Futuristic .. -.-.

[Reine]

xxx

in-character. no chit-chat okay?

xx

CS | XXX | OOC

x
​

 

[Reine]

( k i e r )

It was too difficult to record every word in the English language. All two hundred thousand of them? No. Instead, Kier designed the thing to respond with various noises. The sound of a silver spoon clicking against a tea cup made him aware of the fact that they were back to steal from him.

The thing in question was one of his creations. Most people where he was from enjoyed tinkering with scraps. It made life so much easier. If someone had a problem, they didn't call a mechanic. They fixed it with steel and a screw driver. He recorded the sounds to be stored in a small spherical ball of metal that rolled around, using momentum and self-sufficient energy to do its "chores." It was the smallest, most efficient house keeper and guard dog that he had created yet.

Kier pushed away from his desk. The light of a small lamp flickered with the force of his movements, faltering for a moment before his papers were once again bathed in a faint yellow glow.
His footsteps clicked down the hall through his house to the alley out back. Already, he could hear them scatter. A loud clang marked the sound of a dumpster lid slamming closed. He burst outside just in time to see a thick flesh-coloured tail slink around the corner of the alleyway. Gone. Hardly surprising. This was the fourth time in less than a month. Rusty cogs and springs were haphazardly scattered across the washed-out cobblestone path.

"What the fuck," he said under his breath. Something bumped his ankle in the doorway. The silver sphere was just behind him, no more than ten centimetres tall. Kier reached down, putting the thing away. It rocked back and forth inside his shirt pocket before coming to rest.

His eyes darted back inside to a pistol he had on his desk. Few people bothered him, but he could never be too careful. Not anymore. At the memory, he put a hand to his shoulder, tracing the deep scar on his chest. Everyone had called what he described "phantom pain." It hurt, but the scar was completely, entirely healed. His heart sped up slightly for just a moment. Then without wasting another second, he grabbed his pistol and ran back into the alley to find the thieves.

BDark

 

[BDark]

Irvin Warren - Hunter of The West​

The light of the moon shone upon the streets of Caperstead as the wispy cloud which had been covering it floated away. It was well past midnight, two hours and a score of minutes, and the streets were void of people but for the drunk clients of the taverns a few streets away. At this time, the rats of what many chose to call 'The Underworld' came out, scavenging for scraps or unwanted appliances to use in their inventions, hidden deep in their ever-growing underground city, as well as inadvertently helping the mercenary locate his victim.

Kier Iparis--that was his target's name. The mercenary was approached one shady night by a particularly foisting government official and crime lord who recruited him to strike down the man who 'stole something invaluable' from his son; that was nearly a month earlier. Since then, Irvin had been spending his nights and days closely watching his victim, learning his tendencies and lifestyle.

Now he lay crouched on the top of a house, hidden by the darkness of the night and his attire that even the silver moonlight would not betray him. It was then that a small group of rats appeared from the alley by his victim's house; the same group that he had accidentally lead him to his target, and had it not been for his mask, he wouldn't have seen the large rats in the shadows before one of them leapt onto the doorknob and attempted to pick the lock, but immediately leapt back into the alley just as the door opened and the mercenary's target appeared in the doorway. He then disappeared back into the house, and the mercenary followed him through the window and saw him take something from his desk. The target then left the house and disappeared into the alley.

Had Irvin not been quick in his movements and studies, he would have had to wait a few more nights following his target around. He leapt gracefully from his hiding place yet lightly and into the roof of the opposite house. The chimneys were too small to enter through, and the windows were locked. The situation lacked a need for clamour, so the hunter instead dropped into the alley through which his victim had disappeared as quietly as possible, and his attire kept him hidden as he would had he been clad in shadow itself, and in his hand was his revolver, hidden beneath his cloak.