Arabelle

pity for the both of them. she meant it as an offering and a slight. the longer of arabelle’s nails click on the table, dissatisfied, as hayate pours his tea first and drinks. the next he breathes, it’s with her name. margaret. somewhere, in some long forgotten archive, the record of that old trial must still exist. when the strongest of them clumsily declared themselves justice, pinning the totality of a crime on its first confessor, they extended to her a feigned mercy in signing it underneath a name she could so easily discard. they didn’t tell her their authority hinged on condem

Purchaing 5 creme brulee for 10 materials.

13:07 aincrad standard time. three messages drop into yuki's inbox. it's from a contact she has only met once. ARA: Hi. ARA: [b7e9c24f.jpg] ARA: Can you help me kill? ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀) like a frightened wife pointing out pests for their husband to dispose of, the blurry shot of floor 25's maze weaver, front appendages raised and charging at the retreating camera, is meant to speak for itself. as she would tell yuki later, arabelle had been unlucky this time. she is ordinarily a competent boss hunter. but the twists and turns of the maze and her dwindling consumable hoard had formed a

there are cats in the endless caverns. they just happen to have owners. murderous ones. she laughs, soft and almost dismissive. "oh, no. i'm just the exception." for lack of a better place to go, or partly by arabelle's insistence, they do start for the river first. she continues once they are far past the dragon gates, her weapon nowhere in sight. "my family ran a funeral home. i helped them since i was able -- administrative tasks, mostly, but as i grew older and my responsibilities expanded, i had to spend more time in the place itself. if you've ever been to one, you'll understan

"miss luka..." eyes to the ground. "...he will see you now." the paper screen door slides open and the lady of the house of bones next door bows. not as low as she used to, in the long years of their working relationship where she asked after and practiced every formality hayate brought from his old place, knowing it would leave him pleased, but at an off-angle that would have confused a dilettante. deliberate or a sudden careless mistake? does she appear careless to you? she straightens, a coy apologetic smile on painted lips, then settles into a seiza position across

the knight doesn't answer. instead, as arabelle is trying to keep an eye on it between the dozen attacking bodies of the frontlines, it changes faces and suddenly, it's lessa charging straight towards a wide-eyed jomei. the strike lands. the violin's bow stutters, the last of jomei's song plummeting beneath the noise, and before morningstar could catch on, arabelle is moving to intercept, the spear point of her scythe puncturing the woman's armor. "red cursor," she reminds. she wouldn't do that. she rips damocles free and stabs lessa again. her pulse is in her ears, her eyes br

arabelle blinks owlishly at morningstar's familiar food. "a cat?" "you could come along," he offers all of a sudden. and arabelle's hand comes up to twist at the ends of her bangs. did he know he was stephen star, world renowned actor, casually inviting along a woman who had already introduced herself as one of his admirers? for a moment, her control fails to catch up, and arabelle in morningstar's view appears a very familiar blend of flustered and hopeful. then her eyes turn somewhere else and her expression smooths over to comfortable neutrality -- if only because stephen star had

floor 29 held its breath. a black knight emerged from the sea. water sloughed off its armor as it marched toward the shore. a bright red gleam pours from its visage —furious? —[maddened]? and the thing beneath struggles for breath but its killing instinct is alive and well. belregor -guardian of the sword-, facing eighteen of aincrad's strongest, takes a stance. arabelle gnashes her teeth unconsciously, confused. a knight? out of all the unsightly things this floor could throw at them, it thinks the worst of it is a relic of its old age? is it time for her to look at the quiet sixth

like an abyss, morningstar. like you’re staring down a 14.4 kilometre hole and the bottom is made out of human viscera. but with her eyes closed, arms crossed over her middle, almost bent over herself in laughter, she looks just the part of an ordinary girl. "sorry…! so sorry, oh my gosh, i’m so sor--" arabelle presses the back of her hand against her lips, shoulders shaking, trying to dampen the rest of it as morningstar catches his breath. his scream might have scared the actual ghosts off. in that moment, he was perfect. "i was about to greet you normally, but you looked so nervou

"arabelle. tell them to bring it over themself." or: conversations that could have happened. (accepted.)

buying field rations and t4 immolation potion for 2,200 col.

"i stand corrected," she quips back. arabelle's second raid starts with her losing morningstar in the dark. her red eyes alighted on a bright nervous figure holding itself steady against a pair of frontline elites; not bright in a way that invited admiration like morningstar, she amends, but in a way that commonly drew condemnation and ire. the woman is an orange cursor. criminal by cardinal's decree. team 4 from the last raid had one themselves but pinball kept his distance and was merely tolerated. arabelle has a sense that this one is a friendlier face, and the tableau the trio paints

purchasing 1 tiger's balm for 3 mats.

there's jomei, talking to himself. then not-doe-eyed acanthus, diligently hacking away at the lion. arabelle brightens at her appearance -- their last interaction had ended abruptly and she had been wondering if she should just cut to the chase and send her that text. "okay!" she cuts in front of the lion and swings damocles down from overhead. the blade pierces its skull and rips through the bone and flesh in its path, leaving the mob gaping open from crown to jaw, and an ensuing shockwave from a sword art blasts the rest of it in roughly the same halves, sending shudders through the gro

a strike from behind -- weaker than morningstar’s but still packing a hefty punch -- and the nemean lion whirls around furiously and its paw comes within inches of colliding with the fluttering white of its attacker. here is where she’s supposed to take the hit. …just kidding. she’s picky. getting tossed around like a ragdoll is never a good look. arabelle tears damocles out of the lion’s hide with a sunny smile. she switches her grip and bats its head back, and it recoils when it makes contact with the spear point at the reverse end of her scythe. “i’ve fought this mob a couple