• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.

Fantasy New Oasis: Four Heavenly Kings — The B-Sides

OOC
Here
Characters
Here
Lore
Here
Other
Here
Klara Nachtnebel
SCENE:
What Is Left With The Ashes?
LOCATION:
North District, Abandoned Church
TIME:
July 19th, 2022 | | Post Outbreak
PARTICIPANTS:
Areith Rozárie
What Is Left With The Ashes?



"Wake up...."
"Wake up....wake up..."
"wake~....up~..."


"W̷̴̶̴̡̞̜̰̜̞͈̮͔͍̠̾͊ͥͦ̈́͆ͨ̊͛ͨͩ̽ͫ̍ͬ̓̐̍̈́͜͞͝Ȃ̵̏ͬ̐K̢̠̻̹̮̳̣͍̪̏̔́̔ͪͣ̒̃͒̃̅ͤ̚͢͢͝E̵̹̦͙̙̻̻̭̺͍̣̹̓͊̃̅̅͆̀͗̊͞ͅ Ū̧̙͉̗̝̠͕͉ͤ͌ͧ̋ͪ_̶̧̺͈͈̫͈̤͓̄̾ͥ̈́̑́͗͋͆̋̚͟P̵̵̛͍͔̟̤͍̹̺͍̹̘̰̖̣̞̫̹̹͉̺͛͆̃̿̌ͥ̐ͧ̂ͫ̍̊̀̀ͩ̍͗̆ͥ̕͢͡͡͞͠!"


Klara is wrested from her dreamless sleep by a chorus of voices, each one more disturbed than the last.
"Ohhh...." she groaned, waking with rebound.

As she regained consciousness, disorientation washed over her.
She wasn't panicked or particularly unsettled, being no stranger to these circumstances. The voices in her head clamored for attention, each one offering conflicting explanations and theories.

"I-...No, this isn't....Hnngh, stop...twisting..."

With trembling hands, Klara pushed herself into a sitting position, her mind racing as she tried to piece together the events that had led her to this moment. But the harder she tried to remember, the more elusive the memories became, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand. Her insides rebelled, one arm wrapped around her abdomen while the other cradled her head.

"I think she's gone."
"Get up."
"There's so many things to seee, people to dooo~"
"You need..."
"We need..."
"I'm so scared..."

"Don't be scared..." Klara's soft words were followed by a gag. She leaned over the railing at the foot of the bed and vomited on to floor of the derelict she found herself in.


 
Zentsupa Pei
CS Link
SCENE:
Dancing Over The Corpses
LOCATION:
West District, Laughlin Music Hall
TIME:
July 28th, 2022 | | Post-Outbreak
PARTICIPANTS:
Madra Pumpkin Spice Cyanide Pumpkin Spice Cyanide
Dancing Over The Corpses

The room was ebullient, with men in suits and women in dresses. Hands interlocked, they twirled and pranced. Dancers kicked their legs up high in the air, their ruby red heels sparkling in the lights, and their poofy skirts and feathered hats bobbed around with their movement. Booming music, energetic trumpets played in tandem with trombones, the keys of a piano pushed in succession, and the bass string strung with cadence.

The chandeliers hung high, their crystal glass refracting light. Columns of stone-supported balconies were hidden behind velvet curtains that loomed down onto the main hall and the performing stage.

Drinks flowed freely, spills stained upon the tables, and sparkling champagne reached painted lips. Rhythmic snaps from those who stuck to their seats, bobbing their heads, watching as the more energetic danced upon the red patterned carpet decorated in designs of bronze and gold.

The vocalist sang, and the choir joined her. As she reached her highs, the tremor in her voice as she strained her chords, and everything froze to watch in awe.

Through the gawking, a figure continued to walk on, detached from the scenery. His face was obscured within shadow as his hair shaded his expression; only the large, jagged-tooth smile upon his lips peered through. His simple suit of dark blue contrasted the overwhelming swabs of bright red used to decorate the lavish surroundings.

At his own pace, as he walked up a small set of steps to a higher platform, a bar was placed in front of him, its black granite countertop with gold banding and blue lights illuminating the bottles that lined the shelf behind the bartender.

He plopped on a stool, leaning forward as the vocalist’s heightened pitch finally tapered off. His head tilted upward, revealing the devilish glint in his eyes as he stared at the bartender.

“A shot of bitters! No ice! Kekekekekek!’ He ordered as the crowd erupted with claps and whistles behind him.

Amongst the aristocracy that surrounded him, he was distinctive. He lacked the bulging bellies of fat cats or the sculpted shapes of well-maintained diets and gyms the best money could buy. Compared to the pristine appearance of the rich, his inhuman appearance, from his sharp teeth to his knife-like ears, paired with the wrinkles in his suit jacket, depicted him as someone rambunctious, a wild beast that had no place in a fine establishment such as this.

Regardless, he was there, and he had made an order. Though the bartender raised a brow, skeptical, “Surely, you’re not serious, sir,” he tried to laugh it off awkwardly, wiping clean the rim of a glass with a towel.

“Huh!? I asked for it, so just make it already fuckhead!” Pei immediately exploded in a sharp retort, his hand slamming against the counter. The bartender stepped back, a bit in shock at the sudden outburst. But he didn’t question as he grabbed a cup and unscrewed the top of a small bottle to let the brown liquid fill it to the top.

He slid it across the counter, and the blonde caught it. Without a moment of hesitation, he brought it up to his lips and tilted his head back. A bulge formed in his throat as he gulped it down.

“Pwah!” He sighed in relief before slamming the glass back onto the table, still wearing that self-satisfied smile. Compared to anyone else who would have gagged and choked drinking down a whole thing of bitters, he seemed pleased.

“That hits the spot,” he said, sliding the glass toward the bartender, “Kekekek! Another!” He ordered.

Trying to hide the disturbance on his face, he picked up the glass and prepared another shot of bitters.

As he did that, the blonde leaned back, his eyes scanning around, his hands shoving into his pockets as he hooked one leg underneath the footrests.

“It looks like they’re not here yet, huh?” he remarked, his head looping backward, turning upside down like he didn’t have any bones in his neck, cackling madly as he bent inhumanly. He was expecting someone, they had been given the fortunate task of "playing" with him. Something he was clearly, not trying to hide that he was excited about.

“A shame, the fun’s gonna start soon! I wanted a bit of time to fuck with ‘em! Kekekekekekek!” He spoke brazenly before pulling himself back up, just in time for another glass of bitters to be slid his way.

His fingers grasped the glass, and he lifted it from the counter, watching the dark liquid swirl within it in front of his eyes.

“Kekekekek. Now, this should be interesting. It wouldn’t hurt to give these nobles a bit of a show!” He raised a finger, then brought it to a counter, tracing it across, forming squares in his mind, and placing the board before him.

And then, with another chug of bitters, he placed the glass down in the first quadrant.

The next game had begun.

 
Jacques
CS Link
SCENE:
The Amestrian Job
TIME:
July 29th, 2022 | Post Arc 3
LOCATION:
King's Ransom Casino and Bar, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Dagger, Oliver, Jacques, Hiachi, Tak, Dante, Shen(?)
The Amestrian Job
Although Jacques had the look of someone who did not want to be there, nothing of the deliberate way he rolled between his gloved fingers a lock of raven hair or the great intensity he lent to his sidelong stare suggested wherever else he would rather be. As a matter of fact, he was currently suffering from the personality of the dingy room, which itself was an awkward beast unsure of what instincts to follow. The people themselves made no effort to get on the same page or even the same book, and this reminded him of the Brankurt Asylum’s Ward C where the identities of the patients would constantly shift between self-reasoned modes and a single laughter could contaminate an entire ward like a virus. Perhaps with a tug or a pull there someone could guide the beast towards a single direction. But so far only one person had tried to do just that, even with the tactfulness of an actress trying to salvage the blunder of a fellow on stage. But even this would not help the play regain its natural flow, for one vital part was sorely missing, and the verses were at odds from the start.

“We are going to rob a bank,” he said with the soft, breathy sounds of a songstress preserving her vocal cords. “Not a convenience store or a diner. Great risk, great reward, hm? But somehow some of us clearly bear less responsibility and risks than the rest while no talk of reward is yet spoken. Is that fair?” he ended softly.

What would Markus do? There’s the rub.

Notwithstanding the fact that he hardly knew a thing about the man titled King of the Tigers, of late Jacques had developed a habit of following stage directions given by his imagined conception of the man. And always, Markus, flashing his grin of golden teeth and striding forward boldly in his boisterous coat, would cleave an uninterrupted path towards the heart of the matter, and, when there, would point at it, seize it, and shake the life out of it till he’s given what he wants. Money.
Jacques stood up abruptly. Following this sudden movement, a thousand ribbons upon his body swayed and stirred. The dress he wore was silky and black, yielding easily to the touch and like water streaming from his smooth thighs. But even as he rose, Jacques slipped the pinky tips of his both gloves to reveal delicate nails painted black. He swept a courtly bow, bending one knee with the grace of a ballerina, and to either side holding high the tiered skirt. The fabric rustled to his fluid movements, but as soon as brushed by the exposed skin of his fingers, froze solidly still. The hem of which fell upon the chair he had pushed back with a clang. He let go of the skirt, leaving its folds in the air, suspended and metallic.

And for the next moment also, he let the dramatic pause preamble his speech, before saying with the same soft voice as before, “You know well my potentiality and affliction. And I say you know the Dragon King’s also. Clearly I expose myself to the greatest risk and carry the most dangerous task in checking that man should he appear. What portion of the money do I get in comparison to- ” he swept a hand at the lookouts, “-the grunts who sit back and watch in faraway safety.”
 
𝑵𝒂𝒐𝒎𝒊 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐
CS Link
SCENE:
They Tell You Not To Mix Chemicals Because You Can Make Mustard Gas, But Nobody Tells You How Mixing People Makes Something More Deadly
LOCATION:
North District Rental
TIME:
May 6th, 2022 || Post-Outbreak
PARTICIPANTS:
Tak
They Tell You Not To Mix Chemicals Because You Can Make Mustard Gas, But Nobody Tells You How Mixing People Makes Something More Deadly
Tak, ever so crude with his thoughts, greeted Naomi by saying he assumed she was off getting her brains fucked out. She sighed dramatically in response, used to his crude language. "If only. Instead, I got pulled towards some puke," she lamented, overdramatic in her sorrow. But well, she was sure anyone would choose having a little tryst somewhere over having to clean up some puke.

She was surprised that he comment about food made his face turn. Tak loved food! It was how she was able to motivate him to do well, anything. But she didn't have to wait long to understand why he was upset--all there was was pizza and cheese curls? And only a couple of slices? Naomi glanced back at the empty pizza boxes on the table. "Could it be that you came late and everything was already eaten?" she proposed, her brain trying (and not really succeeding) to run through all the snacks that were available. There was the pizza, and the cheese curls...She hadn't been in charge of ordering the food, despite what Tak thought.

Tak continued to huff and puff, saying that he had a life and why she thought he had nothing better to do. Naomi couldn't help the laughter that poured out of her mouth. She bent over at the waist, giggling madly at the idea of Tak home alone watching soap operas. "You can do that any time!" she said through the laughter, trying unsuccessfully to take deep breaths to calm down. "Maybe that can be what we do next time. Or I'm sure we could find a TV somewhere and put them on for you,"" she proposed. Nao was ever the people-pleaser: she didn't want Tak to have a bad time. She invited him here to have fun, get out of the house.

Tak's raised finger pointed her direction broke Naomi from her laughing fit. Her head tilted to the side, and she pointed her own finger at herself, curious about where he was going. A bucket of fried chicken? Naomi almost drooled at the thought. That sounded so good right now. Naomi's thoughts swam with dreams of fried chicken, but the dreams were chased away by Tak's assertion that it was too late. He fell to the floor, and Naomi yelped in surprise before joining him down there, her hand patting his back in what she hoped was a comforting way. "Don't worry, this is the North! There's lots of places that are open 24 hours!"

She wasn't sure if her words had much effect. Tak was in full toddler tantrum mode, his fists slamming into the carpet as he lamented about his food expectations. Naomi got lost in dreamland again, thinking of crab legs and ribs and all those things. If she had been sober, she would have told him that he couldn't expect home-cooked meals like that for such a huge party like this. But not-sober Naomi couldn't help but agree. All those things would have been a million times better than some pizza. Naomi's hands fell to the ground as well, her hair curtaining her face like a veil. "You're right, Tak. We need better food," she agreed softly.

Where was her phone? She could order some right now. She was about to check the pockets of her sweater when Tak's head snapped up. Naomi's head followed, but she was unable to zero in on the object of Tak's attention. Her gaze turned to Tak as he popped up, his whole demeanor changing from tantruming toddler to man on a mission. Naomi simply stayed there on all fours on the ground, watching him weave his way through the crowd. Ah, there. A man, unconscious in his chair, holding a bag of pita. That didn't quite scratch the itch that Tak had left in Naomi's brain, but at the very least it was something.

Tak snatched the pita away from the man, or at least...he tried. Naomi watched with a mix of disbelief and sheer amusement as he pulled at the bag and it didn't give. Tak began to try harder, nearly pulling the man out of the seat. Damn, how strong was that guy's grip? Other people began to notice Tak's predicament, mostly laughing at the sheer implausibility of what was happening. How was Tak unable to pull it away? He had both his feet planted on the ground!

Naomi supposed she would have to save him. She pushed herself off of the floor, tottering over to where Tak was struggling. She put one hand on his shoulder, a serene smile on her face. "Knife please!" she shouted to the crowd. She held her hand out expectantly, and within a moment an open pocket knife was placed in her hand. "We'll just cut it out, like a fireman saving someone from a car crash," she smiled at Tak, slicing the bag open just beneath the unconscious man's hand. "After that we can order some food! Just let me know what it is you want," she beamed, holding her hand out again as the knife was taken away, hopefully returned to its rightful owner.


POST NOTES​
((ooc: ))
((Outfit: grey dress and sweater))
((Tonight))



thebigfella thebigfella
 
Madra
CS Link
SCENE:
Dancing Over the Corpses
TIME:
July 28th, 2022 | Post Arc 3
LOCATION:
Laughlin Music Hall, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Pei
Dancing Over the Corpses

Madra arrived to the hall a full two hours before, sticking out just as much amidst the bustling crowd. She was quickly assumed to be part of the staff, an assumption she entertained out of amusement. The space was alive with the sound of music, the rhythm pulsating through the room. She spent most of the time putting on routines for passing patrons, her exceptional skill as a 'mime' intriguing and delighting. As one group of guests took their leave of her company and went on to their tables, she used the opportunity to slink away towards the band.
In truth, she was there on orders. In truth, they were tied for 5th thing on her mind. When she learned the location of the job, she couldn't help but set aside time for fun.

Approaching the stage with a fanciful stride, Madra's white hair bobbed with each step, her mime makeup, furrowed brow and aggressive smile giving her a bemusing allure. As she leaned against the edge of the stage nonchalantly, she pretended to look at her nails through her gloves. She waited for a moment and then turned her head awkwardly towards the band. Once eye contact was established, Madra jumped into an elbow stand, her feet planting onto the stage with featherweight grace.
With the ever present ominous smirk playing on her lips, she leaned in and whispered her request to the band leader, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

The band was reluctant, but something about her seemed compelling enough. They took her cue, launching into the requested fast swing song with gusto. Madra's foot tapped to the beat on the stage, her aura returning to that of a perfomer. She rolled deftly off the stage and sauntered to the dance floor with an exaggerated goosestep, arms swinging in time.



Nearby dancers couldn't help but look over, if not stopping outright to make room.
The juxaposition between her and the clientele became even more stark. A woman, sculpted clearly so, in a mimicry of men's attire, a roguish expression with a harlequin facade painted over top.

Opening her arms wide, Madra silently welcomed them all for coming. Her movements were pleasant and humorist, as if performing for children. She began to dance to the music, inviting crowd members to join her and giving them only a few moments to decide before feigning disappointment and moving on to another.
She did this four or five times before playing the woman scorned. In the middle of her soundless rant and finger wagging, there was a change in her mien. An idea.
Her countenance turned from irritated to highbrowed and self-assured.
She held out a hand and mimed out the pressure of another taking hold of it.

Her invisible partner proved to the forceful fellow, pulling her into a tight embrace and dipping her back uncouthly, her feet leaving the ground.
She fought off her imaginary manhandler, portraying indignance. Only for her to be swept up again, this time into the dance portion of the act.
The flipping, spinning, swinging and sliding was visible from just about anywhere in the hall.
 
Last edited:
RENJIRO IKEDA
CS Link
SCENE:
Thou Shalt Not Detonate
LOCATION:
Sewers beneath the Pleasure District, East District
PARTICIPANTS:
THE POPE, Lloyd, Renjiro, Yona, Aerith
Thou Shalt Not Detonate
Since joining the Azure Dragons, Renjiro had been waiting patiently to be tasked with some real excitement. So far, he had only accompanied his older sister on trivial missions — mostly standing and looking intimidating at brothels to scare away the unsavory guests. However, now he was on his first real mission! And a very exciting one too. Something about a threat in the sewers. Not the most ideal environment, but he wouldn’t complain about that.

He followed in after the two other Dragons, blissfully unbothered by his surroundings as he walked with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his kimono. His eyes flickered over to Mr. Glasses, merely smiling at his small talk and the incorrect name he recalled. “Yup, that’s me. Nice to see you again, Floyd.”

Renjiro spared a glance at the other Dragon whom he had yet to meet and offered a friendly smile. “I’m Renjiro.” He turned his attention back to the front, slightly tilting his head side to side as he moved with the rhythmic beating of distant metal pipes.

Vorifengrous Vorifengrous Jexon Whells Jexon Whells CasualTea CasualTea thebigfella thebigfella
 
Keith Sullivan
CS Link
SCENE:
Meet and Grit
LOCATION:
The Third Eye, Central District
TIME:
Morning, July 8th, 2022
PARTICIPANTS:
Peyton, Keith
Meet and Grit

"...S-Serpent?"

Despite still being a small handful of people between the group and the renowned author, the mere mention of the extremely infamous gang was enough to kick her survival instincts to first gear, the scribbling of her pen stop as her hand remained still, in light shivers. Keith's expression of shock was just as evident as the guards taking a step forward, only to then physically recoil once the filthy vermin dared to approach him. His expression was a mixture of fear, disgust and rage alike.

The Rookie Dragon looked around him. First at the cautious Mallick, then to a visibly distraught Veronica and the towering guards who seemed ready to jump into action at any moment, despite their outwardly calm dispositions. He then looked back down at Peyton, his arms held high and wide, bent forwards. He swallowed, his adam's apple swaying up and down slightly.

"Y-Yeah! That's what I always say, you're a cheeky little snake, aren't you?" While a drop of sweat blatantly ran down the side of his forehead, Keith forced a toothy smile as his arm wrapped around Peyton's shoulder, pulling the shorter man even closer for a tighter embrace. "S-Sorry for the confusion, we're just good buddies." His other hand traveled to over Peyton's head, his red hand closing into a fist, crimson knuckles rubbing playfully for a noogie.

The guards raised an eyebrow each, somehow pretty skeptic for the little performance. Most of the fault coming from the fact that Keith is plain and simple a terrible liar. But Nora, instead, let out an audible sigh of relief, Keith's ears able to catch the sound of a pen scribbling once more. A little hesitant, the guards took a step back, leaning their shoulders against the oaken pillars of the library, keeping watchful eyes on the general vicinity.

Keith was the second to sigh, his fake smile instantly disappearing as red fingers pressed against Peyton's chest, pushing the serpent away, albeit gently enough to not make him lose any balance. He spared his pretend friend a brief, vehement glare before turning around, the people in front of them happily taking their leave from the library, signed copies in hand.

"Hello!" chirped the storyteller with a kind tone, her gentle smile a extreme breath of fresh air for the unbelievably stressed rookie. The young man's body trembled with utter excitement, it was his favorite author of all time in front of him, in the flesh! He smile coily, his trembling fingers keeping a hold of his own book.

"H-Hello! T-This really doesn't feel real! I've been a huge fan for years...I-I'm Keith, by the way." His tone was barely any more contained than a child meeting his favorite superhero.

"Why, thank you Keith! Hope you've been enjoying my works, now, what would you like me to sign?"

SHE KNOWS MY NAME Yes, you literally just told her.

"Yes! T-They've been fantastic!" He handed over his copy, the hard cover making a dry thud as it hit the solid oak surface of the desk. Nora's eyes briefly glossed over the partially-concealed blood-shaded hands holding it, before switching her attention to the book.

"Oh! The Seventh Howl? What an interesting pick!" She eagerly raised her pen before lowering the pen onto the book. "It's not my most popular work for sure, and I know why; my editor was BEGGING for me to add a romance sub-plot, you know? But I wanted a little break from that for once."

"I-I get that! I thought the platonic dynamic fit the tone of the story a lot more." His face lit up even further. If he was a dog, his tail would be wagging like crazy, and he might even be doing spins where he stood. The young man couldn't have been any happier right now, it almost felt like the prior annoyances barely even mattered at the end of the day.




Coyote Hart Coyote Hart
 
Rutger Vos
CS Link
SCENE:
Next Aisle Down
LOCATION:
8th Street Plaza, South District
TIME:
Post-Outbreak || July 12th, 2022
PARTICIPANTS:
Rutger, Pei ( thebigfella thebigfella ), Jun (@King Crimson)
Next Aisle Down
Despite Rutger's murderous past and present, he generally followed most laws. He wasn't one to make himself a high-profile criminal... but free goodies was an enticing offer. He hardly had a reason to say no, he already killed people, what would stealing a few items do? "I suppose you are correct. It's actually quite silly that I haven't considered that prospect..." For a rare moment, Rutger was going to be out of his comfort zone. Though he didn't show it in his mannerisms or face, his mind was racing as he considered a wide range of possibilities where this little game could go wrong. Maybe he was just worrying too much. "I'll join you in your games, I still have more things that I want." A small, tenative smile slid onto his face, unsure as to what was to come.

His train of thought was broken when Jun came into view, his small smile remaining even as Jun was rather cold towards Rutger. He wasn't familiar with many people, but he was unfortunately familiar with Jun. While Rutger was graceful, Jun seemed to do everything in a way that led to a... mess and Rutger hated messes. Luckily, messes could be cleaned up and he had some hope in helping Jun become a bit more civilized. "Hello Jun... I hope you haven't been causing too much trouble. The last thing we need to do is mop up your mess." Rutger's smile widened, though there wasn't much behind it. The last thing he needed to show to these people was his true self.

He took a few steps forward, getting closer to Jun to examine him better. Rutger had a habit of breaking personal boundaries, especially if the person was somebody he loved to mess with. "I'm surprised you haven't cut that long hair off yet... it must get in the way of your vision." He flicked it with his index finger, giving off a small laugh as he backed off a few steps. "You sure do pretend to dress nice for a gremlin." He stuck his tongue out in a way to taunt Jun, knowing that he could get a rise out of the younger man. Some people were just fun to mess with.

Turning his attention away from Jun, he turned it back to Pei. "So Pam... where to first?" Since the spikey haired man seemed to have a plan for this game, he was going to let him lead. Free stuff was free stuff though Rutger was hoping that the man had a good eye for stores. The last thing he wanted to steal was diapers. While his nervousness over the success of this game didn't go away, he was starting to warm up to the idea of being a thief. His potential already guaranteed him success, it just felt like a cheap way to get your items. He wasn't one for taking the easiest path.
 
RAPHAEL SHAW
CS Link
SCENE:
Really?! It's just called 'Soup'?
TIME:
June 1st, 2022; Mid-day
LOCATION:
North District; Serpent HQ
PARTICIPANTS:
Raphael, August, Peyton
SOUP
"And what if we were? You jealous?" Raph purred in Peyton's direction, smiling viciously.

His gaze turned toward the planes of August’s back, watching the other boy stifle his coughing fit from his perch still on the bed. It pleased him to learn just what kinds of reactions the former Tiger was capable of eliciting, when appropriately… Stimulated. He’d hold onto that particular nugget of information for a later date. He was smiling still when he turned back to look at Peyton, though it had softened some in the interlude. The smile quickly faded. A frown rose up from the depths of him to replace it.

Raph became acutely aware of the empty gulf of space which had opened following August's sudden departure. Where August’s body had provided a barrier between them, now stood only empty air.

And in that space Raph found himself staring down the barrel of a contradiction. Both of the men before him had helped in the rescue effort, and yet unlike August, whose presence at the black site had been an unexpected—albeit welcome—surprise, and who now occupied a realm in Raph's mind that even he could not aptly name, Peyton's presence—in this room and in his life—remained as it had been for the past four years, wholly unwelcome.

While Raph didn’t profess to care much about silly things like loyalty (after all, he was no Phoenix) one tenet that the Serpent did hold to was reciprocity... And spite. Peyton had spited him once when he joined the dragons. That debt was yet to be repaid, nor would it be forgiven. Even if Peyton—possibly, maybe—had lended a hand in plucking him from the clutches of nightmare.

Suffice to say, Raph didn't forgive. He didn't forget. He’d take any chance to remind the pint-sized, two-time turncoat just how unwelcome he was in his former home.

"Oh? For me? Isn’t that sweet."

Raph said, the saccharine sweetness in his tone like a promise of violence. He stood, turning to face the seated Peyton head on. A hand swatted the bowl out of Peyton’s lap, its contents painting the far wall.

Before the aggrieved party could utter a word—either of dismay or pleasure Raph couldn’t hazard a guess—Raph, following fresh on the heels of his recent soup murder, clamped his fingers like a vice around Peyton’s neck, dragging him to his feet. And since they were doing this, What was with these two knowing each other, anyhow?! For all Raph knew about Peyton, for all that Peyton had done to him, the thought that he and August were somehow acquainted—even not knowing the nature of said acquaintance—filled him with a rage that surprised him.

Raph hurled Peyton against the unadorned wall of the makeshift abode. The cement cracked upon impact, loosing a flurry plaster and concrete from the spiderweb of fractures that flowered across the surface of the wall like a bloom of frost in fast-forward.

"Thanks for saving me, by the way. Now, if you could do me one teensy little favor and drop dead?! That would be lovely. ~"

 
Last edited:
Zentsupa Pei
CS Link
SCENE:
Dancing Over The Corpses
LOCATION:
West District, Laughlin Music Hall
TIME:
July 28th, 2022 | | Post-Outbreak
PARTICIPANTS:
Madra Pumpkin Spice Cyanide Pumpkin Spice Cyanide
Dancing Over The Corpses

Pei wasn’t deaf. Even as his eyes focused on the dull liquid in his glass, he was torn away from it as the room’s energy changed entirely. His gaze narrowed as the excitement exploded, crescendos of elation as a dancer took the stage and act of performance.

From his seat at the bar, he leaned towards it with his grin. Upon the bright lights of the stage, the pale appearance of colorless skin and deep black cornea were visible. Pei had already pushed himself off his stool before he had fully taken in his appearance, walking forward in his slouched tramp. He didn’t let the vitality pull him in as he stepped between the screaming crowds and the dancing spectators.

He gravitated to the stage like a magnet; it was only natural. Amongst this plain crowd, the bland features of this “mime” was the most exciting thing around.

Pei gripped onto a glossy brass railing, and with a leap, he pulled himself to stand on top of it, his hands stretching out in front of him to raise up in the air. His lungs tightened as his chest compressed tightly, dragging every bit of air he could into his lungs before exploding.

“KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEK!”

With his bat-like screech, he hopped over the railing and leaped forward, flying through the air as gravity pulled him downward. His suit fluttered like a cape in the wind. The shadow cast above his body underneath the spotlight basked him in shadow, depicting him with the giant wings of the devil as he came down, his twisted teeth similar to those of some vampiric monstrosity.

And then he landed, the wood rumbling underneath his feet, the music playing as he made his debut, performers far too into their instruments to notice his appearance. Slowly, he dragged his body back upward, his head kept downward, a hand shoved underneath the coat of his suit.


Then he snapped his neck upward, and in the same motion, he bolstered a pistol that was formerly hidden from view. Its pink color made it seem like a toy rather than a real weapon.

But a bang through the air ripples through the atmosphere, stopping everything abruptly, scratching the guitar and off-noting woodwinds. From the barrel, smoke plumed Pei’s twisted smile right behind the coil of white mist floating up into the atmosphere.

The bullet had whizzed by Madra, piercing a hole through a set of curtains behind her, and it would have been a miss if the target was her. The shot was instead meant for her invisible dance partner, the non-existent person.

Pei didn’t flinch as he kept his gun trained; everyone looked at him with eyes full of confusion, followed right by fear. Security had already begun to move, prepared to deal with this ridiculous scenario. Suits and sunglasses rushed towards the stage through the frozen crowd.

But before a single scream could be uttered, Pei grinned and tossed his gun onto the floor. It clattered onto the stage, skidding across the ground until it teetered at the end of the stage. Everyone found themselves watching it until it stopped, and then they turned their focus back to the mysterious blond.

“Where the hell…” Pei began to speak through his massive sneer, his joy turning to annoyance as his pupils disappeared from his eyes. Veins protruded from his forehead as he snapped to look back towards the band.

“IS THE DAMN MUSIC!?””

Pei triumphantly raised a finger, pointing to Madra. He immediately snapped back to that malicious simper he seemed unable to escape, roping her right into his madness.

“IT’S SHOWTIME, AIN’T IT!?”

With a step forward, he grasped the mime by their gloved hand, pulling himself closer until his forehead was pressed against hers, giving her a close-up of that unhinged grin.

“Let’s have some fun! Kekekekek!” he cackled, letting himself lean back within her grasp, one leg twisting over the other as the music came back to life. The musicians seemed to think this was all part of the act, and as the tempo revived, so did the atmosphere.

“Try not to bore me, will ya!?” Pei exclaimed. He seemed to have no interest in putting himself completely at the whims of the mime and whatever she had planned for this performance. His gaze narrowed in intrigue.

Forcing himself into the show, he would ensure he would do his part as the co-star. He was interested in seeing how much she could move this crowd.

And how much she was capable of.


 
Zentsupa Pei
CS Link
SCENE:
Next Aisle Down
LOCATION:
8th Street Plaza, South District
TIME:
Post-Outbreak || July 12th, 2022
PARTICIPANTS:
Rutger Slav Slav , Jun @King Crimson, Pei
Next Aisle Down

Rushing towards his wonderland filled with idol merchandise and the untapped joy of most likely cheap, marketed products, Bushineko suddenly felt himself pulled back. The sharp tug of his tails earned an “NYA!” in shock from him as he was lifted upside down. His paws hung below him as he looked at Jun from his narrowed eyes. It didn’t take long for the blue cat to remember the troublemaker.

“You!” He blurted out, his tiny paws reaching out towards him, frantically trying to scratch his face that was out of reach, “Let me go, fiend! I’ll make you pay-zarunayn!” He growled in rage, snarling like a feral animal as his body rocked around. He was quick and jagged in his movements but did not get any closer to scaring Jun like he wanted.

“I would never let myself become a servant to a knave like you, even compared to that demon Pei; you’re--” As the shogun tried to defy the derelict, Jun’s interest was quickly lost.

And without much of a care, he tossed the tiny shogun away. And so did he fly through the air, right over the railing, with three floors below him and a fountain awaiting his crash toward the ground.

“NYAAAAAAAAAAAA!” he cried out, the Doppler effect coming into play as gravity brought him down until the sound of a splash and a plume of water flowed upward like an eruption.

Quickly, he was forgotten about, and Pei paid no mind to it as he talked to Rutger. With a satisfied grin, he leaned backward slightly, turning his focus to a glance through the corner of his eye.

“Of course, you want more things! Kekekekek! You just come around so you can make sure you smell like lavender and butterscotch, huh!?” Pei light-heartedly mocked his fellow Phoenix as he took a hand out of his pocket, pulling out his phone and waving it around.

“Just follow my lead, and we’ll be shoppin’ til everyone else drops!”

Having Rutger on his side wasn’t much of an achievement; it's not like anyone would turn down the concept of free stuff, especially in a place like this. A hub of commerce, walled by tags and labels, something as flimsy as money would never dictate his actions, and those who thought they were tied to societal norms were idiots, in his eyes.

When everything falls apart, who will care about currency? Who will care about morals? Such a question would be answered soon.

Amid his thoughts, tapping through his phone, a familiar voice and intrusive thoughts led him to know that the third piece in this game had appeared. He turned his phone off immediately, unceremoniously shoving it into his pocket, “There you are. Was thinkin’ I was gonna have to track your spastic ass down,” he remarked, and with expectations of the tension that was about to happen, he stepped to the side.

He didn’t have much interest in their squabble, visible by the disappearance in his grin as he leaned against a nearby railing, letting them get whatever they had out of their system, “Kekekek. I was hoping you two would have gone for each other’s throats as soon as you saw each other!” he gave a disappointed shrug, before pushing himself off the railing and stepping ahead. He didn’t immediately answer Rutger’s question, but he stopped his walk to twirl back around, regaining that enigmatic, sharp-toothed smile.

“Kekekek! Where the fuck else ya gonna do when it’s time to hit the mall!?” Pei shouted, raising his arms in the air, the bright lights of an illuminated sign above him introducing the household name that no one would soon forget, a department store dragging itself along the edge of irrelevance since the 90s.


Marcy’s.

“We’re gonna need carts if we carry all of our goodies! Might as well grab some clothes and household appliances while we’re at it! Kekekekekek!” Pei exclaimed, raising a clenched fist before his face as he cackled, “This is going to be more than just your average shopping trip! Things are about to get real fucking wild! Kekekekekek!”

With that declaration, Pei had begun his “sprint” towards the store, though his lack of athleticism and speed didn’t let him get far. His legs and knees rose up high as he laughed, taking his giant strides towards the storefront.

Just what did this maniac have planned?





Black ooze continued to seep through the cracks. It bubbled from the crevices, threading through the grooves of cement and tiles. Feet stepped upon them, and viscous, threading tendrils stuck to their heels like chewed gum, carrying along with them.

It flowed from the ceiling, leaking through pipes, inky black. It dripped down, tasseled into hair, slipped into purses, and down necklines unnoticed. Its heat, the exact temperature of a human body, its metabolism, and coursing blood generate all its exothermic reactions. It mimicked the same digestion, the pulsing of life.

Slinking along flesh, weaving through hairs on legs, crawling through fingers, and snaking up into sleeves, as if each drip had a mind.

A black cat wandered along. Its furry frame did not gloss underneath the light; its displacement amongst the crowd of shoppers was unnoticed in their frenzy. It strolled along the fountain's rim and then hopped onto the escalator, padding up its railing.

The skylight above let light seep through, but slowly, it dimmed. The approaching clouds darkened the skies, the growing forecast of rain.

The black cat reached the next floor and stepped onto the cold tiles, patterned with white and turquoise.

“Kitty!” Screamed a child, a girl whose innocence led her to chase after the black cat. The feline scurried and hid behind potted plants holding fake trees, absorbing itself within the shadows of the bench.

Its red eyes glowed through the darkness.


The girl crawled onto her knees, her stubby fingers reached, attempting to grasp at the cat.

The feline hissed. And then, it bit.

With a cry of pain, the girl pulled her hands out from the darkness, but before she could wail to her parents came the feeling of lethargy. Numbness at the ligaments.

Cuticles turned black, veins within the fingers weaved rivers of tar; through the arms did the course until they reached the heart, throbbing spiderwebs that bulged through the skin in deep murkiness. The girl gagged, she choked, she clutched at her tiny throat, her body squirmed, twitched, and then fell slack.

And then, she rose, her eyes vacant and replaced by empty pools of black. Her posture was inhuman, like a puppet within a skin suit.

“There you are--” Came the voice of the worried father. But his breath immediately stopped. Before she even turned around, her legs bending, ankles twisting, crackless like well-oiled hinges, he knew that this monstrosity was no longer his daughter.

And as soon as those hollow eyes looked up at him, a smile with gums that had been blackened and oozed darkness.

He screamed.


 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
They Tell You Not To Mix Chemicals Because You Can Make Mustard Gas, But Nobody Tells You How Mixing People Makes Something More Deadly
LOCATION:
North District
DATE:
July 18th, 2022 | | Post-Outbreak
PARTICIPANTS:
Nao tityanya tityanya , Takakazu
They Tell You Not To Mix Chemicals Because You Can Make Mustard Gas, But Nobody Tells You How Mixing People Makes Something More Deadly

Tak was still occupied with trying to save this singular, half-eaten pita; with raw desperation, he was beginning to froth at the mouth like he had rabies, a maniac, that’s what it was. When Nao tapped him on the shoulder, his head nearly spun around like an owl, spitting foam as he blurted out, “WHAT!?” in his frenzy, for a moment, it almost sounded like he growled.

Yet, as soon as a knife fell into Nao’s hand, all that madness disappeared, as instead it was replaced with an inquisitive eyebrow raise, “Oh, we gonna cut his fingers off, I ain’t think about that,” he said without even a second thought. He definitely had a screw loose.

Luckily, instead of removing the man’s fingers for a pita, a cut of the bag freed it from its prison of plastic. Immediately, Tak dove for it like a football player, grasping it before it hit the ground (though he would have eaten it regardless). His crash and subsequent roll across the ground knocked over chairs onto the floor, creating a pile of furniture and forgotten drinks.

Tak’s hand rose from it, raising the pita up in the air within his clenched hand, and then the rest of his body followed as he pulled himself back to his feet, a couple of extra stains on his jacket from spilled alcohol and whatever else was on the floor.

“Finally, I was about to waste away,” he remarked, flapping around the pita as if it was a fan rather than food, acting as if this was the only thing between him and starvation, “Sorry, but if you think I’m sharin’ tough shit! First come first serve!” he exclaimed, immediately bringing his tongue to cover the pita in his slobber, “I already drooled all over it, so it’s mine!” He declared, forgetting that it was half eaten as he childishly stuck out his tongue, blowing a raspberry.

Just as he opened his jaw to devour the pita bread, just about to bite down, his eyes went bloodshot. As Nao’s earlier words finally hit home, his dilated pupils went wide as saucers.

“WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YA SAY THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE!?” Tak roared, immediately turning around to toss the pita, covered in spit, right onto the unconscious man’s face, sticking to his feature as it was covered in glue.

Tak spun and grasped Nao’s shoulders, looking into her eyes with his crazed gaze, “I didn’t want that fuckin’ pita anyway! I was just actin’ like it because there was nothing else! I don’t even like pita bread, damnit!” He spilled all these “deep” truths like it was the end of the world, starting to shake her lightly in his food-desiring frenzy, “Are you serious about ordering?! You’ll really cover for me!? If you tell me you’re joking, I’ll really start crying, you know!?”

With how he was tearing up, the emotionally sporadic man seemed like he might actually start bawling, but before that thought could get too comfortable, his gaze sharpened, his masculine features well-defined as his jaw extended with a cleft in his chin that was not there before. He let go of Nao to place a hand on his chest, “Of course, if you’re offering. I’ll make sure to keep it under budget! Wouldn't it be right of me to drain your wallet, would it?” he stated, cupping his chin and pursing his lips as he gazed at Nao with a flutter of his eyelashes, “I’m a gentleman, after all.”

The unnerving amount of definition disappeared from his visage as Tak crossed his arms in thought. His lips visibly rubbed against each other as he moved around his tongue in thought, dimples forming in his chin as he considered his options.

Tak knew food—cheap, affordable food—but it was food. Restaurants all across New Oasis knew of his existence if they had any menu item that was 5 dollars or less. His options were vast, and that’s why he was doing more thinking than he had probably done in months, as Nao had offered him something special: free food of his choice. He was used to getting what he could, from scraps or whatever was cheap, but the power of selection…?

Calculations were floating before his vision, time, distance, price, and quality. Graphs, equations, chemical formulas, and geometrical shapes faded in and out of the atmosphere as Tak considered his choice thoroughly, and then, with a final spark in his eye, his posture suddenly straightened, and there was a snap that signified he had finally made his choice.

“How about some curry?”

Amongst all the limitless choices he had on Nao’s dime, his conscience decided he couldn’t bring himself to stretch far for some reason, some unfathomable reason. Fancy restaurants he had never tried, chains he couldn’t order anything but the value menu, Tak turned all of those down to, instead, get some food he knew far too well. Was he overwhelmed by the choice and defaulted to what he knew best?

Or maybe he just wanted to let Nao try this curry he had eaten his whole life.


…Nah, he just had a craving.

“I know a guy who runs a place, and he’s probably the only one crazy enough to make a delivery to the North at this time of night. He wouldn’t come out this far usually,” Tak trailed off, his eyes closing in a rare moment of retrospection; there was a visible softness in his expression as he thought, whoever this man was, it was clear he had Tak had some type of connection.

It was only a moment, a breath before his eyes were back open, and he was looking at Nao with that usual deadpan disinterest he defaulted to in between his rapidly changing emotional state.

“If you tell him I sent ya, he’ll make the trip,” he said, sticking his hands into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper, unfurling it between his fingers. Underneath layers of wrinkles and stains of grease was a menu. It wasn’t much to look at, lacking pictures or any actual act of design; it was just a slip with names on it and a few designs that kept it from being entirely blank besides the letters.

“Numbers on there.”

 
Areith Rozárie
CS Link
SCENE:
What Is Left With The Ashes?
LOCATION:
North District, Abandoned Church
TIME:
July 19th, 2022 | | Post Outbreak
PARTICIPANTS:
Klara Pumpkin Spice Cyanide Pumpkin Spice Cyanide
What Is Left With The Ashes?

You strolled through these harrowing halls. Each step echoed, reverberating across the molding wood and moss-growing stone. Stains of water from cracks had deteriorated the ground, fracturing brick and mortar. Age and insects had worn away at the carpet. For a time, the smell of mildew and rotting wood had been uncomfortable, tossed into one of His palaces, left forgotten and unmaintained as the world continued to shy away from His radiance.

Candlelight across your face guided your step ahead. Passing doors closed and unmarked, marks of history came in the shape of empty screw-holes and broken knobs. Many of them were empty, currently purposeless.

The holy labyrinth’s walls curved down the hall, and stained glass windows depicted moments of His story, refracting light from the moon that cast shadows across the opposite wall, disturbed as you strode past.

The silence in a place that was once full of life. Worshipers, sisters, fathers, and brothers, all in hand under Him. Now, it was just her, and her followers left to pick up what they could. Somedays, she questioned why she had been given such a challenge to pick up from destruction and rebuild to salvation.

Within your free hand, you held a saucer—a glass of water whose surface danced with your movement. Next to it was a bright red apple, as if it had been freshly picked off the vine. These were simple offerings, ones that would hopefully promote healing and regrowth of what had been lost. So you hoped, so you prayed.

Your hands stopped at a creaked door, most likely from glances from your followers. Their intrigue in what they considered a new covenant member had to be suppressed, for this woman was not someone to join the cause. She was to be saved.

You grasped the cold handle of the door and pushed it open, extending your candlelight inside before you let your massive form squeeze through the door, crouching down to avoid hitting your head.

She was awake. And already, she had emptied the contents of her stomach.

Withdrawal? Hangover? Thoughts of grim reality entered your head. But you did not question it. His temple was not a place to judge.

Instead, you walked along, letting each step be punctuated by the creeks of the floorboards, and calmly placed the saucer upon the nightstand, the faint clink of the glass, using the fire of your candle to light the candelabra placed upon it.

“I’m happy to see you awake,” you hushed, stepping away to give her space, clasping your hands at your waist, “Do not worry about the mess. I’m sure that your poor body is suffering.”

Stepping back until your heels kicked against the small stool placed in front of the piano, you sat down. Your red eyes watched her movements, looked upon her body, heard her voice, the way she breathed, and the look within her vision. Deeply troubled, that’s what she was. It was not new; you had met many who were just like her.

Unfortunately, you could not save them all.

You hoped that this would be one that you could.

“I am sister Areith,” You introduced, soft as you could as you shuffled around in the stool, the sound of the fabric of your habit brushing against each other as you crossed one leg over the other, “Do you have any memory of last night? I found you unconscious in the middle of a burned-down building and brought you here."

The walls did not have ears or eyes in this confined room. But, they spoke, regurgitating what was said in their hollow echoes; you could only hope the extra pairs of lips could help you talk to one so deeply wounded.

“What is your name, child?”

 
Sabrina Felton
CS Link
SCENE:
Reparations
LOCATION:
ruined bridge, north/east district
TIME:
post-outbreak, july 21st, 2022
PARTICIPANTS:
Serpents and Dragons
Reparations

The beats sounding into Sabrina’s ear helped her focus and relax at same time; Much like drugs, but healthier. Cleaner. The dark days where she depended on narcotics to get her through the day, to bring her the euphoric feelings that music should’ve, were a thing of the past. Mostly. She still smoked, of course. Addiction took too much effort to completely wipe from her system, though she made small efforts to manage it here and there. Limited her alcohol intake to once a day ever since the Concert Incident.

Therefore, to see the loud former Ace-turned-Queen, whom she’d never seen smoke, pick up the vice did cause her to raise an eyebrow, but she didn’t comment on it. Perhaps, he’d always been a secret smoker and she’d never known. They weren’t close enough for her to be aware of his less obvious habits. Besides, the loosening of the mind was sometimes a good thing. Sometimes necessary. Those who tote willpower have never seen a dark pit and some of her best lyrics had been composed under a bit of influence; With a free and unhindered mind.

She doubted Bash was trying to make a creative masterpiece, so assumed that whatever worries he was trying to get rid of were big enough that even his smooth brain couldn’t expel them on their own. Made sense given the circumstances, but she wasn’t even aware that he was capable of worry. Loud. Obnoxious. Calling himself the strongest all day, every day. That was the impression Sabrina got of their Ace-turned-Queen…granted she didn’t hang around with him enough to know, or care, about what he was like behind the bluster.

Music drowned him out when he got too annoying.

She also tended to turn up the volume when he and Bloodfiend were put in the same room for longer than a minute.

Yet there didn’t seem to be much of an argument this time around.

Arriving from the sky (because Valerie insisted she practiced her acquired potential whenever she could), Sabrina behaved as she always did when in the presence of her fellow gangsters. Acknowledged no one. Glared at anyone that got too close. She found a relatively quiet spot, near the edge of the broken bridge, to enjoy the view and listen to music while she waited for the show to begin. As more and more Serpents arrived, drawn to the dilapidated bridge by Bash’s message, Sabrina couldn’t help but wonder how many actually came to support the new Queen and how many came to see the chaos.

Bash wanted to ‘speak’ with the Dragon King, after all.

While Sabrina had yet to really interact with any gangs outside the North District, Valerie clued her in on the animosity between the Sable Serpent Gang and the Azure Dragon gang. From the slaughter of doxed Dragons in Central to their retaliatory attacks on the Serpent Labs, she doubted the bitterness between the two gangs would end with words alone. It was a feud that had existed long before the ascension of the previous Queen. Between Order and Chaos. ‘Peace’ and Freedom. Did Bash think he could wrangle an apology from the Dragon King or something?

For a lab that blew itself up every other week anyway?

He kicked off the meeting by stating the obvious.

Sabrina would be lying if she said she gave the Queen her full attention. Bash’s oratory skill left much to be desired and his warning unnecessary. Sabrina would do what she wanted whether it be fight or flee, respect or disrespect.

Instead, her eyes drifted to where a portal appeared on the other side of the bridge. Dragons came out of it, followed by drones. Lots of drones.

Sabrina couldn’t say she gave a damn about the Serpent Labs. She’d been to Lab Icarus once. Got her blood drawn there once. Otherwise, she kept her distance from any lab that didn’t have Valerie in it. Science wasn’t for her. She wouldn’t even pretend to understand the numerous, illegal concoctions Serpent White Coats produced in their creepy basements. She didn’t care. However, she also couldn’t deny that her power, her freedom, was produced in one of the Serpent Labs.

Besides, though equipment and walls could be replaced, lives couldn’t.

Sabrina only ever heard of the ‘incident’ through rumors, but the absence of a chatty red-head had been noticed since then. And a coward. And a ten–something? Sabrina would be lying if she said she was particularly close with any of them (couldn’t even remember their names), but they were part of the Serpent gang the same…the tolerable ones at least. The fact remained that the Dragons of the East posed a threat to Serpent safety and would have to be dealt with–one way or another.

Therefore, Sabrina moved when the rest of the Serpents did.

She didn’t even like Azure Dragons all that much. From their fascist ideology to the arrogant way (most) of them seemed to carry themselves, She didn’t expect to find many of them agreeable. She didn’t expect much of a conversation at all. So it surprised her when the Dragon King shook Bash’s hand. Did he not know their former Ace’s potential or was he dumb? Did Bash intend to lock the Dragon King’s power or was he actually trying for peace?

Eyes locked on the clasped hands, as if looking would let her discern the answer, Sabrina’s gaze flicked up when Bash spoke.

Strangely enough, the Serpent’s words irked her more than the Dragon’s did.

“This minion will step to the side then. Try not to die, Fucker.”

Or get captured like the previous Queen.

Giving the white haired brat that stood dramatically atop four drones an unimpressed look, and Bash a middle finger, Sabrina walked away to give the two gang royalties a bit of space for privacy. Not too much space of course, and Sabrina prided herself on her speed, but she wasn’t entirely positive she’d be able to reach Queen in time should the Dragon King decide to pull out a knife. Maybe. It’d depend on the Dragon King’s speed. As confident as Sabrina was of her own, she didn’t tend to underestimate her enemies, least of all the one rumored to be the strongest of the current Kings.

Should Bash die to the Dragon King that’d be another Queen down under her watch. Valerie wouldn’t be happy. Could she be blamed though? Snake had led them all into a trap to save his ‘beloved brother’. Ran headlong into a dark maze without waiting for his support. Trusted the wrong individual. If Bash wanted to follow his predecessor’s example, he was free to do so. Sabrina would do what she could, but even she couldn’t protect stupid.

Drawing the traitor’s katana from her back, Sabrina occupied her time by cleaning the silver blade. She’d been taking good care of the sword so that, one day, should she run into its original owner, she’d be able to run him through with it. A satisfying revenge for all the time she’d spent walking aimlessly in his potential. Who knows? She might even have to cut some Dragons with it depending on how negotiations went.

“Ya’ll don’t seem to trust your King very much,” Sabrina commented idly. Whether the Dragons took that as an insult or not was up to them. “Bringing so many guns to a simple conversation. It’s kind of sad, really.”

Respect, for Sabrina, was given to those that have earned it. Besides, she respectfully hadn't broken the weapon aimed at her.
 
Last edited:
CHARLIE HUGHES
CS Link
SCENE:
Two Can Cross the Threshold
TIME:
Post-Outbreak, Late July 2022
LOCATION:
Central District
PARTICIPANTS:
Charlie, Alice
Two Can Cross the Treshold

"Huhhhh..." Lifting his shades away from his pupils, the lanky man strained his vision as he focused on the phone screen held in front of him. He scratched his chin, causing ashes to fall from the tip of his cigarette, gently held between his fingers. "Yeah, I've seen this chick."

Using his free arm to hold onto his knee, Charlie bent over, panting heavily and gasping for big gulps of air. He had spent the better part of two hours running around the massive district, asking almost any passerby coming into his vision about Alice's location. It had finally started to dawn on him just how reckless his course of action really was, counting the area of both of the discrict's levels, the terrain he had to cover was overall similar to other cities in their entirety.

"I...I see..." he heaved, feeling defeated in response to what he assumed to be the same answer he'd been getting for the last ninety minutes, for dozens of times "I'll...Keep looking the-" He stopped, his neck craning upwards with eerie quickness as his eyes locked onto the smoker's. "Wait, you did?! Seriously?" He perked up, newfound energy in his movements as he stood on his tippy toes, his face moving concerningly close to the taller man, who was now leaning back, a bit creeped out by the sudden gesture.

"Yeah." Answered the third man, a hand brushing though his greasy pompadour. "Gal passed here and to the left over there, she didn't even give my buddy here the time of day, hehehe..." Rings of smoke came out with each exhaling of his laughter. "Oh, fuck off, will ya?!" The first man barked, thrusting his elbow against the other's side, a raspy whimper escaping from his thin lips, followed by a slow groan. "But yeah, she came by like five minutes ago or something, can't be that far." He brought his mostly-consumed cigarette to his lips, the tip growing brighter as he breathed in. "Looked pretty fucking uptight, though."

The boy bowed in an exaggerated manner, his voluminous ponytail draping down forward. "Thank you so much!" The men simply nodded in response, a little amused by the difference in their behavior. Their eyes followed Charlie's frame as he ran away, finally turning at the end.

"Shoulda made a move on her as well." The second smoker quipped with a smug.

"That wasn't a she, dumbass!" Another elbow blow was served on the exact same spot, with a very similar outcome.

With a defragmented determination, the rookie phoenix continued to search the area, once more asking the people he'd come across about Alice's whereabouts. It took a good handful of minutes to get back on the right track, having made a few missteps and wrong turns, just because he got a good lead, that didn't mean he'd suddenly get a magical beacon telling him where to go. Finally, one last person pointed their finger at an abandoned building, behind him from across the street. It was an unassuming bowling alley, long crumbled to ruin, a location that otherwise Charlie might've not bothered to check.

Stepping inside, it was already to note how a lot of the rubble that should be there...Simply wasn't. Like someone had bothered to clear the way within for some reason. As the boy went deeper, his attention was taken by a large, unnatural hole nearby. the boy leaned over, peeking with curiosity.


@AriAriAbabwa
 
Passeri Park
SCENE:
Happy Therapy with Dr. Jacques
TIME:
July 18th, 2022
LOCATION:
Dr. Haman's Office, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Passeri, Jacques
Happy Therapy with Dr. Jacques
Each tick of the clock was like a dull, nervous heartbeat. A clockwork heart, the rhythmic center of a room whose only purpose was to soothe. To beat into the mind of those fidgeting, fragile souls which sat within that this was a safe place. A place of shelter from the storm that was the outside world. The dust that clung to the air a somber aromatic, and the aged furnishings a reminder of older, better times. What once was and what could be again.

If only, of course, one opened their heart to the wise woman in the chamber beyond.

"Dammit..." Passeri was deaf to it all. A half-drained smartphone danced between her palms, each message read and every alert dismissed within tenths of a second. She browsed back through conversations and skimmed through articles she'd normally never pay any heed. Anything, really, to distract herself from where she'd wound up.

A therapist. She eyed the doctor's nameplate as if it were some sort of artifact of the profane. She didn't belong here. She didn't need this. She didn't have time for this fucking nonsense. Every minute that she spent here was another that cast Caio further away, that dug Hashimoto's roots deeper into the soil, that pushed her blackmail another inch closer to the press, that trickled through another grain of sand in that scant hourglass called time. It was only the President's insistence that had landed her here. She could count on her fingers the number of times he'd exercised his authority so thoroughly. It'd been a rare need, after all. His judgement was the amongst those that she trusted most, but at the moment she was beginning to wonder if he was going senile.

She didn't need this, she told herself once, twice, thrice, and then once more.

"Ah!" It was a reflex that brightened Passeri's expression as the doctor's office swung wide. "Hey there! You're...?" Her eyes spun to the figure now occupying the door frame, only for her brow to immediately furrow. "...Dr. Haman?"

Her confusion was brief, but summarily dismissed.

"Sorry! You're um... Younger than I was expecting. Frillier, too." A veteran crone who had years of experience in the field. One with confidentiality at her core. That was what the President had ensured her of, but really, she didn't much care. Maybe she was an HP of unusual vigor. Maybe this was a substitute. Maybe her plastic surgeon was just really, really good. Whoever she was talking to, the minutes would drag on all the same.

"May I... come in?"

She got to her feet, impatient and unsure. The sooner this starter, the sooner she'd be done with it after all.

 
Areith Rozárie
CS Link
SCENE:
Swimming Amongst Water Lilies
LOCATION:
Fog Grove, North District
TIME:
July 13th, 2022|| Post-Outbreak
PARTICIPANTS:
Aerith, Asti, Damian, Khydnah, Peyton
Swimming Amongst Water Lilies

This figure was not one of the dead trees within the bog. Their presence was unexpected and misplaced. Within the muck and mog, did any sparkle that was not the glimmer of fireflies stand out.

You observed him and listened to the silk of his voice. Kindness, but a firm declaration. A gentle hand that could form into a fist, rugged, covered in scars, like that of a father.

Yet, he did not seem to you like a worried parent. Why had he come before you this day? Why was this girl here? All of this was tied to something He was trying to tell you, and you needed to know.

And so, your hands reached forward, grasping upon the form of the girl covered with the filth of the swamp, and you pulled her closer to you, pressing her face against your chest, where she could continue to take soft and shallow breaths, your red eyes gazing at the man with a smile.

“This poor girl seems to be in distress. You wouldn’t happen to know why?” she asked politely, rubbing her fingers through the muck that covered her hair. “The lord didn’t bring her before us for no reason.”

You waited for his response. A man like this would prefer to handle things democratically. A fight was not befitting between His children when it was unwarranted. Everyone could leave safely if they accepted his guidance.

She would ensure it.




@Lucem @Saturn_moon Coyote Hart Coyote Hart @Kameron Esters- @Aquarin
 
X
CS Link
SCENE:
Acid Reign
LOCATION:
West District
DATE:
Post-Arc 3, November 19th 2019
PARTICIPANTS:

Coyote Hart Coyote Hart

Who's Watching


NOTE: Thanks for your patience. I think I've gotten my life together. Apologies again

“Well I suppose that’s less work for me,” Xixix said with a rather cheerful expression beneath his mask before immediately reverting back to a blank, slightly more annoyed expression to convey the sarcasm of his previous statement.

***

Moments earlier. “So…what did these people do,” X said while looking through a couple of files. “Baking a cake, doing a bad jitterbug, bird wrestling…” X trailed off. Of course these were not their actual offenses, but you could never be sure who was listening. However, it was an easy way to put faces to crime and their punishment. His first “client”...the cake baker, had been sowing decent with low ranking members. It was pretty open and shut, only…he had been tailing this peon because for lack of a better term…the target was an idiot. Either he had a disease that forced him to air out grievances of the organization boldly, or someone else was behind the scenes pulling his strings. However, as fate would have it he wound up getting himself killed by a total random.

“Well…not a total random. Luck may not be smiling on me today.” The man who killed him looked familar….what was his name Seabass? Hollow Bastion? Jamaican Crab? “Well, I suppose that’s less work for me.”

X then leapt down, and placed his hands in his pockets. “Welp, what are you going to do about this…err have we met before,” X said forgetting to go into details about the mission and how exactly it was screwed up. Moreover, it was obvious that they met before, but feigning ignorance was a power in its own right.






 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
Two People Hungover is a Hangover But Three People Hangover Is A Crowd. The Point Is, Everything That Is Bad Is Better With More People To Suffer With You
LOCATION:
South District District
TIME:
January 8th, 2022 | | Pre-Arc 3
PARTCIPANTS:
Hitoshi @joshuadim, Tak
Two People Hungover is a Hangover But Three People Hangover Is A Crowd. The Point Is, Everything That Is Bad Is Better With More People To Suffer With You


"Huh? What the hell are you talkin' about!?" Tak retorted to Hitoshi's statement, swiveling his head around to bash it against the Phoenix's forehead in the challenge, a twitch in his brow, "Like hell, I'm outta scuttle around like a crab! If we're movin', it's gotta be like a lobster!" He exclaimed, bringing both hands up as they suddenly transformed into claws, clacking together to punctuate his point, shimmering like blades.

Back to his actual hands, Tak pointed down the waterway towards the ramp that led up to the sidewalk, "Look, all we gotta do is bend around til we're close to bein' hip to hip, and we can make our way up!" He declared, and immediately he was struggling against Hitoshi, shoving his feet against the ground in an attempt to try to twist his body around the point of their connection, somehow thinking he could shift it around from them being connected ass-to-ass; all Tak succeeded doing was tugging Hitoshi and both of them stumbling, Tak grabbing onto to Hitoshi's pants like a reign as he tried to bend around. Like they were bound together by an adhesive, their skin was tied together, pulling and stretching as Tak attempted to force a change.

"C'mon! I can feel it workin'!" He shouted, teeth gritting as his neck strained with muscles, spit flying from his mouth as he pulled every muscle in his body, bulging underneath his tracksuit.

But, as the sound of something ripping, Tak abruptly stopped. He blinked and slowly brought his hand up, a piece of Hitoshi's pants hanging loosely within his hands. He stared at it awkwardly before looking towards the man attached to him with an awkward smile, "Alright! Crab walking, wasn't it!? It's the only obvious solution, after all! Ain't nothin' better than a crab! Especially their legs when they're slathered in butter!" Tak quickly tried to move forward, pressing his back against Hitoshi as he tried to do the "scuttle" he had denounced before.

"Oh, let me help you gents since you were kind enough to give me such a wild night last time!" The homeless man exclaimed, quickly walking back to his tent, digging inside, and coming back out with a pair of pants held in front of him.

It was covered in mysterious stains, flies orbiting around it as visible stink lines floated above it, tattered and torn everywhere.

"I got a spare pair; it just came out of the wash!" The old man offered with a smile, showcasing his missing teeth as he began to walk over towards them with the cursed object.

Distress immediately came over Tak's face, memories he had long buried and hoped to forget forever came back to his mind, and immediately he turned to look at Hitoshi with fear and trepidation, "We gotta move! C'mon! Crab walk! Like you got shit in your ass, damnit!" he shouted, trying to get into the rhythm of the movement while turning back to look at the homeless man and scream, "DON'T COME ANY CLOSER WHEN THEM SMELLY ASS PANTS OLD-TIMER!"

Yet, like the old man was in a trance, he continued to come at them with an innocent smile, the smell only getting stronger and closer.



 
Heart Of Conflict
CS Link
SCENE MUSIC:
SymphonicSuite-Lv.3
LOCATION:
Graveyard, Central District
PARTICIPANTS:
Pei ( thebigfella thebigfella ) Anyone
Phantom of Euphoric Memories

The mob almost seemed to not react to the strangeness of the man above. Yet as the shouts went out the red-eyed crew all diverted their eyes to Pei in unison. The two fighting over the grave continued to claw their way deeper into the soil leaving blood to mix with earth as their fingers bled from their efforts.

Three other red-eyed ones drew closer to Pei as they clawed at the wall he stood upon as if whatever they were searching for might be found upon their person. Their direction was clearly lacking, as was any semblance of common sense.


“̸̨̧̨̡̯̹̞̟͎̣͎̦͙̟̻̅͊̂͛̊̾̂̽͋̆̽̎͘͝͠G̸̡̢̨̩̤͇̟̣̥͉̥͕͔̎̀̈́̎͆͛̄͘͜ͅI̴̙͑́̂̀̋̄͂̊̒̂̕̕͠V̴͔̤̻̯̺̥͙́̋E̴̢̞̯̖͍̠̩̼̪͈͛́͌̉͒̾̊̐̿̏͑͜ͅ ̷̪̲͖͍̱͙̯̭̜̥̗̳̌͛I̵̡̜͇̻̻̬͈̰͎̞͇̓͒͆̓̑̇́́̋̓̚͠͝ͅŢ̶̩͈̙̬̞̠̐̑͛̀͑̑̔͗̐͠!̶̮̘̖̇͐̐̎̎͒̈́̍̔̍̎͂͆”̷̢̤̲̻̼̬̩͉̳̜̼̥̓̒̋̒̓̐̓̌̑


/border]
 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
The Same Kids That Blew Into Cartridges Would Laugh At You Learning Harmonica
LOCATION:
West District
TIME:
February 19th, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3
PARTCIPANTS:
Tak, Kiwi (@gxxberkit)
The Same Kids That Blew Into Cartridges Would Laugh At You Learning Harmonica

“The hell am I, your maid?” Tak mumbled in response to Kiwi’s shout. A one-sided glare in her vicinity through the wall, as if he had X-ray vision, pushed him back to his feet as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He glanced at the dogs, a long stare of contemplation for a moment before he sighed under his breath.

“You’re lucky I like dogs, ya bitch,” was his final complaint as he strolled towards the kitchen. He immediately found himself wandering to the fridge as if it was an automatic command, hand grasping at the handle and pulling it open to let the cool air hit his face. He stared at the inside for only a breath before his hand reached in, picking out a whole half-eaten packet of lunch meat turkey, peeling it open as he closed the fridge behind him.

Shoving breast a handful of slices into his mouth, he let it flop against his chin as he chewed and looked around. He reached up to a cupboard above the stove, finding a box of cereal as he swallowed what turkey was left in his mouth. Unceremoniously, he opened the box and started to pour the contents into his open mouth. He chewed and crunched on it loudly as he put the now empty box on the counter, letting it fall onto his side.


Immediately, the dryness of it all was starting to get to him. But as he glanced into the trash, he noticed the familiar sight of a milk jug with milk still in it. He pulled it out, examining the date, and with a quick shrug, tilted his head back and poured the lukewarm milk into his mouth, spilling down his chin.

Mushing the cereal between his lips, he tossed the milk jug back into the trash. And finally, he decided to grab the bag of dog food lying next to their bowls. Without much care, he picked the bag up and turned it upside down, letting all the contents immediately dump onto the floor, scattering across the kitchen tiles.

“There ya go,” he said as he finally swallowed, tossing the empty bag onto the floor as he strolled back to the sofa. He watched as the dogs got up and quickly ran over to devour the giant pile of food he had left them.

With the sofa cleared, Tak plopped himself onto it, letting the couch envelop him. Then, like it was his home, he grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels.

“Oi! You got soaps on this thing!?” Tak shouted, kicking his shoes off as he got more comfortable.

If Kiwi didn’t hurry up, he might never leave at this rate.

 
Zentsupa Pei
CS Link
SCENE:
Phantom of Euphoric Memories
LOCATION:
Graveyard, Central District
TIME:
Post-Outbreak || July 20th, 2022
PARTICIPANTS:
???
Phantom of Euphoric Memories

Pei crouched down, looking into their glowing red eyes with a twisted grin. At some point, he grabbed a stick, beginning to poke at them with it as he cackled wildly.

“The hell’s wrong with you!? If you want something so bad, ask your mom to buy it! Kekekekek!” He laughed at his own joke, letting go of the branch as one of them finally grabbed onto it, wringing it from his grip.

He stood back up, placing his hands on his hips, “Guess I should see what’s so interesting about that grave, huh?” He glared at the two, who didn’t seem to take any interest in him, with a gleam of intrigue.

The sounds of a propeller came through the air above the screams and groans. Pei turned his head upward, an expecting glance towards the skies.


A box-shaped silhouette in the distance quickly became more defined as he grew closer, his square-shaped body and cube-shaped head, with a compartment open to allow a propeller to extend above him, letting his tiny body fly through the air. His hands spread out wide as if he was a plane.

“Pi-pi-po! The unbeatable hero Q-Bot has arrived! I’m here to save the day!” A shrill scream of jubilation came as the Playmate entered the scene. As soon as he saw Pei, he started to wave towards his master with both hands, “Oh! There you are, professor! I’m right up here! Look! Look!”

“It took you long enough, SHITBOT!” Pei exclaimed, and then he was running; with a jump over the edge, he floated through the air above the ravenous zombies who would have torn him apart to get what they wanted.

His hand shot up in the air, grasping Q-Bot’s leg and hooking above the treadmill that made up his feet. The difference in weight was a sudden change that caused Q-Bot to nearly fall out of the sky. Pei’s leg barely floated out of the grasp of the reaching hands of the crowd.

“PIIIII-POOOOOOO!” Q-Bot shouted as his face scrunched up, steam blew out of his ears, and his propeller spun faster, rising up higher until they were in the sky, far out of reach.

Pei looked down as the air from the propeller blew down on him, tossing his hair two and a half times. Right underneath him was that mysterious grave. Now would be an excellent time to investigate.

“Kekekekekek,” Pei ominously cackled as he reached both of his hands back behind him. And seemingly pulled from nowhere, Pei brandished a rocket launcher; the massive barrel gleamed under the moonlight.

His smirk grew larger as his laughing grew even louder. “KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEK!” He cackled as the vast darkness within the muzzle of the launcher seemed to reach far. And then, with a click of the trigger and ignition of explosives, suddenly, it burst with light.

The rocket shot out and roared through the air, with an emblem of Pei’s face etched into the side of it. The air distorted its shape, and then it made an impact.

With a massive explosion, debris flew through the air, smoke and soil flew past Pei’s face, illuminated with the fire from the blast, and the air blown from the combustion peeled his hair back.

“Kekekekek, that should do it,” Pei stated, holstering the rocket launcher and its smoking barrel over his shoulder, looking down at his handiwork.

Where the two had been digging, he had blown the Earth wide open, a crater deep enough for them to get precisely what they were so desperate to get their hands on.

“Go ahead and get it!” Pei shouted, pointing towards the new hole bore into the soil, “It’s all yours, shitheads!”

“So do me a solid, and show me somethin’ interesting! KEKEKEKEK!”


 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
Reaching The Heavens From Hell (Pre-Arc 3)
LOCATION:
Tourist & Casino District, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Shishido Takakazu, Sylvie Slezák (@FangS31)
Reaching The Heavens From Hell

“D-Dammniiiiiiit!”

A ferocious shout and then a heart-wrenching slam of fists upon the controls of a slot machine.

Tak sat on a stool; he was sweating profusely, his eyes were dilated, and he was shaking in a mixture of pain and anguish. He stared at the screen, his slouched posture of defeat, his teeth gritted tightly enough to draw blood.

He had nothing. After all his gloating and boasting, he was looking at a big fat zero.

“Why today of all days!?” Tak shouted, getting back onto his feet and grasping the machine, beginning to shake it as he shoved his face into its display, mushing his nose against it, “You could fail me any other day! You can leave me without anything except enough to buy ice at any other time of the week, but today, I needed to win!” He roared, beginning to vigorously shake it, “You fucker! Give me my money baaaaaack!”

He got weird looks and bug-eyed stares as he tried to plead with the inanimate, unfeeling slot machine. He had gone from begging to just softly slamming his head against it, rethinking all of his life choices as his eyes had gone entirely lifeless and sunken.

And then, a realization came to him. Abruptly, his head rose, his mouth hanging open, “Wait… I’m not in this alone…” he whispered, hands slowly peeling away from the slot machine as he stepped back.

“That guy! He’s in this bet, too!” Tak exclaimed, raising a fist as he clenched it. A grin came to his face as he began to chuckle. “I bet he’s blowing all his money right now! That idiot is probably already down to his pennies-- no, they already stripped him down to his underpants!”

The only thing that could cure him of his own despair was someone else’s failure; his teeth went jagged like a demon’s as his chuckles turned to full-blown laughter as he imagined that pompous cocky son of a bitch down to his undies, everyone looking at him walk around in defeat as he had patterns of baby bunnies as a design.

“That’s what you get for challengin’ me asshole! Oh, man! I gotta see this!” Tak exclaimed, fully confident his imagination was real. He shoved through the slots to run towards the area where the roulette table was. As he grew closer, he suddenly felt himself slow down. The chatter of people and the forming of crowds impeded his path. They all seemed enamored in something.

Tak blinked at it before, with a renewed desire to see what was happening, he shoved his way through, not even saying so much as an excuse me as he pushed himself towards the front of his crew and pushed one last woman out of the way as Tak turned towards what everyone was so absorbed in watching, his jaw nearly dropped all the way to the floor, sweat covering his face as he weakly raised a twitching and shivering finger towards the roulette table.

“Y-You…!?” Was all he could stutter out in response to being faced with reality.


 
CAMILA GASPARI
CS Link
SCENE:
Everyone's a Critic
TIME:
Post-Arc 3, July 9th 2022
LOCATION:
Feralia Art Gallery, Central District
PARTICIPANTS:
Camila, Takakazu
Everyone's a Critic
"...Alright then! One million Amestriyen at one, do I hear any more offers?"

Camila's mind had drifted away a little bit, she didn't give a shit about the bidding itself. The art from this woman was generic bullshit at best, and should their job be a success, the value of her work would plummet forever.

That said, her eyes opened wide soon after her 'friend' over here spoke, the inner sound of broken glass following her expression.

"One million amestriyen at two, no offers around, none at all,anyone?"

"What the fuck are you doing?" She looked up, anger clearly written In her eyes, her fingers tightly clutching at his sleeve.

"One million amestriyen at three! Thank you very much the piece goes to the wonderful gentleman with the...colorful outfit."

The stagehand workers approached from the side, lifting the artwork and taking it away with robotic precision. From the other side, another pair carried along the next item, also covered by an ivory white silken cloth. The veteran grunted, standing from her seat and pulling on Tak's sleeve, guiding the duo away from their row, she could feel the annoyed glances from the stuck up snobs who they momentarily blocked the sight at, not like she gave a single fuck about it, anyways.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Now that the duo was several feet away from the crowd, or any spying eyes for that matter, the girl stomped on the floor, her body arched forward and her hands moving around in tandem to her words in authentic fusilian fashion. "Now we need to make sure we can get the hell outta here without security dragging our asses to pay for that shit." She extended her index finger, held right in front of the man's face. "And I refuse to pay for that ugly drawing, you got it?!"

She sighed, her shoulders dropping down by a solid half a foot. "Look, we can still make this work somehow, I guess." With regained composure, the coman crossed her arms, her tail swaying as it uncoiled from her waist. "Everyone's gonna be distracted with the auction, which means I might have a chance to sneak into the rooms nearby, and with all the shady shit happening here? There's bound to be some damning evidence lying around."

She patted the young man's shoulder, a slight smile curling up on her lips "And it's YOUR job to keep Hillclad and her tough guys distracted, just make sure they don't approach where I'm going, alright?" The veteran took a few steps back, a silent gait taking her to a nearby hall. "Make good fucking use of that little performance of yours, alright?"

Quickly, through the shadows, the woman disappeared.

thebigfella thebigfella
 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
Everyone's A Critic
LOCATION:
Feralia Art Gallery, Central District
DATE:
June 30th, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3
PARTICIPANTS:
Camila ( Roda the Red Roda the Red ), Takakazu
Everyone's A Critic

What the fuck was he doing?

That was a valid question. Whenever Tak was doing anything, that was always a good thing to ask. He usually had no answer; hell, he might not even understand the question.

But this time, it was an exception. Even with Camila’s tug, he did not falter. He kept his finger trained, inviting anyone to challenge him and the coffers that his artistic knowledge had acquired for so long as Tak wore this suit. He was no longer a simple-minded thug! He was an aristocrat of the highest class, a pundit of the highest caliber!

Of course, that dream was pulled away from him with Camil’s administrative grasp, pulling him away from the spotlights and the surroundings of wealth and fame to the secluded shadows. Tak’s expression soured swiftly, crossing his arms as he frowned as if he had done nothing wrong.

“Whaaaaat?!” He groaned like a teenage girl getting scolded by her parents, rolling his head to the side, “I was really startin’ to get goin’, y’know? Had em right in the palm of my hand” he complained. Usually, in the face of Camila’s bitching, he would always have some form of retort, or some idiotic statement or dumbfounding realization. Still, in this continuing rarity, he kept his cool, responding instead of usual thuggish mannerisms to tilting his head back away from Camila’s finger jab, which was taking up his vision.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s just like dining and dashing, ain’t it?” He stated, giving a carefree shrug, “All we gotta do is just turn away the bill and walk out! Shit’s simple!” He quickly oversimplified it, grabbing onto the collars of his suit with a grin.

He was listening to Camila’s plan with nods, but he already knew his part. That was why he said nothing in the first place. He needed to get close to Hillclad? He would do that gladly. It was time to show the lady his charm, his irresistible masculine energy that women couldn’t resist.

“Try not to get yourself caught. They might do some serial killer shit and tie you up in bondage and then paint you before they decapitate ya,” Tak warned behind Camila as she disappeared into darkness, only offering a curt wave with his ominous words as he was left alone.

After a long pause, Tak blinked, and he realized that Camila had left him alone. She trusted him on this task without supervision. Before he thought about it too deeply, his legs were already moving independently of his body. He walked down the aisles towards the stage, strolled up the stairs without a second thought, and slipped in behind the curtains.

He looked around through the dimly lit back, his eyes squinting, trying to make sense of where was what. He brought his fingers up to cup around his eyes like binoculars as if they would help him see.

“Damn, it’s dark back here,” he mumbled the obvious as he continued to blindly stumble around.

And then he bumped into something. The bump of his leg caused him to stumble back, and the small bit of pain in his knee made him bend down to grasp at it with a hiss. “Oi!” he exclaimed, straightening up to act on impulse, immediately reaching his hands forward to grasp at whoever bumped into him. “Watch where you’re going!”

What he thought was a shirt he grasped onto as Tak tugged backward to bring his target face to face so he could give them a proper chewing out was instead a tarp that floated through the air before landing flatly on the ground. Tak blinked at it in his hands for a moment before he looked up to see what he had uncovered. He squinted within the darkness and inched closer.

“The hell’s this? It kinda looks…unfinished…” He mumbled in observation, noticing how much of the canvas had yet to be filled in with color, cupping his chin before reaching his hand out towards it. Slowly, he touched it, his fingernails coming close to the paint before…


 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

  • Total: 10 (members: 1, guests: 9)

    Similar threads

    Jagson
    Fandom The New Jedi Order
    Replies
    8
    Views
    127
    Elias Wren
    Elias Wren
    Gears
    Futuristic The Forgotten Frontier: A Sci-Fi Exploration and Horror RP
    Replies
    4
    Views
    32
    Gears
    Gears
    TanteRegenbogen
    Fantasy Fresh Off The Boat (Modern Fantasy) [Open]
    action dwarves elves
    Replies
    0
    Views
    14
    TanteRegenbogen
    TanteRegenbogen
    ValinoreanDawn
    Fantasy The Gods (IC)
    Replies
    3
    Views
    71
    AClockworkEd
    AClockworkEd
    Nerdy.
    Fandom Divergent: Collapse of the Factions // RP // (p)
    divergent fiction private
    Replies
    4
    Views
    120
    Nerdy.
    Nerdy.
    Back
    Top