X
"Preposterous!!" out, it incredibly blared through those impressive buckteeth. Tile clomped underfoot when the lanky girl stomped her heel. "Unbelievable! Undignified and inconceivable!! Daddy – what do they think they're doing here!?"
"I thought we be having ourselves a getaway!" the stocky midget with the fuchsia cap exclaimed with a growl. "As in – getting away from this posse of clowns!"
Brittany and Tiffany Krust: always the displeasure from what little Tucker had seen. Swathed tightly within fashion's latest impunity, free to chide and condemn those not of their tastes, it was quite unimpressive. Why anyone would blindly follow them like lemmings, it was a mystery. Camera always ready, pad perpetually open to a clean sheet of powder-blue stripes, he would certainly be there when the gruesome twosome suckered a fresh horde straight off the edge.
"Brittany!" the dark suit snapped. "Tiffany – you know far better than that! I don't care what you think of them in school – circus cavalcade or not – but here you will treat them with respect! If not, I can simply phone Jacques and have your behinds airlifted back to Tremorton – end of story! Do I make myself clear…?"
"…Like S3 diamonds." Little Ms. Buckteeth let out a sigh withdrawn.
"More like cubic zirconia...!" the midget dismissed.
Discontent, the dark suit let out a moaning growl.
"Quartz then!" midget said.
"Uh… fair enough." The suit shook his head. "No more snide quips!"
"Can someone please explain what's going on?" Buckteeth whined. "I didn't know Adrian II was a timeshare!"
"It's not." The imposing man shook his head again. "Adrian II has far too much space for just the crew and us. We're simply renting out a section for these people to use."
"And just when were you going to tell us that!?" Brit's lip dimple perked as the rest of her mouth pulled into a frown. "The middle of the Atlantic…?"
"Wasn't it obvious?" the man asked back. "Why else would I spend so much time with the captain over simple course corrections. We'll be having our cruise and vacations, don't you worry. Along the way, we'll just be making a few more 'pit stops' along the way. Besides, they'll be seeing more of Europe and the rest of the globe than humble we!"
"Just think, Brit!" In chirped the metal girl of six feet, modestly. "We're going to be roommates! Tell stories, do each other's nails, and all the fun stuff! It's just you, the open seas, and us for the next ten weeks! Doesn't that sound like fun?"
"God…!" Brit rubbed at her eyes, single-handedly. "I'm going to faint…! This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't happening…!"
"And who the fool bankrolling this little trip of yours?" Tiff frowned, bitterly. "Don't think your moms got enough bank stashed in her mattress for it – especially living with you!"
"If you must know," the dark suit frowned back, "their little trip's strictly business related. They've been contracted by Schwarzwind, Incorporated to go on a little treasure hunt. Headquarters in Düsseldorf are compensating, generously for their presence and utilities. And since they're paying generously, perhaps I can finally get you those gowns you've been lusting over."
"Daddy, you're something sick and foul!" Buckteeth exclaimed. "Dangling latest Jean-Philippe over our heads like mules and carrots…!"
"Now I know where she gets it from…." His brother mused.
"You can say that again." Tall Jenny affirmed with a single nod.
"Oh… alright!" A drawl of a moan, Brit reluctantly conceded. "You win!"
"Somehow, I just knew you'd see it my way." The suit said, musingly. "Good thing, too, since the captain's about to cast off. Now, might I suggest you show our guests to their quarters, Tiff?"
"Say what??" boggled did those heavily lined eyes. "First a cousin – now some lowly bellhop!? The heck do you take me for!?"
"A little girl who's 'bout to take a long Cessna flight back home, if she doesn't get her act together!" the suit declared.
"Aw… bump that!" a thick sole scuffed the tile, crossly.
"And stop with that stupid Ebonics talk." The suit added. "You're a well-off Caucasian living in the Tremorton suburbs, an heiress to the Krust legacy – not the lowly 'hood-rat' of your dreams! So could you please stop acting like late Kanye West – at least for a day…?"
Tuck's hand went for the thin rectangle in his back pocket.
Juicy…!
"I knew I couldn't be the only one to notice that—!"
"Stuff it, Sheldon…!" Brad murmured the best he could. "The longer Tiff doesn't know you're here, the better for all of us!"
"Now," the man said, "be a good little heir and show our guests to their rooms. They've all been made up, so you don't have to worry about it. Oh – did the crew take care of your luggage, Ms…?"
"Wakeman." Tall Jenny finished. "Jennifer Wakeman – and yes, the luggage's been handled. And before I forget, I'd like to introduce you to the rest of my entourage."
"Jenny," Bradley said, quickly, "I don't think that's a very good—!"
Stepped singly to a side, her thick, imposing knee-highs clanked.
"This is Bradley Carbuncle, practically my best friend." A single sweep, she gently gestured.
His pen and pad out – it was clapped onto the tile when a cyan boot tapped his knuckles, rather firmly!
"Ow!" his hands clapped together, reactively. "Hey – what's the big idea—!"
"And this little scamp is his little brother, Tucker." From imperviously on high, the girl shot him a smirk. "You'll have to keep an eye on him, always getting into trouble when he's not screaming like a schoolgirl!"
"Hey, I'm not a—" he could not finish.
"And just behind me is Sheldon Lee." One would be hard pressed to keep those blue lips together for even a second. "Gear-head and accomplished in bojutsu, he's practically a prodigy. If you haven't heard from your loveable twosome – yes, we do have a night out together planned—"
"Say WHAT!?" The midget exclaimed. "You mean that damn Shell-dork's here!"
Between powder blue and auburn, a messy cap of greasy black pushed through, confidently. Yellowed skin dappled with many a pustule small, nose a large, rounded nub, and those thin lips had pulled into a wide smirk of broad snaggleteeth. The gangly teen leered at the midget with such strange, sardonic joy.
"How you doing, short stuff…?"
---
"Soul Edge for armor research?" Herr Frederick asked, quizzically. "Just for our wonderful Bundeswehr to splurge on the rest of the Union? What exactly are you thinking, Herr Schwartz?"
A lengthy drag wonderfully sweltering within his lungs, it was but short lived as out it burned through his nose in a pair of fleeting plumes. Adrift was his brain in a light fog, loafers carrying him, mindlessly for that towering slab of tempered steel at the hall's end. Purpose suddenly on footing sure, the accumulation stood elect just beyond those reinforced hinges.
"I wasn't thinking, Hans." He replied. "Pure and simple. You honestly believed that dreck I spewed back in Wakeman's home? I'm certain you know me far better than that – especially by now."
"Why the rigmarole, Sir?" From behind, Hans could not help but press. "Couldn't you've told them the truth? It'll probably save us a few headaches down the road."
"Told them what, exactly, Hans?" he batted it back. "That the Schwarzwind's board couldn't give a damn about Schtauffen's Legacy despite our history – that almost everything I had said was but a ruse for swift action? Yes, Herr Hans, that would appeal really well with Dr. Wakeman and her child of armor!"
Haus Brinkmann but a blackened nub, it was yet another penny in the janitor's paycheck on the hard carpet. Habitually, his hand went for the flat tin pressed against his chest.
"You mean to say that GRUXJ9 hasn't been infected with the Seed…?" Hans quickly up his pace beside.
"I said 'almost everything', Herr Frederick." By his stubby thumb, the tin in hand arced open. "Soul Edge is real, mind you – her freak-out back at her house was undeniable evidence. Since Soul Edge is real, so too is Soul Calibur – the very object we needed to coax her into agreeing. She and her team will do the hard work so Schwarzwind can keep focused on its matters."
"The company doesn't want the Edge at all, do they?" Little Hans repeated. "You want it for yourself!"
"Money diverted from my Schwarzwind shares, my time, my support." A shaft of thin paper missing, its filter suddenly found its way between his lips. "Outside of my trip to Tremorton, most of the company's in the dark. What else can you conjecture?"
"Why, Boss?" Hans asked. "A sword infamous for devouring countless souls for the terrible Inferno – even its unfortunate wielder! Your money, reputation, existence, and even your soul – why on earth would you seek it?"
Up a humble, glowing nub popped out from his fist. Wisps of blue-gray escaped into oblivion as he touched it to his cigarette.
"Glad you asked…!" he took in a small drag.
The slab of steel impressive, it towered over Hans and he by several feet. Forged from proven metallurgy, tempered with tungsten, he proved it no match for his hand pressed squarely against the reader's smudgy pane. Cog-work meshed disjointedly, the wheel large as tractor's turned smoothly for the hinges. It arced open wide for him with an easy twist of the handle.
"If you didn't know…!" he grunted past his smoke. "This is my private collection of various memorabilia and collectables. It used to be Schwarzwind's armory during its beginnings a little after the turn of the millennium. Since the great remodeling several years ago, they upped and moved everything to the new one – leaving this one to my devices…!"
The heavy door met the adjacent wall with a sturdy bang. Loafers tapped onto the tile as in he stepped over the chunky piece of framing.
"Mein Gott…!" Overwhelmed was little Hans, lost within Johan's modest collection. "Look at all this stuff…!"
"My little collection of armor and swords." He nodded. "Most of it's typical of the Fatherland's great history. Just recently I've decided to place some Heckler and Koch's pieces on display – even some from the late Gaston Glock, as well. But this is not what I wanted to show you. What I wanted to show you was something a little more… appropriate!"
"Appropriate…?" Hans blinked.
"Come!"
Down the narrow pathway of standing, polished suits, past their great lances, bindenhanders, and shields, his legs stopped him wobbly before a display case a bit taller than he.
Upon a low pedestal of humble tile stood an impressive suit of armor. A modest five-seven, five-eight at most, impressive hue a polished azure – though it was rather grungy, especially the cuirass and to its right. The right arm missing, it had been missing ever since he procured it. The helm daunting, its single, lengthy spire must have run more than several skulls through during its wielder's terrible reign; it gazed back at him, darkly.
"No…!" Hans gasped slowly. "Is that what I think it is!?"
He nodded, simply.
"Behold Herr Schtauffen in his prime!" he said. "The very man who made Schwarzwind, Incorporated possible to begin with."
Never before did a drag taste so sweet; a smirk could not help but tug at the corners of his lips.
"The armor of Siegfried Schtauffen himself, Herr Frederick!" he said. "Behold Schwarzwind's Azure Knight!"
---
"And here's where you be staying, fools!"
The simple door of slats opened with a bang, Tiff's heavy boot ensuring its place against the wall with a grunt.
"Bed, television, and head." The little girl pointed, aggressively around the cabin. "Everything you punks could possibly need! If that's not the case, there's a mini-fridge somewhere near the set. Breakfast's at seven – sharp, and it ends at half past eight! Miss out – that's too damn bad 'less you happen to be the tin man or something."
Jenny frowned, heatedly.
"Makes you feel better I'll show your butt to the engine room." Tiff crossed her arms. "Should be some gasoline or something – that should satisfy you, at least! Just try not to eat the mechanics out of house at home!"
"You know," Sheldon just had to interject, "after your comment Monday morning, you really are pressing your luck—!"
"Don't EVEN GET ME STARTED ON YOU, SHELL-DORK!" Tiff stamped. "You got a lot of balls to be showing your face 'round these parts after that bull—!"
"ENOUGH!!"
The floor trembled, suddenly, violently! A swift tug from the hip, she removed her thick boot from the cracked boards underfoot.
"We get it all too clear, Tiff!" she yelled. "You don't like us and we sure as HECK don't like you! But since we're all suddenly on the same rocking tub, can't we get along – just for ten weeks, at least?"
"Fine with me." The small girl huffed. "Just get your Shell-dork to heel 'fore he finds my boot where it don't belong!"
"Such a big threat for such tiny feet!" Her vision jostled, Sheldon had pushed his way past. "Sure they can even reach?"
"Sheldon…." she moaned. "What did I just say…?
"You REALLY WANT TO TRY ME, GEEK!?" Downwards Tiffany punched, hotly. "Want a piece of this – I can give you all you want!"
"Little fists of fury against my iron staff?" the gangly boy scoffed. "Please – I ought to show you what Ling-Sheng Su can do!"
"Sheldon…!" Knuckles managed a ringing pop over her growl. "Knock it off!"
"Ping-pong, ching-chong!" Back, the girl mocked with a shout. "Hong Kong Phooey – number one super DOUCHE if you ask me! Don't make me beat that ass in front of your posse – uh-uh…!"
The floorboards clunked – close beside, something rang out dull and vacant. Cutlery shop's prize tight within a grip firm, Sheldon futilely menaced the horned, pink cap. The cap's stubby horns thin angles acute, its owner returned the gestured with a stomp, firmed into a generic fighter's stance.
"Of all the damn days to forget my grieve edges!" Tiff muttered to herself. "Better warn you, geek – they don't call me the Shit-kicker for nothing!"
Shell jumped – arcing back, his rod of iron so much that an end was but a hair away from Tucker's crown. Dark eyes rolling back into bloodshot white, the little boy fainted at an instant. Beside quickly, his brother took a knee; out of hand, it was getting quite far!
"LISTEN!" his rod smacked the hardwood – over it, he amazingly shouted. "My soul rages with strength!"
All things must come to an inevitable end, better an end of her very initiative!
Shell's rod clanged against her swift grip; the staff of iron, easily she won with little fight. Through and out his fingers, she slipped it simply to jam it between those scrawny legs of denim. Effortlessly, the boy twisted around and onto his backside at her will, the thump sudden her reward.
Tiff thrust a boot forward – her hand free quickly took a turn with the rod! Follow up disappointing as the threat, yet the girl incredibly ceased in the midst of a large stride, but a hair the tip of the rod to that button nose.
"Yield!" she demanded. "Now…!"
The girl's throat shifted, heavily.
"Now…!" she pressed.
"Fine…." Tiffany took in a haggard breath, shuffling her boots together. "You win – now get that damn stick out my face!"
Eyes traced heavily popped – cringing as she forward jerked the staff a hair.
"Aw – DAMN IT!" fingerless gloves clamped atop the button nose. "The hell you do that for!?"
"If that hurts, just process what this thing could've done at a full swing!" she said. "Be thankful – I could've simply let you two go at it! I'm a robot. I can be repaired and parts replaced relatively easily! You humans, on the other hand, don't have that luxury. Would either you care to spend the rest of your summer in intensive care? I hope not!"
"You can't afford repairs no more the second I taste blood, you ass!" Tiff growl impressive of a dachshund. "Consider this your lucky day, Shell-dork! This BS happens again – don't count on your pleasure machine to bail you out!"
"Or you for that matter—!"
A jolt sudden, her right arm twitched with certain bravado...!
"Okay!" her left hand clamped upon her shoulder; she took in a cooling breath "Everyone JUST COOL IT! We're all stuck on this boat, like it or not! We can swim or we can all just sink like a ton of bricks! Whatever happens out there, we can barely dogpaddle unless we all work together, okay…?"
"You and your posse are the ones on a mission, not us Krusts!" Certain comfort must have been found; Tiff removed her hands, reluctantly. "You want to give a motivational speech, talk to them! Forget y'all sorry behinds – I'm out! See y'all in the morning… if you got the balls!"
Heavy boots stormed Tiff out of their quarters, taking point a fingerless glove delicately massaging her plump face.
"And y'all be paying for that damn hole in the floor, too…!"
She paid the brat no mind as her hand hoisted Sheldon up and to his sneakers.
"Glad that's over." She sighed. "As for you, Mr. Lee – just take it easy next time."
"I know…." He rubbed at his head, sheepishly. "I understand if your embarrassed, Jen—"
"It's nothing to do with embarrassment." She shook her head. "Amazing, I acknowledge – but you shouldn't jump the gun like that! Bojutsu skills are great, I'll give you that, but do you plan on taking everyone who irks me, irks you…? I could've easily handled Tiff by myself, you know."
"I don't know what happened, Jenny." He sighed. "It was like I couldn't help myself – like actually I wanted the fight! I can't explain why – perhaps something seeded deep within me, aching to grow and burst out."
Her left hand touched upon her right shoulder.
"I process I can relate." She nodded. "Just no more outbursts like that, okay?"
Reluctance great, still she handed simply back the rod to its short master.
"Have to admit." The rod fresh in hand, Shell gave the floor a hearty tap. "That was a pretty sweet move! Where'd you pick that up from?"
"Targets' acceleration and mass coupled together with probability calculations formulated a prompt COA as a single, executable process in my ghost." She explained. "Text and small MPEG files in my ROM of Bo and Gun staff techniques practically showed me what to do."
"I should've known…." His head shook, simply.
"Hey, Brad!" over her shoulder, she glanced. "How's Tuck doing…?"
"Breathing normal, pulse normal…." A thickly cuffed hand combed through that spiky mess of auburn. "He just fainted – good thing, too! Another inch or two further, Shell, and it'd be a very different story. Just pay attention on your back swings, okay?"
"That frigging Tiff!" Sheldon clutched his crown, heatedly. "She gets me so damn mad, I can't think straight! Not just her – her walking stick of a cousin, that stupid pretty boy Don Prima – how I didn't go off the deep end's nothing short of a miracle!"
"You've got to mind your emotions, Shell." She scraped her hand over her problematic shoulder. "If you let them, they'll destroy you… like they're doing me…."
"Oh yeah!" Brad found his voice strong. "How's your arm holding up?"
"It's okay for now." She said. "Less conflict with the Krusts, the better. And no more fighting for my honor, okay Shell? You've already won it so don't push it, needlessly! Besides, I'm a big girl. I didn't get this far if I couldn't handle the slightest, now could I?"
"I'll have to remember that." Sheldon nodded. "Oh – if you've any more problems with your arm or anything, don't hesitate to call."
She smiled, warmly.
"I won't—"
"Attention crew and passengers," out the PA, it suddenly bellowed in the yacht throughout, "this is the second Adrian's captain – whom just so happened to be named Adrian Casque. It is currently 10:18AM EST – original cast-off time of 10AM has been set back to approximately 10:30AM. We will be departing for Vigo, in Spain's Galicia province, after the arrival of the Wakeman Party's last-minute addition."
"Last-minute addition?" Brad blinked. "What last-minute addition? I thought everyone who's coming was already here… aren't they?"
"It's a new one on me!" she placed up her hands. "I heard squat 'bout a new arrival! Shell, did you invite someone along?"
"I did no such thing!" he tapped his rod. "Its just little old me and my bo!"
"What 'bout Tuck?" she asked. "Does the captain know 'bout him?"
"Tuck's been cleared through Schwartz's company." Brad nodded. "They knew I couldn't get away from him – the 'rents would drop dead 'fore they took care of him the whole summer. They said they've 'better things to do'…!"
"Oh – wait!" again, the PA blared. "I've heard from the First Mate that he's just arrived! If our new arrival happens to hear me, your party is waiting for you in one of the guest cabins, lower deck aft. Seek out a crewmember should you have any questions or find yourself lost.
"With our final guest onboard, we now shall be casting off for Vigo. If all goes well, it should take us a little less than several weeks to reach our destination. On behalf of the crew of Adrian II and even the Krust Family, I hereby welcome our guests aboard and wish them a safe journey. Thank you."
A click of static, the speaker pinned up in the walls' corner died. Knees buzzed as she lowered to a crouch; another tap bluntly ringing, Sheldon took to a ready stance. Many footfalls tapping a steady crescendo, Brad wisely dragged little Tucker away from the slatted door.
"If I'm not mistaken," noted a voice casual, "your party's cabin should be… ah – there it is!"
The pair of steps upped the pace; her circuits many surged with unease anticipation.
"Keep on guard…." She said. "Be ready for anything!"
"Right!" Sheldon nodded.
The knob ornate rattled, tracing a quarter circle within its motion's range. Slatted door opening in a sharp arc, hinges ushered the newcomer's presence not with a typical, squealing fanfare.
"Steady…!" she said in a drawl hushed.
The nameless seaman pressed himself against the door as their new guest slipped in his way past. Hidden to her were low heels of black sneakers by overlapping folds of denim legs. A blazer light brown wrapped tightly around that lean torso, a simple tank top peeked at her a little behind those thin lapels; sleeves had been neatly rolled up. The decent patch plastered atop the left eye did little to distract from that bizarre pendant, a sideways eight dangling at his chest.
"Ah-salaamu alaykum." That baldhead nodded.
A buzzing whirr sharp in her head, her eyes could not help but cross.
---
Her will made known with a splatter of red, she left the being of meat to putrefy in a messy heap. Vexus had leapt into the cockpit of its primitive transport, four rubbery feet treading upon only the narrow strip of striped black. A simpleton yolk, controls basic for both her hands and feet, it was hard not at all to gain a definite sense of mastery. Pilots of passing transports paid her little mind as she kept on the appropriate side of the wide, black strip.
Nyx kept to himself outside the machine's cabin, beyond the small glass behind her head and on that flat, rear paneling.
"Well, fearless leader, do you've any idea where we're going or are we just going to roll down this vacant stretch till this POS runs out of fuel?"
"Just drive, little Vexus." Nyx said, hoarsely. "Keep us rolling down this path till we reach the next town. Before we truly being our little quest, we must find adequate shelter and rest. Certainly, this barren wasteland must not be without an oasis of some sort. We've little time."
Across her face, a smirk simply had to stretch.
"You mean you have little time, don't you…?"
"Did you say something…?" he asked.
"Hoarse and haggard breaths, straining to utter the simplest of words!" she grinned. "Surely this cannot be the great and terrible Nyx that made the Prime's monarchy tremble?"
"What're you getting at, little Vexus?" he hissed.
"There's no such thing as true invulnerability, is there?" she pressed, firmly both the issue as well as that thin lever underfoot. "Nothing lasts forever – not even you, Nyx! Should you have any doubts, please turn your attention to that big, bright ball hovering in the sky!"
Earth's sun a brilliant circle of light blinding in a yonder of wild blue, certainly upon her passenger it must have been taking a sort of toll.
"Vexus…!" Nyx hissed, suspiciously. "What're you up to!?"
The circle of a speedometer equally primitive, numbers largely emblazoned in mere miles, its thin sliver of orange quivered at fifty… sixty… seventy…! A process of confidence surged through her ghost, her boot keeping the thin foot lever snug against the angled floor.
She could pull it off.
"Isn't it obvious, little Nyx?" she asked, simply. "Why drag our journey out when we can simply hurry up and wait?"
"Would little Vexus mind slowing down?" he said. "This path's quite dirty – fates know only if there's a huge boulder out there."
"You know what, little Nyx?" she grinned. "I think you should starting calling me your queen again…!"
"Queen again...?" He pondered aloud.
Against her slim frame, the transport's simpleton restraint fastened. Realization had dawned too late; she paid little mind to the pitiful bangs on the glass behind her head.
"Vexus!" he shouted. "Slow down, immediately!"
Boot still to the floor; eighty… ninety… only to quiver, teasingly before those triple digits.
"DID YOU HEAR ME!?" Nyx shouted again. "I SAID SLOW DOWN!"
"Oh – little Nyx," her thin digits wringed the wheeled yolk, wide path but a black smear in the squarely between two strips of encroaching browns and tans, "you don't seem to understand, do you? I'm but this beast's humble pilot. I'm in control. I make the rules…!"
"YOU'LL GET A SERIOUS RULE IF YOU DON'T PULL OVER – NOW!!"
Her grin flattened back into a wide, sharp smile.
"And I MAKE THE THREATS!!"
Arms jerked the yolk, sharply around as possible. Nyx made a yelp – and spoke no more. The wide strip of black jerked away – a vastness of desert colors that somehow rolled around on the wide glass pane, out a crunch boisterous with every rotation complete. One… two… three…! She counted past twelve on her spinning head while metal screeched against the rough ground, a shriek painful that made her tympanums but an amp to shorting, completely.
The primitive transport halted with a humble tap against a sturdy boulder; the fates of Nyx's ponderings rightfully amused. Not was she, her head breaking her sudden drop from the pilot's chair. Out she could not cumbersomely negotiate her way soon enough.
Did I get him…?
Wasteland barren with a blowing, gentle pant, the vastness of desert before her laid wide open and nothing more. A shade neither deep nor significant for miles, the mud ball's private star high above, the bane of former Cluster Prime was damned. His fates abandoning, certainly the next eight hours would leave him to rot, accursed powers hardly problem even after sunset.
A kill to confirm, first thing was first. The transport a total wreck, but a metal mass disfigured, Nyx could not have easily walked away from it….
"Could he…?"
"Could I what, exactly – little VEXUS!?"
The devil incredibly behind, loose earth scraped against her turning heels. To late – an arm of heavy burlap caught her by the neck! Tympanums caught not the sound of shuffling granules against her soles; her height seemed to gain by a foot or two as his arm leveled at the shoulder. Never before had seen that gaze burn so fiercely!
"What's wrong, little queen?" he growled back. "Feeling a little light headed, are we?"
His fist free cocked back by the scratchy hood, knuckles bright by crackling, jagged spires of blue-white – the sky suddenly swept down into view, vision, tympanums flickering an erratic snow of white noise.
"Perhaps you should sit down," his push hearty, her paneling rang bluntly against the wreck, "have a breather. Oh – that's right, you don't breathe!"
Vision snowy, ears statically crisp, images, sounds, and the words – everything was but sound and fury of utter nothings her ghost struggled of to make a sort of sense. A thing of which she was certain, her grounded body was gray with a strange powder all of a sudden….
"W-what…?" her head shook, fiercely. "What's going on? What did – you DO… to me…?"
"Powder your bolts!" that arm of burlap jerked, erratically, ash bizarre seemingly puffing out those digits of silvery gray. Liberal and generous, he was dusting her with it! "You seem to a robot who takes itself too seriously – a shame no on back on the Prime paid you little mind!"
"What…?" it came out like a stutter. "What're you – doing…?"
Glare of perpetual fire was hot, as hot as those jagged, crackling spires flickering from out one of those clenched fists. Through the ghost's warbled mishmash, over her a process foreboding could not help but sweep.
"Little Vexus," he said, simply, "I seriously believe you should lighten up – NOW!!"