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In the darkness of the kitchen, you check your items. The wounded globe will remind the blonde of the damage she did, the half-digested raccoon will bring back her childhood, and setting the whole basement on fire will make her think of the intensity of the feelings she harbors deep inside the basement of her mind- or not. Who knows. What you DO know is that you are the Inquisition and that this unholy dumpster buried in floating trash WILL be purified in your name. Because fuck you.
As you climb up the stairs, as the tiny spark you left rallies others to your cause, and the faint scent of smoke cleans your nostrils, you head up yet another floor. Now, she has to find these herself. The second floor has five more rooms across the hallway, all wet, ruined, and also victims of hoarding. You pick the farthest one from Lucinda’s room and put the broken globe on a box, then leave the raccoon plushie sitting over the frameless mattress on the floor. Thankfully, nobody would bat an eye about finding random shit laying around in this house.
With utter care, slowly, sloooowly, you break the balance of the box which you put on a putrid leather desk because, the moment it falls, Lucinda WILL come guns blazing fully transformed and perfectly ready to both divide and multiply you at the same time and any millisecond you can save matters. You push the box again; then again;; then again;;;; oh god it’s not coming back
You jump
as if a train on fire made of dynamite was coming
you jump right into the little air vent dent on the wall
as Lucinda bolts in like a wrecking ball covered in butterflies.
You DO NOT move. Lucinda’s perception is based on movement and not as sharp as most think, she also isn’t that quick to react either- but she’s always ready. After years of getting ganked, the Fucknado’s alertness became permanent- she sleeps with one eye open just like a dolphin. Some minutes later her scythe is still primed over her shoulder, yet, despite her weakness in picking up details, Lucinda does finally notice the broken globe on the floor- and untransforms.
She picks it up. It’s deflated, and more liquid than plastic at this point- but the shape and the blue and green almost need time to think. Then there’s the hole in England, showing the dark within. Turning the globe around and around, the Magical Girl doesn’t seem to find what she seeks; Lucinda flings it away like a frisbee.
