RP:Run, Rabbit, Run

Summary: Genevieve stumbles upon a tormented Bastion, cursed by the presence of a strange black rabbit. When they discover its purpose as a doppelgänger’s harbinger, the monk is thrust into a battle with his twin shadow. Meanwhile, Genevieve learns something about herself.

Date: Mar. 2, 2018

Town Well

Just south of the Xalious Village rests the town's well. At it's bottom is crisp and pure water, filtered through the rocky mountains by the many hydromancers who come to study at the Mage's Guild. It is the sole water source for the entire village as well as those within the Tower, and as such is protected by a plethora of arcane defences. Many of the villagers spend their days here, discussing various aspects of their lives, as well as keeping an eye on the multitude of visitors who frequent this town; more so now that the foul smell which once came from it has been expelled by the mages. It is whispered that beneath it lays deep tunnels which link up to other wells in Hollow, and perhaps even the Underdark, but no villagers are brave enough to learn the truth, content enough they are knowing they're well protected. The northern road leads back into town, to the east is the entrance to a grand park. South is the magnificent Xalious Tree, restored once again to its former splendour. And to the west is an ancient guard tower which houses the few guards who ensure peace is kept in the village.

Bastion had come to a head on the matter. It was... quite disruptive. That, and other things. He'd sent for help, and hopefully it would come. For now, he sat cross legged in a meditative pose, staring down the black rabbit, with its red, glowing eyes. What was this creature? Some sort of fae? Something else? Nothing and no one could give him concrete answers. The strange happenings that occurred around this rabbit, and therefore around him, were growing worse and worse. He stayed away from people, afraid these events might be dangerous to others. He wasn't sure what he could do at this point.

Even with Celaeno’s ever-supportive counsel and companionship, Genevieve still finds it difficult to navigate Xalious Village during the daytime. It’s no secret that the fledgling necromancer radiates dread and darkness — she’s given a wide berth as she steps out of the Mage’s Library and down to the square, robes wraithlike as they flutter in the crisp, cool air. Sharp, wary side eyes come from both villager and traveler alike, with her own gaze firmly fixed on the ground in front of her, face enshrouded by her trusty hood. A book she plucked from the library has advised “sunlight and fresh air” once in a while to keep from depression and nervousness, but Genevieve only found that being in public exacerbated those issues. Here, the girl finds herself alone, twiddling her thumbs while gossips by the well send her the occasional glance and snicker. She desperately wants to shrivel up and die, it’s so -embarrassing-. If somebody struck her down where she stood, she would greet death with a smile. Until, of course, she spots a strange boy out of her peripheral vision — and an ever stranger sight in front of him. With only a touch of hesitance, she approaches him, staring down the rabbit with a certain intensity. Something malicious is coming from the creature, perhaps even worse than what she emanates on a daily basis, and she -must- know about it. “Um, e-excuse me,” she begins, voice cracking. “I-i-it seems you have an, um, issue…?” She turns behind her — nobody else seems to notice it but her and the boy. A gloved finger points at it while her gaze falls on the stranger himself. “D-d-do you need, um… are you okay?” She may not be the help that he’s looking for, but if it means a satiation of her curiosity, she’ll do anything.

Bastion became so engrossed in his reverie, that he forgot the world around him, he started mumbling to the rabbit, or perhaps, to himself. "What do you want..." He bit his lip, and stifled a jump when Genevieve came up from behind him. He looked at her, pink, boyish eyes wide and innocent. After a moment of taking her in, he settled down. "Darkness hangs over you like a corpse shroud. I suppose this would be your area of expertise, then." He looked back at the rabbit, assuming help had finally come. "She's nothing arcane, nor natural, so not fae, I think. As long as I didn't misunderstand what 'natural' meant, in the fae tongue. I believe it encompasses divinity as well. All I've been told was that it should not be." He shrugged. "That is not very helpful, since it very much is." The rabbit stared at Genevieve a moment, before turning its attentions back on him. If she were to examine the creature more closely... from a distance, of course... she'd find that, indeed. its aura was not simply dark. It was unnatural, an aberration. It didn't belong in this world at all, and its fascination with Bastion was beyond perplexing.

Genevieve flinches at the comment about her aura. “A c-c-corpse,” she repeats with disdain, her ire flaring. “M-my name is Genevieve—” leaving out the Crane, “—and I c-can -assure- you I am human.” There’s no use in getting upset, though; she finds the rabbit riveting, in all its strangeness, and she desperately wants to know more. The words he gives on it are enough to get her gears turning, and she kneels to meet it, almost eye-level with the boy himself. “S-so neither natural, n-nor divine, n-nor arcane… that rules out a n-nu-number of branches.” Something unique, perhaps? An anomaly? A hand goes to her chin, stroking it absently. The monk beside her emanates something warm, almost holy, and it nauseates her — but this dichotomy between him and the black rabbit is what’s currently occupying her attention. “H-has it been following you? I-it does seem to be awfully fixated on you, d-doesn’t it?” She steals another glance at him. “Y-you do seem to have a light aura. S-something like this could v-very well be drawn to it.” Perhaps it was from another plane, another dimension, demonic. Genevieve fumbles for a few tomes on similar subjects, plopping them to her right, and skims through a decently aged one on ‘Unnaturale Creatyres’.

"Corpse? No, no. A corpse shroud. It's customary to place a shroud over a corpse during burial, as a part of funeral rites in these lands. Your aura, it is like a shroud over you. I didn't mean to imply anything untoward. I apologize." He was sincere in his apology... and well he had to be. His aura was one of trustworthiness, and yes, holiness. That aura came at a very heavy price. "Ah, yes. The rabbit stalks me from time to time. I'm sometimes overcome with intense feelings of sorrow, and sometimes paranoia, when I see it. Something is going to happen, and soon... I can feel it." Bastion hugged his knees to his chest as she turned to her books, curious. Deep in her tome, there would be a reference to a black rabbit as an omen of unnatural phenomena, connected to the appearance of doppelgangers. According to the lore, the presence of the rabbit was known to draw a person's dopple closer to their realm, through shadow. The origins of the rabbit remained a mystery. "Does it say anything about black rabbits, and them being... weird? Is it some sort of demon? Seems a bit fluffy for a demon..."

Genevieve blushes, extremely embarrassed by the miscommunication. Any mentions of ‘corpses’ or ‘bodies’ or ‘death’ in relation to her tends to be unfavorable in her experience. Combined with her proclivity to jump to conclusions, it’s far too easy for her to make hasty judgements. “O-oh,” she mumbles, burying her face more closely in the book. “Y-yes, my aura is a bit of… an issue sometimes…” she continues flipping through the pages, growing impatient. It has to be here somewhere. “P-paranoia, yes?” She’s all too familiar with that feeling. A certain passage captures her eye and her entire complexion seems to light up — she immediately thrusts it into his field of vision, her visage one of pure glee. “Y-yes, this has to be it!” she exclaims before yanking it away and pouring more closely over the text. “This -has- to be it. I-it explains that the rabbit acts as, um, a sort of anchor for your doppelganger, drawing it to our world. Something about shadows and an unknown origin… this, um, raises a number of questions, but it’s a start.” Genevieve, after an incredibly meticulous scanning of the text, finally rests it open in front of them for Bastion to examine for himself. Her hungry mind, however, quickly turns her attention towards the rest of the texts, looking for other instances of the fabled black rabbit.

Bastion listened to Genevieve as she apologized, and smiled, waving it off. "It's alright. It's your chosen field of study, and you should be proud of your accomplishments." Bastion didn't believe any tool was inherently evil... what mattered was how it was used. He looked at the page, squinting at the image of the black rabbit. "Inuba?" The rabbit's ear twitched as he read the name on the page, and it looked back at Genevieve again. It's eyes widened, and it reared back on its hind legs, sniffing. Then, it turned, and fled, scampering off into the woods. Bastion blinked, watching it leave. "Well, that... was anticlimactic." He stood up, befuddled, and stopped. Something was dragging his shirt down. He looked down and an arm in a robe just like his held the front of his robes bunched up in a fist. It yanked, and he fell to his chest, winded, and tried in futility to catch himself on the ground... but there was no ground to catch himself on, only darkness, liquid and leaking from a hole in the world, dripping in inky droplets towards the sky. Bastion felt like he was falling up, and only the arm holding him kept him anchored to the world, even as it dragged into its murky depths. He was frozen, paralyzed with confusion and indecision, and dawning realization.

“I-it’s just… gone?” Genevieve questions aloud to nothing in particular, more disappointed than surprised. There goes her chance at actually getting to the heart of the matter, or so she thinks. She takes the opportunity to return her books to her satchel, her job apparently done, looking forward to sequestering herself in the library once again. As soon as it’s out of sight, however, Genevieve recognizes that something is terribly, terribly wrong: all the passersby around the well have vanished; the square is dead silently and lifeless; the sky itself is still, hanging over them like peeling wallpaper. She whips her head to see Bastion being pulled down by… himself? The scene itself is confusing to her, senses pervaded and clogged by an overwhelming sensation of pure malignity, terror, black cataracts ruining her vision. The malice she carries around is amplified tenfold, centered around the monk and his double; Genevieve intuits that whatever the -other- arm is, it definitely doesn’t belong here. A pressure and darkness that outmatches the abyssal zone. Her temper flares, half-protective of the monk and half-mad from the dread. She feels her own aura stutter to life, vicious, realizing the threat that Bastion’s doppelgänger poses. Her steps are erratic and darting as she approaches. She blindly searches for a way to hold onto him, keep him moored to their realm — it’s only difficult because of how ubiquitous the darkness seems, threatening to bring her along for the ride. The necromancer, lost in a fog of tar, initially claws at nothing. Finally, she believes she finds a limp hand, and attempts to jerk it away from the pitch-black of his twin shadow. Her dark presence snaps at its unearthly foe. Genevieve’s voice is oddly guttural. “You will stay -away- from this realm,” she snarls, a dog itching to scrap, “or I will force you -out- of it.”

Bastion didn't know how horribly wrong everything had gone until he was standing face to face with himself in a realm like a dark mirror to his world. Genevieve was still there, and he got the vague sense that something was wrong with that. He stared at himself, a version of himself that simply looked... sad. The black rabbit appeared again, and did something it had never done. It spoke. "It is done! It is complete. My baby will be born, here." She had locked eyes on the doppleganger. "You must kill him, now." It was a foregone conclusion, in her voice. There was no failure, here. Then, she looked to Genevieve, eyes flaring. "What is this? Your power has drawn another into his own purgatory? Impossible... unprecedented, in all of the history of the universe." She growled, a strange sound to come from a rabbit. "It does not matter, though. In all that history, only one has defeated their doppleganger, once drawn into purgatory." And for good reason... Imagine a being so obsessed with you, they know your every memory, your every desire, your every skill and weakness. Now imagine they spent the sum of your lifetime thinking only of defeating you, obsessed with becoming living, real flesh and blood beings themselves. A doppleganger wasn't the perfect opposite of a living being... they were their own shadow, their perfect assassin. The dopple struck out at Bastion, patently ignoring Genevieve... and how could it do otherwise? Its very existence was torment, and this, its only hope for redemption. Bastion struck with speed, with flawless skill and grace, using his arm to deflect the blow. He studied a pacifist style, the gentle fist, which would never harm... so his dopple did too, of course. Bastion deflected the blow well enough, but staggered back and cried out as he felt his Ki change in its flow. Blood burst from his shoulder, in a small cut and bruise, as his body reacted violently to the dark ki forced into him. He looked at it, appalled. Even masters of the Quivering Palm had never learned to so thoroughly pervert the Gentle Fist style. He'd only touched him, not even graze his arm. The dopple moved forward, and Bastion saw his death in his eyes. In the panic of the moment, he swiveled his head to look at Genevieve, seemingly surprised she was still there. He'd heard her, felt her aura flare, powerful... but he couldn't imagine that even their combined efforts would take down a dopple of him that was a master of the quivering palm. He thought to tell her to run, but looked back at the dopple, and thought better of it. They didn't -care- that she was here, as though it hadn't occurred to them that she could change what was apparently an inevitable outcome. As long as they didn't care, she was safer. He silently apologized for dragging her into this, and hoped she would make it out alive.

Genevieve gnashes her teeth as she’s summarily ignored by both Bastion’s shadow and that cryptic black rabbit. “Well, make that -two-.” The last time her temper was this charged, she resurrected a farm’s worth of dead livestock. It’s bizarre how enraged she is in this inky darkness — is her aura influencing her? She isn’t sure, and in this moment, she doesn’t particularly care. It’ll be another mystery to solve later. Her single black eye hovers from the rabbit to the clash of the equals, darting back and forth almost impatiently. Waiting for an opening. The two mirror each other as they exchange blows; briefly, she’s unable to distinguish between them until Bastion is glanced by his shadow’s swing. As the monk collapses, she runs to his side, frantically cleaning the wound with a swab of her coat sleeve. Somehow, in this strange, perverse world, she’s grown incredibly protective of this stranger; if it was anyone else, or any other situation, she would be content just to sit back and observe. Perhaps it's the combination of her flaring presence and this surreal situation. Perhaps it’s because she loathes being ignored and underestimated, especially by a force as frustratingly vindictive and uncanny as the rabbit and her entourage. Once again, she doesn’t care, and lingers over the monk almost possessively, pointing her worn oak staff at the interloper. “Try me,” she growls, necromantic magics pouring out through the weapon. “Or ignore me if you will. It’s your life, not mine.” Despite her cutting anger, she manages to focus her own overflowing malignance on the doppel, preparing a homebrew hex designed to incapacitate and instill a feeling of dread, at least temporarily. Her aura churns, eager to get to work. Hopefully, this will buy them some time… if her magic even holds an influence on the shadow. Here, she’s at an impasse. She could use the doppelgänger’s indifference to her own advantage. It may know Bastion down to every minute detail, but as far as she’s concerned, it knows nothing about her. Unpredictability is key. But she’s caught between two foes: does she assist the monk in the fight against his double, or does she target the rabbit herself, the source of this malignance? Bastion is more than evenly matched, but the rabbit mentions her ‘baby’ and ‘purgatory’ as if she’s the one who created this hellish limbo. She deliberates while the hex is being cast; her choice is made as soon as it’s finished. Even if it’s futile, the spell hopefully buys the innocent monk a sliver of time. She brazenly leaps from her position in front of Bastion, using the momentum to swing her staff in an attempt to at least daze the doppel with residual energies, maybe bash it if her strength doesn’t betray her. Whether or not she succeeds, Genevieve soon turns her focus to the rabbit, her gait erratic and frenzied as she brandishes the heavy lumber over her shoulder, winding up for a swing. Her eyes shine like lit coals in the darkness of purgatory, mouth curled in an inhuman snarl. A silent banishment curse escapes her lips and charges the instrument. She summons all her strength in the downward strike. If it misses, the impact sends a shockwave of dark magic reaching about five meters diameter. With any luck, it’ll reach the doppel and that infernal creature. She’s going to kill the rabbit.

Bastion didn't even realize he'd staggered from the glancing blow until Genevieve was by his side. He looked at her, blankly. No, no... didn't she realize this was a battle that couldn't be won? It was inherently unwinnable. Whatever that rabbit was, it was more powerful than the dopple, and the dopple was a perfect foe for Bastion, a foe he couldn't overcome. It existed with the sole focus of destroying -him-. He rose, and she unleashed her anger in a display of power that did indeed impress him. However... the doppel was a creature of malignance made manifest. Or at least, that was the understanding of doppels, a creature that may be innately different to the point that they couldn't truly be understood. Her magic didn't incapacitate, but it did slow. The creature paused, as that dread settled in, then looked blankly at Genevieve. It horrified Bastion, whether anyone else recognized that dead stare or not. He was a therapist by nature, understanding emotions was his specialty. He knew that look. There was no torment greater than the one the doppel was already subjected to. Genevieve may as well have tickled it, for she'd have gotten much the same response. She followed it up with a bash from her staff, displaying courage, and remarkable skill. To move from casting a spell into an immediate martial action, even untrained, was remarkable... especially to do so without hesitation, with clear, decisive purpose in her actions. It helped move Bastion to do what he needed to... make sure the doppel didn't turn its attentions upon her. The energies in the staff almost made it a force to contend with, but Bastion specialized in redirecting magical energy as much as physical force, and thus, so did his doppel. The creature sidestepped the attack, while advancing, raising a palm in a straight thrust that seemed almost lazy for how slowly it was executed. That made it no less lethal. Bastion was there in an instant, knocking aside the blow, and then the two flurried against one another, a storm of the ocean and rain crashing upon rock. The rock stood defiant, but in time... new cuts opened up all over Bastion, as Ki exploded out of his energy channels, taking blood with it in squirts and sprays of gore. Fortunately, there was a pause in the losing battle, just after Bastion dawned upon a certain realization. He backed up, as the doppel lithely dodged backwards, avoiding the dark shockwave, and gritting its teeth... it was growing impatient for its victory. Genevieve was making a difference that it hadn't foreseen... her very presence should have been impossible, but perhaps, she was born to do the impossible. The rabbit didn't even dodge the blast, merely stood where she was, as the blast... went -around- her?! It seemed outrageous. Impossible. She hadn't deflected it, dodged it, clashed an energy of her own with it. She was there, certainly. It was almost as if Genevieve had simply been impossibly unlucky. The rabbit continued to ignore her, if only to goad her anger further, in her cunning way. Bastion slipped his sash off, a thing of purest black, drinking in the light. The rabbit and the doppel alike inhaled through their teeth, seeing it. Bastion gave a sorrowful smile. "My only gift from my mother. I figured out what it was, when I came here." "GLEIPNIR!" The rabbit cried, clearly perturbed. "A thing that does not exist, in truth!" Even this realm couldn't account for something that was, in essence, a mimicry of its self. "But it will do nothing for you! It bound Fenrir, once. It will not bind Him." Bastion shook his head. "It is not to bind, only to blind." He tied it around his eyes. "Nothing else stops my vision. Only it." The rabbit paused, thinking on his words, and the doppel tilted its head. It knew of this, in a way. Knew Bastion could blind himself, but not by what means. "I do not under-" Bastion dashed forward, with speed that put what had come before to shame. The flurry of blows turned... Bastion controlled his Ki in such a way that the merest touch of the doppel no longer flayed him inside out. He pressed the doppel, and the doppel slowed as they fought, his own Ki slowed, pacified in the Gentle Fist style. Bastion had a chance to turn the tides of the battle, thanks to Genevieve. Time to figure out that he had a tool they couldn't account for.

As soon as it hits, Genevieve can tell her attempt is unsuccessful. The necromancer careens from the force of her own wallop, stumbling backwards and nearly losing her balance. A blast of necromantic magic ripples around her, fluttering her bloodstained cloak and layers of garments, stinging her exposed skin with pinpricks of darkness. The staff she wields splits down the middle and the cloth wrapped around it rips, going slack. Her glasses, too, fracture from the sheer force, her sight now cracked and warped. “Gosh -darn- it,” she barks, uttering the worst swears she’s capable of unleashing. The anger inside her is seething now; the rabbit -knows- she’s incensed and is playing with her, but she’s too far gone now to let her temper simmer. She attempts a second bash, then a third, all unsuccessful, each successive wave waning in intensity. A punt from her boot is equally fruitless; it only serves to feed her immense frustration. Huffs wheeze through gritted teeth. It’s obvious she wasn’t built for strength. Her aura seethes, unsatisfied. At the sound of another scuffle between Bastion and his shadow, Genevieve swerves her head to eye them, her aura’s attention still fixed on that darn rabbit. The situation seems hopeless as the two equals are painted red, crackles of Ki stabbing her senses sharply. If her magic barely disables the doppel and the rabbit is nigh-invulnerable, what could she hope to accomplish? Anger is close to shifting to despair until Bastion unveils his hidden weapon. She’s not sure as to what Gleipnir or Fenrir are, but she’s sure to get her answer in due time — for now, the sight of the battle pivoting in their favor is what interests her. Newfound vigor fumes outwards in the form of her presence, and her burdened sight allows her to visualize her dark aura. With the guidance of her hand and a watchful eye, she hones in on the doppel, observing her third arm unfurl itself and surround the nimble shadow in a jet-black umbra. Her focus isn’t perfect, the doppel being far too quick, but it’s conceivably enough to continue the hex she performed earlier. Genevieve’s dark mind dwells on her anger, her loathing, and sends this malice in a pointed current towards Bastion’s other. A portion of her aura simultaneously surrounds the rabbit in rings of darkness, waiting for an opening. The necromancer’s once-uncontrollable furor turns calculated as she micromanages both sides of the battle, here to support the monk in any way possible. They’re leaving here alive — she’s sure of it.

Bastion couldn't hope for a better ally than the necromancer. What seems like a strong advantage quickly fades as the fight against the doppel drags on. The Ki blows stop slowing the dark alter ego, and it begins fighting more furiously. Bastion's clothes are worse than blood splattered... they're near soaked in some places now. His ki flow has been interrupted too thoroughly, and he could barely staunch the bleeding while fighting, even with his blindness aiding his ability to focus. He was being pushed back again, when he made a desperate play. He felt Genevieve’s aura wax and wane, and wax greater. He felt her attentions upon the fight. The rabbit couldn't interfere, but she was nigh untouchable here. Genevieve's greatest efforts weren't upon her, though. Bastion slipped. He twisted his foot a few degrees, and flinched, creating an opening, a very real one. No simple feint would work, not against this foe. If he wasn't vulnerable, he'd -know-. Bastion was sure of it. The palm connected to his ribs, and the ground behind Bastion exploded, with the force of the blow, tearing a great rivet in the earth, and just barely staggering Bastion backwards, though the damage was far greater than that staggering suggested. Bastion was shattered, broken... his organs and bones were where a medical professional would estimate a near guarantee of death, from the blow. But it'd worked. That third arm circled the doppel in its moment of victory. The hex didn't do much before, but Bastion's play had instilled something in it, something it was unfamiliar with. Hope. When that dread came upon it, when it felt that light it'd seen for the first time in its existence snuffed out, a much more human expression of pain overcame its features. It paused. It paused, and stood where it was, looking skyward, in an expression of purest crisis, of suffering. Inuba screamed. "Finish it! Finish it, and claim the life that is yours!" She seemed confused, as though this event shouldn't be possible. Hesitation wasn't quite a trademark of the doppelganger.

Her shattered vision only reflects red. That’s all Bastion seems to be covered in now, even with his blindness giving him an edge. (If she had time to ruminate, she’d find a similarity between them: gaining power through deprivation of sight.) The fluctuations of the clash nearly result in her focus to falter, but Genevieve recalls how her very presence in this pocket of purgatory apparently changed Bastion’s fortunes. There’s a will of steel underneath this smoldering anger, a confidence in this stranger of a monk that intensifies her malice. She envisions death and decay, imagining the doppelgänger and Inuba killed in a thousand different ways by her hand. Each image of bloody murder feeds into her presence, strengthening it as it finds a hold on Bastion’s doppel. All hope seems lost with that blow to the ribs, with the collision once again causes her garments and hair to whip about wildly. Shards of glass fall from her circular frames and graze the skin of her cheek. Not enough to scar, but enough to cause quite the mess — but Genevieve does not notice the pain. The only colors she can make out are shades of black, red, and pink, murky beyond belief. Yet her aura is stark and vibrant against her blurred vision, and she watches with great interest as it intersects with Bastion’s own. She wonders briefly what he’s attempting to do until the fogged shape of his shadow appears to halt. Inuba is perturbed by this stillness; a smile spreads from ear to ear. The synthesis of their dichotomous magics worked. She immediately capitalizes on the doppel’s pause. Gathering the last of her strength, charcoal gaze and intense fixation never leaving the twin shadow, she lunges forward with her splintered, magic-charged staff and aims for a bash at the skull. Rather than following the path of her nigh-blind vision, she follows the shadowy tendrils of her aura that unfurl from her staff, giving her a truer sight and better aim than what her glasses could offer her. She predicts an impact like this, both physical and magical, would be unprecedented enough to at least catch it off-guard. If her luck didn’t fail her now, it could be a decisive blow. In any case, it would buy Bastion time and satiate her bloodlust.

Bastion watched as Genevieve struck a mighty blow. Normally, the doppel would dodge such a swing, effortlessly. Not in a thousand years, in a thousand tries, would that blow connect... but now, here. It did. It cracked against his skull, the magic erupting in a supernova of dark force. Costly, they were, dark magics... but primally effective. The doppel crumpled, and the rabbit wailed, but didn't move from the spot where she was bound. Yes, bound... she only intruded her in a limited fashion. She had no real power here. Bastion fell forward, staggering as far towards the doppel as he could, before his legs gave out. Then, he crawled. When he reached the doppel, who had a glazed look in his eyes, he crawled atop him. Bastion pulled a needle out of his bracelet, and stuck it in the back of his doppel's neck, then held him tight. "It's ok, now. It's ok. You're free. I promise. You don't have to go back. I saw it. I won't let you go back. We're leaving, together." He was delirious at this point, his breathing ragged, and shallow, and the doppelganger muttered weakly, something unintelligible. The rabbit wriggled her nose in agitation. "Unprecedented. I'd be impressed, if I weren't hoping for a far different outcome. Contemptible mortals... how dare you stand between the Gods and what is theirs! There will be retribution. Inuba does not forget." The rabbit faded, and the world seemed to emerge from a vacuum, an unknown force shaking it in strange ways. Things emerged in color from a dizzying cacophony of movement in dimensions the eyes could not readily perceive. They were free, they were in the real world again.

The crack of the staff seals the shadow’s fate. Genevieve falls back after the final blow, chest heaving and head spinning from physical, mental, and magical exhaustion. She blinks rapidly before squinting her eyes in a fervent attempt to see more clearly, even as the last shards of glass fall out of the frame of her glasses. She rests her weight against the broken staff, watching as the twin monks reconcile, and she stifles a sardonic laugh as Inuba curses her misfortune. They won, didn’t they? Her aura fades and disperses, returning back inside of her, and her anger dwindles in turn. The warmth of Bastion’s presence seems to wash over her as the two make amends and converge. She weakly waves to the black rabbit, grinning all the way, as the gloaming of purgatory dies away, crumpled up like a piece of paper as they enter into reality once again. The sounds, sights, and sensations of the town square hit her like a ton of bricks, and Genevieve immediately panics at the sorry sight of Bastion. It’s miraculous to her that he’s still alive. She limps to his side, kneeling in splashes of blood, clawing for medicinal herbs and potions in her satchel. Though she can barely see, it’s obvious he’s on his last legs. “O-oh my g-g-goodness! A-are you okay? I-I’ll get a d-doctor,” she frets even in her weakened state, wiping away the blood with her outer coat. Villagers notice the commotion, whispering and gathering around the duo. Hopefully someone out of the crowd can assist…

Bastion felt the doppel underneath him fade away, the needle falling into the grass. He became shadow... Bastion's shadow. From whence he came, but not completely. Bastion rolled onto his back, as Genevieve knelt above him, in a panic at his sorry state. He'd survive, he knew. He just had to let himself fade into a trance. "I knew it'd work. Not a foe I could ever beat... but I was never taught to defeat my foes." He was smiling. "You were spectacular, miss. Oh... I don't think I... quite caught your name." His blindfold had slipped, and a single, pink eye was looking up at her, heavy lidded. Cherry blossom petals fell from the sky around them, from nowhere, fluttering down around the pair in a small flurry. A voice came from nowhere, from somewhere, from around Bastion and whispered in Genevieve's ear... a voice much like Bastion's own, but somehow, -darker-. "Bastion." It whispered his name, as though tasting it for the first time its self. The only reason they'd made it out of that realm, was that the convergence was complete. Where in every other case, the doppelganger replaced their counterpart... the two had become one, here. Light, shining and abundant, with darkness, empty and vacuous. "You're.... very pretty, ma'am. I'm sorry... about your glasses." Bastion should really stop trying to make small talk when he's half dead.

“Th-that was… certainly something,” she murmurs, running leather-bound fingers through her tousled hair. She stuff the frames of her spectacles in her bag, hoping to repair them eventually. “I’ll h-have to add it to my research journal… a v-very interesting event.” A flask is uncorked and downed, the healing prowess of a potion alleviating her cuts and fatigue. The voice of the monk voice startles her out of her reverie. “...B-Bastion, yes?” Genevieve repeats the name under her breath, wary of butchering it with her stutter. “M-my name is Genevieve.” They briefly make eye contact before she inevitably glances away, embarrassed. The gentle tickle of cherry blossoms soothes her soul just as the potion does her body and mind. Strangely, she feels at ease even in the middle of this busy intersection, and she sits beside Bastion with her chin resting on her knees. They’re like this for a while, just sitting in silence, her mind devoid of thought but filled with emotion. The crowds inevitably disperse as they see the two at rest. She lets out a sigh of contentment, almost comfortable enough to rest where she sits. The drowsy comment from the monk, however, jolts her with a rush of blood to the cheeks. “P-p-pretty? A-are you sure? But, um, t-th-thankyouverymuch,” she rambles, the shock enough impetus to get her on her feet. “I-i-it was n-nice to meet you, Bastion, and I-I’m g-glad I could be of service, yes,” continues the necromancer, dusting away dirt from her garb. It’s also bloodstained, but she’ll deal with that soon. With a curtsy proper of a lady-in-waiting, Genevieve bids farewell to the monk. “I’ll b-be seeing you. I sh-should probably see about laundering my clothes. But, um, if you’d like t-to reach me again, I t-tend to stay away from cities and towns. Ho-however! I’ll be in the Xalious region f-for a while, yes. Till then.” A shy smile crosses her features; she waves and departs, the smile sticking even as passersby stare in confusion. Today has been a most interesting day — and it hasn’t even ended yet.