Session 79: Peregrine Falcom One But Actually Lost

SESSION 79
Previously, Across the Horizon…
Our brave adventurers traveled to the Triad to meet with the Arbiters of Truth per their request. They were put into contact with a woman who had been asking after them — namely, one Cirri Idraen, fresh from being dead in the Viesen-Croyle Factory, killed in the experiment that brought our adventurers there, leading to the incident that ripped Linnet’s winds from her.
Upon attempting to leave the Triad, they were accosted by one of the musicians from Lenore Hikaru’s opening act in Cardia days earlier. Jemma Stone asked for their weapons or two hundred thousand gil, as penalty for “claimjumping,” taking the Diabolos bounty from the group actually signed up for it. When the party responded by drawing their weapons, not handing them over, the rest of Falcom One was called into action from the shadows.
We join our brave adventurers as the song begins… ** Sometimes a group of bounty hunters need a cover story to gain access to their targets. Sometimes it’s a delivery company, showing up when they’re needed and then showing up later once they have cased the proverbial joint. Sometimes it’s a band, gaining easy access to all sorts of venues where ne’er-do-wells may be congregating. Sometimes it’s a theatre troupe, touring the world to put on shows while those less suited for the stage do their dirty work in the wings.
Falcom One fits in that middle category. Surely there’s no one else who fits in the third one.
Pegi-13 is a wind sylph who exists inside his own wind tunnel, his dyed-blue hair whipping wildly in his constant tornado, the only part of his head visible in his full-face helmet festooned with blinking lights, the same blue as his hair. His shiny white coat stretches down to his ankles, epaulets glittering like gold, matching his gloves. A piece of equipment hangs strapped to his chest, the result of a guitar and piano’s torrid one-night stand, a child they regret, a child that grew up with nowhere near enough guidance.
SEBASTIAN strikes a memorable image, a moogle with bright pink fur and a sea-green pompom. His cloak, blue and green and fashionably asymmetric, extends up to his jawline, black strips of fabric wound tight around his mouth and neck. He does not carry his guitar, but instead a baton, its simple design in stark contrast to the rest of his everything.
Oneder Boy, a Black human man, wears a bandolier of drumsticks, six empty slots alongside eighteen filled. The sleeveless orange top he wears leaves nothing of his physique to even an active imagination, his arms a testament to the workout one gets from being the best drummer working today. His gloves, silver and black, end in razor sharp claws.
Powerline, a white human woman, stands nearly seven feet tall, haircut and coat both favoring left-handed coverage and right-handed display, red hair shaved on one side and long over her shoulder, monochrome black and white attire accenting her build, the only color below the shoulders the red serpent tattoo coiling around her bare right arm. Her wrists are taped, not for protection from her work as a bassist, but for her work as a bruiser.
Jemma Stone, Black human woman, fresh off a failed diplomatic encounter, has just drawn her sword and shield, pink and black flower detailing along the shield’s surface, barbed green stems etched into the blade. The green on the blade does not match the lime-green braiding on her elaborately-styled fauxhawk, but the face of the band has always aimed to stand out.
A circle is forming around the group, onlookers interested but perhaps wary of getting too close to another one of the Triad’s special dockside performances. The sun is setting, the ships both sky and sea are shining, the wind is bracing to those present that respond to it... ...and the music is starting.
Pegi-13’s helmet blares with a flash of bright red light, and then his fingers dance along the keys, pulsing out a rhythm and unleashing a musical cacophony.
SEBASTIAN spins his baton, nodding his head in time with Pegi-13’s music, Nature’s Wrath swirling around him, promising pain returned for pain painstakingly taken.
Powerline springs forward, fist cocked back, fist rocketing in, aiming one simple and straightforward right cross directly at Yves’s face.
Oneder Boy rocks up and down on the balls of his feet, tapping out a rhythm to ensure Pegi-13's leading the music in the right tempo, and then Orrey feels that tempo burning and beating inside of him too.
Bast glances around at Falcom One closing in from all sides; the ambush is annoyingly well-executed. As the officers of the Starfall close ranks, he mutters "We need to break out" to the rest over his shoulder, eyeing the street for something to even the odds.
Isa isn't fast enough to stop Yves from getting punched, but she's fast enough to make the bassist pay for it. Isa leaps forward, her spear licking out to slash along Powerline's still-retracting forearm. Her leap ends in a deep crouch, and then she is up, launching into the air over the battlefield.
Orrey raises up his watch by the chain, and it slowly starts to spin and glow with alternating green and purple light. Faster and faster, the pulses of color thrash through the air and silhouette Isa. A distortion in time erupts around her, and our Dragoon launches out of it.
...Isa was expecting a moment to survey the scene, but she's spent enough time with Orrey to know that a "moment" is not an objective measurement. And so as the time distortion grabs hold she shifts smoothly into her attack posture, and the sheer force of the impact is large enough to distort the sound of the music for just a moment... WUB BOOM.
Pegi-13's helmet flashes red three times, like a startled alarm.
Isa pauses, her knee on Powerline's chest and her spear somewhere deeply painful, and then she's airborne again. Maybe four seconds have passed.
Yves yelps indignantly at the bloody line blooming across his face, though that yelp is overwhelmed by the sound of his gin bottle breaking on the ground. Also, the aforementioned musical cacophony. "I paid for that," he says, fingers flicking back and forth in deceptively lazy gestures. "And I wasn't! done! drinking it!" Lightning arcs out from the space between his hands toward Pegi-13, who is admittedly not the one who smacked him in the face, but is the one keytarring other people into more dangerous heights. Even a few sheets to the wind, Yves remembers that bit of tactical instruction. Also, Isa seems to have the viera-smacking member of the band under control anyway. It's a pity those sheets seem to have taken some of his aim with them, into the wind.
"Thank you, Isa, for that masterclass in dropping the beat," Linnet deadpans, passing one hand over Yves' face to clean up most of the blood. The other dashes a snowball in Pegi-13's direction, proving slightly more annoying than Yves' fizzled lightning.
The snowball hits Pegi-13, but he doesn't seem to notice. Jemma Stone, on the other hand, bristles for an instant.
"Well, that did a fat lot of good. Time to turn up the beat, everyone!" Linnet yells, in her most Projecting To The Back Of The House voice.
Bast takes advantage of the distraction from Isa's attack to dodge out of the ring of enemies and comes to a stop just behind the other moogle on the scene, grenades still in hand. Rather than use them, however, he slaps at something on his belt - and all sound from SEBASTIAN and Oneder One drops away, trapped in a sphere of silence.
Pegi-13 shifts into a key change, but the Magical impairment remains in place, it's just now in E minor.
SEBASTIAN goes to cast a spell, stares at his hand, and scowls back at Bast. The moogle leaps at the other moogle, attempting to crack him across the head with a baton.
Oneder Boy picks up Powerline's assault on Yves, darting in after Isa soars back into the sky. Claws rip through a night that's yet to fall, though Orrey feels them as well.
Bast sidesteps the baton swing, wagging a finger in the silence.
Powerline follows up Oneder's pace with a hard shot at well, full focus on the viera.
Like a skipping record, Isa comes crashing down into Powerline again. But as the beat(down) goes on, she hops back from the impact and into a spin, her spear throwing out a shockwave into the bassist and her partner in drumming on Yves. The band is going to need to put out a rhythm section want ad before too long.
Orrey prepares his now-familiar spinning purple clock aura, settling the rapid speed over Bast. Bast, of course, looks amazing in purple light, if a bit twitchier than usual.
"Rude, much!" Yves shouts, behind a bunny-shaped flicker, as he staggers back from Powerline's shot. "Ugh, you're all the worst, I really should just ask Diabolos to explain to you, I bet you would've been the worst friends to him, too, and--actually, yeah, half a sec." His hands drop to his sides and for a moment his shadow on the ground shows wings sprouting from his shoulders. There are no wings on the viera, though; all the shadowed wings are sprouting in the mind of Pegi-13 as Diabolos starts explaining matters within that sylph's nightmares.
Jemma Stone looks back to see the masked man drop to the ground, but the way he tosses and turns is in stark contrast to how Powerline lies crumpled and still. She springs to his side, shield up to guard against any strikes, and then slams the edge of her shield into the ground, a brilliant golden light cascading out around her, consecrating this stretch of the docks.
Nobody's actively bleeding out for the moment, so Linnet twirls a quick circle around Yves and comes to a firm stop in front of him, slamming down either a shield or just a wave of powdered sugar shaken off her clothing. "Everyone STOP PICKING ON THUNDERBUN. You're really harshing the vibe right now." ("If they would just listen to Diabolos..." mutters Yves. "Ugh, I'm going to need more gin.") ("We're all being a little loud for listening, right now," replies Linnet. "Once some folks sit down and shut up, then we can hash things out over strong drinks.")
Bast locks eyes with Jemma as she plants her shield in Pegi's defense and flashes her a magically abbreviated grin. Only one of his grenades takes flight, but the cloud of caustic ash that explodes from it certainly captures attention. Before it fully settles, Bast's crossbow is twanging away; the ash obscures his view enough that half of them go astray, but two find their mark in SEBASTIAN's arm and the middle of Oneder Boy's bandolier.
Pegi-13, unable to move from his spot in the Consecrated Ground, Blinded, Poisoned, and Immobilized, turns up the volume on whatever it is he's using as an instrument and weapon, lights shining out over the crowd and pulsing in rhythm.
SEBASTIAN follows the flashing lights into the glimmering Consecrated Ground, the holy light shining over him and washing him clean of others' sins. He immediately celebrates by throwing a lightning bolt into Bast's face, or at least that's the idea.
Oneder Boy retreats to safety as well, the same effect cleansing him, and then he turns some of that back outward, a pulse rocketing out from him, Dispelling the Haste that Orrey granted to Isa and Bast. Powerline remains unconscious.
(limit break!) Isa stands on the dock, still over Powerline's slumped form. She looks at the rest of Falcom One, all conveniently huddled together in one place. She shakes her head, and leaps.
At the apex, she releases her spear, speaking its secret name into the wind. The spear sings and shines and fractures, sevenfold.
And then sevenfold again.
And seven by seven, the spears shoot down, righteous rain descending on consecrated ground, showering splinters and sparks.
And as the debris clears, Jemma Stone can see exactly what happens when you ask a Cardian for her spear. Isa is delivering it personally.
Jemma Stone recoils from the sheer force of Isa's determination, plus her spear, plus all the other spears. "God...damn..." she manages.
SEBASTIAN looks down at Powerline, fortunate? enough to miss all this by getting taken out earlier.
Oneder Boy clicks his claws together, doubt plain on his face.
"Change of plans," Stone says.
She grins, exhausted and furious and exuberant, all at the same time.
"You're not walking away," the Apex Legend says.
The Whisperwind Tempest's new song whips through the battlefield, inspiring his allies to new heights. (dramatic change of music!)
Orrey puts his hands together and a faint image of a short emerald stave appears. As Orrey waves it in little circles, thin bands of various colors appear around Pegi-13 (er, the artist formerly known as Pegi-13, The Whisperwind Tempest), like ribbons wrapped around a pole. They begin to spin and fall away, each of them sparking tiny lightning bolts.
"Why," demands Yves, "does no one listen when an ancient and immortal otherwordly being tries to explain to them that they're wrong?" His fingers snap back and forth in front of him, some feet over the damp pile of glass that used to be a gin bottle. "I try to explain, I offer them a direct link to the primary source, but nooooooo. " He points at the Whisperwind Tempest, a line of blue lightning cascading down that accusatory finger. "You people ought to be ashamed. I'm glad we found Diabolos before you did."
The Apex Legend takes that on the Tempest's chin, then spits out the blood collecting in her mouth from a wound that's not her own. "Do that again," she challenges, raising her sword back, shield high. The sword shines with a brilliant hunger.
"You all could just walk away." Orrey shrugs and checks his watch. "We've got all day. I'm not sure how much longer you have."
Linnet's magic is ripped out of her grasp before she finishes casting, both Dualcasted spells swallowed up by the Apex Legend's Runic Blade.
Bast winces as the new song starts up and darts over to where Whisperwind is stuck in place, sliding bolts into place one by one as the silence advances with his every step. Stopping a couple of paces out of the sylph's reach, his first bolt is aimed point-blank at him - the next goes to him protector. Just to further drive the point home, he aims the third at the bolt still pinning Reaver's bandolier to his chest and, after a moment's hesitation, chases the last bolt with a silenced curse to The Spotlight Marquis.
The Whisperwind Tempest shifts instrumentation, and then unleashes a riff directly at the most recent attacker, a barrage of sight and sound and general offense at Bast. The Spotlight Marquis strikes a perfect pose of the Tempest's actions, somehow creating the same musical concoction targeting Bast a second time.
Bast, unmoved by their effort, holds a hand up to his ear and then knocks on his head as if to pantomime his opinion of their choice of attack.
The Soul Reaver follows in with a swipe of the claws, the echo of which redirects from Orrey into the Runic Blade for the third absorbed spell.
Orrey attempts to block the attack on Bast, but stumbles before he can get there.
Isa locks eyes with the artist formerly known as Stone. "You could have walked away," she says coldly, as she brings the spear up and stabs...the Whisperwind Tempest. Through the protective link, The Apex Legend... drops.
"WHO'S NEXT" Isa calls, somewhat less coldly.
Orrey closes his eyes and sighs. "This all just needs to STOP." The purple aura that leaps out at the Reaver spins madly and then...just...stops. Frozen in time...but then it shatters, the spell not taking hold.
"Well, she did say to do it again," Yves muses to himself, flicking another bolt of lightning toward the ground-stapled Tempest, "and while I would rather they just apologize to Diabolos, I can take a good suggestion no matter who it comes from. That's mature. Right? I think it is. I'm growing as a person."
The lightning bolt actually throws the Whisperwind Tempest away and into the ground, helping him be Immobilized in another location.
Yves looks mildly pleased at this.
He immediately throws his Musical Performance Suite off to the side. "I'm down! I'm done! I yield! We yield!"
"And apologize to Diabolos!" Yves shouts to the somewhat more distant than before Whisperwinded One.
"I'm sorry, whoever you are!" the Tempest shouts, fumbling with his helmet while on his back. "Wherever you are!" he adds after a moment. The other two, broken and bloodied, make a show of dropping their weapons, reluctantly though it may be. They take a few careful steps toward their fallen teammates to check on them.
"Oh, good," Yves says brightly. "Thank you. I'll pass the apology along. I'd rather expected you would understand when he tried to talk, but, you know..." He waves a hand vaguely, and stares at the broken gin bottle on the ground. "...I suppose since we did take your bounty, and you took my gin, we're even now, huh."
Bast switches off his personal silence field, raising his crossbow. "You're. Sorry." Every tooth in his smile is outlined in blood.
"...you know, I was going to offer to heal everyone up before we head back to our respective ships, but I think the captain would disagree. So I'm going to stay over here." Linnet backs up toward Bast and quietly sets to work putting some of that blood back in him.
"He's sorry," the Soul Reaver says darkly, hands still raised as he kneels down next to the very unconscious, very, very done Powerline (who never did get her new name during the battle, on account of the great Isa-ing).
"Maybe I need to get Diabolos to talk to everyone individually," Yves muses. "But that would take days."
"I can barely hear anything in that helmet," the Tempest says, sitting up, every motion adding a few extra jolts and kicks to his arms and legs. He still can't move from his spot on the creaking dock. "I just--" "Shut up, Temp," the Reaver growls.
Isa steps back from Stone, letting her bandmates tend to her. A thousand quips flit across her eyes without reaching her lips. Instead, she just walks away.
The smile widens. "And you're not, I ees." Bast walks over to where Apex Legend, the first to challenge them, fell down. "Think you could take us in a rematch, do you?"
"Next time," Yves says generously to the Soul Reaver, "I'll see if Diabolos is willing to explain things to you before it gets so messy. It's just so much easier to talk things out with him! Even if sometimes there's a bit of fighting before people start listening." On which note he turns to follow Isa.
"No, I don't," the Soul Reaver says honestly. "I thought we'd win. We didn't win. You did. You don't understand anything about the rules of the business you've decided to shove yourself into, but you can apparently get away with a lot when you've got artillery like them," he snaps, waving at Isa and Yves.
Yves is already scanning his surroundings for a new source of full gin bottles. It's not promising.
"Bast, ease up, please. You're going to make my job a lot harder if you burst something in your head." Linnet walks over to the struggling Tempest and kneels beside him. "Need a hand up?"
When Yves pulls up next to her, Isa offers a low fist bump. "Next bottle's on me."
The Tempest sighs. "I can't move, unless you want to knock me across the room again. I think this will wear off in a few--" He looks up, and freezes.
"I didn't knock you across the room, that's all these two," Linnet shrugs in the direction of Isa and Yves. "They're pretty good at that."
Yves smiles winningly at Isa as he takes the bump. "That was a little odd in places, but I think it went well. I remembered to attack the support people... more or less. I think I'm learning basic tactics! Kind of!"
Bast spits blood on the street, starting to say something - then turns to see what The Tempest is looking at.
He opens and closes his mouth a few times. He definitely didn't have hair this color before. He definitely didn't dress like this before, though he probably wanted to. He just stares at Linnet for a long, long moment, before managing a "Lynnie?"
That gets through Linnet's casual-covering-for-anxious banter. With a start, she manages to look past the ridiculous hair, the patently stupid gadgetry, and the ludicrous title, and recognizes the sylph beneath with an audible gasp. "Perry?"
"H-hey, sis," he says, sheepishly. Then his eyes take in the company she keeps, and the unmoving hair, and the fact that her feet are in contact with the ground. "What happened?!"