[Velveteen has found the attic, and it's just what she needed.
Sure, she can get all the toys she could possibly want from the closets. And she's sure she'll have to resort to that sooner or later. But she's always preferred to take in the lost toys, the ones that had already been loved and used and were close enough to the end of their days that when they inevitably got destroyed in battle, well, at least they had a good life. She knows that the toys don't have any life or emotions besides the ones she gives them, but she still prefers to take volunteers. It feels more right.
She stands in the middle of the attic, wearing her usual brown and burgundy leotard with the rabbit tail on the back. She's got her domino mask and rabbit ear headband on too. She's Velveteen right now, not Velma. Even if they're the same person, well, Velveteen's the one who always ends up in alternate universes. Velma, theoretically, could be normal sometimes. Around her, old dolls with missing eyes and tattered clothes stand up. Stuffed animals that have been patched again and again rise next to them. A rocking horse steps off its rockers. All of them turn towards her.]
The children who loved you are long gone. I can't promise you a long life, but I can promise you one last adventure before you go. I can promise you'd go out defending other children. If any are here.
[There's a pause. A few toys shudder and fall to the ground. The vast majority, though, start walking. Velveteen nods and turns towards the stairs. Eventually she'll attach them to her utility belt or leave them in her room til she needs them, but for the moment, anyone who encounters her will also encounter a mob of ancient animated toys. It's fine.]
b
[How about a good old fashioned zombie event? Like any good superhero, Velveteen's encountered the undead before. She knows the protocol. In this particular instance? Protocol says run until she can find more weapons.
She ends up dodging through the garden, wishing her costume was a little less tested well with men 18 - 25 and more sturdy enough that her legs wouldn't get scratched up when she ran by a rose bush. She's managed to lose most of them, but there's two that are still doggedly on her tail. Metaphorically, not the fluffy white one attached to her leotard. Thankfully.
Well. Corpses are technically inanimate objects with faces. And she knows, unfortunately, that she's entirely capable of controlling them, just like anything else. She focuses, reaching out her powers, and feels for the invisible strings that she can grasp and... there. The closer zombie turns suddenly and falls on its partner, eating it with as much vigor as it would eat the living. Velveteen watches, somewhere between fascinated and disgusted.]
Fucked up times a million.
[And then the hordes start catching up. Velveteen reaches, but there's no way she'll be able to control them all. Not if she wants to remain upright herself. Instead she stretches out her power, reaching for what the garden has to offer her.
A stone angel breaks away from the fountain and moves to stand in front of her, sword raised, wings protecting her from gore. Topiary creatures step out of their pots, growing fangs and claws as they fall on the zombies.
Velma "Velveteen" Martinez | Velveteen Vs
[Velveteen has found the attic, and it's just what she needed.
Sure, she can get all the toys she could possibly want from the closets. And she's sure she'll have to resort to that sooner or later. But she's always preferred to take in the lost toys, the ones that had already been loved and used and were close enough to the end of their days that when they inevitably got destroyed in battle, well, at least they had a good life. She knows that the toys don't have any life or emotions besides the ones she gives them, but she still prefers to take volunteers. It feels more right.
She stands in the middle of the attic, wearing her usual brown and burgundy leotard with the rabbit tail on the back. She's got her domino mask and rabbit ear headband on too. She's Velveteen right now, not Velma. Even if they're the same person, well, Velveteen's the one who always ends up in alternate universes. Velma, theoretically, could be normal sometimes. Around her, old dolls with missing eyes and tattered clothes stand up. Stuffed animals that have been patched again and again rise next to them. A rocking horse steps off its rockers. All of them turn towards her.]
The children who loved you are long gone. I can't promise you a long life, but I can promise you one last adventure before you go. I can promise you'd go out defending other children. If any are here.
[There's a pause. A few toys shudder and fall to the ground. The vast majority, though, start walking. Velveteen nods and turns towards the stairs. Eventually she'll attach them to her utility belt or leave them in her room til she needs them, but for the moment, anyone who encounters her will also encounter a mob of ancient animated toys. It's fine.]
b
[How about a good old fashioned zombie event? Like any good superhero, Velveteen's encountered the undead before. She knows the protocol. In this particular instance? Protocol says run until she can find more weapons.
She ends up dodging through the garden, wishing her costume was a little less tested well with men 18 - 25 and more sturdy enough that her legs wouldn't get scratched up when she ran by a rose bush. She's managed to lose most of them, but there's two that are still doggedly on her tail. Metaphorically, not the fluffy white one attached to her leotard. Thankfully.
Well. Corpses are technically inanimate objects with faces. And she knows, unfortunately, that she's entirely capable of controlling them, just like anything else. She focuses, reaching out her powers, and feels for the invisible strings that she can grasp and... there. The closer zombie turns suddenly and falls on its partner, eating it with as much vigor as it would eat the living. Velveteen watches, somewhere between fascinated and disgusted.]
Fucked up times a million.
[And then the hordes start catching up. Velveteen reaches, but there's no way she'll be able to control them all. Not if she wants to remain upright herself. Instead she stretches out her power, reaching for what the garden has to offer her.
A stone angel breaks away from the fountain and moves to stand in front of her, sword raised, wings protecting her from gore. Topiary creatures step out of their pots, growing fangs and claws as they fall on the zombies.
She just hopes it's enough.]