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Squad141

Squad141

The Purple Soul
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"The stars do not bind us, but instead incline us."​

Morning fell upon the chilly winds of Pickwick, Wisconsin, as an aerial event unlike many ended with the rising of the multi-colored sun. Across the town, families awoke, briefly remembering that they wouldn't be taking their children to school that day, many falling back into their soft pods of comfort as the morning skipped on. In fact, on this fine Monday morning, the town would soon fully awaken, employees would start shift, children's go out to play in the unnaturally early snowfall, and restaurants filled with breakfast goers.

However, to handful of citizens, something would shake them awake that morning. Perhaps it would come in the form of a bad dream, or the feeling of phantom pain, or even a jolt of sleep paralysis, but nonetheless, something was off. It was not right, certainly not of the natural realm, yet many of them brushed it off. It wasn't a problem, and they had routines to get to.

After all, it was just a normal Monday, right?
 

  • A strange series of dreams, completely disconnected from reality. Naturally, she would completely forget it by the time that she would wake up. After what felt like an eternity of dreams that ranged from subtly disturbing to outright nightmares, the sound of an alarm interrupted everything. Cameron Fowler was suddenly awake, with a short-lived confusion about where she was. It passed, along with all memory of her dreams. Although, something strange was left in the back of her mind. Something she didn't notice at first.

    After allowing her alarm clock to run for far too long, Cameron got up only because she had begun to feel the urge to use the bathroom. With the battery-powered clock stationed on the opposite side of her room to avoid her habit of hitting the dismiss button while still asleep, it was placed neatly atop the dresser stationed to the left of the bathroom that connected directly to her bedroom. More out of habit than anything else, upon entering the bathroom, Cameron locked the door that lead to Blake's room, even though he had undoubtedly already been up for at least an hour already, and likely wouldn't have any business in the in-between room.

    After twenty minutes of sliding between her room and the bathroom, Cameron was finally dressed and ready for the day. Except for one thing. She actually had no plans at all. So, naturally, she forgot to unlock the bathroom, left her room to head downstairs, and started searching for breakfast while scrolling away on her phone in order to find some friends to hang out with for the day. Every time she passed a post that related to her comfort series, however, she was strangely reminded about the itch at the back of her head. Again, there was no real basis for that, so she would simply ignore it again and move on.

    Cameron settled on a bowl of cereal as Nala passed through the dining room, clearly getting ready to leave, but also looking for something. "You know there's no reason for you to be awake, right?" she asked Cameron through a yawn. "Yeah, but then I wouldn't get to watch you run around looking for your keys. Coffee Table," she replied in between spoonfuls of her food. Nala thanked her and was promptly out the door.​
 
A bright amber hue seeped through the cracks of his eyelids. Languidly, Casey brought a hand in front of his face to block the rays that interrupted his sleep. His tongue felt dry in his mouth as he stretched his jaw to yawn. With his free hand he moved and felt the rough grain of his nightstand. An annoying buzzing noise battered his ears; his alarm clock, he realized. He slammed his hand downwards to silence it, before rolling over to his side. It was tempting then, to drift back to sleep-- but it was as if something compelled him to do otherwise. Perhaps his mind was still lagging, but he felt a 'crack' so to speak, something was different-- though he could not yet discern the cause. With a grumble, he barely managed to pull himself upwards with his feeble muscles. With his right hand, Casey reached for his phone and brought it to his face to read the date. Monday... he studied the date his phone displayed with narrowed eyes. The explanation for his feelings of unease now made clear.

When Casey's eyes became fully adjusted to his minds new state of consciousness, they took in the décor of his room. It was an ensemble of chaos, all of his belongings were strewn from one corner to the next: clothes, tech, and the remains of many fast food trips. He liked to imagine that he knew where everything was-- it was not the case. After a bit of digging he found what he was looking for, a tawdry little laptop he managed to snag with a bit of his paltry income. It was very clear that he was not yet ready to start the day; he dressed less than lavishly in a white t-shirt and black boxer briefs. There was a bit of something he considered a morning routine, it was petty and pathetic, but quite in character for Casey. He perused the web for a time to look for a target. He would not want to target someone too popular, were that the case his efforts would essentially be meaningless. Instead, Casey sought a smaller target.

Finally, he found the social media page of one "Blake Edgar." A basic looking young man with content that Casey labelled as, 'unremarkable.' He clicked their latest video and headed straight into the comments section to leave them a gem.

hackermangamer02: lol fat.

He pressed send to leave his little comment, shut his laptop and saw fit to now start his day. The black dress shirt was clean, but not ironed. It was poorly fitted for his gaunt frame and he wore nothing underneath. It sagged off his shoulders to leave his collarbone to peak through from the shirts collar line. He had forgone buttoning the topmost buttons, more so due to his own laziness and not style. He covered his lower-body with dark-blue jeans that sagged down from his hips. Belts were... expensive and something Casey considered less than needed. He had two perfectly capable hands that would be more than enough for adjusting the garment himself. Now, with the bare-minimum out-of-the-way, Casey saw fit to start the day.
 
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An alarm failed to go off. Given the opportunity Ezra didn't set an alarm and slept in, only waking up when he couldn't sleep any more or his bodily needs needed attending to. Today was one of those days and right now he needed to use the bathroom. As he stretched, scratched, and yawned in a quite undignified way Ezra reflected on what had happened the previous day and what he needed to do today. And what had happened that night.

It was rare, but Ezra remembered what he'd dreamed last night. Not that he remembered much. He'd gotten stabbed, but there was no pain? Or shot? Something had gone into him, but even now his memories of the dream became ever more vague. Oh well.

Ezra finished washing up and examined his appearance in the mirror as he brushed his hair. He might need a haircut soon, but he could probably put it off another week. He made a note of that on his phone's calendar app while refreshing his memory of his schedule. He had a relatively lengthy stretch of time with no deadlines and if he put in an hour or so each day working he could push that back even more. His latest book would hit the shelves (although most purchases would be digital given the buyers preferring them buying smut to remain private) tomorrow and hopefully it'd be at least as successful as the one before it.

Pulling open his fridge Ezra tried to decide what he wanted for brunch (it was far too late for breakfast, but too early for lunch), eventually settling on a banana smoothie. Pulling the ingredients together Ezra noted he'd just run out of yogurt and added it to his digital shopping list. Keeping things orderly and scheduling every important activity was the key to living a leisurely life. Also tons of luck, most of it based on your birth, Ezra was all too aware of that fact.

Maybe it was time to change out of his pajamas and go outside. Ezra considered that idea and then discarded it. Unless something came up today was an inside day. He'd be spending it curled up on the couch watching TV, playing video games, and reading. Human contact could wait until tomorrow unless he decided to order in. He pulled up the websites of his current list of favorites on his phone just in case he decided to do so. Best to be prepared.
 
Monday was normally a day of disappointment, another day to find clever ways to skip class or hide from his parents. No school meant he did not need to stow from the bench press he had organized in his family's room. Koby and his family lived crowded in one of their spare rooms. He had been born in this room, his grandfather had died in this room and Koby honestly believed he would be buried in this room. It was of course smaller than the ones they loaned out to customers and Koby was forced to sleep on the ground in a sleeping bag while his parents shared the king-sized, comfy bed. When his parents went out to work, out came his equipment. Their bed was shifted against the wall and his sleeping bag was towed onto the balcony to make room. Sure it was still crowded, but but Koby was all about gains, nothing else.

"One." Koby's voice ushered, grunting in pain as he lifted the weighted bar above his chest.

"Two." He muttered, spurts of breath releasing. He was so close to his personal goal.

"Three." He finally exclaimed. His arms began to go wobbly, bone now unable to keep the iron above him. He tried to lay the bar onto its rest, but his right arm gave in, slanting his body off the seat and onto the floor. The bench press bar soon followed, slamming into the ground with a bang for sure waking up anyone on the floor below. A dent in splintering wooden flooring appeared underneath him, giving a front row seat to the plumbing underneath. Koby breathed in relief, he had seen videos of people dying this exact way, or worse, living with ribs in their lungs. Then he could hear the customer's yell from the floor below, Koby could only offer this a sigh.

He's going to complain to front desk isn't he?

This assumption was soon proven right, a loud slam was heard in the room below. This would not be the first time a customer had complained about loud noises above and prior, his parents had threatened to make him sleep in the garbage room if it happened again. Another sigh repeated.

What he would do for a second chance at life.
 
Odd. That was the first sensation Quintis felt. Something Odd.

Quintis was used to odd, as that was what he was. But this was a different odd. Something unfamiliar. Unknown.

Shrugging it off, he tried to push himself off the bed, eyes barely open. A loud thunk fully opened them. Looking at the paint jar he had just sent hurling to the floor, he just sighed. So, still a usual Monday for him.

Making his way through everything he had in his room, he finally opened the door.

Heading downstairs, he could still feel that odd sensation, as if something about him had changed. Puberty was basicallly over, so he didn't think it was that. Eh, he would get over it. Maybe he had grown a centimeter or two. Maybe his brown hair had gotten curlier. Whatever it was, he was sure it was another minor think that he would barely notice.

After breakfast, which was always a war. When you have four older siblings and one cereal box, disaster is coming like a Karen and a Supermarket. He headed upstairs to just work on art for now. After all, no school today. He was just planning on staying inside, and not going out at all. After all, what would he do except wander around aimlessly? Today would just be a normal day, he was sure of it.

Right?​
 
Koby Higgins
Stand: ?????
Location: Minnie's Diner
Interactions: Open
Hex: eab676​

»»————-　　————-««​

The waft of steak and fries hovered over Koby's nose. It was was a victorious meal, the sweetest steak and fries he would ever have. It was bought with his savings, without his parents there nagging him how expensive his meal was and most importantly, he was all by himself. As of today, he would be a free man, not bogged down by school or by his parents. He looked to his shirt with a smile, it was still caked in sweat. Maybe his parents would look for him, but in a few days, he would be leaving Pitwick. For one, he never had to be worried about shelter, heat would never be a problem and if he ever needed a hot shower, standing in the rain would get the job done if he could find a private place. For once in a very long time, Koby felt excitement, adrenaline running in anticipation for the future. He lost himself in his meal, finding himself scratching his fork against the remaining juices. At least he still had a Pepsi.

As Koby sipped at his Cola, his thoughts wandered...

Maybe I should change my fashion sense now... Maybe dye my hair green. He bemused himself, smiling.

Should I change my stand's name? Koby touched his finger to his chin. No, that's stupid.
 
1618702305403-png.873809



Beat by beat, Casey strutted across the concrete steps like he owned each brick. Two spindly hands busied themselves in his pockets while his shoulders withdrew enough to align with his rear. The corner of his lip pinned back to crease the lines of his lips. Those who passed Casey by maintained a healthy distance, clearly put off by his demeanor. Casey's cognition did not include then; he paid no heed to the peons who were well-beneath him. On arrival, he adjusted the waistband of his pants upwards. Minnie's Diner served cheap food, strong coffee, and a perfect place to ruminate on recent developments—the free wifi was a nice bonus. An able tug swung the door from its hinges to give way for the man as he waltzed inside.

A simple utter was ordered to the waitress as he took a seat on a bar stool—black coffee and a plain bagel. Casey's waitress was an older woman in her forties with store-dyed red hair. There was a shake to her gait that made him raise an eyebrow. "Will that be all, dear?" She crooned with a fake smile. A barely audible hum ghosted from his broached lips at the sight of her turning to leave.

The decor held an old-timey vibe that fit a small town. Vanilla walls and checkered tables lent it a homely and comfortable atmosphere. The filled diner was sparse with patrons, most of which had a few years on him. The refreshing smell of morning filled his nostrils and roused Casey's stomach.

The man toyed with his fingers while he honed his thoughts. In his head-space, he began to explore ways he could best benefit from his current circumstances. None of them would bode well for the other residents of Pickwick. A new PC set-up would be a quality of life boost, no matter how he earned it. An idea clicked in his mind that widened the hungry grin on his face to uncanny proportions. "Finally, I'll get what I always—"

A burning sensation at his lap cut out all rational thought. A sharp scream clawed out of his throat at the intense pain. Two hands dug into his thighs in an attempt to quell the scorching ache. It felt like needles slipped through his skin and pulsed through every nerve. The shatter of a porcelain cup resounded from below. With the self-loathing rage of a wounded animal, he turned his gaze to the source. The red-headed woman stumbled, taking grip of the barstool to keep on her feet, "I'm so sorry. Jesus Christ ... I can't believe—Honey, i-it's my prosthetic—"

Pop!

The woman abruptly soared through Minnie's Diner, leaving her faulty leg and shoes in her prior position. She smacked the ground hard while her body flipped helplessly on the tiled floor. The waitress's limbs searched for a reprieve by grasping at the air, but she found nothing to bring pause to the sudden velocity. One, two, three spins took her crashing underneath the table where a young man was seated ( Castello Castello ). The cheap material splintered under her weight and took his meal with it. "Tch, woman moment," Casey sneered while drying his waist with a napkin.

A cracked nose disfigured her features while her mouth pulled in. Her head looked too heavy for her neck in her daze. "W-what?" Her barely conscious mind managed to inquire.

"Damn, looks like Bertha took a fall, even shattered her nose!" A few more of the employees surrounded her, more concerned with their fellow than the marred stranger. The bell of the establishment's exit rung as Casey angrily departed—now, with newly stained pants.

 
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Ezra Monet:
Location: Minnie's Diner
Interactions: Koby Higgins Castello Castello Casey Xao Jhin Jhin
​
Entering Minnie's Diner Ezra had the kind of grin on his face that one only got after doing something difficult but worth doing. He'd missed breakfast and after the workout he'd had he was ravenous. Luckily Minnie was used to him binging after not eating (at one point he'd gone 3 days on only water and a large bag of candy while working on a book) so him ordering a lot of food shouldn't be suspicious.

As he walked up to be seated Ezra's nose detected the strong, sour odor of sweat. On the one hand it was understandable some patrons wouldn't be able to clean up before ordering (Ezra was willing to excuse the homeless entirely, their lives were hard enough as it was), but on the other he'd showered before entering a closed in public place like this because he knew it was rude to do otherwise. If one sniffed hard enough they could even smell the Irish Springs shampoo Ezra always used for crying out loud! Still he was determined not to let this ruin his day. He'd just sit away from whoever it was that stank.

Ezra then cursed his luck as the diner was currently full enough that his booth was next to the source of the sweaty smell. He took a seat in the part of the booth farthest from the (surprisingly young for a single diner patron (or was he, Ezra wasn't sure)) student? (maybe) where if they looked up they'd see each other. Best to ensure the kid didn't see him staring. Ezra remembered his teenage years and the awkwardness that puberty brought and decided to just ignore the smell.

Reading the menu (even if he had favorite items Ezra still believed it was important to refresh his memory on this kind of thing) Ezra decided what he was going to order. Luckily he still had time to order from the brunch menu, that was the best of both worlds when it came to meals.
As the waitress approached Ezra (Oh! He knew her. It was...ah yes Isabelle (thank goodness for name tags), the one close to his own age who'd flirted with him when they'd met at the bookstore (only for their meeting to get cut short by her getting a call from her mother)) tried to decide how he'd approach people now that he'd mastered his Stand. The fact he was usually good at reading people meant he shouldn't have too much trouble, especially when there were so many ways of inspiring the necessary feeling.

Ezra decided to order the eggs, bacon, toast, and hashbrowns (and then he'd use them to make a yummy breakfast sandwich), a cheeseburger (medium) with a side of fries, and a chocolate and vanilla milkshake (Ezra still couldn't decide which one he liked better). Anything he couldn't finish he'd take with him after paying.

After placing his order Ezra once again looked at the kid (Was it fair to call him a kid though? Ezra didn't even have a decade on him (and now he felt old)) in the booth across from him. Let's see, time to see what he could figure out about him. Ezra might have just amused himself with his phone, but right now he wanted to sharpen his ability to read people. He definitely got the sense he was considering something about his hair. And he was excited about something.

Hmm, was he in a relationship now? No, that look was definitely that of someone who thought they were free of something now. He was too young to have gotten a windfall gambling, a dead rich family member seemed unlikely if he was here alone, so why was he sweaty and eating in a diner like it was his first meal as a free man? Wait, why WAS the kid so sweaty? From the looks of him he couldn't have worked out enough to get that much of a exercise high and any other answer Ezra could think of would have given the kid time to shower first.

Wait, the kid looked familiar. Ezra picked through his memories. Right! He'd seen him on a flier he'd gotten from that motel. It'd been one of those photos family business did where all the members were in a group photo. That didn't help with a first name, but that kid was definitely a member of the Higgins family. They were like the Joestar family except instead of going on adventures every new generation ran a motel. And instead of a star birthmark they all looked really similar. And instead of Hamon or Stands they had...motel management techniques? The simile broke down there and Ezra decided not to go further down that line of thought. There were worse fates and even if he could sympathize with being stuck in that kind of life other people had it way worse.

Wait. If that was the case and the Higgins kid was looking like that...was he about to runaway from home? That'd be a mistake.

Actually...hmm, with a bit of reworking Ezra might be able to stretch out a few pages with a character like that. But right now he needed to see if he was right and hopefully keep this kid from screwing up his life.

Just as he was about to say something Ezra heard a commotion and looked up to see the other waitress (he was certain her name began with a B) fly through the air and smack into the booth next to him. Quickly looking back to where she must have come from Ezra saw a young man with a stain on his pants (which he quickly deduced was from the spilled coffee) smirking and heard him mutter something. There was no way that guy would have been able to shove her with that much force and Ezra couldn't see any other way of her going flying like that.

Ezra really didn't want to come to this conclusion, but it seemed like this was the work of an enemy Stand.

Thinking quickly Ezra snapped a photo of the assailant as he passed by the diner window near him on the way out, ensuring he wasn't spotted as he did so. No sense rushing into this, he needed to figure this out. There was nothing he could do to help the waitress, but he might be able to ensure nobody else got hurt. And for that he'd need all his energy. Sitting back down in his booth, Ezra decided to spend the time it took for his food to be brought to him seeing how much he could read from the rest of the people here.

If Ezra and that other person had a Stand, who else might? And what Stands were they? Ezra couldn't depend on each Stand User having one from the manga, there might be original ones too. As always preparation and keeping a cool head would be key here.
 
While the commotion within Minnie's reigned supreme, with several employees aiding the older woman, many collecting her prosthetics and moving them to the kitchen and break room, another figure watched from a back corner, near the jukebox and South-facing window of the diner. As the tunes of Jimi Hendrix floated through the air, only broken by surprised gasps and directed conversation between employees, he peered up from just below the brim of his beaten Borsalino hat, hiding the small tattoo patterned underneath his left eye.

That woman had not fallen from accident. His suspicions had been confirmed, though only for one person at the moment. That kid, whoever he was, might've been the only one to obtain such a power, but with what information he knew, and his observations of the patrons of the diner, he had a sneaking theory that two or three lurked within the establishments walls, and many more outside.

And while he would love to get to know them a whole lot more, he only had one lead to go on for now, and he was not about to lose it. Rising from his seat, and changing the jukebox to Jimi Hendrix's Voodoo Child (Slight Return), he exited the diner, and as stealthily as possible, trailed Casey. However, he did not leave without releasing a gift.
Jhin Jhin
- - - - -​

Ezra and Koby both sat in their seats, one aware of the other, still siting awkwardly as the woman's co-workers aided her to safety away from the public's view. As a different waitress appeared and brought Ezra his mountain of a meal, and refilling Koby's Pepsi, a short motion caught both of their eyes. Something had moved on the opposite end of their respective tables, something small. For Koby, it appeared to be something shiny. For Ezra, it seemed to be something colorful. They both quickly hid beneath the surface of the table, away from the view of other patrons in the restaurant.
 

  • The two siblings would quickly find each other, as a result of each searching for the other. Nearly colliding with Blake at the bottom of the stairs, Cameron blurted out her first sentence before Blake could speak. "You won't believe what just happened!" Still holding her newly damaged phone, she brandished it for Blake to see. "You... broke your new phone? That seems a lot less bizarre than what I have to tell you," he said, leaving an obvious hint.

    "Wait... There's no way," Cameron said. "It wasn't just me, was it? You got one too! Show me. What did you get?" Her barrage of words took Blake by surprise, and he hardly had time to think about whether it was fair that he had to show off first, let alone the fact that he was also not alone in receiving a Stand. Regardless, he pulled out one of the two belt buckles he now possessed, and begun the process of spinning it again. Just as before, the jolts of energy started to form as it picked up momentum.

    "No way, is that spin?" Cameron exclaimed. "Yeah, but that's not it. I also got Ball Breaker, but since it's just a little destructive, so I'll have to demonstrate later." He explained before catching the buckle just before it would reach the point of flying off on its own, as it's done a couple times already. "Your turn. It better not be cooler than mine."

    Taking a step back, Cameron grabbed a plastic measuring cup which was hanging from the shelving above the kitchen counters. "Watch this." A small, pink sticker protruded from her finger at the same time as she made the motion to place it onto the cup. After the fact, a copy split from the original, one in each of her hands. "Not the flashiest, of course, but I'm sure as hell gonna make sure of it."

    Peeling the sticker off, she let go of the one which was not originally present, and the two measuring cups attracted each other like magnets, colliding and fusing into one again, although this time with a noticeable chip in the side. Cameron cringed slightly at this, having seemingly forgotten that she was about to break one of Nala's measuring cups. "Well, that was smart, wasn't it?" Blake joked. "Yeah, whatever. She tossed it in the trash, making a mental note to pick up a new one at some point.

    In the excited and meaningless silence, Cameron's phone piped up three times; checking it revealed that a few friends were headed to the Starcade - a place where they would all somewhat regularly gather to play, and kind of be awful at, fighting games and of course have fun with the DDR machine. "Okay - well, as cool as this all is, I still have a life. Uh, don't go shouting news about this to anyone and everyone, because if the two of us got this shit somehow, then more people almost certainly have as well - and I doubt everyone is willing to, you know, do good and all with whatever abilities they may have gotten." With that wall of a mini lecture, she took off through the front door and made way for the Starcade.
 
Koby Higgins
Stand: ?????
Location: Minnie's Diner
Interactions: Ezra Gravitational Force Gravitational Force
Hex: eab676

»»————-　　————-««
​


Pepsi drizzled down to the floor, pooling underneath the waitress and the sole of his shoes. His hand still grappled onto the upper half of the glass, while the bottom of it shattered against the floor from the impact, along with his (luckily) empty plate. A stiff frown occurred over his face. His mother always told him to never cry over spilled milk, but Pepsi was an entirely different story. Now his shirt was not only caked with sweat, it was now dripping with ice cold cola. At least it acted like a shower of high-fructose corn syrup, so he was no longer quite as smelly, but he sure as hell was going to be a target for bees and ants across the globe.

It was not until his eyes ventured to the nose of the waitress, that his expression instantly changed. Her face was completely busted, there was no way that a shrimp like Casey could pull something like that off. He gave the incoming employees some space as they lifted her off, completely dumbfounded by the situation. His heart beat slowly, a stiff realization occurring to him. Though anxious, there was a hint of intrigued hidden within Koby's visage. He did not really pay much mind to the woman on that was on the floor, he was quickly eying Casey. There was no way it was him, there must be another explanation, but his words after the woman plummeted towards him did stamp into Koby's consideration.

I am not the only stand user in this town. If not him, maybe someone else in this restaurant... Jhin Jhin

His eyes darted around, instantly catching Ezra taking a photo. He discreetly veered away, trying not to draw any attention, though subtly was not exactly his forte Gravitational Force Gravitational Force . A photo, really? His mind thought, than I am not the only one suspicious with that guy. Koby went quiet. The brand new Pepsi quelled any prior sadness, but the event with Casey and the waitress had him puzzled. Just what the hell happened? If it were work of an enemy stand, Koby would have to be mindful. His stand was not as blatantly powerful to instantly strike someone to across the room. Koby sighed, I guess I am not that special then.

Then the music started playing, and he instantly cringed. His father used to blare Jimi Hendrix in the family's shitty pick up truck. He absolutely despised this song.

His posture fell crestfallen, hunching over the table in defeat, both the song and the realization pulling his ego down. Maybe it would be best to return to the inn and realize his place in this world; that was until Koby saw something shiny drift down his table. Koby's mind began running pistons, instantly getting underneath to see what exactly drifted underneath his table. It was not the sun, could it be another instance of an enemy stand user? Squad141 Squad141
 
Casey Xao
Mentions :
None

Location :
An alleyway

Casey's jaw tensed at the awful blemish that the appalling waitress left him. A splash of brown lingered within the front end of his pant's fabric; the patronizing snickers of every passerby made his shoulders draw closer together to hide. "Did he shit himself?" One such individual jeered underneath their breath, though they ensured their quip remained audible. This infraction would not do. A dabble of uncertainty made Casey hesitant, but when he saw a suitable article of clothing—he was quick to tail the owner. The brunette Casey trailed was of similar height but heavier in mass. A baggy fit was more than preferable. Casey's upper lip parted to loose a chuckle that dripped with ridicule. How did this idiot not know someone was following him?

From street to street, the brunette's body twisted; the younger man provided no opportunity for an ambush for an interim. Finally, they veered into an alleyway that was just perfect to stage an assault. Like a cat stalking their prey, Casey silently approached from behind. Two taps with his index finger alerted the victim to the pursuer's presence—his body spun to greet Casey. With no formalities nor cracks in his stiff demeanor, the raven-haired man demanded, "Take off your pants." The brunette's jaw slacked as horizontal wrinkles set in on his forehead. His lips parted and shut as if they were struggling to form a rebut. Finally, his mind designated a proper retort, "What the fuck?"

A quick chop to the top of his dome turned his legs to spaghetti. The brunette's eyes turned a milky white as his irises skidded to face a sharp north. Quickly, the fellow's body crumbled against the dirtied concrete floor. Stiffening the grin that stretched his cheeks then was impossible; Casey had never felt so powerful in his life. "Is it sus to wear another man's pants?" Casey vocalized his rumination. Nah, probably not. With a firm grip at the unconscious man's pants cuffs, Casey heaved backward. The tan slacks slipped off his body with ease. The pants looked to be a good fit too. The victim's vanilla white legs are left to chill in the morning air.

Timothy Morgan, 19 years of age and blood type O. At least that was what his wallet read. A flick of the wrist spread the piece of leather bare—two dull eyes greedily peered into the man's stolen crevice. Latching on to the bounty that lies within, Casey stuffed the money into his newly obtained pants pockets. Another flick of Casey's meager wrist sent the emptied wallet to soar before landing to rest atop of its owner's face. A finger pecked the edge of his own chin as he admired his handiwork. Casey's old pants rested at the unconscious man's side—an act of charity should the fellow want to hide their shame when they wake. With his back to the alleyways entrance, Casey considered his next steps.
 
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AClockworkEd
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