Quoted By:
ᕙ:
>Keep Lifa from witching out by telling her about Lucinda and making the Priestess use its magic on her.
Lifa falls to her knees, and the Hawk, her last guardian, swoops in to protect her. But that doesn’t stop Jimena’s steps.
ᕙ Jimena: Lifa, right? I don’t know if you are sharing minds with other people too, but I am. With Lucinda.
Soothingly, from behind the big bird, Lifa places a hand on its wing as if to push it aside; the intimidating, half-digested hawk moves as if Lifa could, but just enough for the necro-techno-mancer to peek from behind it.
ᕙ Jimena: I’m friendly.
ರೃ Lifa: Proof.
Jimena shrugs; it’s only natural to expect it, more so in a disaster of this scale. Lifa could still book it with that grim pigeon of hers, but trusting the brunette would leave her exposed. Standing her ground, the vTuber clears her throat.
ᕙ Jimena: You almost killed a guy, who was on a date by the way, by spilling coffee on him. Then, someone threw a Mortal Kombat arcade machine, one of the oldies, one of the goodies, at those three retards with too much money that tried to fuck the Fucknado of all people, but that wasn’t a fatality sadly.
Lifa peeks a bit more from behind her feathered guardian. Now Jimena can see both of her now red eyes. Wow, just like hers.
ᕙ Jimena: THEN, Lucinda found your dildo but thought it was a toy for dogs because she had one herself-
ರೃ Lifa: …No fucking way, is everything shared-
ᕙ Jimena: -and the-the-then both her and Patchwing, your crow, which for some reason is yourself, called you flat.
ರೃ Lifa: …YES, yes it is.
Jimena simply spreads her arms with a witty smile, resting her case. Given how miserable she looks as reality sinks in, the happy memories must have come like shadows in the desert to Lifa. When she pats the Hawk, it finally steps aside- its eyes still fixed on that whip.
ರೃ Lifa: I feel like horse shit.
ᕙ Jimena: Yeah, I’d know. Lady Lucinda the Apex Fucknado of Terror or however you call her will be here soon with a Grief Seed. Hang in there.
Then and there, Jimena looks at the Priestess. It’s quietly hovering in place, very aware, apparently, of the invisible ring of death around the very brown Magical Girl, the one that it wouldn’t be able to cross without becoming a fully functioning rocking chair instantly.
