[open] i'm taking back my life tonight

[bloodings]

WHO? Mordred/bloodings & unlucky people (you)
WHAT? Dreamin'
WHEN? During the event, 'til the 23rd
ANYTHING ELSE? contains f/apoc spoilers, violence. prose or backets is cool, i'll match you!

[ Servants don't dream, but things are different here. It brings her back to when she was alive, never human, but not a spirit; when she could still dream.

Loathsome dreams, dreams that made her wake roaring in anger long after her decision to kill the king was made. Bitter dreams, of toppling her father and taking his crown for herself. Worst of all — dreams of what she wanted from the start. Dreams of her father's hand in her hair and words of praise as his son. (But she's not. She's a filthy, unwanted child, born from his enemy, and he will never recognize her because of it.)

Dreams... ]

a.

[ ... of her training. Of bitterness, seeing children her own age and knowing she would be dead before they even reached adulthood. If she is to die sooner, then she will blaze brighter, and become greater than they will ever be. She will defeat the king and claim the throne. (At least, her mother says she will. In truth, she wants nothing more than to serve him.)

She's still a child, though. So anyone in the dream will be very suddenly pushed over (even an adult; she's freakishly strong) and greeted by a very young face staring back at them, smirking. ]

Heh.

b.

[ ... of Camelot. Of a woman, a man, with the same face as hers, sitting at the round table. The same man the knights call King Arthur. Mordred's own face hidden behind a helmet. It's the day she confronted the king, the day her love turned to hate, the day she was reborn.

Maybe you're there to see her plead with him. It's not a long discussion. Mordred, her face exposed, desperate for acknowledgement as a son, if not as heir; for him to take pride in her. "Even if it cannot be publicly known, you can accept me. As a father, if not as king!". And the king's simple response — "Born from the machinations of my sister you may be, but indeed you are of my blood. Yet I shall not recognize you as my son, nor shall I allow you the throne." — before he turns his back on her.

Either way, when she returns to her chambers her emotions are almost radiating off her. The door opens, and she glances up, still wearing her helmet... but her glare can be felt. ]

What the hell do you want? [ She knows it's a dream, this time. The worst moment of her life, and it's exposed for all to see. ]

c.

[ ... of Camlann. Of waking on the hill after her father's spear pierced her chest, alone, with tens of thousands of dead bodies around her. It's a nightmare, not a memory; she's a literal walking corpse with a lance straight through her body and blood oozing from it with every step.

On a hill of death, it's easy to spot the only other living, moving thing. She blinks in surprise at the figure in front of her. ]

How? [ How are you here, how is she alive... how did it all end this way. One hand rests on the spear in her chest, seemingly unable to pull it out. ]

Comments

what (a) coincidence

[trample]

[ His surroundings only really set in once he's made to fall back into the surprisingly hard dirt of the training grounds. His shoulders ache, but unlike most kids his age, he doesn't break out into tears, but instead opens his mouth and eyes angrily. ]

What the fuck is wrong with you?

oh it's the eren achilles wants to bone

[bloodings]

[ She grins. It's a smirk, really, but it's not particularly unkind. To her, he's just another one of the boys she scuffles with in the training grounds; just another person to prove she's better than. ]

Fight back if you don't like it.

[trample]

I'd like to, but...

[ Her grin is met with a solemn deflection. He looks down at his hand, which is clenched around a hunting knife that he makes no attempt at concealing. If one looked closely, they could see it was still shaded red.

He turns his glance back up at her. ]

It's best if I don't. For your own good.

[bloodings]

Then you'll lose.

[ More than that — he'd die in a real fight. His expression isn't like the other kids she fights, though, and she leans in closer, as if to examine it... only to notice his knife. ]

Is that a knife? Hey, let me see.

[trample]

I already told you, I'm not fighting you! [ He looks rather sheepish upon being examined so keenly. ] Quit staring.

[ Then, once her interest is made plainly clear, Eren makes to hide it like if it were his shame, pulling his hand behind him as he scoots backwards. ]

No way! Get your own!

[bloodings]

I'm not gonna take it, jeez. I just wanna look at it.

[ She has a sword, Eren, she doesn't need your piddly knife. ]

Why are you such a weirdo? [ She's one to talk. ]

A

[horsepowered]

[It takes an awful lot of strength to push an entire centaur over. Chiron's reation to landing in a mess of hooves is to let out a pleased but surprised noise first, and then look to see who it is that accomplished such a task.

In a way, Mordred's face isn't a surprise. Their fight had already proven that. But given their recent discussions, there is a level of irony there.]

[bloodings]

[ She would have freaked out, seeing a centaur as a kid — but it feels normal in the dream. Like he's supposed to be there, even if he's clearly not. ]

Having more legs doesn't make you better. [ He never said it did... ]

[horsepowered]

I didn't say that it added particular positive or negative value. It simply shifts skills around.

[Shifting, that was important. It took no effort for Chiron to get back on his feet, and when he did, there was no mistaking that one of those skills? Being tall.]

[bloodings]

[ No kidding: she has to tilt her neck back just to look at his face. Still, that's never stopped her before, and she walks right up to him without fear. ]

Well, that's fine. Because now that I've won... it's time to claim my prize!

[ There's no warning, or (god forbid) asking permission, before she starts trying to clamber onto his back. She's too short to actually do it without help, but she's trying, as if sheer force of will can get her up there. ]

[horsepowered]

[Mordred, you can't just do that! For all that Chiron stays still, because no, this isn't worth picking a fight over, he isn't exactly bending down to help her either.]

My students usually have the good sense to ask before doing this.

[bloodings]

Good thing I'm not your student.

[ Even if it would be way better than what she actually is. Frustrated, she grows more... 'enthusiastic' in her climbing attempts, grabbing hold of his legs, the hair on his rump, and possibly even stepping on a hoof. (Of course, her efforts are at least limited by her smaller size and weight.) ]

Tch, don't be a sore loser. Help me up.

wildcard

[chariotry]

[ Mordred, you're a child and have been brought to an extravagant Grecian palace, where you'll be surrounded by beautiful young girls your age, all dressed in the finest of silks and robes.

Achilles is here, but Achilles is not his name. She is Pyrrha. She's tall for a girl her age and stands out a bit among the other maidens who're all keeping themselves busy dancing and ambling about in the courtyard.

Pyrrha is be her lonesome, looking out over the marble wall separating her from the ocean just a few feet away.

Mordred could totally shove her off of the ledge if she wanted to. ]

hay

[bloodings]

[ She'd definitely shove Achilles off it. But she doesn't know this girl, she thinks. So she stares, and eventually wanders over to the other 'girl', standing beside her. ]

Are you just gonna stand there and stare all day? You look like an idiot. [ Some things never change. ]

by her lonesome*

[chariotry]

[ Pyrrha startles at that, practically fumbling on the edge of the wall, but recomposes herself quite easily. Like a warrior.

Also her arms are ripped, though she's lithe and small. There's a veil covering half of her face. ]

Who are you calling an idiot? [ This one ... he can't tell if they're a boy or a girl. ]

You're not from here, are you? Why are you bothering me? [ Pyrrha swings her legs over the wall so she can sit neatly, high above where Mordred stands. ] Go away.

*her bonesome

[bloodings]

Relax. [ She shrugs. ] I'm here as a guest. My mother sent me.

[ As to why... she can't quite say. In fact, she can't even remember. But she's here, and that seems less important than what's in front of her right now. ]

Everyone else is boring. All that dancing and crap... who cares about that? [ Some things don't change. Mordred is less brutal when she's younger, still idolizes the way of knightly chivalry, but she's still a brat. ] Those arms of yours... you're a warrior, right? You're way more interesting.

FUCK OFF

[chariotry]

[ Oh a guest... Well, that just isn't important, is it?

Swinging her leg over the edge of the wall, Pyrrha straddles it like a horse. It isn't ladylike. ]

A warrior? You could tell? [ She grasps at her left bicep, looking a bit flattered and sheepish. But then she coughs when she realizes she wasn't making her voice higher.

So, when she speaks again it will be more feminine. ] I mean, I got these muscles from dancing.

:)

[bloodings]

From dancing? [ Mordred blinks. At first, it seems like she doesn't believe her, but then she grins. ] That's impressive. I've never seen anything like that on a dancer before.

[ Not that she's seen many. She's sure they're fit, with the way they move, but Pyrrha looks more than just toned. She looks like she's been swinging a weapon since she could walk — which, so has Mordred, but their bodies are different for reasons only she knows. (And yet, more different than even she realizes.) ]

Will you show me? That other dancing is boring, but I bet yours is cooler.

b. SUR-FRICKING- PRISE

[scinlae]

[ It plays before her like some strange sort of play, of knights and kings, and a woman who looks strikingly like Mordred. A woman who is a man. A woman named Arthur. It leaves her confused and disorientated, the truths of her own past conflicting with what she is shown, with the truths of Mordred's.

There is a bitterness there, a familiarity that strikes deep into her core, her eyes bearing witness to the king's rejection of her. The hurt and anger Morgana knows to well. A part of her, distant yet still very much there, cannot help but feel pity. Uther did the same to her, though he never admitted it to her face, rejecting her blood and her claim for Arthur's.

It is a pain they share.

The dream takes her to Modred's chambers, takes her instead, to the visage of the spurned knight in full armor. An intimidating sight for any who did not know what lay underneath. ]

Many things. My brother dead, the throne, to wake from this endless dream.

screams

[bloodings]

[ Mordred snorts, derisive. ] Good luck with that.

[ She obviously doesn't mean it. She would never give her mother the throne — though, in truth, she has no idea what became of Britain after her death. But at that point, she no longer cared. It wasn't the kingdom she wanted, but for the man ruling it to look at her. ]

I should kill you right now. [ One hand falls to the sword at her side. It's plainer than the one she usually bears; she hasn't yet stolen Clarent, hasn't yet claimed the crown for herself. ] What would happen, I wonder. Perhaps it would be the end of your treacherous existence.

[ Rich, coming from someone only known for her treachery. But it all started with Morgan; from her birth, to her rebellion, to her death. This is not the same woman, of course, but even more than before, Mordred feels the urge to strike her down. ]

[scinlae]

[ Perhaps she ought to be afraid, but she isn't. Morgana moves about the room carefully, fingers ghosting over whatever she can reach as she studies it, her gaze focused on the armored knight. But there is no fear in her, no overbearing confidence, this is just a dream after all and not like the ones that plague her sleep. ]

Go ahead. [ Her eyes follow then hand to the sword, different from the one she had pointed at her when they first met. More plain. ] You could be doing me a favor, perhaps dying will wake me from this.

[ When she finally stops she leans herself against a table head tilted to the side, expectant. ]

[bloodings]

[ It's almost the perfect comeback — Mordred wouldn't be caught dead helping her, after all. Even if there's nothing of note in her room, even if it's not real, she growls in annoyance whenever Morgana touches anything, her feelings clear. ]

Then rot here. [ She won't, of course. Mordred will wake, and Morgana too, even if she doesn't hasten the process. But it's comforting, to imagine trapping a visage of her mother in this fake version of Camelot, this castle that haunts her. ] The king faced judgment for his actions on this day. I plunged his country into darkness, destroyed everything he had.

Do you think it just, woman? To drag an entire kingdom into a personal vendetta? [ Mordred doesn't. She also doesn't care. ]

[scinlae]

[ The corners of her mouth curve and a soft laugh passes her lips, amusement shining briefly in her sharp green eyes. It is a dangerous game to try and play with a girl like this, so full of rage and power beyond her small frame... Yet it is her hatred and her anger that makes it so simple - the ill will she bears towards her mother, Morgan, that sees her still breathe in this dream. ]

Do I think it just? [ Morgana's fingers curl against the edge of the table, her gaze going distant for a moment. Does she think it is just? ] There is no justice in the world, if there was your king would not have disowned you so, nor would have mine. If there was justice hundreds of innocents would have been put to the stake purely because they were born different. If there was justice I would have my throne.

[ If there was justice she would have Merlin's head on a stake, and her brother cowering before her. Yet instead she is here, instead she stands in the dreams of a girl that shares Mordred's name. A girl equally as scarred as she is. ]

B hello I'm ready to sumanai for eternity

[gerechtigkeit]

[There are many things Siegfried can adapt to, and plan for. Part of being a knight as he is, it demands a certain kind of acceptance of things around him, as well as an understanding and willingness to change things as they happen. He's familiar with fights against beasts, with surprises of potential enemies, or challenges or trials or fates.

But falling into dreams isn't exactly something familiar. Honestly, he'd meant to gently shake Mordred awake from a hotspot rather than pick her up this time, and instead, he's here, watching this. All of it lies before him, and while he's startled as to where he is, he stays quiet and lets it unfold.

You are indeed of my blood. Yet I shall not recognize you as my son...

Ah. This, coming for King Arthur? Though the name is never said, he knows who she is. Mordred, the Knight of Treachery. He sees no point in speaking it, instead only shaking his head when she bites out her demand at him.]

Nothing. [Even if that wasn't a literal question, there's nothing he really wants. Siegfried pauses.] It wasn't intentional. [Stated plainly, giving a fact. He hadn't meant to be here.]

[bloodings]

[

Somehow, it's even more insulting that it's him. She doesn't really care about him knowing her name — everyone had back home, by the end, but it's the context that matters. Siegfried... from what she knows of his legend, he's a hero. And now he's seeing that she's just an unwanted child. It's all she ever was.

She stares at him, her helmeted face revealing nothing. ]

Then you won't care if I kill you for being here. [ It's half a threat, half just spoken in anger: she hasn't even drawn her sword. But even her own death doesn't compare to the day she was rejected by the father she loved, a day no one else should ever see. ] It's just a dream, right? So die already.