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03. SLATEPORT INVASION CONCLUSION

POSTED ON Nov 17, 2018 10:58:18 GMT

ADMIN likes this

im redeeming my event rewards with dahlia goode and elijah gardner - thank you very much!!

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winning a bet [c]

POSTED ON Nov 11, 2018 2:22:13 GMT

NIKOLAI PETROV likes this

"oh? which city?" dahlia tosses the question into the storm, but the answer is crucial. "are you from here?" unsharpened and dull, her words hold themselves within the confines of simple conversation.

but she seeks honesty baptized by rain.

her eyes follow his. the silver-blue chrome of the ship is shining. impressive. but alone. dahlia notices another vessel, white with red accents pairing off with another, the rough current making it seem as if it were running away.

dahlia's hands grasp the damp rails fearlessly.

"i'm dahlia. and you are?" facing the man, she speaks with earnestness in her eyes.

dominic sinclair

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POSTED ON Nov 11, 2018 0:25:57 GMT

and yet, his steady voice now ripples with resentment. the sonic betrayal of silas' feelings is all dahlia needs; anger and bitterness is nothing to be scared of. instead, she encourages it, tugging at silas through the blood pulsing in her thumbs, intel gained straight from the heart.

as silas separates from her, dahlia lets him. no resistance. the shared climax of his emotions resonates strong long after his retreat.

in a way, dahlia is the sole player on the field. she stands like a soft spire and clasps her hands together for comfort.

"i made you cruel." she repeats. "and because i did nothing, that means you've become... someone else." dahlia breathes, breast swelling with a reserve of calm. "it must hurt, silas— maybe lonely."

dahlia hopes her guards are far, far away.

"but i did try." dahlia says. "it's just that... you weren't there to see it." a beat. "i'm not asking you to trust me," she plucks a tear, the sadness passing, "but if you ever change your mind, just know that it is not too late."

the sea breeze rises: a tense sense of inevitably shrouding the room.

"i'd run. my guards are probably going to storm in despite my orders." she peers back, the staircase leading to the peak an endless spiral.

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BATTLEFRONT 1: LEAGUE HQ

POSTED ON Nov 5, 2018 5:50:52 GMT

FERNANDO SILPH likes this

dahlia doesn't process the loss of her friend. instead, she picks up the pieces. the green chunks wobble limply in her bloodied hands. she's caked in white powder. skin pale with concrete dust, dahlia's finger repeatedly clicks the pokéball's recall button to no avail.

her shoulder is gripped, and the voice echoes as if it were in a descending tunnel. an insidious ringing pierces through everything that she hears, but she hears her. her would-be saviour.

"out of here. right." the commissioner stumbles to her feet, letting go of her reuniclus. she's shaken, but calm. the tears will come later. a frown graces her features, the tears wetting marie jules's cheeks summoning a well of empathy from her chest. "you'll be okay. we'll get out of this, alright?"

she hears FERNANDO SILPH's rich voice cut through the chaos, but the commissioner hobbles forth with marie's help.

but fearful of drawing more attention, she keeps silent.

tl;dr - allows marie to help her / keeps quiet even though silph calls out for her because she doesn't want to draw attention to her location

@event

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POSTED ON Oct 31, 2018 6:49:38 GMT

SILAS BLACKWELL, dominic sinclair, and 1 more like this

it's storming outside. the ships nest inside the harbour, shivering against the brash waves that claw at their sides. she should be inside. delegating. working. but no, dahlia needs this.

a respite from company. at least, the company that expects so much that it siphons shards of the soul with every threatening weight. no one comes outside in the rain. and so, she watches the violence of the ocean peacefully. her white coat wisps around her thin legs like ghost tails while her umbrella remains firm.

but she's not alone.

dahlia peers over to the approaching figure, and her heavy heart almost tugs her chest to the ground.

he looks dangerous; dahlia has seen men like him. men like silas.

"here to look at the ships?" dahlia asks.

dominic sinclair

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BATTLEFRONT 1: LEAGUE HQ

POSTED ON Oct 30, 2018 5:17:44 GMT

DANIEL WALKER likes this

dahlia dashes forth through the sonic battlefield of upheaval. each sound is floating shrapnel that she brushes away with a careful whisks of her hand. she dares not look back. the sight of a child (@names), enslaved stiff, like a scarecrow hoisted upon a stalk, by an ideology that is so beyond the horizon of her understanding—terrifies her.

what have you done, silas?

but perhaps, he's not to blame. perhaps, he's simply another victim.

her rush is halted by the sudden appearance of a gardevoir; friend or foe, she has no idea. the swiftness in which she is taken fails the mental resolution.

"who!? where?!" dahlia's first step on the messy floor are stutters, one hand bracing against @thermopylae's shoulder. a cut breath. she looks in horror at the claydol before screaming: "no!"

casting her reuniclus out, and gelatinous paws forge a REFLECT. dahlia stares at the carnage, the experience all of a sudden, more real.

tl;dr - is teleported to the ground floor / calls reuniclus out to use REFLECT

@event

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BATTLEFRONT 1: LEAGUE HQ

POSTED ON Oct 26, 2018 7:49:11 GMT

silas' words ring coldly, like rotting tree rings. the storm has finally come. the commissioner forces his voice to the background, and in the unnerving vacuum, concern floods forth.

first, she thinks of @yiannis. despite his brash nature, she knows he'd be on the frontlines- she swears she can hear him bark orders. but she realizes it's her own, directing others to safety.

@names's gurdurr announces itself with the HAMMER ARM. raising an arm for cover, dahlia stumbles as a scream of glass shatters nearby. some shards scrape across her cheek, sewing in red.

she stares back to see a child. but she doesn't question the matter. with a huff, dahlia begins to run with one hand on a pokeball.

tl;dr - is spotted by tiamat when her gurdurr smashes into the office hallway

@event /

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DEBRIEF [POST RAID MEGATHREAD]

POSTED ON Oct 21, 2018 22:07:56 GMT

FERNANDO SILPH likes this

behind her laptop, dahlia's fingers orchestrate the meeting's minutes. although it is in no way her obligation to document the participants words, she writes to soothe herself. the clacking of keyboard keys: a meditative sense exercise in participation. and her eyes are like softened spotlights— they center gently on each speaker's conversation.

the history and culture siphoned from malcolm and persephone are scribed— but pixelated font seems like a scratch compared to the gravity of their discoveries.

her fingers stop at the mention of the dead.

"no one knows, sadly." dahlia pipes up from the range of her screen. a beat. "his body was too mutilated for identification. she opens a new window, and scrolls through a document on her touch screen. "we have examined the manifest, but nothing. perhaps a clerical error, a last-minute volunteer, or—" she stops, retrieving her finger from the glass. "no reports from the other known ruins, yes."

her pinky rests awkwardly on the enter key, before committing to another line.

"ah," dahlia interjects; she shifts to vera and ava, "i'm sure professor creighton is willing to collaborate further. he's leaving for mauville for a conference soon, but! the trains run fast here. he can pop back and forth quickly."

@debrief / also poor zeke ;;

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processed shop

POSTED ON Oct 17, 2018 7:02:59 GMT

seadra → kingdra (TYPE 3 EVO - 50 POKE)

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DEBRIEF [POST RAID MEGATHREAD]

POSTED ON Oct 17, 2018 5:16:16 GMT

persephone amavi likes this

"hello, hello, hello."

dahlia enters the room, her white coat billowing gently at her thin ankles. she wastes no time with her greetings. smiles and gentle waves flutter about from her person as one arm holds her laptop tightly against her breasts. behind the slim device, a thick paper file peeks out dangerously, the fat stack of documents misaligned but held together just barely by a binder clip.

she doesn't expect fanfare. nor does she want any.

instead, dahlia asks for a handshake, the air thick with a suffocating formality.

"i can't thank you enough for your help, mr. silph."

she sets her laptop down and it shuffles down the slope of her file like crumbling rock.

FERNANDO SILPH - @debrief
tl;dr - she enters and greets everyone c:

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only castles burning, post-raid

POSTED ON Oct 17, 2018 4:28:07 GMT

dahlia's dark circles are covered today. she's patched up. put together. brightened up. hands pat her cheeks as she attempts to resurrect her energy before slipping out of a side-office. a file nestles itself in the crook of her elbow before her black slingbacks grace the halls.

quietly, she ghosts across the terrazzo floor. and perhaps, she does it too well. her shoes clack against the flooring neatly as she halts before the shipyard owner. a moment of awkwardness and her eyes soften instinctively as if to apologize and move on—she knows who he is.

and she knows who his husband is.

"oh? mister somerville." dahlia illuminates herself with a polite smile. "of course. just one caveat." she looks ahead. "i'd like your word. and some coffee."

Malcolm Stone

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something good can work, r

POSTED ON Oct 17, 2018 4:02:02 GMT

dahlia half-considered passing the room, but she had heard of his sorry state: plastered up like a paper maché sculpture at a science fair. and so, half out of concern and half out of comedic blackmail, she shifts in. like a feline, she squeezes through the smallest gap the door frame can afford her.

"careful now, yiannis. you might pull something if you're shouting that much."

her brow knots together like colliding canoes, wincing at the echo of his voice.

"how are you feeling?" dahlia says. she eyes a nearby chair, but chooses to stand. "besides cataclysmic."

@yiannis

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DOMINANCE [flashback pre-raid]

POSTED ON Oct 14, 2018 4:21:06 GMT

FERNANDO SILPH likes this

dahlia works remotely. she listens via ear piece, her long crafted fingernail tapping against its plastic. with a whisper, the commissioner chimes in with her approval as she examines the CCTV visuals from her headquarters. her lips are a slim thread of concern.

she rubs her temples, surrounded by men sitting in their leather chairs. they survey the situation— and they survey her.

"action approved; as swift and painless as you can."

the message is relayed to those with ear pieces before the STONE EDGE announces the league's arrival.

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POSTED ON Oct 13, 2018 21:29:36 GMT

persephone amavi and FERNANDO SILPH like this

dahlia dabs at her eye, plucking a tear before it concedes on to her cheek. it's no sign of weakness.

at least to her.

although she acknowledges the folly of revealing emotion—this is no political realm in which she has to practice the remarkable and unreasonable stoicism her profession demands of her. no. instead, here, on the stage of memory, her emotions reveal the strength of her honesty. she's not here to talk politically. to talk war.

she's here to draw up clear waters. the well of warm memory may be dry—but her tears hold the promise of a future so different than the one he foresees. dahlia commits to a brave advance. she steps forward, bringing herself face-to-face with her scripted nemesis. whether he accepts it or not, she goes for his hands, drawing them together in hers. "save you by leaving?"

she shakes her head, the blonde curl she tried to groom behind her ear falling back to cup her cheek.

"don't be ridiculous!" dahlia begins to cry. "do you know how long i've been waiting? do you know how long i've lost sleep, thinking about you? where you've been? if you're well— or even alive?!" her hands grip whatever they're holding tighter, unwilling to ever let go. "you're so cruel, silas..."

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POSTED ON Oct 8, 2018 0:36:41 GMT

SILAS BLACKWELL likes this

the sentiment of safety falls upon her shoulders like a shawl too smooth, too soft. it slips from her body and pools upon the ground in a ghostly heap; dahlia isn't safe. she's stuck.

trapped.

with him—and her calling. perhaps her reign was doomed from its painless conception.

dahlia lets the silence have its moment. a hand rests on her chest, as if to calm the swelling tide of her transgressions.

"i could have." dahlia said. "but you weren't there."

his words are precise. surgically sharp. dahlia's cheeks warm up, and her vision blurs.

shakily, she asks:

"where did you go?"