Running the Gauntlet - Part 3
Dec. 31st, 2015 02:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rubyrubyrubyRuby creeps towards the edge of the slope, getting down on her haunches which makes her recently used marathon muscles ache when put into a new position. There's the remnants of an old chair and broken table nearby, and she places her hand upon a corner of that to help steady wobbly-muscles while lowering herself to reduce her silhouette. Peering out from under her brows, she tugs idly at the armband bearing a stylized 'x', which denotes buried treasure presumably within her bicep.
Both sides seem to be under some sort of stay of hostilities. However, there are plenty of preparations going on. Past tents and holes in the ground and pillboxes is the milling of ant-like formations. Drills and maintenance and absolutions work to different rythmns and directed by individuals with an air of authority. To anyone with military training, many common trappings and martial aspects of prolonged warfare are visible.
Maggie does not release Merrisol's hand instantly, but only after a slight squeeze and a smile just for him. As she turns to survey the battlefield in the valley beyond the slope just climbed, that smile dies away. Her gaze sweeps left, then right, assessing, evaluating... All that loss of life... She does note Ruby's sensible, if painful motion to mask her shape from below or beyond, but can't quite get there, yet. Her military training is not as good as others, though coupled with politics and a smattering of trade, she can see the way things sit fairly well. Finally, she releases the hands she is holding and, doggedly ignoring aching muscles and complaining joints, she sinks lower and moves closer to Ruby, "Is the plan to skirt the field and enter the ... castle... from the side? Or is there a way for us to stop this madness?"
Liya, now that they are safely here, drops to the ground, and doesn't even look out for a bit. Though after a few moments, she does move enough to look. With not so much military knowledge, only what she gleaned from workign for Ben, she totally doesn't have as much of an idea what she's looking at. Other than the signs of life, nature, and the unnatural dearth of hope and regrowth that should be here for the natural cycles. "I do not like this place," she murmurs softly.
Merrisol too hunkers down, setting one knee in the turf and leaning to look over shoulders into the wartorn valley. "That fortress hardly looks residential. It could be a factory," he suggests. "That would explain the smog.. except. If no one goes inside, there can be no industry." He listens a few moments, studying the smaller bunkers erected by either side of the conflict while waiting to hear Ruby's plan.
Ruby turns her head slightly and rests her chin upon arms folded across her knees. To Maggie she murmers, "If there be'ah way tah stop't...I not smart enough tah think't. It be clear what would end't...permanent." She gestures towards the concrete and steel structure. "Tha's what they think be most important. Tha be really important. Important enough not tah damage cause...holy or somethin. Maggah...Listen, I figure we gots toime tah make break for't. This bloody field...it stretches all around. But straight oop tha middle there...through tha blasted part. It be tha fastest. An there be mazes cut in tha dirt." she sniffs and rubs at her irritated nose. "Cards on tha table...I /was/ 'ere. Course I was. Scouted best places. I tried to sneak an then they started goo'n at each othah. Things flyin through the air. I took too long. So if we fast..."
Vegetation is next to nil here. Weeds are survivors, and they manage to peek out islands of resistance amid all this foul earth. The very season of the place is locked into an interminable gray. Autumn at its most soppy and depressing. To a sensitive soul in tune with nature, worms and hardy looking beetles can be sussed out. Wriggling as they do, creating their own trenches and contesting each other in cannabilistic rites to hang on amidst total war. This is echoed in the two upright and bipedal sides in the valley. The occasional glint off a black helmet is sort of like the carapace of an insect. And the masks hung about necks or permanently attached to conceal the identities of the combatants have an inhuman appearance. The layered overcoats don't help either. Weapons of war are slung over shoulders: Long shafts that look like storm-weapons with wicked serrated blades attached below the muzzles. The tiny bunkers, which look far more scarred and damaged than the factory, look like the heads of angry statues buried up to their necks in the dirt. Heavy brows over slits where things poke out and seem to test the air like feelers. Sweeping horizontally to the left and the right. In what Ruby referred to as the 'blasted' part, is a jumble of craters and tumbleweeds that look thorny and easy to be tangled upon. Trenches run up to the greater of these craters and simply cease to be until the other end of the depression where the trench once again resumes a somewhat protective course. There are a number of Y and T branches in these routes. Some incomplete. Some containing bodies.
Maggie leans a little farther forward to peer along the mid-line Ruby seems to be meaning. She draws in a long breath, upper teeth toying a bit with her lower lip. That is, until she tastes the mud splatter dusting her face. Then her features screw up in a disguested grimace and she leans again to spit out the mud, "Ugh." Not a comment on the plan so much as on the flavor. Such as it is. Looking up again, she ponders the problem. "Well. I do not know how much more running we can do, Ruby. So, we need to take that into account. As for the course?" Again, she surveys the route with her eyes, seeking obsticles or problems, "There is no way we won't be seen by one or both sides. While it might cause enough of a distraction to keep them from firing while they try to figure us out, it is equally possible that they will both decide to unite against a common enemy. Us. Especially once our goal is figured out. If they are fighting to keep each other away from that building, they won't take kindly to us heading there. Still... I'm not sure there is a better option. What about using some of those trenches for cover?"
Liya looks where Ruby is pointing to, and Maggie, paying attention to what they're saying for the first few moments. But she's not a soldier, nope, and frankly, she gets distracted, as she finds the worms and the stinkbugs busy working their way through the soil. Tilling it for no real reason, other than weed proliferation. Her heart rate comes back to normal, but there's still the very sore muscles, and the mud splatteredness. She frowns a bit, and then says, "Disguise. If we look like them, they won't catch on, maybe until it's too late."
Merrisol tears his attention away from the technological trappings and follows the gestures to stare along the no-man's-or-femme's-land. He nods in basic agreement with Maggie's assessment of their chances running that route unnoticed, then considers Liyandra's idea. "Between infiltrating either camp and taking the battlefield, I'd bet on the latter. Less chance of close confrontation, and we won't get lost or cornered in the dugouts. I agree the cover isn't great through the contested territory, but it /is/ there. If we move quickly, from trench to crater to toppled wreck, their, uh, cannons won't be able to adjust to the popping targets." Ahh, the Whack-A-Mole strategy, it'll be like going to the carnival!
Ruby massages her thighs. "Aye...Thankful we don't 'ave tah run so far. But tha there is finish line. It be loike toochin tha flagpole when playin Oops-I-Done-it. Safe. Just gotta run a little bit more. Aye...at least we warmed up." she offers a stupid grin. To Liya she turns and adds, "Aye...I can give oos a bit more...same-same decoration. Don't wanna add too mooch weight unless you can 'andle it. I wish I'd brought some loons. They'd make noice distraction. But sui-cidals make me skin crawl." Not at all like this. "Aye, we bettah decide soon. They aboot tah make loud angry voices tah start tha day an then you 'ear 'igh whistlin and then everythin explodes and 'chatter-chatter-chatter' the air rains sideways 'orrible."
Ruby adds with a quick nod. "Aye. Quick. Fast." She takes in a deep breath. "No long jog. Burst. Loike pullin cranky tooth...Fast. Get done quick."
There are a few dull clangs that emanate from the army curving along to the right. It's repeated within under-lit mess tents. A call to breakfast or a ceasing of the morning meal, it changes the tempo of activities. Once again, there is no levity in those that slog about. It's muscle-memory and ingrained routine that directs them to the hour's duties. Tarps of rather clever camoflage are yanked from hardpoints and ramps that lead into darkness.
Maggie follows Merrisol's path as she did Ruby's, though she listens to each of her companions in turn, "Right. We'll take that trench, since it opens nearest, then the crater there and... Duck behind that mess of wreckage there. Then it is a quick run to the... factory?" Her fingers pick out the route more or less where Merrisol suggested. Nodding to Ruby, she adds, "I think... maybe clothing that is colored more or less like the battlefield would be good. With a few markings like... weeds or whatever." She pauses for a moment, then nods, "Ready? Let's get going before we are seen."
Liya takes a breath, and then she nods her head. "Alright, let's get to it," she says. The little wyvern is still with her, and hopefully there's a gas mask for the flying critter too, if she needs it. Quiet, watchful, and shy, but on the alert. "Let's get going then, before we can't move any more."
Merrisol grunts out of his crouch to circle along the ridge towards this first noted trench. Pinpointing the grievances of various tendons and muscle groups, he stretches them painstakingly while getting in position to follow the others over the side, or even lead the charge since there is no potential enemy at their backs. "There's advantage to splitting our course to varying route markers," he mentions, eyeballing several possible combinations down the scorched swath. "Some of those ruins will be too tricky a squeeze for me and my gear.. I'll be better able to keep up if I avoid those obstacles." He points to one tangled network of briars or wire nets stretched across a section of trenches at some point. Other than that? He's pretty much ready, gazing flicking from camp to camp for the signs of engagement. "First one inside makes the drop-off? You know where that'll be, Ruby?"
Ruby nods along with the suggestions and grins a little excitedly when the general consensus is to actually 'do' this thing. One more portion of horrible about to be put some place good and safe. "Aye. Can't fail. Be 'ard. Be tough. Mebbe 'urt...but we not belong, so danger don't belong tah us neithah. You ain't responsible, but you all gots courage an grit. I promise what 'appened...back there. Tha won't 'appen. I not slip an doom us. Truth. I be roight there with ya. Through all this. Promise. Truth." Ruby strains it all out with a wide-eyed moon face that would look scary with torchlight underneath her chin. She's giving everyone a 1000 yard stare. Hang on, maybe she's just concentrating. Overlapping ponchos of questionable fit attempt to settle upon each member of the group in turn. Splotchy and much like the terrain that has been pulverized.
"Whuzzat?" Ruby says in a mumble as she attempts to finish off her attempts to enforce her reality upon things. Her own poncho starts to form and slides off down her back when a clasp fails to appear to help it gently garotte her neck. It hooks over the handle of her stormpistol as she moves along the edge of the cliff. "Nah. Nevah been inside. I got 'alfway before things went bad. Place loike tha though...Gotta be easy place tah stash inside an then give this place tha kiss'oof." she adds, "Aye, some 'o them trenches narrow. One thing for sure...whoevah starts 'first'...we all 'goo'. We all gotta goo and meet oop 'there'."
Maggie pauses to let Ruby's poncho settle over her shoulders, "You're family, Ruby. Of course we'll help." For her, 'family' is less 'blood-kin' and more 'those we've chosen to call kin'. Like Liya. Turning the poncho a bit so the front is where it should be, she reaches up to catch the neckline in case the clasp gives her the same trouble it gave Ruby. Once it is settled, she fingers her storm pistol where it sits in its holster. Guaging their route one last time from above, she tries to commit it to memory, for all the good that will do. Short answer? Head for the castle with the Begman lights. Take the shortest, least occluded pathway that still provides cover. Right? She nods once, decisively, then turns to blow a kiss to Merrisol, "See you there, beloved." Then, her movements as smooth as worn and pained muscles will allow, Maggie turns and starts down the other side of the mountain toward that trench's opening. No time like the present, right?
Liya's eye track the path, to the castle. Factory. Whatsit. yeah that thing in the middle. She stretches as much as she can, trying to keep muscles loose, as she listens to all the chatter about family, friends, and doing the right thing. A breath, and then as Maggie starts, Liya simply waits two heart beats and follows, because there's no point waiting any longer. Poncho, masked wyvern and all - the Sukhoti is going to find some serious massage specialists when this is over. But for now, grace is - well, it's not as good as it used to be, but it's still there, along with the dogged determination. Aches and pains are ignored in favour of moving for now. Because at this point, who isn't totally curious to know what is in that factory anyway?
A blurt of some Bog-awful noise heralds an amplified voice. The screech that tickles eardrums and washes over the valley, repeated with a split-second delay as it is relayed down the lines morphs into a man's voice. "Hrrrummmphaffgle..." Another head-tilting squeal and the distortion dissipates. "Dawn. Another day. We will fight. We still /endurrrrrre/. On this...anniversary of the great conflict...We observe that our right is just and necessary. How say you? Grant us the field. How say you?" The tone is that of a speech given, many...many times. Background noise from the official's voice also betrays a deep grinding and clanking of machines and forces being marshalled for readiness.
Merri's gaze darts to Ruby halfway through her rousing peptalk, but he looks away upon realizing she is referring only to her most recent mishap. He frowns dubiously down at the appearance of the mottled canvas that turns him into a mobile tent, but there's no time to rearrange it, as the clarion crackle of command issues the day's imminent agenda, and both trailblazing women go winding down the slope to the start of the gauntlet run. With a subvocalized expletive, he goes after them, and lets the steepness of the hill direct the momentum of his pace until he's pelting down in a sprint, poncho flapping out behind him. The jangle of chain proves he is still encumbered beneath the disguise with his own gear. "Liya, Maggie, if you find yourself pinned down, call out! We'll draw fire from each other!" he declares as he catches up, then directs his steps to a narrower portion of the first run of trenches. Perhaps his intent is to go over rather than in, to start. As he runs, he reaches up to tug the airmask out from the poncho neckline and strap it to his face, just to complete the sooper-trooper ensemble.
Ruby yanks at her poncho and trails joins the assembly down by the trench opening. Definitely only big enough to for one at a time. She takes the side of the incline carefully, her feet dislodging sections of greyish mud and helping to erode the already unstable landscape. "Thanks Maggah. I knew I could count on ya. All 'o ya, even tha blokes." She rolls her shoulders and peers upwards to where voices seem to be having a conversation. "Fookin 'eresy." She looks behind her to take stock of the rear of the group, making sure all heads have been accounted for. The sight of Merrisol in the gas mask has her hackles stand on end. "Bloody Beggie bollocks..." she stretches at the mask until it's a distorted taffy...lets go and feels it snap back and chuck her chin.
An answer comes from the opposite side. Lots of hairy sounds and activity all clustering around this belly-button of blasted land. Their sound system echos with less distortion, but greater delays and emits as if from a deep cave. "For the people, we will prevail! Rot in hell!" Weary cheers come hot on its heels. There's a sound like an entire school of children dragging sticks along picket fences. *crak-ak-ak-ak-ak-ak!*
Maggie glances back to Merrisol, though her eyes widen as she hears the voice seemingly thundering from the sky. Luckily, she is familiar with the voice projection devices aboard the Solar Flare, so it does not take long for her to abstract that tech to here. Sort of. Frowning at the message delivered, her expression turns grim beneath the grime. She nods again, determination lost as she lifts the gas mask from beneath her poncho, eliminating the odd bump it formed beneath the covering. Matching Merrisol's motions as well as she can, she settles the strange thing over her face, adjusting it until she can see out of the sea-creature-esque eye lenses. Speaking after getting it in place leaves her voice muffled and distorted. "Right." Or is that 'roight'? "Same, Kerf. If you get stuck, call out." With one last look over toward her husband, she ducks into the trench and starts off. No time to waste, clearly.
Masks are placed first, the wyvern's and then liya's, and she looks rather like a space alien. Small, but big eyed and all. She listens, nods, and doesn't even try to speak, but the gas mask adds a level of heat and difficulty breathing to an already difficult task. The wyvern fusses a little bit, but Liya prevails, nobody gets flamed, bitten or poisoned. All good things, given the current situation. She looks to Merrisol and Ruby with a bit of a wide eyed look, a gesture to the wyvern - did she get that right? But the voices from mid air are such that she doesn't dare spend time waiting any more. She ducks and heads off. Because if they don't get moving soon, they aren't going to make it.
Both sides seem to be under some sort of stay of hostilities. However, there are plenty of preparations going on. Past tents and holes in the ground and pillboxes is the milling of ant-like formations. Drills and maintenance and absolutions work to different rythmns and directed by individuals with an air of authority. To anyone with military training, many common trappings and martial aspects of prolonged warfare are visible.
Maggie does not release Merrisol's hand instantly, but only after a slight squeeze and a smile just for him. As she turns to survey the battlefield in the valley beyond the slope just climbed, that smile dies away. Her gaze sweeps left, then right, assessing, evaluating... All that loss of life... She does note Ruby's sensible, if painful motion to mask her shape from below or beyond, but can't quite get there, yet. Her military training is not as good as others, though coupled with politics and a smattering of trade, she can see the way things sit fairly well. Finally, she releases the hands she is holding and, doggedly ignoring aching muscles and complaining joints, she sinks lower and moves closer to Ruby, "Is the plan to skirt the field and enter the ... castle... from the side? Or is there a way for us to stop this madness?"
Liya, now that they are safely here, drops to the ground, and doesn't even look out for a bit. Though after a few moments, she does move enough to look. With not so much military knowledge, only what she gleaned from workign for Ben, she totally doesn't have as much of an idea what she's looking at. Other than the signs of life, nature, and the unnatural dearth of hope and regrowth that should be here for the natural cycles. "I do not like this place," she murmurs softly.
Merrisol too hunkers down, setting one knee in the turf and leaning to look over shoulders into the wartorn valley. "That fortress hardly looks residential. It could be a factory," he suggests. "That would explain the smog.. except. If no one goes inside, there can be no industry." He listens a few moments, studying the smaller bunkers erected by either side of the conflict while waiting to hear Ruby's plan.
Ruby turns her head slightly and rests her chin upon arms folded across her knees. To Maggie she murmers, "If there be'ah way tah stop't...I not smart enough tah think't. It be clear what would end't...permanent." She gestures towards the concrete and steel structure. "Tha's what they think be most important. Tha be really important. Important enough not tah damage cause...holy or somethin. Maggah...Listen, I figure we gots toime tah make break for't. This bloody field...it stretches all around. But straight oop tha middle there...through tha blasted part. It be tha fastest. An there be mazes cut in tha dirt." she sniffs and rubs at her irritated nose. "Cards on tha table...I /was/ 'ere. Course I was. Scouted best places. I tried to sneak an then they started goo'n at each othah. Things flyin through the air. I took too long. So if we fast..."
Vegetation is next to nil here. Weeds are survivors, and they manage to peek out islands of resistance amid all this foul earth. The very season of the place is locked into an interminable gray. Autumn at its most soppy and depressing. To a sensitive soul in tune with nature, worms and hardy looking beetles can be sussed out. Wriggling as they do, creating their own trenches and contesting each other in cannabilistic rites to hang on amidst total war. This is echoed in the two upright and bipedal sides in the valley. The occasional glint off a black helmet is sort of like the carapace of an insect. And the masks hung about necks or permanently attached to conceal the identities of the combatants have an inhuman appearance. The layered overcoats don't help either. Weapons of war are slung over shoulders: Long shafts that look like storm-weapons with wicked serrated blades attached below the muzzles. The tiny bunkers, which look far more scarred and damaged than the factory, look like the heads of angry statues buried up to their necks in the dirt. Heavy brows over slits where things poke out and seem to test the air like feelers. Sweeping horizontally to the left and the right. In what Ruby referred to as the 'blasted' part, is a jumble of craters and tumbleweeds that look thorny and easy to be tangled upon. Trenches run up to the greater of these craters and simply cease to be until the other end of the depression where the trench once again resumes a somewhat protective course. There are a number of Y and T branches in these routes. Some incomplete. Some containing bodies.
Maggie leans a little farther forward to peer along the mid-line Ruby seems to be meaning. She draws in a long breath, upper teeth toying a bit with her lower lip. That is, until she tastes the mud splatter dusting her face. Then her features screw up in a disguested grimace and she leans again to spit out the mud, "Ugh." Not a comment on the plan so much as on the flavor. Such as it is. Looking up again, she ponders the problem. "Well. I do not know how much more running we can do, Ruby. So, we need to take that into account. As for the course?" Again, she surveys the route with her eyes, seeking obsticles or problems, "There is no way we won't be seen by one or both sides. While it might cause enough of a distraction to keep them from firing while they try to figure us out, it is equally possible that they will both decide to unite against a common enemy. Us. Especially once our goal is figured out. If they are fighting to keep each other away from that building, they won't take kindly to us heading there. Still... I'm not sure there is a better option. What about using some of those trenches for cover?"
Liya looks where Ruby is pointing to, and Maggie, paying attention to what they're saying for the first few moments. But she's not a soldier, nope, and frankly, she gets distracted, as she finds the worms and the stinkbugs busy working their way through the soil. Tilling it for no real reason, other than weed proliferation. Her heart rate comes back to normal, but there's still the very sore muscles, and the mud splatteredness. She frowns a bit, and then says, "Disguise. If we look like them, they won't catch on, maybe until it's too late."
Merrisol tears his attention away from the technological trappings and follows the gestures to stare along the no-man's-or-femme's-land. He nods in basic agreement with Maggie's assessment of their chances running that route unnoticed, then considers Liyandra's idea. "Between infiltrating either camp and taking the battlefield, I'd bet on the latter. Less chance of close confrontation, and we won't get lost or cornered in the dugouts. I agree the cover isn't great through the contested territory, but it /is/ there. If we move quickly, from trench to crater to toppled wreck, their, uh, cannons won't be able to adjust to the popping targets." Ahh, the Whack-A-Mole strategy, it'll be like going to the carnival!
Ruby massages her thighs. "Aye...Thankful we don't 'ave tah run so far. But tha there is finish line. It be loike toochin tha flagpole when playin Oops-I-Done-it. Safe. Just gotta run a little bit more. Aye...at least we warmed up." she offers a stupid grin. To Liya she turns and adds, "Aye...I can give oos a bit more...same-same decoration. Don't wanna add too mooch weight unless you can 'andle it. I wish I'd brought some loons. They'd make noice distraction. But sui-cidals make me skin crawl." Not at all like this. "Aye, we bettah decide soon. They aboot tah make loud angry voices tah start tha day an then you 'ear 'igh whistlin and then everythin explodes and 'chatter-chatter-chatter' the air rains sideways 'orrible."
Ruby adds with a quick nod. "Aye. Quick. Fast." She takes in a deep breath. "No long jog. Burst. Loike pullin cranky tooth...Fast. Get done quick."
There are a few dull clangs that emanate from the army curving along to the right. It's repeated within under-lit mess tents. A call to breakfast or a ceasing of the morning meal, it changes the tempo of activities. Once again, there is no levity in those that slog about. It's muscle-memory and ingrained routine that directs them to the hour's duties. Tarps of rather clever camoflage are yanked from hardpoints and ramps that lead into darkness.
Maggie follows Merrisol's path as she did Ruby's, though she listens to each of her companions in turn, "Right. We'll take that trench, since it opens nearest, then the crater there and... Duck behind that mess of wreckage there. Then it is a quick run to the... factory?" Her fingers pick out the route more or less where Merrisol suggested. Nodding to Ruby, she adds, "I think... maybe clothing that is colored more or less like the battlefield would be good. With a few markings like... weeds or whatever." She pauses for a moment, then nods, "Ready? Let's get going before we are seen."
Liya takes a breath, and then she nods her head. "Alright, let's get to it," she says. The little wyvern is still with her, and hopefully there's a gas mask for the flying critter too, if she needs it. Quiet, watchful, and shy, but on the alert. "Let's get going then, before we can't move any more."
Merrisol grunts out of his crouch to circle along the ridge towards this first noted trench. Pinpointing the grievances of various tendons and muscle groups, he stretches them painstakingly while getting in position to follow the others over the side, or even lead the charge since there is no potential enemy at their backs. "There's advantage to splitting our course to varying route markers," he mentions, eyeballing several possible combinations down the scorched swath. "Some of those ruins will be too tricky a squeeze for me and my gear.. I'll be better able to keep up if I avoid those obstacles." He points to one tangled network of briars or wire nets stretched across a section of trenches at some point. Other than that? He's pretty much ready, gazing flicking from camp to camp for the signs of engagement. "First one inside makes the drop-off? You know where that'll be, Ruby?"
Ruby nods along with the suggestions and grins a little excitedly when the general consensus is to actually 'do' this thing. One more portion of horrible about to be put some place good and safe. "Aye. Can't fail. Be 'ard. Be tough. Mebbe 'urt...but we not belong, so danger don't belong tah us neithah. You ain't responsible, but you all gots courage an grit. I promise what 'appened...back there. Tha won't 'appen. I not slip an doom us. Truth. I be roight there with ya. Through all this. Promise. Truth." Ruby strains it all out with a wide-eyed moon face that would look scary with torchlight underneath her chin. She's giving everyone a 1000 yard stare. Hang on, maybe she's just concentrating. Overlapping ponchos of questionable fit attempt to settle upon each member of the group in turn. Splotchy and much like the terrain that has been pulverized.
"Whuzzat?" Ruby says in a mumble as she attempts to finish off her attempts to enforce her reality upon things. Her own poncho starts to form and slides off down her back when a clasp fails to appear to help it gently garotte her neck. It hooks over the handle of her stormpistol as she moves along the edge of the cliff. "Nah. Nevah been inside. I got 'alfway before things went bad. Place loike tha though...Gotta be easy place tah stash inside an then give this place tha kiss'oof." she adds, "Aye, some 'o them trenches narrow. One thing for sure...whoevah starts 'first'...we all 'goo'. We all gotta goo and meet oop 'there'."
Maggie pauses to let Ruby's poncho settle over her shoulders, "You're family, Ruby. Of course we'll help." For her, 'family' is less 'blood-kin' and more 'those we've chosen to call kin'. Like Liya. Turning the poncho a bit so the front is where it should be, she reaches up to catch the neckline in case the clasp gives her the same trouble it gave Ruby. Once it is settled, she fingers her storm pistol where it sits in its holster. Guaging their route one last time from above, she tries to commit it to memory, for all the good that will do. Short answer? Head for the castle with the Begman lights. Take the shortest, least occluded pathway that still provides cover. Right? She nods once, decisively, then turns to blow a kiss to Merrisol, "See you there, beloved." Then, her movements as smooth as worn and pained muscles will allow, Maggie turns and starts down the other side of the mountain toward that trench's opening. No time like the present, right?
Liya's eye track the path, to the castle. Factory. Whatsit. yeah that thing in the middle. She stretches as much as she can, trying to keep muscles loose, as she listens to all the chatter about family, friends, and doing the right thing. A breath, and then as Maggie starts, Liya simply waits two heart beats and follows, because there's no point waiting any longer. Poncho, masked wyvern and all - the Sukhoti is going to find some serious massage specialists when this is over. But for now, grace is - well, it's not as good as it used to be, but it's still there, along with the dogged determination. Aches and pains are ignored in favour of moving for now. Because at this point, who isn't totally curious to know what is in that factory anyway?
A blurt of some Bog-awful noise heralds an amplified voice. The screech that tickles eardrums and washes over the valley, repeated with a split-second delay as it is relayed down the lines morphs into a man's voice. "Hrrrummmphaffgle..." Another head-tilting squeal and the distortion dissipates. "Dawn. Another day. We will fight. We still /endurrrrrre/. On this...anniversary of the great conflict...We observe that our right is just and necessary. How say you? Grant us the field. How say you?" The tone is that of a speech given, many...many times. Background noise from the official's voice also betrays a deep grinding and clanking of machines and forces being marshalled for readiness.
Merri's gaze darts to Ruby halfway through her rousing peptalk, but he looks away upon realizing she is referring only to her most recent mishap. He frowns dubiously down at the appearance of the mottled canvas that turns him into a mobile tent, but there's no time to rearrange it, as the clarion crackle of command issues the day's imminent agenda, and both trailblazing women go winding down the slope to the start of the gauntlet run. With a subvocalized expletive, he goes after them, and lets the steepness of the hill direct the momentum of his pace until he's pelting down in a sprint, poncho flapping out behind him. The jangle of chain proves he is still encumbered beneath the disguise with his own gear. "Liya, Maggie, if you find yourself pinned down, call out! We'll draw fire from each other!" he declares as he catches up, then directs his steps to a narrower portion of the first run of trenches. Perhaps his intent is to go over rather than in, to start. As he runs, he reaches up to tug the airmask out from the poncho neckline and strap it to his face, just to complete the sooper-trooper ensemble.
Ruby yanks at her poncho and trails joins the assembly down by the trench opening. Definitely only big enough to for one at a time. She takes the side of the incline carefully, her feet dislodging sections of greyish mud and helping to erode the already unstable landscape. "Thanks Maggah. I knew I could count on ya. All 'o ya, even tha blokes." She rolls her shoulders and peers upwards to where voices seem to be having a conversation. "Fookin 'eresy." She looks behind her to take stock of the rear of the group, making sure all heads have been accounted for. The sight of Merrisol in the gas mask has her hackles stand on end. "Bloody Beggie bollocks..." she stretches at the mask until it's a distorted taffy...lets go and feels it snap back and chuck her chin.
An answer comes from the opposite side. Lots of hairy sounds and activity all clustering around this belly-button of blasted land. Their sound system echos with less distortion, but greater delays and emits as if from a deep cave. "For the people, we will prevail! Rot in hell!" Weary cheers come hot on its heels. There's a sound like an entire school of children dragging sticks along picket fences. *crak-ak-ak-ak-ak-ak!*
Maggie glances back to Merrisol, though her eyes widen as she hears the voice seemingly thundering from the sky. Luckily, she is familiar with the voice projection devices aboard the Solar Flare, so it does not take long for her to abstract that tech to here. Sort of. Frowning at the message delivered, her expression turns grim beneath the grime. She nods again, determination lost as she lifts the gas mask from beneath her poncho, eliminating the odd bump it formed beneath the covering. Matching Merrisol's motions as well as she can, she settles the strange thing over her face, adjusting it until she can see out of the sea-creature-esque eye lenses. Speaking after getting it in place leaves her voice muffled and distorted. "Right." Or is that 'roight'? "Same, Kerf. If you get stuck, call out." With one last look over toward her husband, she ducks into the trench and starts off. No time to waste, clearly.
Masks are placed first, the wyvern's and then liya's, and she looks rather like a space alien. Small, but big eyed and all. She listens, nods, and doesn't even try to speak, but the gas mask adds a level of heat and difficulty breathing to an already difficult task. The wyvern fusses a little bit, but Liya prevails, nobody gets flamed, bitten or poisoned. All good things, given the current situation. She looks to Merrisol and Ruby with a bit of a wide eyed look, a gesture to the wyvern - did she get that right? But the voices from mid air are such that she doesn't dare spend time waiting any more. She ducks and heads off. Because if they don't get moving soon, they aren't going to make it.
