Patrollogs
(Emmanuel's nightmare battle with Illyana)
[Thu Nov 7 2024]
In the master bedroom
This room isn't overly large, though it uses its space to the upmost.
floored with a mid brown laminate, it offers a splash to the room that compliments the rest of the decor; slightly reflective, and chosen to refract any light that strikes it.
The walls have been painted in a subdued cream, the off-white tone offering a cast to the room that suggests warmth and size to the structure, the base-boards contrasting to throw off a defined outline.
With storage enough to satisfy two residents, the room is left largely open-plan with a charcoal rug sitting in the center, from where a bed is allowed to oversee the room in all of its glory, complete with a hot pink, rolled back throw.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
"Well, who is it this time?" Emmanuel wonders of the nightmarish void that spills out around him, turning slowly to peer this way and that.
Illyana says "I'm getting sick of this."
"Morning, sir," Irene greets Emmanuel as she approaches, sizing him up in the Nightmare. "Isn't it a bit early for this sort of thing? Who are we shooting?"
"Good morning, Agent," Emmanuel notes over to Irene with some clear relief, it's rare that he ends up with an ally in the nightmare. "It is never too early to be dragged into the nightmare, hm?" Then there's a beat and he peers out into the darkness, "I do non know, to be honest. Is that you, Yana?"
Illyana says "You know it is."
"Oh is it?" Irene seems to brighten right up at this news from Emmanuel. Turning, she then calls out towards the unseen presence, "Is that you, Yana?"
"I can't wait to shoot Yana," Irene subsequently explains to Emmanuel, with utmost sincerity in her tone.
Should Emmanuel be surprised by this? Perhaps. But, this is Haventown, a place where women famously and often do not get along, "Well, we will at least make this quick for you, Yana." He calls out into the dark, then adding, "We both know what will stop this happening though. The nightmare will continue to smash us into one another as long as you're with the Hand, cherie."
"It would anyway." Illyana sighs. "You know it. I know it. But give me another option."
"It would non, Yana. This? This strange construct?" Emmanuel gestures around the nightmare, which is a weird decision given that the other woman definitely cannot see him, "This is caused by the clashing ideals, hm? It is like weird magnets. If we did non clash, you would non be dragged out here."
"Again. Give me another option." Illyana also gestures, again pointlessly because of the nightmare. "I'm still looking. But the only one I've been offered has Fayad, and he hates me."
Emmanuel makes his point while charging in closer toward Illyana, bringing his large axe to bear to crash it against her sabre. That supernatural strength of hers lets her fend him off, "He doesn't," The man hisses out, "I spoke with him, you are welcome in the Disruptors. All you need to do is be making the right decision, Yana."
At first Irene stands back while Emmanuel closes in, with a tilt of their head as the look Illyana up and down. In their hand is a knife, which they give a little twirl as they sidestep back around her, flanking her on either side with Emmanuel. To escape one, she'll have to run into the other. "You don't seem very happy with the Hand, anyway," the masked figure notes, with a familiar, feminine Hispanic accent. "I'll tell you what, Yana, I do think we got off on the wrong foot. If it's amnesty you want, we can protect you. I'm sure you've obtained enough information of value now for us to cut some sort of reasonable deal."
But the deal that's being offered as of right now is the blade of her knife, which cuts quickly upwards to remind her of the fire on the other side of this frying pan situation.
It is a strange thing to be offering amnestity to someone while actively trying to beat them unconscious through the nightmare. But, this is Haventown, and strange is normal here. Cats and dogs hang out. There's magic woofs. Nobody gets a ticket for jay-walking. This is a strange place.
Emmanuel reaches over to grasp at Illyana's weapon with one hand, while striking at her with the other, working in tandem with Irene's assault to double-team the poor angel. "It would non be the first time that someone woke up to the realities of the Hand, hm? The former President, Peyton, left, after all, mon amie."
"That's not how this works and I have no desire to get chipped." Illyana protests. "So we play this out until I get an actual option, I guess." Now without a weapon, Illyana at least tries to put up a token effort; There's no victory here and violence, in spite of a front is the furthest thing from Illyana's actual desire. But then again, so is the hand. So she glows in order to dazzle, giving herself a little more time, then produces and tosses a ball of fire.
The reality of the world is that the Temple is really no match for the Hand, with its powerful supernaturals and its mindbending capabilities of global propaganda. But here, in the Nightmare this morning, it's an unusual reversal taking place: two hardened Templars, against the fresh-faced Hand teenager, and maybe, just maybe, Irene really likes how this feels for a change. When she gets to be on top, she gets to be the bully.
And that's exactly what she does, certainly no better than the Hand, just the one who usually has less power to deliver on it. When Illyana tries to run from Emmanuel, Irene's waiting behind her with the knife, and she strikes out with her fist to knock the much prettier, younger woman to the ground. Her darkened blade tastes the air behind her while she leverages the pommel, crouching down to get to Illyana's level. "You always have a choice," Irene tells her, with no sense of hypocrisy in this moment, "you could choose not to enslave humanity on behalf of fascist supremacists. You could choose not to enable, aid and abet them. You could leave this town, but you're here because what you really want is power, isn't it? No one comes to the gate-town to live a quiet, hum-drum, blameless life." Certainly not Irene.
When Illyana goes tumbling down to the ground, Emmanuel gives chase. He darts over closer, and leaps half-atop her, attempting to wrestle, and grapple with her to keep her weapon hand disabled. It is indeed a role reversal of sorts. Generally Emmanuel gets the snot beaten out of him in these nightmare battles, as he is not only outnumbered, but out-gunned by the supernatural forces.
There is a chuff of agreement from Emmanuel at most of what Irene says, "There is always being a choice," He echoes, clearly sharing that particular view. "What is worse? A tiny little chip to help you keep control? Or working with the facists, and the baby killers. How many hearts has Ash used to play with their appearance?"
"Firstly," Illyana points out to Irene, "You don't know me at all if you think I would enslave anyone; I've been a slave. To Gonthorian and when I needed fucking anyone," And here, her teeth grit, "The ones who offered me a handout were the fucking Hand. I didn't want it, but it was that ot death." There's a token attempt to fight back, a failed punch at Emmanuel, though of course it's blocked. "Secondly, the story has changed in seconds from getting off on the wrong foot, to amnesty to me needing to have my face beaten in because of something I have literally never done; I've even directed people to you and the Order. Not because I agree with you, but because this dum fuck is doing what he thinks is right. And believe me or not, I don't care a lick for the Hand." But of course, this is a fight and blurted words need time to work, not a paniced struggle and a series of failed punches- Illyana needs speed to work, and pinned, poisoned and tripped, there certainly isn't that.
Illyana actually manages to stump Irene there. The Temple bully straightens up, letting Emmanuel take care of business for the moment, and stares down at her with a masked head cocked, holding the hilt of her blade up thoughtfully to her lip. "Does uh, the Hand know you feel that way, Yana? Because I'm pretty sure you could be killed for saying any of this. You're making them look REAL bad right now in the scouts' reports they're going to read." Irene looks over her shoulder, in search of these scouts, but they're wily things, alas, she can't locate them.
Irene shrugs haplessly. "Or I don't know, maybe you're just playing us for fools, or yourself for a fool, you really don't know that the Hand literally enslaves people? Are you trying to mind-wipe us to forget that so you can get away, is that what this is?"
When Emmanuel creates an opening, Irene steps back in, with a lot more force in the thrust of her blade than prior. "I've had enough," she says.
After creating that particular opening, Emmanuel scrambles away and back up to his feet- blocking the oncoming punch from Illyana as he takes a mild break from the fight to catch his breath. It's exhausting trying to speak and throw hands at the same time. The Templar leans against the nearest nightmare wall, huffing and puffing, "As long as you are supporting the Hand, Yana? Going to bat for them in the Town Halls, and convincing others to work with them? You are participating in making the world a worse place. With more slavery. You do non need to do this." He opies to her, between breathes, and slowly straightens back up with a crack of his spine. He's getting old.
"It is clear that this care goes both ways, non? When have they ever showed up to assist you? They've left you here alone to be bullied, and beaten by some mere humans." Emmanuel furthers notes, trying to convince Illyana as he glances between her and Irene.
Still unable to properly fight back, Illyana attempts another failed punch. "You know you just contradicted yourself again- And no. I don't know anything because no one fucking tells me anything. It doesn't matter what I say because they don't bother with me. They don't care, and you're already beating my ass. So them doing it isn't going to make much of a difference." There's a flare of heat. It's externalized rage, but she's already resigned to losing this and frankly doesn't care at this point. "And I could care less about power." She doesn't of course bother adding that the templars don't care anyway; That goes without saying.
"I never thought I would miss talking to Nikolai," Irene idly says to herself, and tries to exchange a brief look with Emmanuel. "Spare me the victim complex when you're in the World Domination PLC in a Supernatural Warzone." But, to feed into the alleged complex, Irene proceeds to victimise Illyana, now with repeated, vicious stabs of her knife and twists of her arm behind her back. The unapologetic Temple bitch does this without any semblance of remorse, even taking discernible pleasure in this. Even if, to a certain extent, this being the Nightmare -- none of it is truly real, taking place in their collective imagination.
Irene's imagination is a dark place, apparently.
While Irene stabs, and stabs, Emmanuel continues to catch his breath and observe, apparently having more than enough faith in the other Templar to bring home the win, as it were. There's a little nod at the glance afforded to him by Irene, before Emmanuel points out to Illyana, "Leave the Hand, Yana. If you do non belong there? If you do non want to be judged by your peers, and the consequences of assisting them? Then do something about it. There is a place for you in the Temple, or the Disruptors, if you are wanting to help dismantle the monsters you have been rubbing shoulders with. The sort of monsters that produce those like Selina, and Gonthorian, and the other dragons and terrible creatures, hm?" While Irene deals with the physical, or meta-physical, Emmanuel takes a different approach to the ongoing conflict.
"I already said I was interested in the Disruptors." Illyana grunts, though those multiple stabs mean that she is hardly in any place for a long diatribe now. Still, an attempted strike; Lashing out with an ineffective backhand. Of course, it's the situation of a fly pinned to a cork board now (multiple pins, of course, because why would it not be) and Illyana seems to have decided to submit to it- It's coming anyway and it's inexorable. "fayad." The single word again. That seems to be the real sticking point with this. A mental block, even in spite of the metaphysical bleeding out.
Today truly is reversal day. The Temple beating the Hand, while Emmanuel takes on the duties of the Temple Intelligence, and Irene gives in to the blind violence of the Strike Force.
Luckily for Illyana, whilst Fayad may be in the Disruptors, it seems that Irene is not. Because she looks aside at Emmanuel with brief amusement curling her lips, a spark of mirth in her coal-dark eyes, when she chides, "Man you leftie infighters will really let just anyone in."
She is presumably oblivious to the fact that this, in itself, between her and Emmanuel, is a form of infighting as well. Instead, she works out her issues with Illyana, their shared common enemy (for now?) with a raise of her forearm to fend Illyana's fist off from striking at her face, before her blade once more strikes at the Hand girl's vest.
"Oui. It is endemic, non?" Emmanuel notes on the subject of leftists and their infighting. Hell, the Disruptors attempts in Peru are a prime example of this, after all. There is a quiet cluck of acknowledgement from the Frenchman at Illyana's grunted words, "You have, and you were expressing your concern. I have spoken with Fayad, Yana, and there is a place for you once you leave the Hand." There's a beat or two as he continues to watch Irene and Illyana go at it, and definitely doesn't let his imagination run away with him, "You just need to leave the Hand first. Take the leap."
Illyana apparently takes some solice in that; Likely more than should be expected for such a situation. There's another motion to shove her attacker off, but for what ever reason, be it the resignation, internal thoughts working, enjoying the sadism, even if it's directed her way, she does wrestle back in a patheticly feeble, almost staged sort of way. Her heart's not in it; Neither is her metaphysical body. That's got multiple stab wounds, but at no point, even at the start of this has she exhibited even the slightest inkling that she's any kind of patriotic. Maybe even it's the utter dejection that Trump is in charge, and Hand plant or not, that's a hit to anyone's sense of well being. Maybe it's Fayad. Maybe something else, but Illyana is playing this out, though her eyes do begin to glow; Too late for any meaningful supernatural powers, evidently, and she is most certainly going down.
In all likelihood, despite their many, many differences, Irene was rooting for a girlboss president. But since it's equally unlikely that either she or Emmanuel are eligible to vote -- what with their accents, her own a non-naturalised Hispanic, and his with the thickness of a baguette (and the fact that both of their authors spell armour with a 'u') -- what can they do?
What can the Temple do? It's the age old question. Nothing, but fight against futility, fight against this one lone, poor teenage girl who's come to represent the Hand for them today, work out their issues and that's exactly what Irene does. Violently. Constructively? No. But she hasn't really got the opportunity to do more right now.
The fight has carried on for long enough, their points have been made, and Illyana has been stabbed many, many times. It's time to end this, and put her out of her misery. Maybe it's time to put America as a whole out of it's misery too, but for whatever reason this strange focal point of magic decided to appear in the this country, instead of somewhere with a longer, more arcane history.
Under the new regime soon to come to these lands, a man-centric approach, it's clear that the fight needs to be ended by a super alpha cool dude, and without one here, the Frenchman steps in to try and do as much. Emmanuel lifts his axe, raising it up, "Liberte, Yana." He drawls out, his accent likely adding a bunch of 'u's to works whether they deserve them or not, and then the axe comes down.
Illyana fades out of the nightmare.
Emmanuels Nightmare Battle With Illyana 241108
(Emmanuel's nightmare battle with Illyana)
[Thu Nov 7 2024]
In the master bedroom
This room isn't overly large, though it uses its space to the upmost.
floored with a mid brown laminate, it offers a splash to the room that compliments the rest of the decor; slightly reflective, and chosen to refract any light that strikes it.
The walls have been painted in a subdued cream, the off-white tone offering a cast to the room that suggests warmth and size to the structure, the base-boards contrasting to throw off a defined outline.
With storage enough to satisfy two residents, the room is left largely open-plan with a charcoal rug sitting in the center, from where a bed is allowed to oversee the room in all of its glory, complete with a hot pink, rolled back throw.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
"Well, who is it this time?" Emmanuel wonders of the nightmarish void that spills out around him, turning slowly to peer this way and that.
Illyana says "I'm getting sick of this."
"Morning, sir," Irene greets Emmanuel as she approaches, sizing him up in the Nightmare. "Isn't it a bit early for this sort of thing? Who are we shooting?"
"Good morning, Agent," Emmanuel notes over to Irene with some clear relief, it's rare that he ends up with an ally in the nightmare. "It is never too early to be dragged into the nightmare, hm?" Then there's a beat and he peers out into the darkness, "I do non know, to be honest. Is that you, Yana?"
Illyana says "You know it is."
"Oh is it?" Irene seems to brighten right up at this news from Emmanuel. Turning, she then calls out towards the unseen presence, "Is that you, Yana?"
"I can't wait to shoot Yana," Irene subsequently explains to Emmanuel, with utmost sincerity in her tone.
Should Emmanuel be surprised by this? Perhaps. But, this is Haventown, a place where women famously and often do not get along, "Well, we will at least make this quick for you, Yana." He calls out into the dark, then adding, "We both know what will stop this happening though. The nightmare will continue to smash us into one another as long as you're with the Hand, cherie."
"It would anyway." Illyana sighs. "You know it. I know it. But give me another option."
"It would non, Yana. This? This strange construct?" Emmanuel gestures around the nightmare, which is a weird decision given that the other woman definitely cannot see him, "This is caused by the clashing ideals, hm? It is like weird magnets. If we did non clash, you would non be dragged out here."
"Again. Give me another option." Illyana also gestures, again pointlessly because of the nightmare. "I'm still looking. But the only one I've been offered has Fayad, and he hates me."
Emmanuel makes his point while charging in closer toward Illyana, bringing his large axe to bear to crash it against her sabre. That supernatural strength of hers lets her fend him off, "He doesn't," The man hisses out, "I spoke with him, you are welcome in the Disruptors. All you need to do is be making the right decision, Yana."
At first Irene stands back while Emmanuel closes in, with a tilt of their head as the look Illyana up and down. In their hand is a knife, which they give a little twirl as they sidestep back around her, flanking her on either side with Emmanuel. To escape one, she'll have to run into the other. "You don't seem very happy with the Hand, anyway," the masked figure notes, with a familiar, feminine Hispanic accent. "I'll tell you what, Yana, I do think we got off on the wrong foot. If it's amnesty you want, we can protect you. I'm sure you've obtained enough information of value now for us to cut some sort of reasonable deal."
But the deal that's being offered as of right now is the blade of her knife, which cuts quickly upwards to remind her of the fire on the other side of this frying pan situation.
It is a strange thing to be offering amnestity to someone while actively trying to beat them unconscious through the nightmare. But, this is Haventown, and strange is normal here. Cats and dogs hang out. There's magic woofs. Nobody gets a ticket for jay-walking. This is a strange place.
Emmanuel reaches over to grasp at Illyana's weapon with one hand, while striking at her with the other, working in tandem with Irene's assault to double-team the poor angel. "It would non be the first time that someone woke up to the realities of the Hand, hm? The former President, Peyton, left, after all, mon amie."
"That's not how this works and I have no desire to get chipped." Illyana protests. "So we play this out until I get an actual option, I guess." Now without a weapon, Illyana at least tries to put up a token effort; There's no victory here and violence, in spite of a front is the furthest thing from Illyana's actual desire. But then again, so is the hand. So she glows in order to dazzle, giving herself a little more time, then produces and tosses a ball of fire.
The reality of the world is that the Temple is really no match for the Hand, with its powerful supernaturals and its mindbending capabilities of global propaganda. But here, in the Nightmare this morning, it's an unusual reversal taking place: two hardened Templars, against the fresh-faced Hand teenager, and maybe, just maybe, Irene really likes how this feels for a change. When she gets to be on top, she gets to be the bully.
And that's exactly what she does, certainly no better than the Hand, just the one who usually has less power to deliver on it. When Illyana tries to run from Emmanuel, Irene's waiting behind her with the knife, and she strikes out with her fist to knock the much prettier, younger woman to the ground. Her darkened blade tastes the air behind her while she leverages the pommel, crouching down to get to Illyana's level. "You always have a choice," Irene tells her, with no sense of hypocrisy in this moment, "you could choose not to enslave humanity on behalf of fascist supremacists. You could choose not to enable, aid and abet them. You could leave this town, but you're here because what you really want is power, isn't it? No one comes to the gate-town to live a quiet, hum-drum, blameless life." Certainly not Irene.
When Illyana goes tumbling down to the ground, Emmanuel gives chase. He darts over closer, and leaps half-atop her, attempting to wrestle, and grapple with her to keep her weapon hand disabled. It is indeed a role reversal of sorts. Generally Emmanuel gets the snot beaten out of him in these nightmare battles, as he is not only outnumbered, but out-gunned by the supernatural forces.
There is a chuff of agreement from Emmanuel at most of what Irene says, "There is always being a choice," He echoes, clearly sharing that particular view. "What is worse? A tiny little chip to help you keep control? Or working with the facists, and the baby killers. How many hearts has Ash used to play with their appearance?"
"Firstly," Illyana points out to Irene, "You don't know me at all if you think I would enslave anyone; I've been a slave. To Gonthorian and when I needed fucking anyone," And here, her teeth grit, "The ones who offered me a handout were the fucking Hand. I didn't want it, but it was that ot death." There's a token attempt to fight back, a failed punch at Emmanuel, though of course it's blocked. "Secondly, the story has changed in seconds from getting off on the wrong foot, to amnesty to me needing to have my face beaten in because of something I have literally never done; I've even directed people to you and the Order. Not because I agree with you, but because this dum fuck is doing what he thinks is right. And believe me or not, I don't care a lick for the Hand." But of course, this is a fight and blurted words need time to work, not a paniced struggle and a series of failed punches- Illyana needs speed to work, and pinned, poisoned and tripped, there certainly isn't that.
Illyana actually manages to stump Irene there. The Temple bully straightens up, letting Emmanuel take care of business for the moment, and stares down at her with a masked head cocked, holding the hilt of her blade up thoughtfully to her lip. "Does uh, the Hand know you feel that way, Yana? Because I'm pretty sure you could be killed for saying any of this. You're making them look REAL bad right now in the scouts' reports they're going to read." Irene looks over her shoulder, in search of these scouts, but they're wily things, alas, she can't locate them.
Irene shrugs haplessly. "Or I don't know, maybe you're just playing us for fools, or yourself for a fool, you really don't know that the Hand literally enslaves people? Are you trying to mind-wipe us to forget that so you can get away, is that what this is?"
When Emmanuel creates an opening, Irene steps back in, with a lot more force in the thrust of her blade than prior. "I've had enough," she says.
After creating that particular opening, Emmanuel scrambles away and back up to his feet- blocking the oncoming punch from Illyana as he takes a mild break from the fight to catch his breath. It's exhausting trying to speak and throw hands at the same time. The Templar leans against the nearest nightmare wall, huffing and puffing, "As long as you are supporting the Hand, Yana? Going to bat for them in the Town Halls, and convincing others to work with them? You are participating in making the world a worse place. With more slavery. You do non need to do this." He opies to her, between breathes, and slowly straightens back up with a crack of his spine. He's getting old.
"It is clear that this care goes both ways, non? When have they ever showed up to assist you? They've left you here alone to be bullied, and beaten by some mere humans." Emmanuel furthers notes, trying to convince Illyana as he glances between her and Irene.
Still unable to properly fight back, Illyana attempts another failed punch. "You know you just contradicted yourself again- And no. I don't know anything because no one fucking tells me anything. It doesn't matter what I say because they don't bother with me. They don't care, and you're already beating my ass. So them doing it isn't going to make much of a difference." There's a flare of heat. It's externalized rage, but she's already resigned to losing this and frankly doesn't care at this point. "And I could care less about power." She doesn't of course bother adding that the templars don't care anyway; That goes without saying.
"I never thought I would miss talking to Nikolai," Irene idly says to herself, and tries to exchange a brief look with Emmanuel. "Spare me the victim complex when you're in the World Domination PLC in a Supernatural Warzone." But, to feed into the alleged complex, Irene proceeds to victimise Illyana, now with repeated, vicious stabs of her knife and twists of her arm behind her back. The unapologetic Temple bitch does this without any semblance of remorse, even taking discernible pleasure in this. Even if, to a certain extent, this being the Nightmare -- none of it is truly real, taking place in their collective imagination.
Irene's imagination is a dark place, apparently.
While Irene stabs, and stabs, Emmanuel continues to catch his breath and observe, apparently having more than enough faith in the other Templar to bring home the win, as it were. There's a little nod at the glance afforded to him by Irene, before Emmanuel points out to Illyana, "Leave the Hand, Yana. If you do non belong there? If you do non want to be judged by your peers, and the consequences of assisting them? Then do something about it. There is a place for you in the Temple, or the Disruptors, if you are wanting to help dismantle the monsters you have been rubbing shoulders with. The sort of monsters that produce those like Selina, and Gonthorian, and the other dragons and terrible creatures, hm?" While Irene deals with the physical, or meta-physical, Emmanuel takes a different approach to the ongoing conflict.
"I already said I was interested in the Disruptors." Illyana grunts, though those multiple stabs mean that she is hardly in any place for a long diatribe now. Still, an attempted strike; Lashing out with an ineffective backhand. Of course, it's the situation of a fly pinned to a cork board now (multiple pins, of course, because why would it not be) and Illyana seems to have decided to submit to it- It's coming anyway and it's inexorable. "fayad." The single word again. That seems to be the real sticking point with this. A mental block, even in spite of the metaphysical bleeding out.
Today truly is reversal day. The Temple beating the Hand, while Emmanuel takes on the duties of the Temple Intelligence, and Irene gives in to the blind violence of the Strike Force.
Luckily for Illyana, whilst Fayad may be in the Disruptors, it seems that Irene is not. Because she looks aside at Emmanuel with brief amusement curling her lips, a spark of mirth in her coal-dark eyes, when she chides, "Man you leftie infighters will really let just anyone in."
She is presumably oblivious to the fact that this, in itself, between her and Emmanuel, is a form of infighting as well. Instead, she works out her issues with Illyana, their shared common enemy (for now?) with a raise of her forearm to fend Illyana's fist off from striking at her face, before her blade once more strikes at the Hand girl's vest.
"Oui. It is endemic, non?" Emmanuel notes on the subject of leftists and their infighting. Hell, the Disruptors attempts in Peru are a prime example of this, after all. There is a quiet cluck of acknowledgement from the Frenchman at Illyana's grunted words, "You have, and you were expressing your concern. I have spoken with Fayad, Yana, and there is a place for you once you leave the Hand." There's a beat or two as he continues to watch Irene and Illyana go at it, and definitely doesn't let his imagination run away with him, "You just need to leave the Hand first. Take the leap."
Illyana apparently takes some solice in that; Likely more than should be expected for such a situation. There's another motion to shove her attacker off, but for what ever reason, be it the resignation, internal thoughts working, enjoying the sadism, even if it's directed her way, she does wrestle back in a patheticly feeble, almost staged sort of way. Her heart's not in it; Neither is her metaphysical body. That's got multiple stab wounds, but at no point, even at the start of this has she exhibited even the slightest inkling that she's any kind of patriotic. Maybe even it's the utter dejection that Trump is in charge, and Hand plant or not, that's a hit to anyone's sense of well being. Maybe it's Fayad. Maybe something else, but Illyana is playing this out, though her eyes do begin to glow; Too late for any meaningful supernatural powers, evidently, and she is most certainly going down.
In all likelihood, despite their many, many differences, Irene was rooting for a girlboss president. But since it's equally unlikely that either she or Emmanuel are eligible to vote -- what with their accents, her own a non-naturalised Hispanic, and his with the thickness of a baguette (and the fact that both of their authors spell armour with a 'u') -- what can they do?
What can the Temple do? It's the age old question. Nothing, but fight against futility, fight against this one lone, poor teenage girl who's come to represent the Hand for them today, work out their issues and that's exactly what Irene does. Violently. Constructively? No. But she hasn't really got the opportunity to do more right now.
The fight has carried on for long enough, their points have been made, and Illyana has been stabbed many, many times. It's time to end this, and put her out of her misery. Maybe it's time to put America as a whole out of it's misery too, but for whatever reason this strange focal point of magic decided to appear in the this country, instead of somewhere with a longer, more arcane history.
Under the new regime soon to come to these lands, a man-centric approach, it's clear that the fight needs to be ended by a super alpha cool dude, and without one here, the Frenchman steps in to try and do as much. Emmanuel lifts his axe, raising it up, "Liberte, Yana." He drawls out, his accent likely adding a bunch of 'u's to works whether they deserve them or not, and then the axe comes down.
Illyana fades out of the nightmare.