain point on Earth, and through the galaxy, yeah. Food and drink most often, but so long as it can fit inside, you can buy all kinds of things. You should go to Japan sometime; those people get creative. This bad boy [with a little rap of his knuckles on the front ~~CAN FIT SO MUCH TRAUMA IN IT~~] seems to work on relatively similar principles, just...with a mystery element to it.

Oh...! So it's some sort of... automated merchant? You can make purchases without a seller needing to be present? [ Sure, why not. Close enough! ] How conveneint!

[ She knocks on it in imitation of him. Maybe a little harder than is really called for but she's not full on punching it yet, at least. ]

I take it the allure comes from the excitement of not knowing precisely what you might get?

[His smile is lopsided and genuine.] Yeah, pretty much that. Automated merchant where you don't know what you're getting 'til you've got it.

[He offers up one of the coins.] You wanna take a crack at it and see what pops out?

Hm...! I think I just might!

[ She takes the coin without a word of thanks and cautiously approaches the machine. It looks kind of intimidating, but she's never been one to back down from a challenge, has she? ]

The coins go into this opening here?

Uh-huh. And then you push the button. [sure there could be a crank to turn but who does that in a vending machine! this isn't a gumball machine] See what kinda prize you get.

Well then! Let's see what we get!

[ she MASHES THAT BUTTON!! The machine trundles in an ominous sort of way before a capsule cheerily pops out. Bryn picks it up and... does not open it! ]

That was... quite underwhelming!

...Bryn. [Dad is tired but he will not let it show!] You have to open it. The prize is in the capsule. You have to pop it out first.

[ She flaps a hand at him. ]

Yes, yes, I know! [ did she. did she really. ] I was simply enjoying the moment!

[ She cracks the capsule open and with a poof, a tall, ornate lance just sort of... manifests. Let's not question it too hard. Bryn blinks, a little taken aback, but then her whole face lights up like she's just won the lottery. ]

Oh, goodness, what are the odds?

Whoa. [That is...intimidating! Also how did it fit in there--] That is some impressive gear. That's yours, huh? [Given the way she's grinning like a loon.] Better check and make sure it's real or if it's just a replica. Not...by stabbing anyone, preferably.

It is! Her name is Sigrdrifa!

[ The lance is definitely way too big for her, but she's handlingly it deftly in a way that implies experience. It uh, still totally has some "what do you have" "A KNIFE" "NO!!!" energy, though. Something about Bryn having sharp objects just sets off alarm bells. ]

I can tell just by touching that it's the real thing! See, would you like to feel?

[ She holds it out for him to take and feel the weight. True to her word, it's... kind of really heavy?! A lot heavier than it looks and certainly heavier than a replica would be. ]

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favoriteanalyst - 2021-10-13 23:25 (UTC) - Expand

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draconite - 2021-10-15 12:39 (UTC) - Expand

92nd ♫ | the quietness, profoundly consuming silence

Bryn Pendragon | OC

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[It was only ever going to lead to cw: suicidal ideation]

same cw as above

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