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Post by moralhazard on Mar 15, 2019 4:29:28 GMT
“What’s going on?” Marguerite asked, leaning forward on the bleachers. “Do you have control of her or not, Ivor?”
The ringmaster glanced at her, frowning, then back to Citrine. “She hasn’t resisted,” he said, slowly, his eyes tracing over her slowly. After a moment, he scowled. “The wings – she’s waiting for them to dry.” He glared at Citrine for a moment, then evidently decided to give her a moment, accepting that she needed dry wings.
The ringmaster crossed the arena, standing next to Marguerite with arms crossed over his chest, whip dangling from one hand.
Marguerite rose, leaning forward, her voice a low murmur. It would be obvious neither thought Citrine could hear, but then, whispers had a way of carrying. “Any news of the half-elf?”
“No,” Ivor scowled. “She must have slipped out during the show.”
“The collar didn’t work?” Marguerite kept her face smooth and even.
Ivor gave a half-shrug. “Maybe she never put it on. I don’t know.”
“It’s a risk. You shouldn’t have lost track of her,” Marguerite murmured.
Ivor scowled. “I don’t have time for this. We’ll leave after tomorrow night’s show anyway.”
Evidently tiring of both the conversation and the wait, Ivor shifted, stepping forward again and looking at Citrine. “Answer me.” he commanded. “How long until your wings are dry?”
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 15, 2019 14:00:10 GMT
Listening, and behaving like the monstrous beast they thought she was, gave her the uncanny ability to learn things without being seen. It was like stealthing in plain sight. So they had tried to restrain Pip as well. And this Marguerite? Well, what was two targeted deaths compared to one? The ringleader may have been the center of the stage, but there was always someone else behind the visible power. And the ringmaster's name was Ivor.
She learned there was another show tomorrow night - most likely what they were trying to speed-train her for. Oi, as if she needed training! Had this been staged as an audition or some sort of open temporary position? She'd have stepped in and tried it no problem! She loved the stage after all. But - not like this.
Keeping her wings out still, magnificently, she thought to herself… she really didn't pose like this often... Citrine tilted her head to the side so she flipped all her hair to the left and began wringing water out of it. She would need to spend agggeeeeesssss in the tub to get the stink out of her hair at this rate! At the question? She shrugged, eye twitching as the question carried the weight of command to it. He could have just asked like a normal person, but noooooo.
"Dunnoooo reallllllly." She lazily drawlled out, taking her time yet again to accomplish the commanded goal. "Ne'er had tae 'ave em dry by themselves, en the cold air o' night, without me fire o'… ye knae…. magic." She back sassed, the word 'magic' dripping with so much distain, annoyance, and insult towards the ringmaster it could have started a fire all their own. If, you know, she had access to magic.
Still staying perched on top of the cage, claws digging into the bars like a parrot would, she still bided her time, bringing one wing over to check for 'doneness', running her fingers through the feathers only to pull away in a sort of icky revulsion. Yes. Still wet. Flyable? Maybe, but not dry - which is what she was pleasantly waiting for. Dexterous fingers began to preen and sort the mishappen feathers again, more broken feathers coming loose. She'd really done a number on them when she'd fell.
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 15, 2019 15:00:39 GMT
The ringmaster tapped the fingers of his whiphand on his arm, studying Citrine, eyes narrow. He looked noticeably more strained than he had the day before.
"She is testing you," Marguerite said in a low voice.
Ivor turned, stalking back over to the woman. For a moment, there was so much tension in him that Citrine might have thought he would hit her. Then he exhaled, slowly, and turned back to Citrine.
"Follow my orders about flying, now." Even his mental voice was a snarl as he issued the command. "If you cannot, then get back in the cage immediately."
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 15, 2019 15:17:38 GMT
It was her own personal will save that kept her from grinning outward. Marguerite wasn't wrong. She watched with an unwavering interest as Ivor walked around, holding back his rage. It seemed she was correct on that half too. Either they didn't have enough health potions to constantly keep feeding her if they whipped her down or they weren't nearby enough to warrant the chance of her bleeding out. They needed their star more then they needed a lash across her back.
This would be fun.
The order cracked in her mind and Citrine just rolled her eyes, even as she felt the command gloss and ripple down her spine to send her wings pumping in a pre-take off maneuver. It wouldn't be the most graceful take off - by her own standards at least - but the brilliance of seeing such a large winged creature swoop down then bank upwards was still a sight to behold.
Her talons got reallllyyyyy close to one of the thugs, not close enough to cause damage but at least close enough to make him duck. They uncurled and flexed as if getting ready for something. With a steady strong beat of her wings Citrine rose into the air to get as close to the tent lining as she possibly could, now the taunting grin wide on her face with the heavy scent of colored wax coming off of her wings that she was out of range of her grin being seen.
One lap? She could do one lap.
Rising high now to the top third of the tent Citrine stuck out her legs, as if she were diving down to snatch a fish out of the ocean, and punctured her talons through the tent fabric - never once breaking her singular flight around the tent interior. It would be like running with a dagger. Her talons, daggers themselves, tore through the tent, letting the fabric start to curl and fall where she'd punctured a hold through it and was now continuing to fly her lap in a sort of eclipse curved shape. At the peak of her flight she skreed loudly, a challenge and a warning - as loud as she could muster without the aid of magic. She was a phoenix! She would not be commanded so easily.
Her decent was fast, talons still in the tent fabric until about half way down the tent where she then abandoned her destruction to snap-hover stop her dive right in front of her cage, then calmly walk in as if nothing had happened, and sat down.
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 15, 2019 18:04:57 GMT
Marguerite let out a soft gasp as Citrine took off, gazing upwards. For a moment, even Ivor’s face seemed to relax, just a little, the deeply carved furrows smoothing out into an expression that looked – almost – happy. The thug Citrine had dive-bombed yelped, crouching down and covering his head. Marguerite shrieked loudly when Citrine’s claws ripped through the tent, jerking back. “Ivor!” She cried out. The ringmaster jerked, staring wide-eyed, stunned into silence as Citrine ripped a massive hole through the tent and skreed her defiance to the skies, before landing and walking calmly back into the cage. “… You will regret that,” The ringmaster said, softly, voice hard, stepping closer. The expression nearly resembling a smile was gone from his face. “Exit the cage immediately. Stand just outside of it and keep utterly still – do not move, do not do anything other than stand there – and then go back into the cage without hesitating or doing anything else when I tell you to go back.” The anger in his voice seeped through the spell, although it seemed this time he wasn't clouded with rage; a sort of icy fury had descended over him.
As usual, to resist, make a DC 14 Wis saving throw!
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 15, 2019 18:12:46 GMT
The command shuddered down her spine again, she didn't bother hiding the smirk on her face as she obediently followed the order and stood to walk out. At a regular pace, non hurried but not in exaggerated slowness either, Citrine stepped out all while staring at the ringmaster Ivor. The command was still mentally running through her head as she stood still, hands at her side, her chin lifted up and proud.
She didn't speak, though she almost started to resist the spell out of the pure strangeness at staying absolutely still. She was a creature who was always in motion, popping about, moving about, fidgeting, moving a wing, mage hand doing something - anything. Staying still was torture on her body.
The anger didn't phase her though, as she kept staring, the faintest smirk on her lips as she kept her head high.
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 15, 2019 18:30:20 GMT
The ringmaster's whip cracked through the air, all three tails aimed viciously at Citrine.
Note: this is a non-lethal attack
Attack roll: BNLorZLW1d20+5 If successful, damage: 3d4+6
All three barbs would slash across Citrine; the last thing she would see as she lost consciousness would be the ringleader's scowl.1d20+5·3d4+6
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 15, 2019 18:50:20 GMT
It'd been awhile since she'd felt the bite of a lash against her back, she mused to herself as she stood with no resistance to the hands turning her so her back was exposed to the ring at large. Didn't offer any resistance when her wings were pulled away from their protective hold against her shoulders. Didn't do anything, just as commanded.
The trio split braided whip cracked down to drag across her skin and feathers, pulling at the already scarred expanse. Her tongue was firmly between her teeth to keep from hissing or making any sound, eyes staring at the cage she was standing near. A single thumb twitched reactively as she could feel blood begin to drip down her back. One of the tails must have curled around the wing joint, barbs tearing in deep.
By the fooking Sea, he'd gotten her good.
At much as she wanted to stay standing upright - the flash of heat and shock running through her from the abrasion and intrusion of the whip lash sent her to her knees. The command to not move sparked in her mind, forcing her to crumple without trying to catch herself. A primal and ancient yell screamed through her head, nothing to do with the ringmaster. Wincing only then, drawing a hissed breath between her teeth, as she caught the facial expression of the ringmaster Citrine kneed softly before going fully quiet. She'd been more hurt then her ego had told her.
But the worst part? The Firebird wasn't pleased one of its own had allowed this to happen twice now.
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