Tales of a Homeless Magical Girl (part one)
In the dark, damp alleyways, away from the Glitz and Glamor of Corporate MG Merchgirls selling toys in the main streets of the Source-forsaken City of Soma, a lone Indie struggles to the abandoned car she calls home. She grunts, holding her still bleeding arm- a “gift” from both her power and a Corrupted, a monster of a human turned by their own despair. The Indie pulls open the door, her stained scarf torn at the ends, her once long hair now cut unevenly short by a barely dodged attack.
“For the love of-” The Indie Magical Girl winces from the pain, reflexively rubbing her pendant- a well rusted trinket, a gift from a late friend. She closes her eyes, and exhales as she climbs into the car- fashioned into a shitty apartment, complete with a sleeping bag two sizes too small even for her lean and hungry frame. She pulls off her patch work sweater, seeing her frayed bra sagging from too much use and too few washes, scars and stitches from battles long ago and recent- and the nasty gash on her bicep. She grits her teeth, searching the car for her emergency medical kit.
“Damn it, Rose… c’mon… c’mon where…” She grumbles to herself, finally finding the small, plastic bag filled with bandages, needles, and thread. Further kicking her sweater into the car, she begins to stitch the wound. Rose knocks into the car’s ancient radio- and somehow, it blares to life.
“Order now, and you could get two Melu Dormir Plushies for just $49.99-” The cutesy, sleepy sounding voice on the radio is silenced with an elbow and a wince from Rose.
“Who buys plushies- nngh- for fifty bucks anyways!?” Rose shouts to no one, as she slowly, steadily closes the wound on her bicep. A part of her roars with envy, because that Corporate wouldn’t be like Rose is right now. But, at the same time, Rose can’t help but loathe the very idea. “Faker… Just a cute corporate model… to sell toys…” Rose grumbles through the pain, wrapping her bicep in worn bandages, held together with essentially naught but prayer. Satisfied with her hackjob of a stitching, Rose lays down, and finally detransforms. She can feel the Magic leave her eyes- the senses of an automated attack system slowly fading out, the feeling of invisible barbed wire digging into her skin for more ammo finally fading. Her hair- a dim, bloody red- fades into a dark, dirty brown, unwashed for far too long. Grabbing a ratty strand, she lets it fall on her face, before blowing it out of her face again.
“...I need a bath.” Rose murmurs, knowing it's another task she can't do, if she wants to eat this week at least. “I could… go to the local bath house, fifty percent off…” She mutters half-delirious, from hunger and slowly numbing pain. She grits her teeth before unconsciousness takes her, trying to stave it off for a few minutes more. But sleep takes her, all the same.
Her dream is a hazy hellscape- red skies and thick smoke overtaking the very sun and clouds. Rose fires, fires and fires her rifle, formed from her own Iron and Blood. Barbed wire digs deep into her skin, feeding her gun, all the while she cuts down both Magical Girls and Corrupted- the corporate pigs and the monstrous Fiends- Magical Girls turned into Corrupted. Her bullets multiply as she fires into sigils, formed from her blood again. A rainstorm of bullets turns all into a thick, red mist. Friends and foes are reduced to pools of viscera. She continues to fire, and fire, and fire. Unable to stop. Unable to cease. Even when people she knows are turned into clumps.
Sleep doesn’t stay for long. The car shakes, and Rose is up with a start.
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