07-12-2017, 04:50 PM
Quote:Ebony's real name is Catherine. She changed said name to Ebonywood Hellscythe. That name comes from the character Ebonywood Hellscythe that she wrote books about.
Ebony didn't shiver or move under her cloak as events played out around her. Going home was her only aim outside of making friends. The later made impossible by her fear and the former ever out of reach. Her mind whirred, mulling over possibilities. She longed for her scythe. For warmth. To at least escape hellish dull white plane.
Like in the past where she attempted to stand or speak, she repeated the process. Trying. Focusing. Diverting her efforts. In this case, she tried to force herself. Ebony tried to command her legs to move, overriding the lingering fear and uncertainty. Yet she lost again, this time to sadness. A loss of will. Why would, or should, she do anything when it wouldn't make a difference?
Ebony couldn't go home. Or, at least, she couldn't make any progress towards doing so just sitting there as she was. She knew that; everyone knew that; knowing it wasn't a help. But a continuously growing part of her wasn't even sure such a thing was possible. She'd never seen or heard of a place like this outside of a few interpretations of a potential afterlife - and should she actually be dead then there was no hope in returning home. In short, Ebony had given up. No more panic. No more shaking. No more anything.
Just her, the cloak, tears, and her memories. If she closed her eyes enough it was like she actually was home, back in her cabin huddling under her cloak for warmth. Voices broke through, however, and the moment was short lived. They weren't talking to her anymore, but she thought parts of what they said were about her.
Her mind was almost blank. Nothing. No hope. No plans. All spirit lost.
Almost. One small question remained.
What would Ebonywood Hellscythe do?
What would her idol, creation, and inspiration do? The frail girl hiding under the cloak wasn't her, not truly. But she wanted to be. Catherine was an old name and persona she strived to avoid returning to, even with a change in scenery like this. Ebony, the real Ebony, was a girl of action. She'd have been on her feet by now, scythe in hand and possibly with new friends by her side. Maybe not with a direct plan, but she'd be doing something even if it was futile. Hopeless. She never gave up. Even in "The Further Adventures of Ebonywood Hellscythe Vol. VII: The Quest of the Golden God" when her magic was taken and her scythe blade dulled. Even then she persevered, saved the world (and the school), fixed her scythe, beat the bad guy, and got her magic back.
But that Ebony was fictional. Not real. Fake. Yet the concept was all Ebony, the real one, needed. Without it, she'd never have cast magic. Without it, she'd still be stuck in a tower. Without it, she wouldn't have a really cool cloak. It had always provided some emotional support and her scythe, cloak, outfit, and books were her connection to it. The scythe could be remade; and while it would take a very long time, the books could be rewritten - or more potentially created. Those were losses she could feasibly deal with, unlike the loss of her friends, her home, and the ship. She couldn't simply remake them.
I have to try.
Ebonywood Hellscythe would try. Or do something. Even if it seemed doomed to fail, she would make an attempt. As Captain had said, "It's better to try and not succeed than do nothing, Ebony. If you're not doing anything, then you've already lost. Stay optimistic, a sad face doesn't suit you." Sad expressions didn't suit anyone. Ebony may have been an actor in a sense, but not a good one. She could push herself forwards with false confidence attempting to mirror her alter ego, but masking emotions was never her strong point. Especially sadness, loneliness, and excitement.
Laughter breached her black fabric prison followed by the sound of a short movement. She didn't react physically, but it woke her from her thoughts. Stifling her mind she looked up slowly in one smooth mechanical motion. Ebony's hood dangled protectively in front of her eyes preventing her from seeing anyone else's faces. Yet in front of her was the same gloved hand from before. She knew little about Vulre but he was certainly patient.
He reminded her a bit of the bodyguard she had back at the castle. Always gruff and dull, he'd remained stalwart in response to her antics and turning a blind eye to the many, many, grass stains that manifested on her clothes. He was boring, but when he left she did miss the guy. The replacement was strict and mean so she stayed away from him by just hiding in her room where possible. And then she ran away, not because of him though, although he didn't exactly provide any incentive to stay.
More tangents ran through her mind. She was stalling. Nervous. Avoiding what was in front of her. It was proper etiquette to at least shake the hand in front of her. And she still hadn't even given her name. Ebony didn't want to be rude. She just found it incredibly hard to start. After making the first step, everything else would follow until the next major obstacle - which hopefully wouldn't be for a while.
Taking a good deep breath, Ebony reached out with one hand while raising her hood slightly with the other. The movement was delicate like it could be blocked by a piece of paper or a light breeze, but her arms didn't shake. Eventually, her gloved hand met the leather. Warmth. She gripped snugly with her small hand, unwilling to relinquish the minor heat source and physical contact. Forcing her cheeks to rise, she smiled at Vulre. It was fake and unnatural, evident by the long trailing stains of tears and the visible amount of effort she was putting into it. Her lower lip quivered as she spoke faintly with false felicity
"N-nice to meet you Vaul-ri." The voice was shaky, but it almost made an attempt at a song - a faint underlying tune layered under the words. She brought her free hand in front of her face so it mostly covered her eyes, making no attempt to close the gaps in her fingers. "M-my..." Breathing in, she shrugged slightly and tried again. "My name is Ebonywood Hellscythe."
In a seemingly prepared motion, like she'd spent days in front of a mirror repeating the exact phrase and motion (which she totally did NOT do), she moved the hand covering her face sideways, waving the fingers slightly. While her voice was still quiet, the counterfeit confidence was well forged. It had an air of meaning behind it.
"Y-you can c-call me Ebony."
Quote:You can pull her to her feet on your post if you want. If you left go of her hand she's going to hold on with that 4 ATK.