[0] WEEKS WITHOUT MURDER

[maladied]

BONJOUR.

Another morning greets you in [ setting ], and it greets you loudly. A commotion erupts somewhere ahead: voices raised, someone screaming, another shouting for help. If you're unlucky enough to be passing near the infirmary, you have a front-row seat to the chaos.

Fran and Y'shtola are flung from the infirmary like ragdolls, hitting the ground in a tangle of limbs and dust. Something inside is on a rampage— something feral, unbound, and unwilling to be tamed.

The speakers crackle to life, Lobelia's voice far too cheerful for the circumstances.

❝ Bonjour, mes amis. If you happen to be wandering near the infirmary this fine morning, do take care... there appears to be a rather spirited beast expressing its displeasure. Fran and Y'shtola have already demonstrated the consequences of getting too close... quite spectacularly, I might add.

So, unless you wish to go flying before breakfast, I suggest maintaining a respectful distance. C'est simple.

Thank you for your attention, and do enjoy the rest of your morning... preferably from afar. ❞

OOC NOTE: A temporary barrier formed around the battlefield during the fight. Only characters already inside the epicenter were able to participate. Anyone who attempts to cross the boundary will be met with a sharp electric shock and forcibly bounced back several feet.

Comments

[physalia]

[She's cutscene locked for the second time today, so there's not much to see, but Cantarella keeps her back turned, her one empty hand flexing open and closed though the rest of her body is as straight as ever.]

[avocations]

[ She can see the motion, combined with the way Cantarella stays still, and she closes her eyes. ]

As full of resolve as ever.

[physalia]

[Well, that's over now.

Cantarella takes a moment to gather herself, then looks back at everyone spread out around the infirmary green. It seems Victor's stepped away, but Y'shtola is still here. Cantarella's eyebrows lower, the shadow of a thought. She opens her umbrella against the rain.]

...Make sure it's not just your sense of touch obscuring things. [In case the injuries are worse than they feel.]

[avocations]

[ Oh. The rain eases, and she looks up to see the umbrella over their heads. ]

Worried I may wake in the morning unable to move so easily?

[ A right worry to have. ]

[physalia]

We are about the same age.

[It is absent her usual lightness, though she does make the attempt.]

Unless you're dealing with a different disorientation? [Well.] ... Just take care.

[avocations]

[ She smiles, slightly. ]

I will. I'll likely be carted off to the infirmary.

[ ... ]

I've had worse injury. I should recover with some rest.