RE: The Opulent Quarrel - Round One: Mademoiselle Primfel's
06-04-2017, 11:59 PM
"Nope, no, fuck that," Georgia replied almost immediately, forcefully jerking her hand back. She turned to the door, shoving it open with her shoulder as she stormed into another featureless room, identical to the one she had just left. Her tail swished irritably and her ears flicked back. Des followed slowly after, their footsteps soft and surprisingly hesitant after the catgirl's burst of anger.
Yeah, that's not going to work, the ethereal voice said. Her voice had a disquieting, calming resonance to it, and it was just as much a sound as it was a feeling, a fleeting impression in Georgia's mind. Besides that, I can't imagine you're excited to spend the next few hours in detention, so it's not like there's any real rush to get out of here.
"Fuck off," Georgia snarled, to the almost visible consternation of Des. "Look, I don't know what you two worked out--" she said, both to Des and where she approximately assumed the ghost was, based off of what felt like a half-imagined voice in her head, "--but I'm really not in the mood for this."
Des rubbed their thumbs against their temples. "Look, I know this sounds suspicious--"
"That's putting it mildly," the catgirl interrupted, the remark punctuated with an angry flick of her tail and a scowl hard enough to make Des pause for a half-second to reconsider their words.
"--but, we're dealing with a situation larger than either of us. We need every advantage we can if we want to even the odds."
"Wow, okay, yeah, when you put it like that I totally feel comfortable about a ghost looking through my mind." Georgia rolled her eyes and winced, still feeling her bruises from earlier. She took the momentary silence as an excuse to examine the room-- the spatial impossibility of it mildly bothered her. If it were caffeine instead of adrenaline keeping her awake, she would give it more critical thought, but she was still running off a fight-or-flight response that made anything past annoyance difficult to process.
We're in an adjacent para-dimension, Sharpe explained without prompting. We made it to hide from Primfel, although it hasn't been used in, oh, probably a thousand years or so, if I had to guess.
"Yeah, I don't really care about your tragic backstory." Georgia yawned for emphasis.
Fair enough! Sharpe's ethereal voice had a mocking, sing-song cheerfulness to it. Lucky for you, I don't need you to care. I just need you to work with me.
Georgia groaned, leaning against a wall to ease some of the weight off her sore, bruised frame. She felt more awake now, at least; her body was sensitive and still painfully ached, and every breath sent a jolt of pain along her spine and across her abdomen, but it was keeping her focused. "You still haven't given me any particularly great reasons why I should let you inside my head," she said, shooting a brief look at Des-- who was doing their best to not look confused about the catgirl's one-sided conversation, projecting something almost close to the professional composure a military pilot was supposed to exhibit.
Look, Georgia, the short of it is that you need me. You got into a fight just after arriving. You're off to detention after one and a half classes. You're going to need some help if you want to get through this. I can help, if you'll let me. Sharpe's voice paused, her words silently hanging in the air. You've got an easy choice. You either swallow your pride, or you watch Primfel grind you up and spit out a well-behaved, well-mannered young lady.
"Fuck, okay, fine," Georgia said, sighing. She hated that Sharpe was right, and no amount of acerbic vitriol would change that. "Don't pretend this changes anything, though. I don't like this and I don't like you."
"You worked something out, then?"
Georgia stared at the pilot. The tip of her tail swished irritably. "Yeah, I guess. Whatever. What happens now?"
Des frowned and idly adjusted their collar. "You continue with class," they finally said. "I'll secure an infiltration route to your mech so you can be inserted in. We'll reconvene here in two hours and continue from there."
"Cool, I'll just go spend a few hours in detention, then, sounds great."
"I know this is not--"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Look, it's-- it's fine. I've been through worse than this. It's just been a rough morning. We'll call it even after you've gotten me to Sorry and I've had a chance to thoroughly fuck up this shitty school."
"Um, right, yes," Des said. "You should leave first, then. It'll give us better cover."
She seems fun, Sharpe's voice projected-- Des could feel her invisible presence beside her again, as the catgirl left the empty room and headed off, presumably towards detention. Anyway, I know where her mech is.
"Yeah?" Des idly stretched, shifting their weight from one leg to another to limber up in preparation. "You make it sound like I'm not going to like this."
Oh, it's nothing you can't handle, I'm sure. Sharpe paused. We just need to break into the contraband locker, one of the most guarded places on the campus.
Another pause. No pressure, though.
Yeah, that's not going to work, the ethereal voice said. Her voice had a disquieting, calming resonance to it, and it was just as much a sound as it was a feeling, a fleeting impression in Georgia's mind. Besides that, I can't imagine you're excited to spend the next few hours in detention, so it's not like there's any real rush to get out of here.
"Fuck off," Georgia snarled, to the almost visible consternation of Des. "Look, I don't know what you two worked out--" she said, both to Des and where she approximately assumed the ghost was, based off of what felt like a half-imagined voice in her head, "--but I'm really not in the mood for this."
Des rubbed their thumbs against their temples. "Look, I know this sounds suspicious--"
"That's putting it mildly," the catgirl interrupted, the remark punctuated with an angry flick of her tail and a scowl hard enough to make Des pause for a half-second to reconsider their words.
"--but, we're dealing with a situation larger than either of us. We need every advantage we can if we want to even the odds."
"Wow, okay, yeah, when you put it like that I totally feel comfortable about a ghost looking through my mind." Georgia rolled her eyes and winced, still feeling her bruises from earlier. She took the momentary silence as an excuse to examine the room-- the spatial impossibility of it mildly bothered her. If it were caffeine instead of adrenaline keeping her awake, she would give it more critical thought, but she was still running off a fight-or-flight response that made anything past annoyance difficult to process.
We're in an adjacent para-dimension, Sharpe explained without prompting. We made it to hide from Primfel, although it hasn't been used in, oh, probably a thousand years or so, if I had to guess.
"Yeah, I don't really care about your tragic backstory." Georgia yawned for emphasis.
Fair enough! Sharpe's ethereal voice had a mocking, sing-song cheerfulness to it. Lucky for you, I don't need you to care. I just need you to work with me.
Georgia groaned, leaning against a wall to ease some of the weight off her sore, bruised frame. She felt more awake now, at least; her body was sensitive and still painfully ached, and every breath sent a jolt of pain along her spine and across her abdomen, but it was keeping her focused. "You still haven't given me any particularly great reasons why I should let you inside my head," she said, shooting a brief look at Des-- who was doing their best to not look confused about the catgirl's one-sided conversation, projecting something almost close to the professional composure a military pilot was supposed to exhibit.
Look, Georgia, the short of it is that you need me. You got into a fight just after arriving. You're off to detention after one and a half classes. You're going to need some help if you want to get through this. I can help, if you'll let me. Sharpe's voice paused, her words silently hanging in the air. You've got an easy choice. You either swallow your pride, or you watch Primfel grind you up and spit out a well-behaved, well-mannered young lady.
"Fuck, okay, fine," Georgia said, sighing. She hated that Sharpe was right, and no amount of acerbic vitriol would change that. "Don't pretend this changes anything, though. I don't like this and I don't like you."
"You worked something out, then?"
Georgia stared at the pilot. The tip of her tail swished irritably. "Yeah, I guess. Whatever. What happens now?"
Des frowned and idly adjusted their collar. "You continue with class," they finally said. "I'll secure an infiltration route to your mech so you can be inserted in. We'll reconvene here in two hours and continue from there."
"Cool, I'll just go spend a few hours in detention, then, sounds great."
"I know this is not--"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Look, it's-- it's fine. I've been through worse than this. It's just been a rough morning. We'll call it even after you've gotten me to Sorry and I've had a chance to thoroughly fuck up this shitty school."
"Um, right, yes," Des said. "You should leave first, then. It'll give us better cover."
She seems fun, Sharpe's voice projected-- Des could feel her invisible presence beside her again, as the catgirl left the empty room and headed off, presumably towards detention. Anyway, I know where her mech is.
"Yeah?" Des idly stretched, shifting their weight from one leg to another to limber up in preparation. "You make it sound like I'm not going to like this."
Oh, it's nothing you can't handle, I'm sure. Sharpe paused. We just need to break into the contraband locker, one of the most guarded places on the campus.
Another pause. No pressure, though.