Lessa

Maybe if Lessa had branched out a bit more, and actually completed the Gemini quest, the sight might not have shocked her so much. But as it stood, she had never actually seen a mirror image of herself, and it was horrifying. "Is that what I look like?" she said aloud, wincing as the boss swaggered closer. "I do not swing my hips that much when I walk. And all those belts look ridiculous." She made a mental note to remove at least some of them after the fight was over. The humor, and the color, drained from her face as Not-Lessa plunged Not-Arcael's Might into Jomei's side. Raw instinct

Thunder murmured overhead, a low, ominous sound that seemed to drill straight into Lessa's bones. Rain tapped across her heavy armor, seeping through its cracks, and soaking her clothing beneath. It might have been a metaphor for the way this beach, this boss, this entire floor was finding every chink in her armor. Something about 29 really put her on edge, and she was starting to wonder if that was an actual feature of the Floor’s design. Low frequency sound was often used in movies to create a sense of dread or unease, and high electromagnetic field readings in small spaces could jack up a p

It took a few minutes. Perhaps he was in the middle of something, or he didn't immediately understand the point of her message. But when he finally swung open his front door, he found her smiling up at him. "Special delivery!" she declared, wiggling her shoulders excitedly. "One order of your favorite person!" Then she lifted up a plastic bag in the space between them. "And also ice cream! Because shitty nights call for ice cream." Without waiting for an invitation, she slipped under his arm and scooted to his kitchen. Though their relationship was still new, she had been over to his hous

The period before a boss fight always struck Lessa as a little odd. On the surface, it looked like friends getting together after being apart for a year. The jovial greetings, the hugs, the sharing of food. Hell, it might have been a class reunion or something. But the whole time, there was this underlying sense of foreboding. Soon, they would be venturing into the boss room. There was a chance some of them might not return. But they still joked, still laughed, still kept their smiles locked in place. Was this what soldiers felt like in the hours before marching to war? She tried not to t

She hoped they were getting along. And by getting along, of course, she meant the bare minimum. They didn't have to hold hands, sing Kumbaya, and plan a life together. Honestly, the thought of that sent chills down Lessa's spine that had nothing to do with Floor 29. All she asked was that they not kill each other. And honestly, she couldn't be sure which she expected to throw the first punch. Oscar, she assumed, would be the one to throw the last one. Thunder cracked overhead, and the suddenness of it snapped Lessa out of her thoughts. She stumbled, the toe of one boot catching on th

"I know." The two words carried far more weight than they should have, and when her gaze found his, it was mixed parts pleading and grateful. She knew what she was asking him, and what it was costing both of them. But she asked anyway, and he came through. "I am really, really lucky. Thank you for doing this." She closed the space between them, placed her hand on his arm, and gave a quick squeeze. "I wouldn't ask if it weren't important, and because it is important, I'm asking someone I can trust." Then she drew back, her expression growing slightly more guarded as she turned to Lilik. "P

"Damn it, Oscar, stop." Was her eye twitching? It felt like her eye was twitching. Without thinking, Lessa physically placed herself between Lilik and Oscar, holding her arms out ala Chris Pratt in Jurassic World. She swore she could feel the electricity humming between them, a charge not unlike grabbing the electric fences that ran the length of her family's property. Gritting her teeth against the now pounding headache, Lessa couldn't help but snarl out the words. "I did not invite you here to lay hands on my friend, regardless of how badly we both know she deserves it." "Let him,"

Overhearing Jomei's question for Morningstar, Lessa turned to face the pair. If the man was in need of healing, it was her job to step in. She was in the support role, after all. "What happened to- oh god." Her blue eyes bulged as she recognized the severed hand. "I, uh, whoa. Yeah, no." She stammered, then nervously reached up to wipe the rain from her face. The cold metal of her gauntlets shocked her, and didn't accomplish much, but she finished the motion anyway. Then she managed, "I haven't seen that yet. Which I guess is sort of surprising, considering we're all using swords." Her jaw wor

As Players emerged from the shadows, she realized a party was beginning to form. Star, Freyd, Jom, Star, Acanthus. She mentally ticked each off as she picked them out from the other mud-caked forms staggering about in the dark. They looked as exhausted as she felt. We need a break, she thought, not for the first time. Or the second time. Or probably the fiftieth time. How long had they been out there, battling back the endless waves? It felt a bit like COD zombies, but she couldn't just turn off the game when she got bored. This time, giving up had dire consequences. So she narrowed her e

Jomei called out to Freyd, and Lessa used the momentary distraction to move up behind the Emerald Duelist. "Hey handsome," she greeted, giving him a few seconds warning before sliding her hands under his armpits and hauling him to his feet. Considering he had nearly a foot on her, the move was not graceful or especially effective. But she still stole a brief moment's satisfaction from the close contact. They had been fighting for what felt like an eternity, grabbing short rests where they could, and traveling where the need was greatest. As often as she could she fought by Jomei's side. But th

Her eyebrows disappeared beneath her shaggy bangs, startled surprise splashing across her face. Her gut instinct was to argue - of course she wasn't a bitch, and how dare he accuse her of being one? Righteous indignation flared, but instead of fanning the flames, she simply shook her head. Because, damn it, she was a little bitch where Jomei was concerned. And what good would denying it do? "Of course I'm a little bitch," she answered, groaning with frustration, and throwing her arms wide. "Look at him. He's... he's..." She gesticulated so wildly that it probably set off her Italian uncle

Relief flooded Lessa as Oscar materialized from the shadows. Raindrops sliced down his chiseled features, but it did nothing to soften the expression on his face. The man looked downright murderous, and for a split second, Lessa worried she might have done the wrong thing by messaging him. Did he consider it a waste of time? Probably. And she did not need her very large, very scary friend turning that anger on her. She would much rather forcefully drag Lilik back to the gate herself. She was opening her mouth to apologize when Oscar went off on Lilik, confirming Lessa's suspicions. Yup, h

Lessa observed the onslaught in silence, forever impressed by the precision with which the Frontliners attacked. Like a well-oiled machine, they landed blow after blow, slicing away at the Knight's health bar with seemingly impossible speed. No matter how many times she witnessed it, it always took her breath away. These ordinary people - students, bankers, chefs, engineers, retail workers, restaurant owners, high school teachers - had picked up swords and become full-fledged superheroes. Sure, the system assisted, but they were still out there putting their lives on the line every day. And th

It took more focus than Lessa would care to admit for her to pick her way down the slope. They made it look so easy in Braveheart, but descending the hill was proving to be quite a bit more difficult than she expected. Rather than acknowledging her clumsiness, Lessa instead placed all of the blame on the rain, and the way the earth seemed to shift beneath each and every footfall. Beside her, a Player bounded gracefully by, as confident on the slant as they might be on flat ground. Damn gazelle, she thought, mixed parts annoyed and impressed. She, on the other hand, would take her time. She wou

Alyssa had always hated running. In elementary and middle school, she kept an old finger split in her locker, and popped it on whenever the mile run rolled around. "Sorry, gym teacher who is also the varsity women's soccer coach, I can't, I'm injured." When it came to high school, and she found out that participating in Track and Field would get her out of the P.E. requirement, she didn't hesitate. She really latched onto the track portion of Track and Field, because much to her delight, shot-putters didn't have to run. But you know who did have to run? Frontliners, apparently. Lessa