The unsought [Active]

[nonomoribird]

Character(s): Ansem, Yorda, Mao, the Master, and Urd.
Content: Ansem has plans for Yorda... and those who know her aren't happy.
Setting: Spira, the Calm Lands
Time: Late morning, late in Week 37
Warnings: Violence, darkness and a case of mistaken identity.

Yorda had quickly learned what to expect whenever Ansem had summoned her. The questions, not all of which she could answer, the doors she'd been made to open, and worst of all, the subtle reminders of her delicate situation. She'd stay with him in order to protect Mao - she had to, or Ansem would hurt him. So the glowing girl had been wholly compliant, bearing her situation without complaint - though meeting Kuja had helped. Arrogant and dismissive as he was, at least he wasn't Ansem, and she'd taken to bringing him tea whenever she saw him lurking about, listening to him talk about himself. It was company, at least, and although she didn't know how long she'd been locked away in the building, she'd found herself growing fond of the odd man, even if she didn't know what he was doing there.

The princess glanced nervously at the windows of her quarters and repressed a shudder. It was always dark in here - she always had to light the lamps or go by her own glow in order to find her way. She'd kept the curtains closed, not wanting to see the strange, sharp shapes hanging over the glass. Yorda tried to push it from her mind and went back to reading the book in her lap - a tome about the history of Paixao. At least Ansem generally allowed Yorda to do as she wished here, as long as she obeyed him.

Comments

[thesoundofdrums]

The drums were getting weaker but so was he. The sharp, pounding beats washed under the loss of his lifeforce. All of the noise in his head was dampened to dull thuds like pebbles shifting against each other under the sway of sea water. Yet, the weakness wasn't the scariest thing to him. It was whether the sound in his head were the drums that plagued his existence or his own heartbeat. All he could know now was that he couldn't stop from here. He couldn't leave anything behind, not with so much spent.

He was still mostly functioning in the fight. Still, his energy blasts of lifeforce directed at the gargantuan Guardian were hardly considered "functional." They seemed to only reflect from the hide of the dark creature as it covered Ansem in its own shadow. Why did this seem so odd?

When his steps finally decayed into negligible shuffles, he was forced to drop to a single knee from the gravity of his own lapse. That still did not deter him from continuing his blasts, though the luminescence in his hands was quickly fading. And he's just standing right behind him. Has he moved?

The worn soles of his shoes lost all their traction and he slid to the ground. The blasts had stopped. Wait, that's it! It was in front of my face the whole time! He worked his way to his stomach and pushed out one more blast that seemed to fizzle before it could even reach the Guardian.

All at once, the drums got louder than they ever were before. The sound was deafening within his head and he drew his pale, weak hands over his head. Then, The Master felt his eyes rolling back.