001 | Audio

[fogsong]

[ It's pretty unusual for Sharon to bother much with the network. Sure, she paid it some mind but it was usually just all bullshit; from complaints to claims of grandiosity or, worse yet, something new from their gods; it was the shitty social media of Hadriel and she wasn't the biggest fan. But things have begun to wear her down, leave her feeling heavy and empty and so unsure.. ] Does anyone have any tips on dealing with stress?

[ There's only a mild slur to her speech that indicates she's been drinking some but the clear howl of cold wind indicates that she's not doing this in the Speakeasy, she's out on her own, dealing with it in her own way. But she's reaching out this time. In her own way. ] I, uh, hate to admit it but I kind of feel like I'm at the edge of my, I don't know, fucking mental rope.

[ A combination of stressors has just left her jumpy and she's tired all the time. She laughs rather suddenly, bitterly. ] This is fucking stupid.

[ At least when you take what they're constantly put through.

Event wise, Sharon is mildly affected but if you'd like to avoid that, just make a note in the comments with a 'nah' and we'll keep them as they are normally. If you have any questions, desires, what have you, contact me on lunareism or Discord: Lunare#7850 ]

Comments

audio; -> action?

[fogsong]

It's cool. I'm shit at verbal directions. [ and maybe also a wee on the lazy side? She can deal with that place. ]

I'll bring what first aid I can. [ She's got her own little cache of first aid items, varied and some seemingly worn with age. The roll of bandages she does have in her bag are stained with smatterings of rust color.

Give her some time and Sharon will show up, lightly bundled up with a small pack over her shoulder. Her dark roots are hidden beneath a vibrant beanie. Even bundled, it's clear she isn't a young woman who throws herself into battle. Or training. Or even simple exercise (running from monsters does not count, Sharon). ]

action!

[battlebound]

( If Sharon is clearly not a person who throws herself into battle or training, Steak clearly is, in his usual fare — cropped top, a billion belts and armour plated gloves, a thick, well constructed leather coat billowing around his calves as he paces, the markings at the base bearing more than a little resemblance to grill marks. Two swords hang at his side and don't appear to bother or slow him down, as though he was born with these weapons. )

You're the girl from the post?

( If there's anything to call his red-eyed stare, it's evaluating, level and raking up and down, taking in all she is. )

action!

[fogsong]

[ Dressed as he is, she wonders if he's immune to the cold. Even with a leather coat, Sharon is certain she'd still be shaking but it's all preferable to the heat. He looks well prepared, probably someone whose been in more than one real battle. She always had proxies to fight for her and, when alone, she often ran.

Maybe he'll help her change that. ]

Yeah, Sharon da Silva. [ She doesn't much care how he's looking her over. It's clear he's sizing her up, maybe even judging her. She stands a little straighter, head held up. She may be thin, edging on what may be unhealthy, but she's looks like the kind of girl who can handle a challenge. ]

[battlebound]

( Something like that, or he's merely too stubborn to give up his near-uniform outfit for the sake of a little crappy weather.

Who knows.

He nods, more to himself than to her, they can work with her. There's a fire there, and that's more important than anything else. )

Steak. ( And with that out of the way, he gestures to the Colosseum behind him with his horned head. ) We can train in here. Unless you have a better idea.

( Though, as far as Steak knows, this seems like the ideal place. Spacious, flat, relatively empty when this city isn't summoning new people. )

[fogsong]

[ Steak? O k. It's not like people don't adopt some strange names here. ]

Nah, we're good. It's not like there's a better place in this city, honestly.

[battlebound]

( Well, no one on Tierra told the Food Souls they had to adopt human names. It's not like it's blatantly obvious that he is one by the horns growing out of his head or anything.

She says she's fine with it and he nods, not wasting a second on niceties and simply striding into the tunnels under the seating. Despite the fact that he's still relatively new and not entirely familiar with the route through them.

Which is probably why he runs into a dead end. )

Damn—

[fogsong]

[ He doesn't waste time and Sharon appreciates that, following him and, when they reach the dead end, she grins without realizing. ]

Not where you wanted to go? [ Old places like this liked their dead ends. ]

[battlebound]

( Old, maze-like structures aren't unfamiliar to Steak, but this one's layout is. It would be easy, intelligent even, for Steak to simply agree and move on.

... Unfortunately for everyone involved, the word intelligent is not often used to describe Steak. )

What are you saying?! ( Are you calling him an idiot? Red Wine would. (Red Wine would be correct.) ) What idiot put a wall here?

[fogsong]

[ She snorts under her breath in barely restrained laughter. ]

The idiot who designed it, I bet.

[battlebound]

( Who does he have to punch. )

Tch! ( About face, young soldier. ) Let's continue.

( Thankfully for both of them, he doesn't make any more wrong turns as he strides through the tunnels and out into the light. )

[fogsong]

[ Sharon follows after with a chuckle beneath her breath. She won't mock him but, oh boy, she's questioning whether he's going to be able to teach her anything useful (or if he can even teach). ]

[battlebound]

( He can teach combat! That much isn't entirely out of his depth. If anything, that's the one thing he's really good at in this world.

So, without further ado... )

Make a fist.

( If there's any basic failures, it often starts here. People trying to make a fist without protecting their thumb correctly. )

[fogsong]

[ She seems to visibly question the purpose of his request but she does so without complaint, forming a fist with her right hand. She tucks her thumb, clearly not much of a brawler. ]

Yeah? [ No, Sharon, no. ]

[battlebound]

No!

( The reaction is immediate, and his own hand darts out to correct her form with less gentleness than may be found with anyone else. )

You'll break your thumb.