fermatafour

[fermatafour]

The script works in mysterious ways- how was it that a small package appeared where the Stellaron Hunters resided? By the will of the Aeons, obviously. That would also be why the gift is late-

The box has the words "To Kafka" written out in such jagged black pen lines one would likely assume it was done by a toddler- which isn't technically wrong. The box is, for some reason, rather beat up despite how decorated it was intended to look- perhaps the individual fell whilst putting it together, or simply had no crafting skills. The world may never know.

If one were to look inside, there would be two spider looking creations made of plates and fuzzy sticks of varying colors. One is much larger than the other, with its body toned purple- the other a tad smaller with a golden orange glow for a body.

The are rather simply put together, and even then the sticks are bent every which way, and the plate bodies have cuts or tiny holes poked sporadically ( as if the individual failed multiple times trying to get the "spider legs" to stay on the plate ) across their surfaces.

At the bottom of the box, under the two crafts, is a note written in the same childish handwriting as the name on the outside of the box.

Happy Mother's Day -Caelus

Kafka finds the battered parcel nestled beside the doorway like a stray thought, scuffed and careworn, its jagged scrawl standing out in stark contrast to its surroundings.

To Kafka, it says, in lines so shaky they hum with the effort of a stubborn hand.

She doesn't open it right away. Instead, she lifts it gently, as if the box might protest being jostled again, and carries it into the quiet of her quarters. The walls here are spare but curated, but she pays no attention to the decorations as she sits and opens the package with a measured slowness.

What greets her is unexpected—a child's ambitious attempts at a simple craft. Two spiders—one large and purple, the other smaller and gold—gaze up at her from lopsided googly eyes glued to paper plate faces. Pipe cleaner legs twist in multiple directions, bent at unnatural angles, and the plates themselves are punctured with trial and error.

Yet something about their earnest crookedness, matching the childish scrawl of the little note, holds her gaze longer than it should.

Her expression softens, and the spiders find a home on the ledge beside her bed. The note sits tucked between the plates.

[fermatafour]

She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she exhales slowly, her breath a barely perceptible sigh that briefly disturbs the quiet. One gloved hand lifts, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek as though the question requires contemplation.

It doesn't. She'd known exactly what she needed from the moment she sent the request. Still, some truths deserve the courtesy of a pause.

"Recovery," she repeats, tasting the word like a fruit she knows is long past ripeness. "…No, not truly. Being stricken with mara is the inescapable destiny of the long-life species. It is a madness triggered by the accumulation of emotions and memories. Blade… is not fit for interstellar travel in this state."

Her hand lowers, and she takes a quiet step forward. She doesn't close the gap fully, but enough that the hush of her words doesn't need to compete with the footfalls in the distance.

"My plan is to use Spirit Whisper to temporarily seal the mara by reducing its potency. I need to focus all my concentration so I'll be vulnerable for some time—I need you to protect me while I suppress Blade."

She lets the words fall away. Whether Caelus chose to help or walk away, she'd already decided to honor his decision. She's imagined both outcomes, weighed them, folded them into the structure of her strategy. One leads to ease, the other, effort. She's prepared for either route to their escape from the Luofu.

☆ what the script doesn't know can't hurt us

【 non-commission board ── a letter from a strange woman 】

[fermatafour]

Kafka watches Himeko without interruption, the warmth from her hand bleeding slowly into the curve of her glass as the redhead wonders aloud about leadership, about the ache of absence. It would be easier to tune her out—easier still to leave, to slide off the bar stool with some flippant remark and let the redhead drown in her drink and her own sentiment.

Instead, Kafka resigns herself to staying. Burning this bridge now, when it might one day lead to something useful, wouldn't serve her.

But then Himeko leans in, fingers reaching across the small space between them to brush against Kafka's sleeve. It's a bold gesture, no doubt encouraged by the cocktails settling in the woman's bloodstream, but the movement draws the Stellaron Hunter's eye to the water dripping from the woman's coat. The bar's warmth had done little to dry her.

It struck her, the idle thought that it would be rather inconvenient if one of Caelus' companions caught a fever. Elio's script hadn't said anything about the Navigator dying of pneumonia, but the thought of Caelus looking like a kicked puppy if Himeko fell ill had Kafka exhaling a faint breath through her nose.

"You know," she said at last, her voice light, "sitting around in damp clothes isn't doing your constitution any favors." Her gaze flicked lazily to Himeko's face. "Not that I doubt your resilience, of course," she added, a faint, feline lilt to her tone.

"…We both have people to return to, Miss Navigator. You're welcome to make use of the shower in my room."

She'd offer to carry Himeko upstairs, but she suspected the redhead's pride was heavier than her waterlogged dead weight, and she didn't fancy alienating the woman just yet.

but i can't get enough of you

Kafka & Himeko - flashback

[fermatafour]

[WINDOW SHOPPING]

Firefly was never one for fashion herself , nothing ever designer or super fancy was to her tastes , always having wore a plugsuit and a giant suit of armor . . . so why was she so interested now ?

her eyes gazed away from her own reflection in the window , having been staring at a rather expensive looking dress , it wasn't something she'd see herself wearing , but . . . her eyes drift to the woman walking with her , Kafka .

it's something more suited for her , but she couldn't help but wonder as she was looking . " what do you think . . . would fit me ? " she still wasn't too sure about her own style , what she truly enjoyed or the likes . . . but she knew if anyone would , Kafka would likely have a good idea , her attention turning back to the windows in front of the shop .

Kafka's gaze flicked to the window--not to the dress, not right away, but to Firefly's reflection. The way the lights caught in her eyes, the way uncertainty softened the edge of her posture.

"…Something that makes you feel like you're not wearing armor," she murmured, voice velvet and low, "but still lets you stand like you are."

She stepped in closer, eyes turning toward the dress in the window--analytical and indulgent, less interested in the price tag than the silhouette, the statement.

"Not this," Kafka added after a beat, turning to brush invisible dust from Firefly's shoulder with a slight smile. "This one's too loud for you. You're already a wildfire--what you wear should be the smoke. Something that moves when you move, instead of holding you in place."

Gently, she took Firefly's hand.

"Come. We'll find something that fits you and not just your frame."

[fermatafour]

She watched Mira vanish beneath the water and reappear moments later, soaked to the bone and wearing the kind of grin a man might offer at his own wake. Kafka watched him climb onto the dock, and felt the quiet settle around them like fog. The beach should have been alive with tourists, chatter, even gulls overhead--but the only thing greeting them was a silence that pressed in from every side.

Lisa's quip and Citlali's half-playful response stirred the corners of Kafka's mouth into something not quite a smile. Her fingers tapped lightly against her chin in thought.

"A kitchen sounds wise," she said, her voice less smooth than it normally would be from their ordeal but no less wry. "Food, water, alcohol if fate is feeling generous." Her eyes swept the still, sunlit paths stretching out from the dock, something calculating behind the easy cadence of her words. "We'll raise our glasses properly once we know they won't be the last thing we raise."

Even A Nightmare Can Look Like A Dream

"If you climb high enough..." Revelation | Chora Beach Finale [ Blade | Citlali | Kafka | Lisa ] feat. Mira

[fermatafour]

Kafka let the moment settle--Castorice's solemn admission, Citlali's rebuke, the diviner's odd, knowing smirk sent her way. It was all a little too publicly sentimental for her taste, but Lisa's presence tucked close into her side softened her usual cynicism. Kafka let out a soft hum, low enough for the librarian to hear, a quiet note of affection thrumming beneath the surface.

She'd remember Citlali's offer to treat them all to a round of drinks after this. More importantly, she'd remember Lisa's interest in taking her up on it.

For now, Lisa's voice cut cleanly through the lull, pulling their tour guide into the fold with a gentle question about his life outside of work. He answered readily enough--city-born, comfortably vague--and Kafka might have let it go if not for the part about his missing coworkers.

"Your coworkers," she echoes, tone mild as she glances at him. "Kind of roles did they have?"

Kafka rolls a 2. No HP loss!

@revelation-beach

We're Stuck in "Paradise"

REVELATION // WEEK 3

[fermatafour]

Kafka watches the interplay between Castorice and Citlali with a detached sort of interest, like a scholar observing two animals make tentative peace over shared water. The demi-god sends a butterfly to the diviner, who sheepishly offers up her pillow in exchange.

And then Lisa speaks, voice warm and lilting as she teases Citlali. Kafka smooths down her skirt as she takes a seat next to her girlfriend, watching with interest as the librarian pulls the hair tie from her wrist.

But then she's asking about instructions, and Kafka takes a moment to consider the question. Was there any point to confessing her role, since the voice had exited stage left—or at least, had feigned doing so? There wasn't any immediate benefit she could glean from sharing, more likely earning the ire and distrust of the rest of the group instead.

"She's inconveniently important to me."

The Stellaron Hunter holds back a sigh as she recalls her words to the diviner, crossing one leg over the other and settling her weight back with the lazy grace of a cat at rest—her posture deliberately non-threatening. It would get out sooner or later, and the damage would likely be mitigated if she didn't sidestep the question.

"Oh, I was told to kill someone," Kafka confesses dryly, as if commenting on the weather. "'Someone in this group is fated to die,' and I was instructed to choose their death for them. But the voice never specified who." Her gaze flicked briefly toward the boat—toward the figure she'd pulled from the propeller and covered by a tarp. 

"…Blade made the most sense. He could recover from just about anything, and staging his death would have carried the least amount of risk. I'm sure our little narrator wouldn't have been happy about it, but a temporary flatline might have counted with no harm done to anyone else."

Her tone quiets. "And if I couldn't resuscitate him… he's sought death longer than I've known him. It would have been my final gift to him, even if I didn't plan to give it." 

She looks back to the group.

"But he died before I could talk to him about it—and not by my hand, I assure you. Like I said on the boat, I would have granted him a much cleaner death."

Kafka rolls 2. No HP loss.

We're Stuck in "Paradise"

REVELATION // WEEK 3

[fermatafour]

Before Kafka can voice her question to Citlali--why an iris?--that voice made a reappearance, spouting off more cryptic words before being replaced by an entire choir of disembodied voices whose whispers clung to the back of her throat like the aftertaste of a bad drug.

It was her.  She did it, she was meant to kill him.  She tried to kill her, too. She should be the first one to go.  Kill her, save yourselves.  Kill her, live.  Kill her.

The Stellaron Hunter resisted the urge to scoff aloud.

Citlali's monologue washed over her, all pretty, pointless meaning wrapped around a tired frame. All that trembling conviction--Kafka let it pass, staying silent until the diviner pressed Lisa's hat back into her palm.

"Everyone's meant to die at some point," Kafka says, turning the hat over once in her hands. "Doesn't mean you have to rush toward it."

A soft huff escapes her, not quite a laugh, and her hand rises to set the hat back into place on Citlali's head. 

"Our audience seems to be getting antsy, don't you think? They're probably not too happy about seeing such a dissatisfying conclusion to their show. Are you really going to give in to them so easily?"

Kafka rolls a 4. No HP loss. -2 HP to heal Citlali. 8/10 HP

We're Stuck in "Paradise"

REVELATION // WEEK 3

[fermatafour]

The air is dry, but @grannyitztli's cough cuts through it, damp and ragged, tearing something quiet from the moment. Kafka's eyes narrow faintly as she watches the woman fumble for her magic, the effort more stubborn than wise.

"…You're wasting what little strength you've got," she says softly. Her voice isn't cold, but it isn't kind, either. Just honest. She exhales slowly through her nose, casting a brief glance toward the horizon--toward where Lisa had disappeared with the demigod.

"And you're right," Kafka adds, her tone almost conversational. "About me caring for her."

Three words settle on the edge of her tongue, absurdly tender and too soft for a place like this, so she keeps them to herself. Lisa isn't here to hear them, and the sun-bleached graveyard doesn't deserve to hold them.

"She's inconveniently important to me," Kafka says instead, nudging Citlalin so they can continue moving. "Now, if you're going to pass out, at least do it near the mud. We might need to water you like a plant."

Suffering

REVELATION // CHORA BEACH // WEEK 2 INTERMISSION

[fermatafour]

The cool bloom of Citlali's conjured pillow against her spine seeps through her shirt like a breath drawn into tired lungs. Kafka doesn't turn to face the diviner right away, taking a moment to consider the woman's question. The words, meek and unsure, hang behind her like the heat shimmer in the air, oddly fragile for someone who claimed communion with fate.

"Calculating, hm?"

She glances sidelong at @grannyitztli.

"…I've worked with people long enough to know power ebbs and flows. One would have to be a fool not to notice the effort you'd spent ensuring our vessel remained seaworthy long enough for us to reach shore, or how useful the ability to generate ice would be once you regain your energy."

Kafka's hand lifts--not quite to reach for the diviner, but to adjust Lisa's sunhat on her head, tugging it a fraction lower to protect Citlali from the worst of the sun and keep her from seeing the wry, almost fond smile tugging at her lips.

"But you have Lisa to thank for my… kindness. She's the sort who'd scold me for letting someone collapse on my watch, and I try not to disappoint her too often."

Suffering

REVELATION // CHORA BEACH // WEEK 2 INTERMISSION

[fermatafour]

TW: Body horror

The mirage had lasted but an instant, the image bleeding at the edges. There was no ceremony or rupture to the loss--relief was there and gone in a single blink, the illusion of safe harbor dissolving like sugar in rain. The sea was drained, the trees wilting, and the bodies--

Kafka doesn't flinch at the sight of them. Her gaze sweeps the wasted shapes lying still beneath the sun, brittle and bent like desiccated leaves. The scent of rot is persistent; flies swarm the corpses, but no beasts have come to claim them.

Kafka watches the others move--Lisa and Castorice drifting toward the silhouettes of fruit trees, Mira still frozen in the heat-haze of shock. She stands for a moment longer than necessary, assessing the situation. 

The wind here is a faint, rasping whisper that offers little relief from the sun, and with the loss of the ocean, she wouldn't be surprised if excessive heat and dust storms were in their future.

She turns her head slowly, eyes settling on @grannyitztli.

If the diviner looked fragile before, now she looks half-shed--the way a snake might before its skin sloughs off entirely. Kafka approaches, Lisa's hat in her hand. She doesn't ask before settling it on Citlali's head, angling it just so to shield her from the sun.

"Come with me. The mud will make for a cooler environment, and if there's any water left in that mess, I'll get it out."

Suffering

REVELATION // CHORA BEACH // WEEK 2 INTERMISSION

[fermatafour]

Kafka's thumb brushes idly over Lisa's knuckles as their hands settle together, her earlier exasperation softening to something more resigned. Consideration was troublesome, certainly, but less so when met with warmth. Lisa's silent approval made bearing the burden less annoying.

The next wave crashes into them like a slap, lurching the vessel and tearing another slat of wood free from the hull. Kafka's free hand braces against the bench, head tilting as water sloshes over the side. The diviner is already shouting orders, her pillow flying to respond, and a faint curve tugs at Kafka's mouth.

"Well done," she murmurs, a note of wry appreciation aimed at Citlali's quick thinking with the ice. Her gaze turns to Castorice briefly, expression softening minutely when she saw the woman seemed to have grasped her point and dropped the line of questioning. For now, probably.

Another wave rocks the boat, shearing off part of the hull. The docks were coming into view--perhaps they'd make it before resorting to swimming the remaining distance.

Kafka rolls 1 movement. Major inconvenience! -6HP Ship HP: 30/100

Brace for a... sinking ship?

REVELATION / WEEK 2

[fermatafour]

Kafka hadn't lied. Not truly. But truth had always been a careful thing in her mouth--curated like wine, aged to taste. There was a time she might have met such accusations with a smirk and words or steel sharp enough to draw blood. But Lisa was here, watching, and that changed things.

Kafka felt it in the way she held her tongue more often than she used to. She'd spent years living without the burden of someone else's regard--untethered, free to burn, break, and cut what needed cutting. That had always been her role. Precision. Execution. She'd always moved with purpose, never once slowed by conscience.

But Lisa… she'd teased Kafka's sharper edges with a smile and soothed her in ways the Stellaron Hunter hadn't thought she needed until they were already in motion. A quiet hand in hers. A reprimand spoken gently.

Kafka had to consider her words more carefully now, weighing the other person's feelings on top of whatever benefit she could glean from them.

…How troublesome.

Kafka rolls 2 movement. Nothing happens! Ship HP: 46/100

Brace for a... sinking ship?

REVELATION / WEEK 2

[fermatafour]

Castorice's words spilled forth again, inquisitor's tone wrapped in saccharine gentleness, and Kafka didn't look at her right away. This wasn't how the trip was supposed to go. She'd wanted to give Lisa something else: new skies, new stars, new memories, unburdened by the expectations of geezers that really should have retired before they'd grown senile.

But fate, ever the spoiled child, had other ideas. Kafka tilted her head, eyes catching the light just enough to reflect a faint glint. There was no guarantee the demigod would accept her answer, but she'd do what she could to protect Lisa.

"If I didn't react the way you expected, perhaps it's because I've had to answer that accusation before. Too many times to meet it with anger or irritation."

She lets it sit for a moment, before offering something that might have been honesty. 

"I was once a citizen of a world that no longer exists. It was consumed by a seed of destruction that cared not for reason or mercy. So now… I help remove them. But people don't like when their sources of power are taken from them, so we've gained a rather controversial reputation as a result."

The boat crests a particularly large wave, Kafka's hand settling upon Lisa's knee as their dinghy crashes back down--parts of it shearing off from the impact.

Kafka sighs.

"If a body carries a malignancy, do you let nature take its course and watch it rot? Or do you cut it out?"

Kafka rolls 1 movement. Major inconvenience! -8 HP. Ship HP: 46/100

Brace for a... sinking ship?

REVELATION / WEEK 2

[fermatafour]

Their boat was crumbling.

Every time someone so much as shifted their weight, another length of driftwood seemed to peel away from the hull like dead skin, cast into the froth without so much as a protest. Kafka observes it with a faint tilt of her head, brows just barely lifted in wry disbelief.

This was a ship from a luxury resort, was it?

Kafka sighed softly through her nose, and then the wind picked up at Lisa's warning. She could have made a joke, but Lisa's hat--the one so delicately placed atop her head like a quiet benediction--tore away in the breeze. Kafka leaned out over the side, hand snapping around the brim at the exact same moment the ship chose to lurch.

Wood cracks her under weight, the jolt sending a vicious sway through her balance, enough to pitch someone headfirst into the sea--or worse, against the very sharp splintered wood now below her--but Kafka managed to shift her body back enough to avoid another bloody end.

She settles back into her seat, pulling the hat back upon her head. "Somebody's going to die at this rate," she says to the others, looking unperturbed by her brush with inconvenient injury.

Kafka rolls 3 movement. Major inconvenience! -7HP Ship HP: 58/100

Brace for a... sinking ship?

REVELATION / WEEK 2

[fermatafour]

Kafka's lashes lowered at the sound of that gentle admonishment, a sigh slipping from her lips. Darling. Always with that inflection--sweet as syrup and just cloying. It made it difficult to argue.

Fine. She would behave. Her head tilted in concession, and moments later the hat came next--lowered onto her head with the same maddening care that had captured the Hunter's heart in the first place. Kafka hums quietly, accepting the consolation.

She's just beginning to relax into her seat when the engine hiccuped. She leans forward at the stern, elbow on the railing, posture languid as her eyes tracked the motor's sluggish churn. It didn't sound right--not catastrophically wrong, but certainly not--

A violent crack rang out behind her, and Kafka turned her head just enough to register motion in her peripheral vision. Citlali was embedded into the bench, as if she'd been flung there--and Kafka's brows had just started to draw together when something whistled past her cheek.

A piece of a propeller blade, she realized after noting their speed drop. She didn't see it strike water, but she heard the far splash it made after narrowly missing her face.

"Oh dear," she mused nonchalantly, as if the machine hadn't just tried to maim her. Kafka stayed poised for a moment longer, listening--there was no other groan of metal, no scent of smoke. The engine still ran.

"…It's still doing its job, at least."

Kafka rolls 2 movement. Major inconvenience! -4HP. -2 movement to next roll.

Brace for a... sinking ship?

REVELATION / WEEK 2

[fermatafour]

Castorice's eyes lingered on her longer than necessary. Kafka didn't look away--she held that gaze easily, letting the silence stretch between them. And then the weight of threat lifted and the scythe disappeared.

Kafka watched the shift with a calculating eye. Castorice apologized, nodded at her, and then apologized again, retreating with a bow. The Stellaron Hunter inclined her head in return, but only once Castorice had turned away and taken her seat did Kafka relax enough to finally check on the movement in her peripheral vision.

Citlali was hunched near the edge of the boat, her body curled slightly over the railing. Kafka observed the line of her back for a moment. Sick, perhaps? Had Blade's death and this recent stand-off turned her stomach?

Still, she didn't move to help. The impulse to comfort wasn't one that came easily, and certainly not for someone she hadn't decided was worth the effort. Instead, she slipped back into her own seat, smoothing her skirt as she went, and reached for Lisa's hand.

"Recent events have placed a lot of stress on the group. Anybody would want answers," Kafka says softly, crossing one leg over the other with a smile. "And neither of you answered, by the way. When did you hear your voice?"

Kafka rolls 2 movement. Nothing happens!

@thetruthbehindtherose

Brace for a... sinking ship?

REVELATION / WEEK 2