HighVoltage
Active member
It’s truly remarkable how long the smell of smoke and charred particle board can linger in the air, especially when nobody opens a window. Scorch marks splashed black starbursts on desks and on the carpet, long since cooled but somehow no less pungent. The burned spots dotted amongst the rest of the wreckage, torn bits of metal and splinters of wood that twisted and twined around the empty office. A loud crack echoed through the empty space, followed by a hiss and the dull thunk of metal on fake wood.
A figure sat amongst the carnage, black combat boots kicked up on one of the few relatively unharmed desks, poking out from the baggy bottoms of her dark red pants. A simple black top gave way to ripped crimson arm sleeves, traveling down her arms until they terminated in black fingerless gloves, the occupants of which were busy shuffling a deck of cards. The figure paused, tucking a strand of hair back behind their ear; black, fading into and streaked through with gray-white, too stark to be natural, too rough to be professional.
Fate picked up her deck and resumed shuffling, eyes scanning her kingdom of ruin for movement. Not that she expected anyone to suddenly appear. She’d made sure of that when she was here last. But why return to the scene of the crime? Simple, she’d wanted to see what Lark had done. Did they throw a tantrum, wrecking the place even further? Did severing them from the timestream cause them to erupt in a massive emerald fireball that leveled the building? Or did they simply collapse and never stand back up?
Sadly, or perhaps interestingly depending on how you looked at it, none of those futures came to pass. Fate returned to find the body gone and nothing else changed. A little disappointing, but it just gave her a greater opportunity. She’d given them a day, a day to come to terms with their continued existence, for the white-hot rage to settle in their stomach, before she returned.
She sat at one end of a desk, her open can of Monster dangerously close to the edge. An empty chair sat opposite her, a sickly green can set in front of it. After all, what kind of host would she be if she didn’t offer her guest a refreshing beverage? The scene was set, the curtain rose, and Fate waited for Time to catch up with her.
A figure sat amongst the carnage, black combat boots kicked up on one of the few relatively unharmed desks, poking out from the baggy bottoms of her dark red pants. A simple black top gave way to ripped crimson arm sleeves, traveling down her arms until they terminated in black fingerless gloves, the occupants of which were busy shuffling a deck of cards. The figure paused, tucking a strand of hair back behind their ear; black, fading into and streaked through with gray-white, too stark to be natural, too rough to be professional.
Fate picked up her deck and resumed shuffling, eyes scanning her kingdom of ruin for movement. Not that she expected anyone to suddenly appear. She’d made sure of that when she was here last. But why return to the scene of the crime? Simple, she’d wanted to see what Lark had done. Did they throw a tantrum, wrecking the place even further? Did severing them from the timestream cause them to erupt in a massive emerald fireball that leveled the building? Or did they simply collapse and never stand back up?
Sadly, or perhaps interestingly depending on how you looked at it, none of those futures came to pass. Fate returned to find the body gone and nothing else changed. A little disappointing, but it just gave her a greater opportunity. She’d given them a day, a day to come to terms with their continued existence, for the white-hot rage to settle in their stomach, before she returned.
She sat at one end of a desk, her open can of Monster dangerously close to the edge. An empty chair sat opposite her, a sickly green can set in front of it. After all, what kind of host would she be if she didn’t offer her guest a refreshing beverage? The scene was set, the curtain rose, and Fate waited for Time to catch up with her.