Burns, Doesn't It? [mission, closed]

It was almost comedic in a way. If you had a dark sense of humour. At least Jerusalem appreciated the sequence of events that followed the ill-fated intrusion.

The redhead would notice a woman behind the two raiders whom harboured bad intentions. She hoped she refrained from ruining the surprise, because it made it a lot more entertaining if she stayed quiet, maybe kept them distracted a little bit longer for the individual approaching them from behind.

And such a person seemed to be donning an actual fire proximity suit, a mask, and a military-grade flamethrower.

If one were to scrutinized her head, they might be able to make out a feminine face with purple locks and bright blue eyes. Should their attention be drawn to her curves and her own balloons, she was easily identifiable as a woman. With a flamethrower.

Filling the tank up with her Magic, synthesizing napalm within, she pointed the nozzle and squeezed a veritable river of flaming, smoking, three thousand degrees Celsius sticky death towards the backs of the two men. They would find out just how brutal a weapon napalm was in the form of being turned into crispy chicken while she watched with an elated expression.

Pupils big as saucers, too.

"I love the smell of napalm in the morning..."

Alright, just needed to say it at least once.

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Morgan Laroux | Post 1

Well, the obvious was not a thing she liked to point out often. However, she did ascertain that Nickey and Mikey were fucked. It did not take long for them to become a charred mass of smouldering flesh still wreathed with flames. It was so hypnotizing to watch, too. How the flames swayed back and forth, how the clothing burned away and the flesh reminded her of the far-end of a cigarette burning up. Absolutely exhilarating. A sigh left her as she admired her work, and then she remembered the attractive redhead she saved from the unmentionable.

”Because it’s funny?”

Yeah. That was the only reason she could think of. Indeed, her inherent resistance to flame never failed her when it came to her own Magic. Jerusalem felt as though she would be doing the world a disservice if she failed to show up high and wearing something ridiculous, though. More like herself, because she found it hilarious. For about five seconds.

”Okey. Got it sexy,” she said in response, an ocean of apathy washing over the entire continent. There were two more people she needed to take care of with what appeared to be another fire user, which excited her. A lot. There was going to be a lot of fire everywhere burning things, and she got to watch it all. Why were good things happening to her now? It kind of boded terribly for the future.

Producing flame under her feet, she avoided two hulking men trying to flank her from both sides by using fire as though it were a propellant. Turning to face them, she squeezed the trigger and unleashed another torrent of adhesive, fiery death at the people not wearing clothes at-all suited for contact with it.

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Morgan Laroux | Post 2

The moment the redhead looked in her direction, she may have discovered another unorthodox scene. Jerusalem had to make sure the two raiders were dead, and she did that through the power of overkill. Holding the trigger down until her knuckle turned white behind the thick material she donned, she unloaded a continuous wave of adhesive flame onto the unfortunate raider members harassing the townsfolk. Thick, black plumes of clouds rose above the bonfire she turned their bodies into. At first, they might have been larger, brawny men—now they were naught but charred bones.

And even that was starting to give away to soot.

She shuddered and clutched the weapon hard enough to bend it under the pressure. Clenching her teeth, a layer of perspiration clung to her forehead as she released rapid, laboured breaths.

”I’m getting way too hot,” she said, and duly dropped the instrument of destruction. Following that, she started to disrobe from the thick, unified garment until she was in nothing but sweaty casual wear. It felt a lot better, otherwise she felt she might burn up from factors other than the fire itself underneath the suit.

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Morgan Laroux | Post 3

It was unclear whether she played it up when she took off the suit. When she was done, she even whipped her hair back and forth and let beads of sweat fly off her curvaceous body. A spotlight might as well have appeared around Jerusalem at this point, pink, blue and wispy white lights and sparkles would have been a very appropriate addition while she stood in front of two piles of ash that remained of the two criminal scum who dared jeopardize the lives of those within Dacite Village.

Yeah, she was still a Godfrey alright. Just crazy, maybe. Well, not that she cared to the extent of her family; it was almost like some sort of random itch, or trigger, or tic, Hell if she knew. She forgot she even had the thought, as though she had become a goldfish.

Watching her comrade who transcended the territory of just hot subject the man to an armbar without the need to let go after the tap-out, she made her way over to the unfortunate man. Seeing as he was in a bit of a pickle, she decided to place her sweaty hand on his face. Secreting a certain chemical from her palm, he may come to the quick realization that this differed from the sweat they saw on her body before—

This viscous, yellow goop was not her sweat. It was napalm.

And then she set his head on fire.

”I lent a hand.”

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Morgan Laroux | Post 4

”Aww,” she said in response, a tiny bit of disappointment showing on her routinely indifferent face when denied whatever it was the woman intended to do before reconsidering. She saw where she came from, but the substance on her hand was only what her sweat turned into when she channelled her Magic through it to that effect. Then again, that would require profound knowledge about her and the physiology she boasted beyond the glistening assets covered by her shirt—and that required hard investigation.

”Eh. They got what was coming to them, and I saved the village the burden of finding a place to toss them afterward,” she said, blowing a stream of warm air in the form of a small sigh. ”And maybe. I’m Jerusalem Godfrey. My parents have a large network of eyes and ears, it’s hard to get them to stop telling me useful shit even when I just want to just laze around, have sex, drink and do drugs. But uh—“ she paused for a moment.

”Aren’t you supposed to be a man? Even though you’re scoring with me way better this way.”

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Morgan Laroux | Post 5

At first, she blinked. She did not know the reason for her utterance ending until she heard out her subsequent explanation. Before her was a person who knew the Godfrey line, and it made Jerusalem remember she was even part of it. The famed family that went back centuries, known for their duty protecting the world in times of need. Even after the Calamity, they aspired to figure out the cause and help rebuild. Not concerned with affairs of war or picking sides in internal conflicts, their only interests were the world at large.

The redhead became formal after that, apologetic for her proclaimed insolence. She was in the process of shaking her head to diminish such thoughts, as she had not offended her, but before that her hand was seized. Jerusalem made sure to rid it of any residual concoctions before she did, making it a lot more pleasant.

An impish glint surfaced in her blue eyes, bypassing the mask of apathy.

Looping her arms around her, she pulled herself close to her face. Enough that, should they have leaned even an inch closer, it would have brought their lips into a head on collision.

”They tell tales about your ironic good deeds, and your legendary power. But they also included some stuff at the end about a fighting a mage capable of potent curses—and I guess that’s what I’m witnessing right now,” she started with a purr. ”Doesn’t look like a curse at all to me. And burning him eternally? Mmm, you know all of the right words. And I didn't see any insolence, anyone would be in a bad mood after what they tried to pull.”

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Morgan Laroux | Post 6

As the woman spoke to her, Jerusalem’s expression could be likened to a kaleidoscope with how difficult it was to read. It seemed transfixed into a permanent, expectant gaze with a subtle smirk ghosting her lips. She listened to how she spoke the right words, even leaned into it when she felt a hand on her cheek.

The inquiries about whether she wanted to indulge the female vessel, and the arousing danger her flammable secretions exuded. And the abrupt parting that occurred when she broke away and requested more information on her allegiance and the guild residing within the village.

A dry chuckle left her, as though she expected as much. Raising her hand, she started to nonchalantly snap her fingers as though there was an unseen beat in the background to listen to.

”That topic is a lot less interesting. I joined because I like the simplicity of the goals. No stuck-up people, just a group of people who want to get rid of scum and make money from it. I don’t know the history of it enough to gauge if they’ve done things like your philanthropy and charity with the spoils, but the targets of our wrath seem like yours. Lots of parties, drugs, and sex to go around, too, for those interested,” she exhaled. ”Besides, if I don’t work, I’ll probably go crazy from the lack of those three things. And or die. That too. Doesn't sound fun.”

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Morgan Laroux | Post 7