[Words appear on the ground before you in glowing green. “Your sacrifice(s) are to die, by quill or by ink. Make your final peace, then meet your fate.”]
[Of course, if you wait for longer than fifteen minutes, the matter will be taken out of your hands. The oddly metallic pattern of shelves on the wall shift, peel off the paper and lash out — a number of books fly off the shelves and surround the doomed sacrifice. The books, which have pages as weighty as steel, start pressing down on their victim’s extremities. They crush fingers or toes, then hands and feet, more and more of them working their way up the unfortunate victim’s limbs until all that’s left is a torso and a head. It’s an excruciatingly slow process, culminating in the other books fluttering off to be replaced by a final, person-sized one oh-so-slowly pressing their chest and head until they finally expire in a manner befitting a pressed flower.
Not to worry, though! Even if the other partner tries to attack them or pull them off nothing will happen to them. They’re very monogamous books, and only crush on one person at a time--even if their persistence is irresistible.]
If I do not die, both of us die, Flare. I will not allow that.
I shall see you soon. It will not be long.
[Of course, she does not know that. She's lying. It could be hours. Days. Or she may not ever be revived at all. Or she may go into the pods, like people always seem to do so suddenly.]
[That will have to be enough. She hopes it is enough. Unfortunately, she forgot to tell him to cover his ears, because he'll still be able to hear everything.
She draws the sword. She's scared of course, but surprisingly, she mostly just feels an intense concern for Flare. He should not be here. It's enough to make her eyes sting with tears, and her throat go dry.
She takes a deep breath, and steadies her hands. She's never had to do anything like this. Drawing blood for devotion to the gods, sure, but that's a small amount. And any time she's killed in battle, it had been quick and chaotic. She'll need to get a major blood vessel if she wants it to be quick.
She raises her blade, and drags it roughly across her neck. There's a wet sound, and a wet gasp. She collapses, dropping the sword.]
[Yeah, it might have been good to tell him that because he doesn't even think about it until he hears the wet noise.]
[He doesn't look up, barely, but he doesn't. He doesn't look, but in the end, he doesn't need to. Unfortunately he's very good at visualization, and he can imagine what's there. What happened.]
[He stands there even as he hears the thud, shaking, and the tears are falling. He tried to keep them back, for his own mental hang ups, and because even he can see she didn't want him to suffer, didn't want to make it worse, but how could it be with this...this...]
[He eventually collapses to his knees, crying silently because he knows there's going to be end game, and if he starts really crying, he won't stop.]
[No.]
[He has to bury it.]
[Bury it all away.]
[Because he's a coward who couldn't even help his teammate.]
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Re: DECISION
[Words appear on the ground before you in glowing green. “Your sacrifice(s) are to die, by quill or by ink. Make your final peace, then meet your fate.”]
[Of course, if you wait for longer than fifteen minutes, the matter will be taken out of your hands. The oddly metallic pattern of shelves on the wall shift, peel off the paper and lash out — a number of books fly off the shelves and surround the doomed sacrifice. The books, which have pages as weighty as steel, start pressing down on their victim’s extremities. They crush fingers or toes, then hands and feet, more and more of them working their way up the unfortunate victim’s limbs until all that’s left is a torso and a head. It’s an excruciatingly slow process, culminating in the other books fluttering off to be replaced by a final, person-sized one oh-so-slowly pressing their chest and head until they finally expire in a manner befitting a pressed flower.
Not to worry, though! Even if the other partner tries to attack them or pull them off nothing will happen to them. They’re very monogamous books, and only crush on one person at a time--even if their persistence is irresistible.]
Re: DECISION
[What]
No!
Re: DECISION
[She puts her hand on the hilt of her sword, about to draw it.]
Re: DECISION
[Sorry Montage, he's....he's not gonna take this well.]
Re: DECISION
This is the best way.
Now, you need to turn away.
Re: DECISION
Re: DECISION
I shall see you soon. It will not be long.
[Of course, she does not know that. She's lying. It could be hours. Days. Or she may not ever be revived at all. Or she may go into the pods, like people always seem to do so suddenly.]
Please, do not watch.
Re: DECISION
I...I....
[He closes his eyes, body shaking, head bowed. He can't...he can't get himself to turn away, but he can't look, and he's useless useless usseless-]
Re: DECISION
She draws the sword. She's scared of course, but surprisingly, she mostly just feels an intense concern for Flare. He should not be here. It's enough to make her eyes sting with tears, and her throat go dry.
She takes a deep breath, and steadies her hands. She's never had to do anything like this. Drawing blood for devotion to the gods, sure, but that's a small amount. And any time she's killed in battle, it had been quick and chaotic. She'll need to get a major blood vessel if she wants it to be quick.
She raises her blade, and drags it roughly across her neck. There's a wet sound, and a wet gasp. She collapses, dropping the sword.]
Re: DECISION
[He doesn't look up, barely, but he doesn't. He doesn't look, but in the end, he doesn't need to. Unfortunately he's very good at visualization, and he can imagine what's there. What happened.]
[He stands there even as he hears the thud, shaking, and the tears are falling. He tried to keep them back, for his own mental hang ups, and because even he can see she didn't want him to suffer, didn't want to make it worse, but how could it be with this...this...]
[He eventually collapses to his knees, crying silently because he knows there's going to be end game, and if he starts really crying, he won't stop.]
[No.]
[He has to bury it.]
[Bury it all away.]
[Because he's a coward who couldn't even help his teammate.]