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Realistic or Modern New Oasis: Monochrome Dreams

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GRISHA ZHARKOV
CS Link
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Helena Damafaud Damafaud , Nika Coyote Hart Coyote Hart , Yelizaveta The One Eyed Bandit The One Eyed Bandit
Union Born Under Starlight
They say that when the soul is unsettled, the best remedy is to read. As it happened, today gave Grigori Zharkov many reasons to be unsettled. Presently, he sat upon a modest bench, the issue of the union-busting weighing heavily upon him like an anchor dragged along the seabed. A renowned critique on capitalism lay on his lap before him, open and inviting a brief respite. At times, his eyes would scour the pages with a thirst akin to that of a cotton-mouthed desert walker. His gaze, coal-dark and cloaked in shadow by the rim of his ushanka, would then drift away on the current of realizing the words had barely been absorbed at all.

Grisha was in such a state when, all of a sudden, the air behind him thickened. A new pressure appeared along the back of his hat, taut as a mouse trap. Before it could spring free and flee, he shifted and said,

"Pull the collar down."

Slim fingers paused, then complied. Gingerly, the back of the Ruthenian's nape became exposed to the crisp, midday breeze, revealing inked skin in the shape of a six-pointed star. Hastily the presence backed off, and their boyish, sheepdog mumble of an apology revealed to Grisha his would-be thief was no more than a child. A convincing stretch of silence reigned until unexpectedly, a small, soot-stained finger leaned in and broke it, pointed at the book in his lap. "What's that?"
The book snapped closed. There was no need to look down; Grisha had long since memorized it. Proudly opening his mouth, he pointed to the cover and rattled off the lengthy title in strong, swarthy Ruthenian. "Всеобъемлющий анализ и формулирование императива системной экономической перестройки в направлении эгалитарного паритета. By Comrade Jakar Romanov."

The visceral confusion on the boy's face was palpable. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Zharkov's lips before settling back into stone. Leather-clad fingers tightened around the spine of the book before tucking it back into the inner pocket of his trenchcoat. Before he could have half a mind to tell the young patsan to scram, another question was shot his way. "Is it any good?"

Grisha nodded almost immediately, the gleam in his eye like a train light beam in a tunnel. "Oh, da. Revolutionary."

"Revolutionary," the boy repeated. "My pa says that word too." He kicked the dust underneath the bench as he leaned against it. "He says it ain't right for a kid to work, all 'cause he can't earn enough. He hates that I'm not in school learning to read."

Grisha furrowed his brow deeply, nodding in agreement. "You should be. You would be, back in my home country." A newfound intensity laced his tone as he continued,
"We abolished this sort of thing years ago. The same needs to be done here. It will be done here."

Just as the final word left his lips, the shrill, deafening call of a boat siren cut through the air. Grisha threw the boy a final, probing glance. "Boy-ka say," he raised his voice to a half-shout, "where is it you and your papa work?"
Unable to reply, the boy's soot-stained finger instead raised and pointed to a distant building across the river. Grisha straightened like a bullet, his eyes widening. "Son of a bitch," he murmured in his mother tongue, almost in response to the all-too-familiar pull of the One Star. Finally, it had come, bearing the gift of overriding the biting sense of betraying direct orders. Whirling around, Grisha seized the boy's arm and pulled him along toward the bridge, half a kilometer away. The boy struggled fiercely for a few moments, his voice raised sharp like a knife. "Hey, wait! Where—"

To the boy's benefit, he slowed down but never stopped. "Your papa is in danger, boy-ka," he finally said, shedding a sliver of light on the situation. "We go to warn him."

─── ⋅ ⋆ ⋅ ───​

Nestling the white slip of a cigarette against his lips, Grisha angled his jaw and let the flame and butt marry. After a long drag of smoke, he blew a plume centimeters away from the boy's face. "You remember it all, da? You must tell the message to him exactly as I have told you."

The boy nodded, stifling a cough. The darkened bags under his eyes made the determination in them to preserve the cause and livelihood of his father all the more stark. "You only gave me one fake name to watch out for. What about the rest of 'em?"

"The rest I will identify and report back to you," Grisha buttoned up the last bit of his new uniformed collar, which remained tagless. "Do not worry about the details. I will find you. In any case, the warning should be enough to shut the workers up while Syndicate is here." If that Yeliza hasn't already smoked someone out, that is.

With a final big thumbs up, Grisha sent the boy off. It had only been a few minutes, and already the sweltering climate of the place was beginning to pounce. With a quick, methodical swipe of his wrist across his forehead, Grisha reached into the outer pocket of his now-neatly folded coat and gloves, grasping for his stash of fragmented space rock. Once a handful was in his possession, he released them into the open air, where they gracefully floated and danced in weightless patterns. A sharp tug against the left cuff of the new uniform revealed a muscled forearm decorated in tattooed constellations. Like a composer guiding the orchestra, Grisha's knowing finger rapidly traced against one, the floating comet fragments following suit, filtering out until ten locked into place. Out of the spider-like, cosmic glow of muted blue came the shadowy form of an eagle, Aquila's luminous constellation criss-crossed all along its essence. In the daytime, it barely matched the size of a football, yet in this circumstance this worked to Grisha's advantage. With a lift of his forearm, pitch-black talons locked and released, soaring high into the twisted, cavernous canopy of rafters and pipes above. Being of one mind, its mission was simple: identify familiar faces and pick out name tags. As countless times before, there was a distinct emphasis on tracking down that hopeless, snow-sniffing son of Metreveli.

Retreating into his mind's eye, Grisha surveyed the bustling warehouse district through the keen gaze of Aquila. As if on cue, his jaw clenched at the sight of Nika, clad in a worker's uniform, fake tag reading "Arthur." Disapproval etched across Grisha's face, a mix of frustration and concern surfaced as he observed Nika's dilated eyes and erratic movements. The boy's drug habit was a constant source of trouble, a stark reminder of the struggles even their own members faced in light of the Syndicate's main trade.

On ship's honor, vowed the Ruthenian in his thoughts, I will toss him into a padded cell after this. Enough was enough! As it stood, the paren's addiction obstructed any glimmer of potential, denying him the opportunity for genuine enlightenment. This dependency drove him to consistently make misguided choices, such as joining this transgressive operation. Most damning was that he did it all to fuel a self-centered habit that only added to his decline and jeopardized their collective goals. These facts were utterly unacceptable in Zharkov's mind. The boy needed to be unshackled and then, and only then, could he be liberated to wholeheartedly embrace the cause.

All of a sudden, his concentrated mind link was abruptly interrupted by the raucous laughter of workers nearby. Focusing Aquila on the source of the laughter, Grisha caught sight of what looked to be the striking figure of Helena, a new concern surfacing. Her name tag was nowhere in sight, concealed beneath her uniform. Grisha's mind raced, realizing the potential pitfalls of relying solely on distant observations. The risks gnawed at him, and a decision crystallized in his mind.

With a determined exhale, Grisha approached, his ears catching her final inquisitorial word, union. The question hung in the air for just a moment before Grisha's colossal hand landed on her shoulder, more like a friendly pounce than a touch. His coal-dark eyes met hers with a mix of determination and mischief. "There you are, fellow fresh face!" Grisha declared, his roughly accented voice carrying an air of bombastic casualness. A quick smile played on his lips as he glanced at the worker and continued, "Let's follow this comrade's lead and go grab some lunch, eh? Besides, I hear they finally have our new name tags ready to distribute at the manager's office."


 
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CARMEN & MITSUKI
CS Link
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [BITE BACK AND TEAR THROUGH]
LOCATION:
South Border, East Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Carmen, Mitsuki
BITE BACK AND TEAR THROUGH
It was the sight of broken pieces flying across the room that greeted his hidden entry. Pieces of furniture and decorations lying in ruins under the force of something not quite human. More dust than necessary or healthy swirled around in its mindless search, mixing with the already heavy air. Suffocating and dry, like old clay.

Mitsuki stood still, fading into the gray wall. A jump away from the ajar door, where the faint light of the corridor could not reach through the small gap. Veiled by the darkness of the room even the sharpest sight would struggle to perceive a still silhouette.

The sound of metal cracking the way old bones do and wood bursting like a thousand balloons covered his own rustling search for the objects hidden beneath his vest. Shapes so familiar that he did not need the aid of light to find them on his own body. Cold to his touch, unyielding and firm.

Perhaps even useless against this unknown enemy. It would not be the first time.

As his hand reached for them, the thing looked up. Scanning the space in an almost futile way. Mitsuki froze, taking a moment to witness the mere image the monster created while it was more aware of its surroundings.

Eyes the size of fists shone like the reflection of light in mirrors, giving way to teeth that could rival a badly carved pumpkin on Halloween. It was a grotesque creature, but beautiful in its own destruction. Amidst the overturned stools and broken light bulbs, its unholy proportions did not look out of place.

Its words echoed around the chamber like fireworks, almost as loud as when the stones gave way to reveal a trap door below. With the creature's body blocking most of the view as it disappeared down the hole, there was little point in focusing his attention on the hatch for the time being. Instead, he finally pulled out the M1911 and his harmonica, testing their weights on his open palm.

Simple things, not much different from the common model seen on the market. But the handle was well fitted and the worn down engravings on the instrument a grounding sensation against his fingertips.

Without the beast demanding his whole focus, only now did the pianist's eyes catch sight of the tiny feet crawling along at shoulder height. Antennas, only differentiating from the ones that had been in front of him by size, protruded from the flat surface of the wall, drawing attention to the cockroach to which they were attached.

An insect that would be so insignificant were it not for the iron waft and eerie sense that accompanied it.

Mitsuki did not know where Erinyes had come from, but considering what he was about to attempt, he did not mind her presence.

The cockroach unveiled secrets in the darkness that had previously embroiled the room in an air of mistaken mystery. It was decrepit in a way that polarised the upstairs of the church, so mundane compared to the latter’s grandiosity. Mundane, if not for the sense of purpose that had led the monster to the room that marked it as more significant than Carmen would have thought.

The monster was a whirlwind of violence, voracity etching every movement, every tear and slam that spoke of its strength - and also conveyed either an innate swiftness or sloppy desperation. It would not surprise Carmen, perhaps even be expected if it were meant to take advantage of the initial attack to scrounge for something. She would not have to kill it then, simply delay.

The monster’s voice resounded around the small room before freezing, pausing, searching. It broke away the stone flooring to reveal a trap door with…something. Instinctively, she squinted despite the fact that she was not using her physical eyes. Her roach paused, examining as Maestro pulled out a gun and a harmonica, judging whether the Hydra would’ve noticed it by now. He should’ve, and if he hadn’t? He would find out soon enough.

The cockroach abandoned the wall, gliding down near the trapdoor. A more effective view, as Carmen couldn’t deny that she wasn’t intrigued by whatever was hidden down there. The monster flew up, flashes of something behind its teeth as it prepared to leave the room. They were out of time; she would need to get personally involved now.

He watched as the cockroach took off in a flurry of wings and limbs, a tiny speck that soon became unrecognizable in the darkness. At the same moment, the larger insect emerged from the hatch, proudly announcing its discovery and indirectly hinting at its departure. Now there was no more reason for it to linger any longer.

With a serenity that did not match the urgency of the situation, he aimed between the creature's eyes. The safety flicked off and a moment later the echo of the shot thundered through the closed room. It did not matter if the bullet hit its target or missed by a foot. The only thing that mattered was getting his attention and provoking some anger.

Not that Mitsuki would complain if it dropped dead at that very moment.

As he slammed the door open, the light from the corridor flooded into the room, casting a sickly shine over everything. His gaze lingered briefly on the woman standing outside, before turning to their foe. His other hand raised the instrument to his lips as he hurried through the doorway, breathing the first of many notes that would ring through the air.

There were not many suitable emotions for this situation. Happiness would not keep him here, while fear might make him disappear even faster. Fatigue sounded like a way out, if he was willing to slow down his ally and risk the creature pushing through the imposed exhaustion. He doubted they could catch it if it tried to escape.

But the solution to this dilemma was simple. It could not flee and fight at the same time. While rage was a good start, bloodlust seemed like a well-signed contract. And who could resist such a prospect?

With every breath, notes danced from the harmonica. Rhythms that danced and bounced off the walls, clashing and burning with every echo they created. A piece of music that could enrage the souls of its two listeners, make their blood boil with greed and their fingers tremble with excitement. stomachor.

The cockroach’s gaze flickered towards Maestro, who with an almost languid way of moving, pointed and shot the gun. The air shattered, ringing in the confines of the now-ruined room. If Carmen were lucky, the monster would’ve died from the well-aimed shot, but as history has shown, she was not one blessed by fate.

The door slammed open, courtesy of Maestro, casting the room in a pallid light that highlighted looming shadows and the carnage that had claimed it. Discarding her cockroach, she turned her head to make eye contact with the other Hydra, narrowing her eyes at the simple harmonica turned threatening with the touch of his hands. None of his music would reach Carmen’s ears tonight.

A blink and the disjointed sound of crackling fire and blades clanging superseded her hearing. Yells and screams fuelled by savagery and alarm. Some familiar, some not. A ferocity and brutality that allowed her to easily visualise the blood seeping through cracks in the pavement and corpses still warm and charred by the blaze. The swooping of wings against air was also intermittently present, the marking of a spectator in the attackers’ schemes.

It was an intimate incohesiveness, when otherwise she was still outside a dingy room, preparing for a fight that had not yet come. One of the many things Carmen could find scraps of comfort in where others only found malaise. Nevertheless, it was disturbing not to take such an important sense into a fight, but she didn’t have a choice unless she would rather be affected by Maestro’s music. Either way, her wealth of experiences had left her more experienced than most fighting deaf. As always, she would make do.

Her body remained tense, motionless in a way unexpected for someone in a confrontation set to erupt. She would leave the stage to Maestro to keep the creature here, and she would have to have faith that the pure fact that he was still alive after years of gang warfare meant he had a decent plan. Her part would come later, once it was apparent what the creature was going to do.

For now, Carmen would scrutinize and contemplate, stitching together strategies until she would have to smoothly pass from observation to conflict.

 
Rosamia Vérany
CS Link
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Silk Meyers | thebigfella thebigfella
HOSTILE TAKEOVER

The masked visage snaps up the the sound. There’s no-one there, but even over the din of chaos, she hears the distinct sound of rapid footfalls slowly fading away. Through the mask, Rosamia squints. All she sees is a bottle that’s been knocked over. Gloved fingers reach for the grip of the gun in her coat. Her legs are already carrying her forward. No witnesses; it would be troublesome for someone to escape. Knowing the little details might unravel too much of her power for the rest of the city to know.

Granted, it was impossible to truly conceal anything. There would always be a time where secrets leaked. Lips loosened by wine; the touch of a woman; or the feeling of steel on their temple; there were many ways to pry secrets from the unwilling. And with how desperate people could be when dealing with her kind…

Any advantage, any scrap of information would be a boon to anyone, and a severe detriment to the Association’s shadier side.

Rosamia held up a reputation with her mask on. Little vocalization, efficient work. Her power was quite the tool in the hands of the Association. Losing that would be quite the blow to the Association, and in turn, endangered her operation. How else would her father’s wild oats that he left to sway in the violent winds of New Oasis survive without her?

And really, the fact that the Alleycats had someone who couldn’t be seen? A potential asset for the Association. Certainly would do much to improve her standing in her associated clan as someone beyond a foreign recruit. If they could be convinced, that is.

Rosamia can hear the chaos in the interior of the Alleycats’ little castle reach a crescendo. The Guroko forces were beginning to move in, judging by the shouts of Sankaiese over the din of panic coming at the front. The men that were supposed to help blockade the back entrance hadn’t arrived yet; delays? Or did they simply choose to go all in?

Well, whatever. Her fingers close in on the submachine gun’s grip, and with a swift, smooth motion, she unleashes a hail of bullets in the direction of the sound, aiming low.



 
Conrad Carter
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
INTERACTIONS:
The Metal Angel @kakemha River HTCOR HTCOR Hari BriiAngelic BriiAngelic
Hostile Takeover

Why would one saunter into the heart of conflict so casually? It could only be the root of arrogance. Conrad’s eyes scanned the graveyard, decorated with the writhing corpses of bodies who had yet to realize their time was already up. They had forced themselves into his domain and paid the price for their ignorance or something pompous.

Conrad was amused; that much was evident on his face. Guroko had been going around like they owned the place since they showed themselves first. They continued to be thorns who considered themselves to be the rose. While he never would have gone out of the way to start a fight with them himself, if a fight came to him, well…

In a blur of motion, limbs moved quickly and cut through the air like a knife. Not even the glint in the corner of Conrad’s eye would have given him enough time to react; his expression didn’t even get a chance to change before a sharp kick was flying toward his skull.

But then it passed the threshold.

Immediately, Hari’s shoe burst aflame; it melted and fused into his skin as it sizzled; immense heat suddenly coursed through his own body, and his nerves, and lymph felt the agony course through them all the way to the brain as the sudden jump in thousand of degrees had no build-up.

The kick made contact, and the speed of such caused Conard’s face to ripple to the opposite side of the impact; like it was made of jelly, it pulled off his skull, revealing his teeth and gums, the depths of his sockets, before the muscles pulled it back taut to his body, soon the momentum followed as his head reeled back, blood and spit burst from behind his teeth, broken molars fell onto the floor behind the river of red as it spilled down his chin.

His drink flew out of his hand, scattering what was left of its contents across the floor.

And then splatters against his back. Metal shrapnel, at least it was until it passed through the boundary and became nothing more than splatters of melted steel that splashed against his back, burning through his clothes and singing spots alight as the hot droplets trailed down his back like sweat.


Conrad crumbled to his knee, his hand placed onto the ground as he breathed heavily, mind still reeling from the impact. The ground warped under him. It glowed and began to sink and melt, its structure breaking down under his feet, concaving beneath his weight as the stone grew brittle and concave. Steam wafted off his entire body, water from the sprinklers vaporizing before they made contact with him.

“You fuckin’...” Conrad cursed out, bringing a hand to cover his bleeding mouth, the taste of copper coating his taste buds, and more blood continued to soak through the gaps of his fingers.

But, eventually, a chuckle left his lips as he went to glance at Hari with a smirk, showcasing his missing teeth and bloodied whites, “How’s that foot feel, huh!?” He spat, pulling his portly body back to his feet, “I’m pretty damn hot!”

His glare turned to the other Guroko, who was still writhing from the burns of steam; some of them were trying to get back up to their feet, a look of defiance in their eyes as their bodies screamed in defiance from the stress upon traumatized cell walls.

Conrad reached a hand out towards the fallen Guroko with a twisted smile, “Maybe it’s about time I turn the heat up and kill them?” Before raising another hand towards Hari, he suggested, “Or maybe I should put you out of your misery?”

“Feel free to try and stop me. The only thing that will happen is that you’ll be melted into nothing!”

The air physically rippled around him; heat distortion of the molecules crafted a vibrating sphere that encased his form, writhing and dancing as steam once again began to take over the scene; so long as those sprinklers were working, he’d be able to cook everyone without even having to get close!






???
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Choji locked n loaded locked n loaded Hikari RoninN7 RoninN7
Hostile Takeover

A single room sat on the second floor. Its importance was left all clear but incredibly vague at the same time. That word was on the black nameplate placed on the wooden door. It had already been creaked open, allowing the shadows from inside to seep out.

The sounds of someone shuffling through papers and opening drawers indicated that someone else had a taste for information and already had their fill. Within the room's dark corners was a silhouette; the faint light at the end of a cigarette danced through the umbra as they moved along the walls, pulling out the metal file cabinets to put their painted nails through the lettered sections.

The office was fitting for a seedy nightclub; old leather sofas sat across each other, separated by a small marble table lined with wooden edges, with a full ashtray in the middle. A desk sat at the end of the room; it was sprawled with all types of things, loose money and unstacked papers, folded pictures, baggies of mysterious powder, and vials of unknown liquid had their place on the corner of the desk.

There didn’t seem to be much desire for clean business; a dartboard that hung on the backside of the door was left covered with a recent game, and the rug underneath had gotten stained by alcohol and ashes alike. Dust decorated the tops of places out of reach, and areas within grasp had instead been left with residue upon the handles.

Nonetheless, the mysterious figure prowled through the office, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she reached the main desk; she bent low, pulling out a shelf only to find a more disorganized mess within.

Frustration made her bite down on her cigarette; it bent upward, creasing at the end upon her red-painted lips.

“Where are you hiding it, Conrad?” She spoke bitterly, not letting herself be deterred as she continued to pull out papers and toss them upon the ground, looking for one specific thing.

Whatever she was after, it seemed she wasn’t a fan of the Alleycats leader. This second floor could act as a neutral ground to share information.





Silk Meyers
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Rosamia TheRealAngeloftheStorm TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Hostile Takeover

Silk’s footsteps were too loud for him to realize it was too late to escape. He was ready to round the corner; he wanted answers for the commotion and to see what had befallen their club. Had the Guroko run in and already ended everything before they could enact any counter-attack? Was Conrad’s confidence finally his undoing? He was desperate to see the answer, but it would seem that would have to come later.

The rapid fire of arms bullets came through the air. Silk heard them whizz through the air moments before they nailed into his skin. They slammed into his reinforced flesh, cracking through the deeper layers of skin as he stumbled; blood gushed onto the floor; it soaked into the ground and left a trail behind him as he limped his legs along a few more steps before the pain of the bullet wounds finally signaled to his brain he had been shot.

While he was lucky that being an HP kept this from being worse than it could be, it still hurt quite a lot. His teeth gritted as he fell to the ground, having to use his hands to keep him from falling face-first into the cement.

Soon, his camouflage dissipated, no longer having any purpose to keep it up, with blood clearly indicating his location. Sweat began to form at the bridge of his brow as he started to think.

Why had they aimed low? That was the thought that immediately came to him. They weren’t trying to kill him. That was clear as his brain leveled through calm consideration despite his situation.

So, what did they want from him? For a moment, he considered standing back up and going right into a brawl; indeed, with his abilities, he could catch them off guard; if he could buy a few seconds, that’s all he needed.

But, instead, he kept himself on the ground. It was clear this opponent wanted something, but what?

He needed to play his cards right; he wasn’t intent on getting hit with more bullets if he could help. He just had to hope that everything inside was handled.

“I need to keep them occupied,” Silk decided, his slitted eyes narrowing as he gripped his hands tightly into his fists, “That potential that allows them to just “appear” while attacking from somewhere unknown. It’s something more powerful than my camouflage. If they go against that, not even Richie would stand a chance…”


Slowly, Silk pulled himself back to his feet; he didn’t make any sudden movements; he didn’t even bother to look behind him while standing there, blood spilling from his legs and soaking in his pants as he kept his stance broad.

“Let’s hear it then,” Silk spoke matter-of-factly, finally glancing over his shoulder at his mysterious assailant with his slitted eyes; they glimmered within the moonlight.

“Why didn’t you bother aiming higher? Intent on talking to me?”

 
CESARE PARLATORE
CS Link
SCENE:
Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]
LOCATION:
Ballroom, West Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Vernon, Alessia, Arthur, Dominic, Cesare, Marcello, Toby
PANIC IN PARADISE
“Oh, different part of Amestria. So interesting. I haven’t traveled much, but I wonder why you’re here.” Well, it was fairly obvious, but the obvious would’ve made much more sense if this guy looked worthy to be here on his own merits. The idea that this guy wound up in New Oasis by choice almost made him more respectable. Almost. Cesare didn’t feel particularly respectful. And Toby had undone any goodwill he earned by taking up more of the precious air around him and Alessia anyway. “Thank you, doll, and yeah I could tell. I could tell he was bothering you, that is. You wouldn’t rather step outside with me for a bit?” Just like that, he’d gone the route of exclusion again, stepping toward Alessia, shifting his body to highlight the fact he wasn’t interested in making more conversation with the Amestrian. Unfortunately for him, more opponents were rapidly approaching.

It was hard to contain his frustration as Carlos entered the conversation, but he retained a calm face for his lady accompaniment. He couldn’t help but be amused by her apparent auto knowledge - he’d much rather trust himself, or his mechanic, thanks - but maybe it wasn’t so much of an undesirable trait. She was pretty, after all. It seemed they were much more interested in Alessia than himself, but that didn’t deter Cesare.

“Name’s Cesare, Miss.” His attention was focused on Cadence. “I’m sure we could have a lot to talk about”
 
VERNON FARNESE
CS Link
SCENE:
Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]
LOCATION:
Ballroom, West Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Vanessa thebigfella thebigfella
PANIC IN PARADISE

One would chase with quite the gait.

Should they see a flowery beauty.

But old and withered is this bait.

Still, you should follow your duty.


A figure clad in raven black made her appearance, a wrinkled and seasoned visage barely hidden behind a silken veil. A woman past her prime, quite the shame to be frank, one look at her facial ratio showed she must have been quite the desired maiden a few decades ago. Vernon stared with apparent indifference at her uninvited inclusion to the table, it wasn't like he really minded it, anyways, as Kruger's company had grown quite...Not stale or undesired, not at all! The young Farnese would never be as disrespectful to think such things! But it did in fact turn...somewhat dulled.

Kruger's jollier demeanor turned more subservient, his shoulders descending meekly. Whoever this signora was, her identity over the second-in-command's knowledge, her position must be one of power and influence. To Vernon himself, that was nothing short of great news, his lips beaming brightly as his finger tapped on his cigarrette, the residue gently falling on the ashtray. He then brought the radiant tip into his mouth, the moisture within instantly dousing the embers, not feeling even a tingle on his tongue.

Dropping the whole thing on the ashtray, Vernon turned to Kruger, a simple glance leading the chubbier man to follow the same action, to which he complied nervously.

"The Boss? Well, I must say that it's a little hard knowing all that well, the great seas put quite the gap between us, after all." He replied, the man's attention now fully back on the mysterious woman. "But should I follow the news that travel through the papers and mouths alike, as well as a little bit of gut feeling, then I would say..." He leaned in, smiling as his chin layed atop his resting hands.

"The man is doing wonderfully, still kicking around with the heart of a bull and the wits of a fox, sometimes I even think he aims to turn centenary before anyone can claim his gilded chair."

He needed to fear not of letting on too much, for this ancient damsel had her own deep well of knowledge, and it didn't take a detective to be able to tell that much.

"Now, could I perhaps know who I'm having the pleasure to speak with, right now? I would gladly introduce myself first, but I believe you're one step ahead with that, already."

 
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Carlos | Trevisani | Pain im Paradise






The dismissal was easy to pick up on and Cadence took it with class, even though it could have been misconstrued as a false jab despite the confirmation given there was nothing foul in regards to how Alessia herself had framed it, the sudden closure for conversation was rather abrupt.

At the end of the day though, as a journalist, Cadence was not phased by a one time turn away, as simple as Alessia had stated she smiled in appreciation and merely replied in kind, “If you'll have me then I would be delighted to converse with you again, at a better time.” Curtsying in kind to her friend Toby, and shifting her attention away from him, to the next male acquaintance addressing her.

Red hair streamed over in strands on an eye and Cadence pushed aside the strands over dark purple manicured nails, half-lidded bright green eyes finally acknowledging Cesare.

“Cadence” was her simple reply. “It's a pleasure to meet you Cesare. And how do you know Miss Alessia?” she asked with a curious glance.

“He works security,” was how Carlos answered it. Nudging Cesare with a cheeky grin. Well aware that he had been intruding on his attempt to engage one gem of the Trevisani family.

“Oh do you now?” her gaze shifting from Carlos to Cesare. “ I was starting to wonder just what your occupation was given how, well, if you'll pardon my observations- fit, you are.” A compliment if there were one more subtle.

While Cadence engaged Cesare, Carlos turned his shaded gaze over to Alessia and her companion.

His gaze invisible to them both as: ‘the eyes have walls and ears’, echoed in his head.

“I assume the conversation so far between you two has been rather entertaining, the party certainly seemed lively earlier, it's too bad I missed that”, eyes noticed the distant bullet markings of what Burnwood had ordained to display for his little show before. “I trust you two won't be bored out of your minds to add another to the conversation.”

As Cadence in the same instant took the opportunity to close in on Cesare, and ask a second question about himself. If he was, for example, willing to show her around since Carlos was on duty, unless of course he had work to attend to also?

The long eyelash batting she did with those beautiful bright green gems for eyes, had an effect in making the bright toothed smile she gave him, heavy hitting.

In which Carlos pushed the envelope with Alessia and stated: “How have you been enjoying yourself so far my queen?” As if he had just forgotten that she would cringe at the terminology. Only to, “Is there anything you and Sir Toby would like while I am within reach? Shall I flag a bus boy or mayhaps I could introduce you both to one or two Miss Cadence had mentioned to me en route here. My task after all is to ensure your safety and that of course extends to any friend of yours.” And though his eyes were invisible behind the shades, his presence radiated to Toby a welcoming warmth not a single gun toting doofus here could hope to match any day.





Mentions: SoupMan0512 SoupMan0512 TheImmortalDeity TheImmortalDeity

Interactions: WhiskeyMarten WhiskeyMarten thebigfella thebigfella @angel doe
 
Helena P. Letya
CS LINK
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Jacques, Yelizaveta, Sanya, Helen, Nika, Grisha
Union Born Under Starlight
Helen was a lone cat by trade. Detective gigs were hush hush and the fewer folks in the loop, the better. Going solo was not always bad; it meant she called the shots on how to crack a case wide open. Most of the time, she liked her options open. She committed to no body until she got her facts down and she only left breadcrumbs when it couldn't be helped. The thrill of nosing around was only matched by the risk of stickin' her nose where it didn't belong. Too many times she had to go low after her tail was caught and she considered herself the lucky ones.

Unfortunately, Meteor Molotov had about as much subtlety as a bull in a china shop. Her eyes twitched as his booming voice broke the ambiguity of her presence. Pretending to be a ghost was out of the book now. No one in Mississippi River wouldn't remember seeing the huge hulking man on the factory floor and that meaty paw on her shoulder meant they would remember her just as well.

"You blew out my eardrums, pal," She brushed Grisha's hand off and rolled her eyes. "And Cleveland here's still on the clock. Let's scram... but you got any dirt on the unions, bud?"

She repeated her question to Cleveland. She couldn't walk away empty-handed. "Condition here ain't the best. Unions sound like a ticket to greener pastures, if you catch my drift."

 
RIVER JOHNSON
CS Link
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Conrad thebigfella thebigfella , Hari BriiAngelic BriiAngelic , The Metal Angel @Kakamha, ???
Hostile Takeover


Stone and steel alike turned liquid underneath Conrad's grasp- and new tactics would have to be adopted. First, supply ally with weaponry able to withstand heat, second, note what casualties are acceptable. Medical staples made from titanium and tantalum would fulfill the first, while all those on the floor within the sea of steam would be marked as the latter.

And so the box of staples were removed from her bag, tossed towards Metal Angel, before River bolted to the exit. "Works better! Be back- getting counter." The door burst open to let the evening chill whip in, scientist replaced by chemist.

The sound of dress shoes clacked across pavement as River skidded to a halt behind her car. A mental ping sent out to confirm a chemical formula and the ingredients listed would ensure the proper reaction. Within a second came a confirmation- so River popped the trunk open and pulled out the vital parts of her plan. A shortened trench gun that she slung around her shoulder, a box of slugs shoved into a pocket, and most importantly- her car fire extinguisher. With that, she began to sprint back to the building, the gleam of copper and gunmetal bouncing along.

 
Yelizaveta Vasiliev
CS Link
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Helen, Jacques, Sanya
Union Born Under Strarlight
"Business, business... Always business... That is the fetish of this nation, isn't it?" The folder slid into Yelizaveta's hands, but the glance she afforded it was cursory at best. A flutter of paper, just brief enough to plant an inkling of the contents therein within her mind. There was a sigh, and then she passed off the folder into Sanya's lap. Leather squeaked and springs strained as Yelizaveta lifted herself from her seat and wandered across the room, her gaze set upon one of Graham's countless knick-knack trophies.

"Mister Graham, Miss Sawyer... Do you know much of this animal?" One of the dozens of stuffed birds stared down on the room from behind a set of lifeless, beady eyes. Without asking, Yelizaveta plucked it from its perch. "It's a sort of swallow, native to an island off of the coast of Kohitsuji. The isle, Mudana I think it was called, is quite far from the mainland, so aside from the migratory seabirds, most of the species native to the place can be found there and only there. Island ecosystems, that's a phenomenon in and of itself, but not much topical for the task at hand, hmmm? The Mudanan Swallow. that's what this lovely little specimen is. Were you aware that it's an endangered species?"

She went on through the room, her eyes flitting from one specimen and then the next. If one were ignorant of the circumstances, the slow, meticulous manner in which she browsed the sea of glass eyes and formalin-stained flesh for a sort of shopping. If one weren't ignorant of her nature, they would've known that was more or less exactly what she was doing.

"Sailors, you see..." As she spoke the word, the caw of Zharkov's cosmic eagle came from beyond the office. "During wartime, they'll often use the island as a base. It's quite the position... Useful for refueling and deployment. So these sailors, each time there's a war they set up shop. At first, it's just a dock and a shed, but one civil war, a few foreign conflicts, and one supported revolution later and it's an entire shipyard... There's lodging, food and drink... So long as supplies keep coming from the mainland, it's enough to call home, and so, home was what a few people started to call it. The shipyard expands- it's a small village now- and people do as people do..."

Finally, she paused. Her fingers plucked another creature from the menagerie. Small and fuzzy. A long, stringy tail.

"And of course, where people go... So do rats. Not this rat, mind you, I believe the first to beach the island was a tree-dwelling one from Amestralia, but I digress... You see, the animals in these island ecosystems tend to be quite fragile. There's only so many niches to fill and only so much to go around... So they settle into a sort of harmony. It's beautiful, in a sense, but only in the same was as a piece of fine china. Lovely to look at... But fragile to the touch. The sailors... The shipyard... The village... Those were the touches, and the rats were the cracks. Sequestered away on this island, the Mudanan Swallow had no predators... And now it did. Bit by bit, the rats spread through the island... Eating eggs out of nests, mostly, and so the swallows start to dwindle..."

Yelizaveta had made a full circle of the office now. Stuffed animals still in hand, she'd come to a stop near the room's entrance, her gaze cast out over the factory floor below.

"The locals, though... If you can even call them that... They notice. They'd taken a fondness to the animal, you see, and named it a sort of local icon. Naturally, then, this isn't the sort of thing that they could let stand... So out come the rat traps. They stock the woods full of baited wooden boxes and dunk buckets, but it's already too late. The rats slow down, but they don't stop. Worse yet, they learn. If all of these traps are set on the forest floor, then they need simply take back to the canopy. Right where the swallows nest, of course. So the swallows dwindle further and further... The locals grow desperate, so they call in the conservationists. They identify that the rats, much like the swallow once did, simply have no predators in this foreign land. So they introduce one... An eagle. They import of a flock of the things, set them loose... And it works. The rats are never driven out, never fully... But now it's an ecosystem again. The swallows start to recover and all's well... But it's never the same. The island knows apex predation, now... It isn't harmony anymore. It's..."

A wry smile, worn by a head cocked over a shoulder. Yelizaveta's attention sat on Graham and then passed to Sanya, which was where it now sat.

"...Well. What do you two think? It's an interesting story, no? This business, it's not much different. Pest control, yes?" She left the window and went to the door. Metal creaked as she pushed it wide and stepped out onto the iron scaffolding that hung above the factory floor. "It'll make for a story, at the very least... I'll give it a look." Her attention was already on the floor as she left. There were faces she recognized... From the Syndicate, but not the folder. She'd trust Sanya with that.

"You can consider these part of my payment, by the way." She called back at Graham, waving the stuffed swallow over her shoulder as she went. "I'm quite fond of trifles, too..."

Interacted: AnemoVictorious AnemoVictorious thebigfella thebigfella
Relevant: Haze- Haze- Damafaud Damafaud Coyote Hart Coyote Hart Seraphine Seraphine
 
Last edited:
PADRE
CS Link
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 (Bite Back and Tear Through)
LOCATION:
Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Succour, East Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Mitsuki, Eiji
Bite Back and Tear Through
The priest, if his two saviours and one aggressor had noticed, was immobile. His golden eyes glared defiantly through the gaps of Okubo's fingers as they made to flatten his skull– no, it was not just defiance. It was defiance, pity, disgust, scorn, all blended into one simple glare, a glare that one would turn upon the common masses if they made a grasp at silken robes. He lifted his hand, and–

Fell to the ground, Okubo’s disembodied hands falling with him. The priest straightened up and dusted himself down, almost nonplussed that he almost had his head crushed between the vice grip of the giant. “That’s enough, children.” Though his words were minimal, the tone of which they were delivered almost sounded…ungrateful, as if he could have handled this on his own.

“I have perceived, and I have understood.” Each word rang and hung in the burning night wind like temple bells, shrill and chilling. “Diplomacy is lost on the likes of you. Because of your actions, your allies and comrades will know no same mercy as you did. You have no one to blame but yourself. May that weight carry you to the depths of hell.”

“Now, stand back, children,” he commanded the two Hydras that had assisted him, at the very least out of some level of compassion for them.

He threw his hand forwards, one last magnanimous gesture to the giant man, a glimpse of what the Man Who Houses Demons was capable of, if his tiny mind could ever comprehend it in his last moments. "I promised you to be scattered in the four winds. I am a man of my word." The ground beneath Okubo erupted with a rush of all-consuming flame, drowning the screams with the roar of the devil himself.



Stern LuLuLu Stern LuLuLu
AriAriAbabwa AriAriAbabwa
 
DOMINIC SIMMONS & TOBY PATERSON
NPCS
SCENE:
Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic In Paradise]
LOCATION:
Ballroom, West Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Alessia @angel doe, Arthur SoupMan0512 SoupMan0512 Cesare WhiskeyMarten WhiskeyMarten Carlos The Regal Rper The Regal Rper
PANIC IN PARADISE


This was beginning to become a situation.

He had clammed up a long moment ago. Approached by more unrecognizable figures, the chains on his ankles grew heavier. He had no interest in involving himself with the business of mafiosos, and despite stepping into the realm of politics as Mr. Simmon's aide, he was hoping he would have a bit more years before he had to find himself gripping with the chains that bound crime and legality.

No, he was overreacting. Nothing had happened yet. A small breath exhaled from his nose as he shakily reached for his tie. The influence of Trevisani had run through his nerves like a toxin, but his body was still free from any “poison.” Pressure pushed onto him didn’t make it any easier to avoid the temptation to swallow heavily, considering his words.

A man in black had entered the scene, and with his large frame was that air...or more akin to an aroma. His mind began to slow, his tension faded away without his consent, and the look in his eyes softened, almost glazed, as he felt all his worries melt into nothingness. An overactive mind of his should have questioned what had happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. A slight breath of relief came from his nose as he adjusted his tie.

This new mafioso seemed different; compared to the other brutes, he was much more composed, and just from a glance, he seemed more reasonable. He had a feeling that no harm would befall him so long as he was here.

Suddenly, he no longer seemed bothered to be housed within a tiger pit; a feeling of agitation and despair was waved away, and now he was forced to be aware of the woman who had joined the conversation; he recognized her faintly. She was a journalist amongst the masses who had come to some of Simmons' speeches.

Toby hesitated to introduce himself to a journalist with the same loose lips that spilled worriedly toward Alessia Trevisani. The questions of the press were the last thing he wanted to deal with, and news about a mayoral candidate at a Trevisani party wouldn’t be much less than a headache for the campaign; unfortunately, despite his warnings, Simmons hadn’t listened to that advice.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice. He was introduced at the behest of Alessia, and a soft hand against his back, in other circumstances, would have probably gained a reaction that would have outed him as being way over his head, but instead, it felt comforting, almost as if he forgot the blood that ran through those ligaments were touching him wasn’t far from “cursed.”

As far as he was concerned, he was happy that the brute, who seemed to like talking in what he could assume was Fusilian, had already lost interest in him. He could just leave, couldn’t he? A small excuse would free him from being amongst this crime family any longer than he had to, back to the side of his boss where he could do all the talking.

Yet, instead of scurrying away, Toby was glued to his spot, no longer out of fear. He looked at Carlos with a smile, a slight rub on the back of his neck as he bowed his head slightly in appreciation.

“Water would be nice, if possible. I’m a bit thirsty,” he admitted. “Mr. Simmons has been running me around all day…”

He spoke without worry, and loose lips led him to talk with a smile as words that ought to not be said came from his lips.

“Truth be told, I thought of you as nothing but invaders who were going to tear the city apart; I wanted nothing to do with you all, especially that guy,” Toby fearlessly pointed a finger towards Cesare, that grin on his face almost seeming mocking, “but maybe I might have been a bit too quick on my judgment.”

He admittedly freely. It seemed like he wasn’t in a state to hold onto worries and secrets anymore.






Marcello Trevisani
SCENE:
Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]
LOCATION:
Ballroom, West Ward
INTERACTION:
Arthur SoupMan0512 SoupMan0512
Panic in Paradise

Marcello was quiet as Arthur prattled on. His eyes, that gaze that always seemed to perceive everything, focused not on him but instead gazed upon the bottle. He was unsurprised at the sudden costume change,

The tale he spun was an interesting one. He had no experience in the anesthetics market; illegal smuggling wasn’t his forte or interest. Marcello would have told Arthur how little he cared for his explanation if he was a man without tact, but he assumed that was a mutual understanding between them both. At the end of the day, worth defined everything, from chance meetings to fated connections; it all came back to price.

The art of the deal, however, proposed more than just a flat rate; the market fluctuated, and stories were part of that variable; the pathway of a product ties more into its price, like a bottle of fine wine or the work of an old craftsman, and even the knowledge gifted from an experienced teacher. As dull as it was, the tale of illegal smuggling that brought the bottle to the tray only made it all the more enticing, even if Marcello had little need nor interest in it.

But this wasn’t a problem; it was just the condiment, was it not?

“Sacred trust?” Marcello regurgitated the words as he crossed one arm over the other, “That’s your humble reward? That request must be one of the greediest demands known to man. It’s a loan with interest rates that would transcend your bloodline,” Marcello said calmly. For any other Trevisani, trying to put them in debt would have earned a laugh, a guffaw so hard their lungs would give out. But Marcello wasn’t so short-sighted. He was a fan of a chess game, and while pawns may move differently from knights, they all can take the king.

Which was Burnwood, he wondered?

“‘When giving something, expect nothing in return, but expect everything.’ I'm sure you know that is the unspoken doctrine of the Trevisani. Making requests, and one so glutinous is yours, is almost disgustingly self-indulgent. How greedy you are.”

Marcello shook his head, and then his hand reached towards the bottle, offering a palm to take it.

“There will be no deal. Instead, I will take it. As a gift. And a generous gift deserves a generous gift in return, wouldn’t you say?”

Marcello, a specimen of Trevisani pride, looked at Arthur with plainness. Trevisani would never turn down a gift, and they would never let themselves be placed into debt to someone else. A gift from a prominent family member was a blessing in itself, but Burnwood wouldn’t be able to guess the form it would come in.

It would be a gamble he’d have to decide on.




Vanessa Iozzo
SCENE:
Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]
LOCATION:
Ballroom, West Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Vernon Roda the Red Roda the Red
Panic in Paradise

“Hmm.” A faint hum came from the woman’s thin lips as they hovered away from the flower-rimmed glass. The cup contacting the saucer punctuated the silence as she listened.

“A heart of a bull, wits of a fox, yet the temperament of an untamed boar,” she added, almost in a sense of correction, a part of the animal kingdom missed within this chimera of legend. “It gives me relief to know he’s safe…in his pen,” she spoke in her sedated tone, only the faint hoarseness of years coming through her evasive inflections.

She reached for a nearby napkin and slowly patted her lips dry upon it, stains of her black lipstick covered its formerly pristine white, as she promptly folded it and held it out so a man in a suit could quickly take it, like a well-oiled machine a waiter had appeared in tandem, placing another napkin to replace it, without even a second of delay. Meanwhile, his other hand was busy refilling her cup, steam floating through the air.

“Vanessa Iozzo,” she didn’t introduce herself with much fanfare, no ‘pleasure to meet’ you or ‘the pleasure’s all yours,’ it was incredibly dry, curt. Barolo, Amarone, dry red wines, such as her aura, though maybe it had begun to ferment into vinegar.

“Depending on how cognizant you are. You will know I’m one of the few Conquest Leaders,” she spoke of the title with just as much monotone as she did everything else; only the hint of slowness in her delivery indicated any distinct feelings within her words as she reached toward the bowl of sugars that had just been placed neatly beside her without her request.

“As the second-in-command of the Farnese Family, you officially represent them for this conquest,” she continued. A dainty pair of fingers, grabbing a spoon and a sugar cube, dropped in, and she began to stir. You understand the importance of your position,” she stopped, letting the spoon rest against the rim as the contents continued to spin around and around after the movement had stopped.

“I decided it would be best to approach you to remind you briefly where you sit. Someone as young as you might prefer to think of this as a vacation or a trial when it is not such.”

And with one opposite turn of the spoon within her grasp, the vortex stopped. “I just want you to be aware. I will be watching you. I do not mean this as a threat, but just to reach an equal understanding of our positions. In a sense, you could consider me your administrator. So please keep that in mind. I avoid allowing mistakes to arise by stopping it at the source.”

The scent of herbs floated through the air as the steam continued to rise from the cup.

 
???
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Helena Damafaud Damafaud Grisha Seraphine Seraphine
Union Born Under Starlight

Cleveland was left dumbfounded at Helen’s blunt statement, a tilt of his head as he placed his hands on at his side, a slight droop in his posture as it seemed she was no longer interested in his ramblings.

“Union. What about it?” He nonetheless played along, at this point he was okay keeping the conversation going so long as he could keep himself from having to unfortunately return to his back-breaking labor. Soon after he would regret such a decision, as things quickly took a turn for the strange.

A hulking figure entered the fray, his loud voice and his breadth of personality immediately made Cleveland freeze for a second, he stared, bug-eyed and frazzled, as the man’s voice boomed off the steel walls.

He stood there, blinking without saying a word, without responding to any of the questions, only with a blank look on his face. And then, something clicked, his expression immediately brightened, eyes widening as a smile came upon his tired features.

“Ohhh! You're one of the Stars, huh! Well throw a hammer at my head!” He exclaimed with an appreciative gleam of his eyes, such was common for those Stars, their worker relations were nothing short of great, a support in the time of need that at least tried to work within the corrupt system to make their lives better.

“Well, if you two are Stars, you’re here to help the union, right?” Cleveland spoke, an understanding nod of his head, “I’m not part of it myself,” he explained, and his jovial acceptance of the Stars was broken up by a bit of hesitation as his eyes went elsewhere for a moment, “I’m…a bit scared of…him. Mr. Graham that is. I’d prefer to keep myself out of it,” he said with a sullen look of shame, before he let it fall to the wayside, turning to look off the side. Past the railing, down the steps, through the aisles of dripping metal and hot slag, weaving through conveyor belts and tattered bodies dressed in soot, was a small section designated to “shaping”, the job involving playing with hot liquid metal, flinging it around into molds and bending it into form. The large cauldrons poured hot magma down slants that poured into reservoirs which people bent down to scoop out of only armed with a few hand tools to shovel and dump the product.

“Over there, there’s a guy, name’s Mack. He’s been around, he was workin’ with Phil when that incident happened a few months back. If anyone would know about the union, it’d be him. Fair warning though, he ain’t much of a talker.”



 
Jacques H. Fontaine
.
CS Link
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc I: Scene I [union born under starlight.]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Helen, Yelizaveta, Sanya, Grisha, Nika
UNION BORN UNDER STARLIGHT.

Jackie let out a hearty, haughty laugh as Rudy stitched together his BLT abomination, forced it down his gullet— damn near having to reel into himself not to choke on his own sandwich as he watched him. There was a hint of genuine amusement there, had you a modicum of understanding for how Jack functioned; he did not expect the man to do that at all.

“My wife, Miriam, was the one to pick the name for us.” — Again, ‘popular Fusilian baby names’ — “I could never come up with that sort of stuff, too indecisive for it. Said it was her grandfather’s name or somethin’ along those lines, can’t recall exactly what she told me.”

He wasn’t lying, then. He had a wife, probably loved her enough to do whatever the hell he’d just done with a straight face. He was real. But why wouldn’t he be?

Why was he gauging him, still? He hadn’t an idea himself. Call it a kick of instinct.

There were no honest men here. No, those were taken and kept to the kinder, gentler parts of the north, up where the smog clears and the sun smiles down at those who were still hopeful of it. Not here. The light, if there ever is any, does little more than sear the eyes of the hopeless in its passing.

The world, as he knew it, was a lazy, slap-hand rendition of a brutalist’s modern day and age. As if the artist had been too bored to figure it out by themselves, just grazing the brush across the stencil and letting whatever shape came out of it dry up there, careless. An unfeeling, bland piece of nothing.

A rendition of himself, in a way.

He had come here to make the livelihood of these hard-working men worse, after all, hadn’t he?

He didn’t want to breathe the same air as Rudy. It didn’t feel right. Inwardly, in an animalistic, boisterous way that gave him pause, something had his skin was crawling. Call it the Star. Or maybe he’d gotten too touchy-feely with age.

That thought process, going over it was akin to picking at a wall with a tooth pick until it gave. They’d told him that, they’d taught him that, he knew it didn’t matter at the end of the day. Job’s a job.

There was a brief moment where his eyes narrowed, in one of those short instances where he’d see Rudy’s gaze divert from him, when he knew the man wouldn’t catch him on his peripherals. A passing, in a faint, almost imperceptible tick. From that of friendly, lazy eyes, to cold, focused aversion — “Phil Silvers.” — Jack noted, snatched his breath by his teeth, tapping the pen on the scribbled pages of his mental flip-notes.

The world froze. He heard the rimshot of light slamming the brakes in his frozen time—like a door rebounding, racketed open by harsh winds— once he heard it rattle, once he heard it slow and freeze, Jack sighed, unable to take his breath back from the dark, timeless void. He needed a pause to think.

An idle hand moved to wrap around his shoulder, thumb rapping against the broken Star on his collar, arrhythmically— once, twice and again, thrice— he was grimacing. Fair bits of the picture there, he figured, but not enough. He needed more. The problem was how he would go about asking for it. Not without giving himself away, he knew that much.

He was raised a jaded, suspicious hound— good practices for a detective and a spy, someone that had to remain a shadow— but it really limited his options when all he could do was take without giving. Obnoxious, the pains of conversation.

The pause ebbed away, the world slowly picked up form again— and he smiled. He’d always liked the challenge, even back when he was wet behind the ears — “How it started, how it ends— sad as it is.”

Eyes came back down to Rudy’s chin, right where they were before he’d paused. A magician’s trick of redirection; looking, but not really. Had to watch the eyes if you wanted to figure things out. — “Heard my fair share of warnings ‘bout the Union; a lot of word of mouth out there and plenty more up in here. Poor management, lack of training, bad pay— seen those things before.” — He took his breath back, dug into his sandwich, chewing before he spoke— “Don’t think I’ve seen ‘em this bad.”

He chuckled, shameful, scratching his neck — “Say, when do you reckon it’s gonna go down, eh? Might be a coward’s thing to say, but I don’t wanna be here when things keel over and everything’s gone up in flames. Can’t be hopscotching jobs again, at least not for the remainder of this week if I’m gonna get my dues paid.”

“I just hope I can get away quick enough before trouble kicks up.”

 
JULIE WAYNE
CS Link
SCENE:
Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]
LOCATION:
Ballroom, West Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Calcis Barker Arvios Arvios , Reevan Vaz TheImmortalDeity TheImmortalDeity
Panic In Paradise
How sweet. As the wolf man gave her a formal bow, she rolled her eyes with a kind scoff. She flicked her clutch in his direction, as if waving it off. She didn’t need a bow, nor such formality. Even if it did make her a bit giddy— she had a reputation to uphold. Such a reputation needed less of the prim and proper.

Despite his much, much longer legs, they both managed to walk side-by-side— most thanks going to Calcis, which Julie was admittedly grateful for.

Her coal eyes trailed up to him as he responded to her in Fusilian. A dramatized gasp followed soon after, her clutch being held over her heart. Her red lips slid back into a smile with a shake of the head. She knew three languages, it wasn’t really a problem if she wasn’t perfect at one of them. If her listeners had no issue, she didn’t either. It wasn’t her fault Amestrians made up words like… bananarama.

What was more of an issue was her current escort’s anti-social tendencies, really. She was worried he’d get bored— and she knew she personally hated being bored.

The doors opened to the ballroom, and as the chatter of the room filled her ears, she could only wonder who could possibly be bored here. People talked and music played and… what were those on the floor? She made a face before her attention shifted to the people among the room. She was sure she could spot all the high pills from here; people she’d make sure to at least say hello to before moving on to the… others. Who deserved her attention just as much as the notables, rest be assured. They just weren’t so useful.

As his paw— hand? Hand. As his hand rested on her back, she returned the gesture by holding onto his arm. He guided her through the room with a quiet tone, and as he spoke, she softened. Only a small, music-loving part of her understood his sense of fun, but, “as long as you’re happy,” she responded.

With a casual shrug, she beamed. “I may or may not know my way around cutting a rug,” she whispered, “after all, I don’t play all those ditties because I can’t stand them.”

Her gaze found Reevan as he stepped up to the pair. He looked like royalty, just as she expected, and yet so kind. Their eyes met and, for a moment, she wondered if she could pull off the same style in another world.

Of course she could. It was only her clothes that were holding her back. Still, she was certain her blouse was more comfortable than anything extravagant. She smiled.

“Oh, I’m just lucky I made it out the door. I swear, they don’t know their lefts from their rights,” she joked. Her hand lightly pushed her long, single-beaded earring from behind her back to over her shoulder.

Her eyes flickered between the two men before she gave an agreeing nod. “I, for one, would love to dance.” She held out her hand, soft to the touch with dainty fingers: an invitation to the dance floor. “Onwards?”



 
Igarashi Hari
CS Link
SCENE MUSIC:
SymphonicSuite-Lv.3
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Angel, Hikari, Choji, Conrad, River
Hostile Takeover
No fanfare could be had at their assault.

The rush that would usually accompany the sickening crunch of bones rearranging beneath the force of his kick was lost as the pain came from the shoe setting aflame. The scream he let out a guttural cry in response to the boiling of his own flesh. He quickly dropped to the floor rolling to put out the flame.

The leather was completely fucked as it was melted onto his skin. Luckily it still hurt like a fucking like a bitch which meant the limb was still viable. He looked up from the now put out flame to see shrapnel shoot out at Conrad.

“DON’T GET CLOSE TO HIM!”

He could do precious little at range without destroying the place with this, hopefully, already half-dead fucker. He knew a kick like that would be only a matter of time for an NPs grey matter to give out but he didn’t know how resilient this man was.

“He’s damn lucky that that power of his means we can’t afford to take him down slowly….”

He took a dive aiming for fallen weapons and tossed them in succession as fast as he could at Conrad. The half charred Guroko would have to haul ass to get out of here if they wanted to live because he was no longer in the mood to help. His mind focused on one goal, ending the enemy.

“LIGHT HIS ASS UP”

thebigfella thebigfella locked n loaded locked n loaded RoninN7 RoninN7 @kakemha HTCOR HTCOR
 
ARTHUR BURNWOOD
CS Link
SCENE:
Trevisani Arc 1 Scene [PANIC IN PARADISE]
LOCATION:
BALLROOM, WEST Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Marcello thebigfella thebigfella
PANIC IN PARADISE


They got off on the wrong foot.

Perceptive, Marcello Trevisani was. The dry tone in his voice enhanced the bluntness of his response, which was enough to make the servants feel uneasy. Marcello was a taciturn young man, and that fact alone was enough for Burnwood to know what his next move was in this temporary battle of wits. He gladly welcomed the challenge without complaint. Normally, one would feel the agonizingly, freakish pressure that began to allude itself in the conversation. To a man like Burnwood, this type of interaction wasn’t alien.

He kept his head held high.

Instead of nervousness, Marcello was presented with the utmost composure that Burnwood could exhibit. He made a few adjustments around his collar; the faintness of the low temperature breeze helped relax any excessive warmth under his layered formal clothing. Crazy to think that a broken window would alleviate the excitement that he currently felt. “Hm, I hadn’t thought about it like that, young master.” He idly scratched the tip of his chin, nodding. “Yes, quite. It was very narrow-minded of me to think that I could receive such trust. Actually, I am glad that you haven't accepted my deal.”

Burnwood snuck his hands behind his back once again, looking down at Marcello with a faint smile on his expression. “I’ve seen many families and organizations fall over misplaced trust. They give trust away as if it was hard candy. Betrayal is a nasty disease.” His eyes closed, letting out a brief sigh. “It was enough to put a tear in your eye. I am grateful that I am not giving away my loyalty for a family with an inevitable demise. The Trevisani Family has been good to me for the past year, and…”

In the palm of his hand, Marcello would now possess the stolen bottle. Burnwood had given it away without any sign of reluctance.

“... I trust that whatever gift I receive, it will be valuable.”

Marcello accepted the gift; the gesture signified victory for Burnwood.

The fate of New Oasis was sealed that night. Burnwood still needed to tread carefully. His words were being closely monitored. Who was monitoring them? Couldn’t say. He figured that another misstep in his dialogue could mean an automatic defeat. Thus, his plan would probably fail. The imbalance of power had been greatly displayed between him and Marcello. He could have him turned away without a second thought, which made it even more likely that he wouldn’t do something like that.

The acceptance of his gift probably meant that he found Burnwood useful.

For the time being, Burnwood had to play under their rules. He had no choice. Not that he had any complaint about being a follower. The role just never seemed… “right” … for a man like himself. The feeling was comparable to an ill-fitting pair of pants: too small around the waist, too tight on the legs. It was a thought that made him grimace, and even shudder at times. Nonetheless, Marcello appeared somewhat lenient. Maybe his leniency was just a charade for the general public. He would just have to wait and see.


 
Okubo
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]
LOCATION:
South Border, East Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Eiji simj26 simj26 Adol Stern LuLuLu Stern LuLuLu Jiàn AriAriAbabwa AriAriAbabwa
Bite Back and Tear Through

Laughing turned to screams. Blood gushed and poured. Bones snapped and sickeningly crumbled.

The jaws of the Hydra’s heads snapped fiercely; they tore, they ripped, they smashed, and they devoured.

Okubo didn’t stand a chance. Before he knew what was happening, his body was no longer his own. It had been claimed as compensation, and every piece of his body was the toll.

The lumbering oaf shouted within the darkness; the warmth of blood and the heat of adrenaline clashed against the chill he felt spreading across his tissue, already going into necrosis.

“YOU BASTARDS!” He barked with no more teeth to bite; the pain only stoked the fires of his rage, “I’LL KILL ALL OF YOU! EVERY ONE OF YOU WILL BE MINCEMEAT!” His head swung around wildly; through his newly gained blindness, he could only try to bring upon his own light within the dark, a smoldering flame of hatred that could consume everything. He could crush them all. He would stomp on their skulls, tear off their faces with his teeth, he’d do anything in his power to get his revenge.

A spark. From the world of darkness, a tiny ember. And slowly, it kindled; from nothing, it spread and became an all-consuming inferno. The void was illuminated, and then it was blinding.

And then, there was nothing but ash. Specks of black floated through the wind.

The flames had ended.




???
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]
LOCATION:
South Border, East Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Carmen @soIstice Mitsuki Aquarin Aquarin
Bite Back and Tear Through

That audible bang. Through this closed space, it rippled off the walls and caused the glass to rattle with vibrations.

A smoking bullet hole within the stone wall, cracking the bricks. The bullet dropped and fell to the ground and clattered.

Eyes shifted from above and below a gaping maw. Its amorphous form caved in its non-existent skull, creating a valley for the bullet to barely squeeze through instead of piercing through its body. It reformed back together, its jagged teeth locked together in a contorted grin as its head turned.

The door opened, and with a burst of light, its hide within the darkness melted away, revealing its mutated and dangling form once more as it floated from the ground, lower body hanging like a wind chime.

It didn’t strike back; it didn’t enrage. Instead, its eyes looked past Mitsuki towards the now-open door. It wasn’t capable of such emotion; instead, it was only supposed to follow a specific task. As such, its body slunk higher as it prepared to slip out and escape.

Then, the sound of notes. The whistles of harmonica. A melody reached its non-existent ears, and the chords played with air and fingers. Immediately, its eyes went slit, contracting tight as lines as they all narrowed upon Mitsuki; as a sleeper agent activated, its jaw slowly opened, and drool began to drip out of the gaps between its jagged teeth to plop against the ground in a growling pile, a monstrous growl began to rumble within its body, vibrating through the air. Without the song even finishing, the feeling of bloodlust permeated the creature.

umP72VG.png

JpdTGgb.png



Its spoken anger-activated orders took precedence over its task of retrievals, its claws elongated, growing sharper and barbed, and immediately, with a ferocious swipe, it tore through everything in its path towards Mitsuki; wooden shelves shattered as their contents exploded and splattered across the floor as piles of refuse, as the whizz of edges that could cut clean through bone came right to Mitsuki’s neck, with the order of execution.







Nishikawa
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]
LOCATION:
South Border, East Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Kygo Shadow Shadow
Bite Back and Tear Through

The lights below were extinguished, and steam joined with smoke, and floated into the air. The heat faded, the illumination of street lights revealed the burning outside of houses, the ash that covered cars, and the cinders left from trees.

Bodies of yakuza and triads lined the streets, blood, and char doused in water. It soaked into the cracks; the beacons of flame that once rose into the air had disappeared in the night sky, only leaving stars behind.

Nishikawa had his blades raised at his sides, his stance readied, a red gleam from behind his mask. Eyes looked at the broken knife he had once used against him, now nothing but a piece of junk. The tides have shifted along with the earth.

He was prepared to finish it. The serrated, jagged edges shimmered underneath the moonlight as his grip shifted. His pulse stilled, and his breath slowed. Only the thrumming of blood from head to heart echoed in this soundless stage.

The next moment would be the end.

But then, the ground shifted. Abruptly, the force of gravity returned to work against them. The geyser of magma keeping them suspended had been snuffed, and wings were torn from their back.

The ground shifted unevenly, and Nishikawa stumbled backward. Then, he stumbled as the platform went lopsided. One of his katanas fumbled out of his hand and, clattering against the ground, scraping across the stone before it reached the end, was left flying through the air until it became nothing but a speck in the distance of their inevitable demise.

His arm swung quickly, and through the cement and soil, the tip of one of his katanas shredded through the ground, stopping his role as he kept his grip on from a thread.

The balance continued to deviate against him as they came crashing toward the ground; his tight grip upon his blade was the only thing that kept him from crashing to the earth below; he swung loosely. His eyes looked towards the ground below before his head snapped upward to look back towards Kygo.

“This isn’t over.”

Then, he let go.

Through the air, he fell, and without any form, he plunged. His arms spread wide as he dove; the ground quickly approached, rows of houses and hard cement, nowhere to safely land. Even as he fell, he continued to count.

One minute left.

Kygo was left to decide his next move by himself, upon the crumbling ground and the inevitable power of gravity.






???
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]
LOCATION:
South Border, East Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Eiji simj26 simj26 Adol Stern LuLuLu Stern LuLuLu Jiàn AriAriAbabwa AriAriAbabwa
Bite Back and Tear Through

Polished shoes strode up to the church. The remnants of a recent smoke still hung from lips, the faintest fire the only thing left after the recent flood.

Despite what happened, he had somehow stayed entirely dry. His hands were casually in his pockets as he looked at the trio of Hydras from behind his sunglasses.

With a calm breath, he closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to the side with a frown.

“So, this is the cost we paid. Was it worth it, I wonder?” He spoke, with a small glance towards the Hydras in front of him, as if they could answer him.

He didn’t say much else; instead, his hands clasped together, and his head dropped. In a prayer, he stood out in the open, in front of his enemies. He slowly brought his body down to his knees.


“Okubo. I wish you the best in the afterlife. And all my other fallen comrades.”

He was utterly unguarded, giving respect for his fallen comrade.

If the heartless Hydras wanted to strike at him, the chance was now, during this ceremony.

 
SANYA MOROZOVA
CS Link
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Helen, Yelizaveta, Jacques, Grisha, Nika
UNION BORN UNDER STARLIGHT
Mr. Graham’s backstory was not a point of Sanya’s interest - she simply didn’t care. And yet, she still listened. Perhaps it would be of use to her later on. Her ever-blank face betrayed no sign of disinterest, just neutrality as she listened. She didn’t even flinch at the smell of tobacco - albeit she really hated it. But it would come off as rude, and she had a job to do, so she remained neutral.

’I would very much like this done quickly,’ she thought to herself as the man finally stopped explaining his story. The hot, stuffy factory made her feel uncomfortable, and the amount of trophies the man had in his office did not make her feel any better.

Yelizaveta passed the presented folder into her lap and she frowned, picking it up. To open it or not open it was the question, and she hesitated before deciding that she’d listen to whatever her comrade had to say. Maybe it’d prove to be useful - or at least entertaining.

And entertaining it was. While Sanya herself had little to no interest in the hunted animals Mr. Graham decorated his office with, Yelizeveta seemed all too intrigued by them. Sanya supposed everyone had different tastes, but she was no fan, nor could she bring herself to pretend to be interested in them. Would she proudly display her kills in her home, dead but lifelike, always seemingly watching? Not a chance.

And so the metaphor unfolded, and Sanya let out a contemplative hum. “Intriguing, though I do not enjoy being likened to pest control.” It was, in theory, what they were doing though. The union members were the rats, and they the eagles set free to hunt them down.

As Yelizeveta took her leave to scope out the floor, the blonde sighed. Looked like she couldn’t simply rely on someone else to do the talking for her anymore. Nevertheless, she took the folder and opened it, though not before adding, “I imagine you are not willing to give up any more of your trophies, but if you decide that it’s only fair to pay me in trifles as well, I will not take it well.”
 
CHOJI NAKAYA
- CS Link
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Hikari RoninN7 RoninN7 , ??? thebigfella thebigfella
Hostile Takeover
Choji's eyes go wide in surprise, and his lips part in a small 'o' as he catches sight of the unfamiliar woman, plumes of smoke drifting from her lit cigarette and discarded papers scattered around her high heels. It looks like this room is important, or at least one specific document hidden within it.

After that frozen moment, Choji's eyes curve in slight crescents, and his mouth arches in a small smile. He steps forward, flesh retracting into itself and reforming his arm to reveal two empty hands in a gesture of peace; one further emphasized by the lack of guns or assorted weaponry on his body.

"Hello ma'am," he says, tone respectful. "The Guroko Association is taking over the Quarter. Would you be interested in lending a hand, seeing how you seem to be familiar with it? I'm sure we could use your inside information or a peek at whatever you're searching for to help smooth the transfer."

Choji spins as he speaks, turning away from the woman to take in the entirety of the office. It's quite luxurious, in the lax way that only businesses operating on the wrong side of the law can be, with scattered bills and remnants of drinks and smokes. He wouldn't normally have the authority to be inside spaces like this that are meant for negotiations. Of course, that means he doesn't have the authority to authorize agreements like this one either, but he's sure his boss would appreciate the thought.

 
Last edited:
GRISHA ZHARKOV
CS Link
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Helena Damafaud Damafaud , Yelizaveta The One Eyed Bandit The One Eyed Bandit , Mr. Graham thebigfella thebigfella
Union Born Under Starlight
Clicking his tongue, a quiet swear of frustration escaped Grisha's lips, as his hand was promptly brushed off. "Comrade! It's comrade, not pal!" Grisha retorted with a tinge of exasperation, the correction escaping his lips like a familiar refrain, a refrain in Ruthenian that echoed for the hundredth time he'd educated her on this vital linguistic nuance to their cause.

Blow out her eardrums? The relentless cacophony of metal and machinery clattered all around them, spelling out the redundancy of her little jab. As she went ahead and pressed the issue of the union, Grisha crossed his arms, eyes quickly canvassing the vast industrial space. Some of the theory he'd read earlier in Comrade Romanov's book came to mind; the concept of alienation under capitalism. Here—it was a stark reality materialized before him; the barely paid, bedraggled workers, alienated from the products of their labor, from the decision-making processes, and even from one another. The palpable sense of disconnection and isolation, felt even in the very fabric of his uniform, left an indignant taste in Grisha's mouth. What bitter reminder of the injustices ingrained in the capitalist machinery!

The sudden realization that Cleveland gawked at him like an idiot snapped Grisha's attention back to the present. An urge to wave his meaty hand dismissively over the man's face, perhaps even snap a finger to jolt him back to reality, flickered through Grisha's mind. Before he could enact this impromptu wake-up call, Cleveland jolted back to reality and exclaimed, almost too loudly, that they were Stars.

A subtle smile curled at the corners of the Ruthenian's lips. He glanced around, assessing if the proclamation had reached the ears of other workers. Cleveland, now fully aware of the Stars' presence, appeared eager to demonstrate his knowledge on the union. Grisha, still wearing that subtle smile, decided to play along. With a nonchalant survey of the factory floor, he continued to observe the reactions of his fellow workers. Some appeared disinterested, lost in their tasks, while others exchanged rapid, knowing glances, their lips pursed tight. His gaze landed on the office. Even from where he stood, the sickening symbols of bourgeois decadence were plain to see. Yelizaveta's silhouette was visible through the window, engaged in conversation with this Mr. Graham fella. Grisha's eyes narrowed, and in his mind's eye, Aquila flapped against a stray beam and locked eyes with Yelizaveta for a tense, unspoken moment.

Then, like a raptor zeroing in on its prey, Aquila caught the sight of the boy-ka. Grisha waved slightly, catching his attention. The boy-ka stood auspiciously beside none other than Helen's next target: Mack. Driven by the urgency to alert him before Helen swooped down on them like a hawk, Grisha strategically positioned himself behind her, ensuring he remained unseen as he engaged in a comical pantomime—a silent performance of exaggerated gestures and instructions, conveying the importance of whispering caution to Mack.

Yet, much like earlier that day when Grisha had recited the book title, the boy appeared utterly confounded. A puzzled expression painted his face as he failed to decipher Grisha's non-verbal cues. Unable to contain his frustration, Grisha couldn't help but facepalm.

─── ⋅ ⋆ ⋅ ───​


 
Helena P. Letya
CS LINK
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Helen, Nika, Grisha
Union Born Under Starlight

Helen considered bashing the dumb lug's skull in. Wasn't enough he was a towering giant drawing eyes, he had to go and correct her with that thick Ruthenian voice.The detective's poker face turned downright stormy at Cleveland's recognition. Just her luck to get spotted by some sap who didn't know the first thing about keeping secrets. Lucky for him, that big lug Grisha in particular, they got something outta this mess, or else that skull-bashing wouldn't just be talk.

"Here's Something for your trouble, pal. Don't blow 'em all in one shot." She flicked Cleveland a small bag of cloth. The pills inside might look familiar to the guy, but they'd hit his system like a freight train. Pure, about ten times stronger, and twice as addictive. Poor sap might end up canned or six feet under, but she couldn't afford to have her cover blown so blatantly. Stars couldn't afford to be seen cozying up to the Union on the surface either.

She got no plan to approach Mack. Not with a clown with bells on tow. She shot the big lug a look and gave him a playful punch on the arm. "I'll look for the old witch first. You do your thing."

Without waiting for a reply, Helen vanished behind a machine and into the shadows before slipping through the thick walls to—well, to calm her nerves. Everything was still copacetic. She needed to find a way to spike Cleveland later so he'd forget all about today.

Secrecy was her bread and butter. One wrong bloke with the wrong info could spell curtains for her, her clients, her whole gig. She did things her mother wouldn't have approved of, but then again, that old lady wasn't exactly proud of having a gumshoe for a daughter. "A man's work," she used to say. Well, she could handle the job better than any Joe, and that's what mattered to her clients. Her lips were sealed shut, even if her peepers wandered. That's how she stayed kickin' for all these years.

Helen ghosted through the walls, takin' a breather every now and then before diving right back in. The ghost story piqued her interest more than this whole Union malarkey. Definitely more so after Grisha made her stick out like a tan line.
 
Last edited:
JIÀN QIÁNG
CS Link
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [BITE BACK AND TEAR THROUGH]
LOCATION:
Place of the Battle, East Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
(Eiji, Mitsuki, Kygo, Adol, Carmen)
BITE BACK AND TEAR THROUGH
Jiàn Qiáng flew off of Okubo's back as quickly as they landed on him. His screams, the spurting blood, and the ease of the blades through his pupils told everything. They landed a short distance away, watching as their two allies (in the loosest Hydra sense) finished him off in a brutal blitz attack. Soon enough, the rampaging hulk was nothing more than ash scattering in the wind.

"Good," they said to Adol and the Padre—the most words they saw fit to address them with. Even though backup had mysteriously bailed on them, the present Hydras were thankfully competent. That's more than Jiàn could have asked for.

They knew that the man in the glasses returned; one of their statues saw him approach. They noted his gait, the drag under his eyes, the cadence as he spoke. He was no threat. As the mystery man dropped to pay his respects, Jiàn met him first. They couldn't control what the others did, but they could at least offer him some advice.

"You should get out of here."

A moment's reprieve before Jiàn Qiáng would run off. Onto the next one.

thebigfella thebigfella simj26 simj26 Stern LuLuLu Stern LuLuLu
 
???
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Helena Damafaud Damafaud Grisha Seraphine Seraphine
Union Born Under Starlight

Cleveland was left standing there star-struck, a little bit more chipper than he’d like to let off with the appearance of Stars. He had always thought the union was a lost cause, but if it could get the pull of allies like that, they must have had deeper connections than he could have known.

The bag tossed to him immediately garnered all his attention, turning his ogling away from Grisha’s flailing and pointing in an attempt to communicate some message that didn’t even have a chance to be lost in translation. As he felt the bag's heft in a palm, he pulled it open with another finger, peering inside.

“W-W-W-,” he shuttered out the beginnings of what and why, but neither reached his lips before he shut the bag, taking a peer around as he shoved it into his pocket, an unmistakable bulge in his pants as the “medicine” shook within its cloth.

“If you need anything else from me, don’t hesitate to ask,” he spoke barely above a whisper, all that earlier nervous and paranoid yapping had suddenly been replaced by a firm stoicism, a sharp turn in personality that stemmed from someone who wasn’t new to getting “under the table” medication from the Stars. With a small tip of his cap, casting a shadow under his eyes, he walked away into the labyrinth of machinery, a plume of smoke blasting behind him from exhaust within a furnace, hiding his departure as he disappeared amongst the workers and the rest of the factory.


This left Grisha alone, up to choose where his star would lead him next in his goal.

That man, Mack, from this distance, it was hard to make him out. But, his sharpness in his glare traveled across the boundaries to look right upon Grisha. Even if his young aide misunderstood his signals, Mack had noticed them clearly as day, even if he did not understand the purpose.

He only held that look for a moment before turning back to work, his gloved hands grasping a sledgehammer to bring it down upon a large piece of metal; hot sparks flew through the air.

Only a few drops of sweat hung at the man’s brow.


???
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Helena Damafaud Damafaud
Union Born Under Starlight

There was something there.

Between the steel walls and the outside world, a threshold.

The faintest feeling of weight, the heart of gravity placed in one's toes, a flash of cold upon contact.

The sound of whispers and screams all compiled into one single second of a tape recorder, played at fast forward, and then stopped and erased, the tape scattered into the wind, spinning threads that floated through nothingness.

A layer of separation, a four-sided card within only two dimensions. A twilight zone, a realm unknown. The door stayed shut, and the peephole had been covered. Only allowing the briefest touch upon the barrier, unable to sink into its depth. A backroom, not known, but remembered. Unexplainable. Yet. as one tried to reach out and touch it again, they would find:

There was nothing there.


Mr. Graham
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Yelizaveta The One Eyed Bandit The One Eyed Bandit Sanya AnemoVictorious AnemoVictorious
Union Born Under Starlight

Thick smog lingered in front of his face, the stench of tobacco seeped into his pores as it did to every section of his office, and the smell of smoke clung to him less than it did the workers, averse to the fancy soaps that he had grown accustomed to, the same ones that had slowly seemed to heal his rugged hands, but it did nothing about the smoke that gradually floated out from his lungs.

He was on the clock; storytime wasn’t exactly something he had put into his schedule. But, he was a courteous guest, a man raised with respect and dignity when he had not much else to define him. So, he did nothing to disturb the story he knew was coming. Instead, he grabbed a pen and put it on paper. A stack of paperwork always awaited him. Words he had once always heard had more so become seen, orders and demands, agreements and disagreements, contracts tied within boundaries that constantly touted like they were above regulations.

Business is a fetish? He let those words ferment momentarily, shifting around the cigar between his lips. He silently clicked his tongue as he watched his pen run out of ink.

It was a propensity.

He dropped his pen onto the table and clasped his hands together once more, that same passivity he always wore as the clock continued to tick; his thumbs wrestled each other for dominance as he stared down at them before finally looking up as the story ended.

He had no comment on the tale, not any thoughts to give outside of the obvious. It was human nature to always want to “correct.” The dominant species that pities the powerless masses decides how to care for them. A balanced ecosystem, where everything must survive inequality within that cycle. If there are too many rodents, you call an exterminator; when there are too many birds, you pay hunters to shoot them down; and when there’s a troublesome bunch of eagles? Then you take care of it yourself if you have to.

Yet, when the time comes to thin out a crowd of too many troublesome people when the predators are called in to dispose of them, suddenly, it is considered a war. It’s called unjust. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.

Problem solvers, that’s what their race had defined themselves as, so they went to the moon. So they could bore down upon Earth and see its beauty from the outside, window shopping. Escaping is always the first option people choose.

He, unfortunately, was never afforded such a choice.

And so, he grabbed another pen.

“Take it. I’m sure Mr. Goldstein will be happy to hear he owes a bit less out of his own coffers,” he spoke calmly, a click of his pen as he placed it back onto paper.

“Trifles are meant to be shared with those willing to go out of their way and grab them.”

Finally, the man’s hardened gaze turned to Sanya, the room only leaving the two of them and dead eyes that peered down from stuffed corpses.

“Do not fret. We always give fair pay within our line of work. Deals made from animal skins are much more fitting amongst Neanderthals and natives,” he remarked, reaching his free hand up to hold his cigar as he took a brief puff, the smoke billowing out from his nose.

“Within that file, you will find all the necessary information and some. A map of the whole facility, schedules, some of the signs and codewords the union members like to use to keep things harder to follow,” he explained, the tip of his pen tapping against the table.

“The biggest voices in this union, the leaders you could call them. We have had enough information given to us to identify them. We’re trying to avoid causing an uproar by firing them or sending out union busters, so preferably, we’d like you to dismantle the union without much of a fuss. Whether you use force or coercion, it doesn’t matter. Just ensure a full-on riot doesn’t break out and the union’s leaders lose their support.”

With that, he leaned back into his seat, resting his hand below his chin as he watched Sanya closely.

“Anything else that you need to know, Star?”




???
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Jacques Haze- Haze-
Union Born Under Stralight


Rudy’s chipper mood had gone to tatters, even the crispy, salty bacon still lingering in his taste buds underneath leagues of fatty mayo, and the acidity of tomato along with the sweetness of banana didn’t do anything to overpower the bitterness in his taste buds.

He gave an understanding nod towards Jacques, a dour look on his face as his posture slouched, leaning upon the warm metal pipes behind him as he let his cap shade over half his colorless face.

“You ain’t wrong, friend. You ain’t wrong,” he agreed solemnly; the loss of his appetite came with him shoving away what was left into his lunchbox, placing it to the side.

“This place got its problems, but it ain’t that bad,” Rudy spoke, pushing up his glasses, fingerprints now smudged onto the dirty lenses.

“People complain, people get hurt, but we ain’t gettin’ treated like dogs. We get enough to support our families; they hire anybody, regardless of their background. Some of our managers work here from open to close and take their jobs just as seriously,” Rudy paused for a breath, head turning to look up through the skylight windows, a slight frown coming across his features.

“Sure, there’s better places out there. They’ll hire you and ensure you’re cared for far beyond just a paycheck. But not everyone’s lucky like that. And tryin’ to make every company like that ain’t gonna do much good. There’s gotta be places for the unlucky guys like us.”

Downtrodden, the man paced about for a bit, though he barely moved from his spot; his eyes had turned from above to look down below at his feet, his signed shoes, and the soot-covered ground.

“I…don’t know. I think most people in the union wanna handle this peacefully, but some of them are tryin’ to get justice for Phil and wanna get their hands dirty. I don’t want to think anyone would do that…but if some of them do something, or the union busters come in…shoot, it could happen at any second. It’s like, uh…a cold war.”


The thought shook Rudy to the core, and immediately, he stopped pacing. For a moment, he stood silent, and then, he raised his head back to look at Jacques with a small smile, reaching out to place it on his shoulder.

“Whatever happens, James, I got your back! As soon as I see somethin’ brewin’, I’m comin’ to tell you first! We’re pals now!” Rudy exclaimed, renewing his pat a few times before looking up at the massive clock on the wall.

“Shoot, I better get back to work!” Rudy quickly grabbed his lunchbox, letting go of Jacques as he slid back on his heels like a pop star who wouldn’t be born until 16 years later. He gave a brotherly salute, “Catch ya later, James! Ensure you don’t get your hair burned off; missus won’t like you bald; I learned that from experience!” He gave one final comment before he was off, running down the nearby metal steps as they rattled underneath his weight.



 
Last edited:
Kygo Akainen
CS Link
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]
LOCATION:
South Border, East Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
(Eiji, Mitsuki, Carmen, Adol, Jiàn)
Bite Back and Tear Through
Their battle slowed to a standstill as the strike Kygo anticipated refused to come. The air in his lungs grew dense, its cooling touch unfriendly in the rising tension of his posture. Kygo would not be passive to fate, but his body was strangely reluctant when he tried to move.

He pushed his feet harder into the ground, braced himself, before his eyes finally raised to meet his enemy's looming form.

It was still, as the night surrounding them was still. Suspended in the moment, every noise seemed to recognize that they had paused and honored it, distilling down into a muted backdrop for the low rush of blood through the samurai's veins, the throbbing in and out of his heartbeat as it returned to composure.

Narrowed grey eyes observed the flicker of light across those blades: the image of his blood dripping from their jagged lengths passed through his mind, but he was strangely unmoved.

Finish it, he wanted to say.

And there was no thought to spare for whether or not his hand would have moved itself to block that killing blow or let it strike true, if it had come.
After all, what conditions could possibly offer a friendlier death?
Though he had quickly reached a deep hatred for the sound of the demon's breath, this was otherwise one of the quietest moments in his life, as peaceful as it ever would be.
How could he be expected to resist that instinct toward silence, which otherwise governed his every move.

But fate demanded an intervention in his decision and sent his stomach up into his throat as the sense of trust he had in the ground was suddenly made absurd; their arena careening unevenly toward its original place on the earth's surface, becoming just another comet in the over-active sky above the East Ward that night.

The lack of influence from the demon's powers seemed to put both combatants in the same state, reeling against the tilt of their arena in solitary but kindred battles against gravity.

The rush of wind stole the breath from Kygo's lungs and soon began to whip into his hair and clothes as the platform tilted further to elevate him over his enemy.
In a stroke of luck, his defensive posture had already made him well-positioned to avoid falling, and the curve of his karambit blade slid easily into a groove of the cracked pavement beneath him to offer a sturdy vantage from which to watch the demon's struggle.

Yet there was little satisfaction in his unchanging expression as he watched one of the katanas spin dizzyingly into the dark abyss of night, saw its master fight and win his place on the increasing angle of their comet, swaying back and forth under his own blade.

It was the tableau beneath the demon's form that finally worked to erase the complacency he had reached in their former silence.
His habitat from the last several months was marred by a series of dark rifts, like smoldering scars in the earth. Hesitant street lights revealed patches of the destruction and faltering cries met his ears as heralds to the human cost of it all. Their plummet downward continued to expand that image in his vision, marking out the smaller silhouettes of scarred bodies in dark pools.
Only one of those might have meant anything to him, but taken together, they became a call to action, a reminder of the collective he was beholden to.

Time and space pressed back into him, forcing a choice to be made as their gazes locked and words were uttered that he didn't understand at first, but felt the meaning of straight away.
It didn't look like surrender to his eyes, then, when the demon released his grip and dropped downward on a course of his own making.

The words repeated in his head until their familiarity revealed a translation.

This...is.../not/...over.

Another grin tempted at his lips, but his attention was narrowing, vision darkening to a single point. Guided by that renewed siren call in a storm and an insane urge in his chest, he leaned forward and took the plunge, yanking his blade from the ground to dive after the demon.

One hand quickly moved to clamp the muffs over his ears, but the rush of flight seeped into him, spawned a mania that danced like light across a field of ice in his mind.

Regardless of sanity, he would see this end as it must be ended. A blade in someone's neck, a victor's christening.

Kygo's dive brought him quickly toward the demon in midair, but the ground was coming up behind them with just as much urgency; he anticipated the crack of bones against pavement just before it came and tried not to shy away from it, as his readied blade hinged on a steeled resolve.

 
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