trans_9 | Saturday night's all right for fighting

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Saturday night's all right for fighting

Roxie has set up a simple scenario in the Sensoriums: salt flats, stretching out to the horizon, quiet and boring. The air is temperate; the sky is clear and blue; and the densely-packed salt is firm enough to walk on easily. To run away or hide here would be practically impossible.

She waits, arms crossed. She's gotten worse since the last time she ventured out in public—the occult glyphs scarred into her skin have started to turn gray, as if with the touch of colloidal silver. Her plantsuit—the second she's gone through, by now—has an odd black tinge to it. And her jacket... it's not fraying anymore, but the stitching has all been replaced with red threads. It's a weird contrast against the blue denim.

She waits for the people she's talked to—or anyone else—to show up.

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He'd seen the message pop up on his omnicomm and Castiel, curious, appeared in the Sensorium where Roxie was waiting for what she described as a 'sparring' partner. He stood in the middle of the salt flats, his hands limp at his sides as he stared at the strange little girl with an other-worldly quality about her.

"You are weakened," he said aloud, noticing the change in her since they had first spoken.

"Yes," Roxie says. There is a strange tinge to her words—for just a moment something inhuman lurks in the word, a bell-like touch below the range of the normally inaudible. "I will recover. For the time being this is only a temporary hindrance."

"You cannot hold him at bay by yourself," he said. In the salt around them, a series of sigils begin to form as the crystals turn a deep shade of read. It was as if the ground itself were bleeding and creating these shapes.

Many Roxie would, likely, know well. Others may seem slightly familiar but still altogether stranger. Those symbols were angelic in nature. All of them, however, were protective. Not meant to protect Castiel from Roxie, but to protect Roxie from the Nightmare King.

"There are few others who seem to be sincerely trying." Roxie eyes the symbols. She recognizes them—but they do not make her happy. No. They are too close to other glyphs she knows. Less friendly ones. "And I would be remiss in my duties not to try."

"Then they will die," he replied, sounding as if he didn't care if the rest of the crew survived this battle. "Their fate is not yours to change."

"It is my duty," Roxie says stubbornly. "Even if they're idiots. I would not be a servant of my god if I gave up on them so easily."

"Our duty is to guide them back to the right path," Castiel said just as stubbornly. "Even if it means allowing the innocent to die for the mistakes of the...idiots."

"You are confusing your own imperatives for those of others," Roxie corrects, though her tone is uncharacteristically mild. "It is the imperative of my service to sacrifice myself for the good of others, whether or not they know or care about it."

He paused, seeming to consider her for a moment. There was something very Winchester in her reply. She put herself at risk for those she did not even know, for people who never know what she would sacrifice just so they could continue to live their normal, mundane lives.

He then nodded slowly. "You will need help," he said, taking a couple of steps closer to her. "Sam and Dean Winchester have a gun, a Texas Paterson 1836, made by Samuel Colt. There are only five things in all of existence that it cannot kill. The entity down in the bowls of the city may be number six. But, when the time comes, it may be able to weaken him and slow him down enough for you and I to do what is necessary."

"You speak in the plural, but a moment ago you were fine with not lifting a finger." Even when offered help, Roxie can't but nitpick at the little things she sees. And her eyes narrow. She doesn't trust the sound of that weapon.

"I said that it was not my place to change the fate of those who will not seek change it themselves," he corrected her. "The Winchesters are not those people. Nor, it would seem, are you. I will do everything in my power to ensure their safety."

Roxie frowns a little. She doesn't trust Castiel's motives—but, then, she rarely really trusts anyone. "What about those on this ship who have neither the aptitudes nor the means to protect themselves?"

"I will do what I can," Castiel answered.

"Good," Roxie says, and there's a frown on her face.

Isaac was close behind the strange child he'd found himself working under. A less secure man would have balked at working under a slip of a girl, but Isaac was not like them.

And so he followed her, daguerrotype box and collection of reading equipment, festooned with dials and gauges, cradled in his arms like a precious infant. He quickly set to work setting them out on the bare, salty ground. "Ready whenever you are, Roxie."

'Vadum strode in through sensorium's entrance way and out onto the salt flats beyond. Sweeping his gaze once around the scene, his white armour gleaming in the bright sun.

Stopping several meters from the two humans, a light bob of his head given to Roxie and the other, "Greetings, you are the one to which I spoke previously, correct?" he asked in confirmation as he examined the two calmly, she was tiny compared to himself, nearly half his height, however he reserved his judgment on her capabilities.

"There is a purpose to that equipment I gather?"

"Isaac is here to observe, if that is acceptable to you. I am Roxie." The girl looks up at the alien who's come, nonplussed by his greater height and physical bulk. In fact, she even offers a hand forward and upward in suggestion of a rather awkward handshake.

The Sangheili contemplates the other man for a moment before giving a nod, "It is acceptable. A pleasure, I am Rtas 'Vadum," He replies in his formal manner. A moment spent contemplating that offered hand before he would step forward to accept the offer, his massive hand surrounding her own as he gave a brief yet firm shake of her hand.

Though her fingers are small, Roxie's grip is strangely firm for such a small being. "If you wish to use weapons, do so," Roxie says, her tone cool and even. "I have designed this scenario to safely interrupt attacks that would otherwise be lethal, marking it as a 'loss' for the target."

'Vadum took note of her strong grip with an almost inaudible 'hmm'. At her words he gave an incline of his head to the affirmative, his expression and manner as formal and calm as ever. "Very well, these conditions are acceptable," While he did not entirely trust Stacey's systems, he would abide by it.

Taking a few steps back the Sangheili drew forth the unlit hilts of his energy blades, clasping each firmly in hand. "Have you anything further to note before we begin? Otherwise, when you are ready,"

"Aye, to observe and record. The kid's powerful." Isaac said as he flipped metal toggles, set baselines for the dials and the array began to hum. "All ready over here."

"I am ready," Roxie says, and she charges. She's like a little cannonball—propelling herself forward much faster, and with much greater force, than she should be physically capable of. As part of the motion her hand flicks across her neck, plucking a silver bell on a chain from it—and then, all at once and soundlessly, the bell transforms into silver-edged warmace (http://www.fisk-knives.com/Mace.jpg) a disproportionately large in her little hands.

"Indeed," 'Vadum nods briefly to the other human and Roxie. Dropping with ease into a combat stance as she charged, tracking her movements. Hmm, so she did indeed have a weapon, with a flick of his left wrist the twin forked blade of energy snapped into existence.

Even in the brief second this had happened the Sangheili leaped forward and to the right of the path of Roxie's charge that second before she would reach hip, striking out with his long reach as he would pass, hoping to catch a glancing blow.

The mace swings, but 'Vadum has already leapt forward, and her stance has the slow-to-change inertia of an armored brute despite her size. And the edge of the sword flicks in—

There is the sizzle of burning flesh, but the glancing hit skids somehow, impossibly, shredding her shoulder without piercing further into her torso. She lets out a hiss but that's the only reaction as she speeds past, using the inertia of the mace to spin back around to face the alien. The sear along her shoulder is obvious, but it doesn't seem to be impairing the movement of her arm much.

She smiles in a faintly disturbing, unfocused way, and casually slams the mace against the ground—the dry salt cracks and shatters as though from a much greater force than she should be able to muster, and the silver rings like a bell, whining through ear-screeching notes that would be faintly nauseating for any normal human.

The sound of that sizzle and the scent of seared flesh reached 'Vadum as he spun, knowing that he had scored at least a glancing hit. Easily spotting the sear he had caused, that she took the wound unfazed gave her some credit in his eyes.

The Sangheili begins to circle Roxie, watching her with calculating eyes even as the mace is slammed into the ground so casually, noting the threat the mace may pose from the force it impacted with before the piercing notes it gave off caused even a seasoned warrior as himself to cringe briefly.

Focusing past the minor nausea the notes appeared to cause 'Vadum took that moment to strike, test Roxie's reflexes and defenses while her mace was lodged in the ground. Lunging forth to strike at her side with his twin bladed weapon.

Oh, someone else showed up. Someone tall, dark, and ~~cranky~~ broody.

He didn't announce his arrival, simply crossed his arms over his chest and stared.

Roxie narrows her eyes at Daimon.

"Did you come in response to my message?"

"Indeed. You are more than what you appear, of that much I am certain." That was it. He wasn't volunteering himself for a sparring session.

Yet.

"Yes," Roxie says bluntly.

And stares at him.

"You will not find me such an easy target this time."

"You are here to spar?"

Daimon nodded. "I am."

"Ready yourself, then."

Roxie plucks the silver bell on the chain from around her neck and with a silent shine, it suddenly transforms into a huge, nasty-looking weapon (http://www.a2armory.com/images/weapons/maceclubbl.jpg).

Daimon raised his trident and it became engulfed in soulfire. "Let us begin."

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Saturday night's all right for fighting

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