an ordinary girl from an ordinary town (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
weirderthanthou) wrote2024-04-24 05:07 pm
weirderthanthou) wrote2024-04-24 05:07 pm
FIGHTY PREPLAY!
'Twas the day. Back at Town Hall, a group of Fandomites were scribbling away, putting their thoughts to paper about the heroic finale that would save them all from their own worst nightmares.
A final battle that would take place... right here, in the Park, by the playground. The strange, shadowy creatures that had invaded the island found themselves drawn here inexplicably. Some staggered. Some ran. Some flitted like whisps through the air.
(The more left unsaid about that marinaded lobster, the better.)
It was time, oh Heroes of Fandom.
---
Hello, Fighty Preplay People! The conceit of this particular fight is that it bends and changes according to what Story Team is doing.
The rules:
- The fight must stay in the playground.
- Each character can have a moment of Divine Inspiration - a flashback to a good time in their life that gives them determination, a vision of someone they love at a time when they are just about to lose, a sudden and inexplicable realization of a weak spot (that you are free to come up with and mod yourself).
- Tropes! Plot armor, lampshading and idiot balls are at your narrative disposal, should it be funny/interesting/uplifting to invoke at that particular point. You will all also have miraculous escapes, if you wish.
- There may or may not be a chicken kickline on the field on liveplay day. Feel free to react accordingly.
And that's it! Ping in facing off with a creature of your own devising - it can be anything, as long as it's Teh Evil and could have come out of someone's creative work. Or just ping in, in which case I'll come up with something.
Have fun!
A final battle that would take place... right here, in the Park, by the playground. The strange, shadowy creatures that had invaded the island found themselves drawn here inexplicably. Some staggered. Some ran. Some flitted like whisps through the air.
(The more left unsaid about that marinaded lobster, the better.)
It was time, oh Heroes of Fandom.
---
Hello, Fighty Preplay People! The conceit of this particular fight is that it bends and changes according to what Story Team is doing.
The rules:
- The fight must stay in the playground.
- Each character can have a moment of Divine Inspiration - a flashback to a good time in their life that gives them determination, a vision of someone they love at a time when they are just about to lose, a sudden and inexplicable realization of a weak spot (that you are free to come up with and mod yourself).
- Tropes! Plot armor, lampshading and idiot balls are at your narrative disposal, should it be funny/interesting/uplifting to invoke at that particular point. You will all also have miraculous escapes, if you wish.
- There may or may not be a chicken kickline on the field on liveplay day. Feel free to react accordingly.
And that's it! Ping in facing off with a creature of your own devising - it can be anything, as long as it's Teh Evil and could have come out of someone's creative work. Or just ping in, in which case I'll come up with something.
Have fun!
no subject
He shifted his stance, ready to stand his ground against whatever horrors lurked in the shadows of the park.
"All right you creepy crawlies. I've seen scarier things hiding under a kids bed!" he shouted. "Bring it on!"
no subject
Something coiled around his arms, shifting and moving.
"WE DON'T TALK ABOUT THAT, MIDGE!" it hissed.
no subject
Clearly Dean was missing context here. Instead of asking for clarification, Dean just pulled out his gun and emptied a clip at it.
Which probably wasn't very effective against shadows.
no subject
The bullets shot through it, fizzling and disappearing into thin air as it continued to move. The... thing? Curling around its hands.
no subject
"C'mon Skipper," Dean said taunting the thing and motioning with the blade. "Talk to me about Ginger and the Professor."1
1This conversation of course all used the appropriate meta for Gilligan's island.
no subject
It didn't seem intimidated by the blade. It... didn't seem to respond to much of anything. But the ground underneath its feet turned an ugly yellow with each step.
Closer.
Closer.
no subject
no subject
The blade didn't touch it. Just pushed straight through, as if the thing wasn't made of anything at all.
Unfortunately, the snake-teeth that portruded from its hands, lashing out at Dean's shoulder, were rather more corporeal.
no subject
He stabbed at the arm with the blade trying to see if that portion was at least corporeal.
no subject
The mindless thing kept going, coughing up nonsense names and stranger words. Its snake arm flailed out again, trying to catch Dean a second time. The heart, perhaps?
no subject
No. Not like this.
His mind flashed back to his father smiling outside the gate to hell. Bobby's grin and uttering "Idgits" one last time. Charlie crumpled over in the bathroom of a cheap motel. Castiel's last look when he said "I love you." And then the barn as Sam's face as his vision went black.
No. Not going down like that. If this thing continued to grow it would overtake the island. And if it slipped through the cracks? Home. And Dean was not letting this get back to his family.
With one final wild slash he struck out with the blade, aiming for whatever served as their head.
no subject
The eyes of the snake thing at its fingertips lit up first. Then, the space where a human's eyes were supposed to be.
"... Fam... ly?" it stuttered.
Its shadowy head slid from its body. It fell apart into a hundred little glitter-stars.
no subject
no subject
"Where are you?" she howled. "I'm gonna take my booze back outta your ass!"
Maybe don't think about that threat too closely. Definitely needed to be workshopped a little more.
no subject
Were they... humming?
They were most certainly humming.
Disconcerting.
no subject
They were also kind cute-- No! They had ruined her alcohol stash! And who knew what else that had been in her doctor bag when they'd smashed it. (Navaan certainly couldn't be expected to remember whatall she'd put in there. What was she, a rememberologist?)
She continued her angry stalk towards the merry-go-round, once again yelling. "Yeah! I'm talking to you! Booze destroyers! Bitchy sorcerettes! Ummm..." She tried to think of another good insult. "You look like you were made with yesterday's catch and cracked meringue!"
Somewhere, a tiny bat abruptly felt his feelings get hurt.
no subject
"Un... ho... lee," the most precious whispered.
Her two sisters eeled away from the merry-go-round. The shrimp that made up their bodies seemed to... undulate.
It was not sexy.
no subject
But she was going to have to agree with the narrative here that these undulating fishy sorcerettes were not at all sexy.
She planted her feet and took up a surprisingly competent fighting stance. "I don't know what creepy shit you're up to, but you're gonna pay for what you did to my booze! Like, for the replacement booze I mean. And maybe some dry cleaning. And - also don't come too much closer to me, keep your creepy wobbling to yourselves over there!"
no subject
"Atmediumlowheat!" spat the second, righting itself up, and-- hurling itself physically at Navaan's face, a mountain of rice and seafood rising at once and flooding her vision with malevolent intent.
no subject
It took her a moment too long to backflip out of the way of the wave of old rice and seafood and while she managed to avoid being dragged under by it, she did end up liberally spattered.
no subject
Individual pieces of shrimp started to pull back towards a center, rice sli-i-i-ding across the mud. They reassembled into a facsimile of Lilianna.
Most Precious gave an idle wave of her little hand. "Whiskthewhites," she spoke coolly.
"WINE!" shrieked the paella-Liliannas, like a mad pulsing alarm. "WIIIINE!" They broke apart into pieces, winding around each other, until they formed... one... massive... shrieking Lilianna. "WIIIIIIIIIINE."
no subject
no subject
"COVERANDLETREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEST!"
Arms outstretched, its head flopped forward like a sick, fishy thing. Its feet followed. It would devour, Navaan.
no subject
The step forward got the vampire moving, at least, breaking through her horrified-fascination-paralysis. "I didn't even know you could have unsexy fights!" she wailed as she booked it around the playground. "I've never been less turned on in my liiiiiiiiiiife!"
She ran towards her dripping doctor's bag and snatched it up. There was still all sorts of things in there, many of them ruined by the shattered glass and alcohol. She rooted through the bag, grabbing what few salvageable things she could see and consigning the rest to Sithrak. Which meant she had to make it count. She just needed a few more things...
"Oh hey! Thanks bottle of rubbing alcohol I grabbed off the mantle!" she said, fishing that out. Along with a pair of panties that were four sizes to large for her with a (sadly, now illegible) number scrawled across the ass. She opened the bottle and shoved the panties two-thirds of the way in, hearing the thing shamble closer and closer...
There! Last item! In her pockets, not her bag, thanks you, Lady Luck! She looked up at the massive, screeching seafood sorceress and yelled, "NEVER FUCK WITH A DOCTOR, LADY!" and flung her bag at the creature. It sailed through the air, landing pretty harmlessly at the thing's feet.
Exactly where it was intended to go.
"FLAMBE MOTHERFUCKER!" Because it was followed a moment later by a makeshift Molotov cocktail, aimed right for the highly flammable remains of her bag.
no subject
Most Precious gasped behind them, her delicate meringue cracking a touch in pure horror.
Then the molotov cocktail struck.
And the paella was suddenly violently on fire.
no subject
Someone had forgotten there were three sorcerettes. And that same someone was now without her doctor bag and almost everything that had been in it.
no subject
She would avenge her sisters! Her sisters, who were now coming apart and falling to the ground in a pile of flaming food!
Hissing, flaring her pretty purple skirts-- she attacked full bore, flinging herself at Navaan's hair for a good, angry pull.
no subject
Just like bitchy sorceresses to ignore safewords. Honestly now.
Navaan flailed her arms wildly behind her, trying to smack the little purple freak off her hair and away from her. And if anybody asked, falling on her ass was also part of that. Trying to drag her down on the ground, too, or whatever.
no subject
Instead, she clung tightly.
And bit down on Navaan's scalp.
no subject
Navaan was flailing, Navaan was shrieking, Navaan was...bleeding? "THIS IS NOT MY KINK AND THIS KINK ISN'T OKAY!" she screeched. She managed to wrestle the thing off and scamper away, but suddenly things seemed not as good as when she was yelling FLAMBE MOTHERFUCKER.
Her supplies? Burned.
Her doctor bag? Smoldering.
Creepy purple thing? Still leering creepily and purpley, her mouth stained by Navaan's own blood. (For a moment, there was nearly a connection between that and vampirism and the people she'd lured out of Varnova to eat, but that seemed like tying current action horror sensibilities to some deep thematic elements and we weren't about that here.)
Her pockets? Empty--wait.
Frowning, Navaan reached into her pocket and pulled out the only other thing she'd been able to salvage from her bag - one slightly sodden fake death (sold by one of any number of reputable fake death merchants near you!). Even knowing that the last sorcerette was heading towards her with her little fucking mouth of lamprey teeth or whatever, Navaan couldn't help but take a moment to look at that the fake death. She'd killed a god with one of these. The Fun God, who'd been preying on her little guys, her monks who worshipped the god of luck and had been her very best patients - and nurses! - for the longest time. That adventure had brought her Grier and Morag the Immortal, and that hot guy she'd seduced all the good secrets out of, but then tricked him for the best secret...
Those were the people who liked her best in the whole world. Well, not the hot guy. He'd been a cultist of the Fun God. But the other people.
She wasn't actually sure if anybody here on the island liked her. She tended not to think about that much, or sometimes how lonely it got, but it was true she didn't have anybody here that liked her the way her friends back home did.
Maybe...maybe it was time to go home for a while. Visit her little guys. Find out where Grier had ended up and how serious and boring she was being. Deputize a nurse to blow into the bottom of Morag's head so she could participate in a conversation or two.
But to do that, she had to survive. And you know what Navaan was best at, even above adventuring, doctoring, and even fucking?
Coming up with stupid fucking plans that were actually so stupid they just might work.
"HEY CRUSTY!" she yelled. "NECROMANCE THIS!" And whipped the tiny, egg-shaped fake death right at the last sorcerette's face.
no subject
Wait.
Yolk?
Her laughter turned into a wail of despair. "Separatethewhitesfromtheyoooolks..." she moaned as her body started to liquify and run, bubbling and melting as the fat from the yolk caused the meringue to collapse in on itself. "Whipintostiffpeaks..."
And then she was gone, leaving just a thick, purple puddle of goo on the grass, with a few fallen blackberries as garnish.
no subject
One of the chickens from the kickline drew closer. "Was that not what you expected to happen?"
Navaan shook her head. "Nope! I figured, that by throwing a fake death at a fake necromancer, it would act like a real death, and kill her."
"But wait," the chicken said. "Wouldn't the fake necromancer be able to control the fake death because it would be a real death?" She looked confused, counting on her wing feathers while she did complex math in her head.
"Okay, I actually didn't think about it that hard," Navaan confessed. "I just wanted to see what she'd look like naked." The chicken appeared nonplussed by this explanation. Navaan appeared nonchalant. "Let's go rejoin the kickline."
Finally. Something they could both agree one.
"One...two...three...KICK!"