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

[Roda the Red]

CHARLIE HUGHES

CS Link

SCENE:

Young Blood

TIME:

Post-Outbreak, July 20th 2022

LOCATION:

South District

PARTICIPANTS:

Charlie, Hitoshi, Musai, Daigo

Young Blood

The boy giggled, joyously taking in the ruffling of his hair, nodding along to Musai's claims. "That's right! Compared to Regulus, anything these guys could throw at us would be a joke!" The memory of that night was still fresh in the boy's mind, that man was nothing short of a real monster, had the man being any closer to his prime at the time, or hadn't Musai being there to join forces with, the rookie wouldn't have stood a chance against the former champion. Charlie couldn't help but wonder what a duel between Regulus and the marine chimeric would've looked like, and it only filled him with excitement to reach that same level in the future. Not better motivation to climb a tall wall than to see others do it themselves.

"...Or, yeah, we could get this done peacefully, too, ahahaha..." He scratched the base of his scalp, laughing awkwardly. Maybe he WAS getting a little too used to the ways of the Phoenixes, after all. Expecting things to end up as a session of fisticuffs having turned into second nature by now. By Hitoshi's command, the boy stood up from his seat, following the veterans right at an arm's length, both if his hands gripped his drink, thick moccha liquid traveling up his straw as he sipped. The drink was quite good! It wasn't too sweet or cinnamony, certainly met the hype around it! Once he heard that familiar sound of mostly air, he turned around, carefully aiming towards a distant trashcan while walking backwards. With a forward motion of his forearm, the cup flew in an arc, landing on the rim of the container. From there, it bounced once more, again landing at the rim, it then bounce one last time before triumphantly...Land on the side walk. Looking to his left and right, the Phoenix hoped nobody saw that, quickly rushing to unassumingly place the cup where it belonged.

Staring at the market's sign, the boy couldn't help but get a feeling of craving for some Craico baby back rib chips, before shaking his head, he already allowed himself ONE treat today, no more. Entering the store, Hitoshi wasted no time in getting to the main point with the woman on the register, however, she didn't seem all that thrilled to be dealing with a bunch of gangsters in person.

"Don't worry, Miss!" Interjected Charlie, hopping right up to the counter, smiling kindly at the woman. "We just wanna help dealing with the thieves, so could you please tell us anything that could be of use to us?" He held his hands together, looking at her with big puppy eyes, non-existant sparkles shining around him.

Spoiler: Notes and Notifs

Hypercharge: Half-Activation

@joshuadim @Kameron Esters-

 

[Elenion Aura]

MILO NAGISA

CS Link

SCENE:

The Guy Who Wrote “Art Is In The Eye Of The Beholder” Probably Did It On The Toilet

TIME:

May 3rd, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3

LOCATION:

South District

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Milo

THE GUY WHO WROTE “ART IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER” PROBABLY DID IT ON THE TOILET

Milo only shook his head slightly, a feeble attempt at sparing the young artist's feelings. In spite of Kelsey's glowing review of his mentor's purported talents, Milo couldn't imagine anyone with the name Ms. Hillclad as having a particularly prolific portfolio. The shake trailed down toward his shoulder blades and morphed into a shiver, the sudden lack of weight upon his shoulders reminding him who had just been using him as a leaning post. He made a mental note to burn the shirt he was wearing later.

"That makes sense," Milo said, nodding attentively. He was at least attempting to feign interest, which was more than could be said for their gruff, dense 'friend'. "Oh, no." He gave the other man a little expression which he hoped conveyed his sympathy for the grief that the submission had caused him. Milo didn't have the heart to tell him that he'd completed his own submission in a single evening.

When Kelsey asked Tak the question that Milo had been meaning to, Milo endeavored not to appear too interested. This was it. His theory could implode right here and now, and he'd have wasted all that time for nothing but a crackpot conspiracy. The answer was vague enough that it didn't exactly contradict any of the facts he'd laid out so far, but also felt like it was a lie. Milo didn't care enough to press him on it. Not at this juncture, anyway.

Turning to Kelsey, who had turned the question on him, Milo took a breath and opened his mouth as the perspective zoomed toward the center of his eye in a tightly swirling vortex. The colors blended, melted, and fell away to reveal a fresh scene, painterly and pastel as his imagination. These were the facts as Milo knew them.

It began in the summer of ‘98. Barker was already an established name in the art world in those days. He'd not quite cracked into the upper echelon yet. Not yet one of the 'Greats'. But still formidable and commanding of respect from the art community at large, owing to his dynamism and mystique. Though over the span of a handful of years that had led up to this particular summer, Barker had been, as one publication called it, 'in something of a rut'. His style had grown tired, his compositions played out. Some critics were calling it the end of the road. He’d go on to have a career, of course. But his ascension would end. He'd risen as high as he'd ever go. He'd found his peak. It would all be downhill from there...

That was until the fateful summer when Barker unveiled The Spear.

The earth trembled.

It was bold. Exotic. Provocative.

It was like nothing that had come before, least of all within Barker’s own catalogue.

The piece was lauded as one of the great modern art renaissances. It set off a wave of inspiration and imitation the world over; some say it birthed an entire sub-genre all on its own. And it not only cemented Barker as a household name (if the house belonged to an artist, that is), but catapulted him to the very zenith of the art world.

I know what you're thinking.

So what. No big deal. Artists reinvent themselves all the time. Right?

Fair enough. But have you ever heard of Sazawa? Exactly! Of course you haven’t. No one has.

Sazawa was an obscure artist from Sankai whose works, while undoubtedly innovative, never captured broad audience appeal. No one covered him. No one spoke of him.

He eventually just stopped making pieces one day, some time in the late 90s by Milo's estimations. No one noticed. No one cared.

No one put two and two together. Even though The Spear possessed clear evidence of Sazawa’s craft. Not his likewise. His calling cards. His philosophy. His very brush strokes.

... Even though Barker visited Sankai during the fall of ‘97, the year before his unveiling of The Spear.

There were others. Many such cases. The deeper Milo dug, the more he seemed to find. It was staring us all right in the face. Barker was sometimes called The Chameleon. The ease with which he could flex to different styles... Blend them. Create anew. Draw from unique and otherwise unthought of wellsprings of inspiration. The way the artist disappeared inside the art.

There had even been a rumor back in the day that Barker was not actually one man. But many. No one could do so much, so well. It had to have been a team of artists, operating under a shared pen name, some had said. Surely half in jest. People didn't want to be called crazy.

Eventually the rumor reached the ears of the man himself. Evidently amused by this, Barker had hosted an exhibition where he demonstrated in front of a live audience his craft. An exhibition of paintings, done before a choir of witnesses, reflecting his mastery in all its shapes and shades. What had been at first just a simple proof of artistic validity ended up selling for millions.

The rumors, though fringe to begin with, died in the dark.

Milo didn’t believe them. No.

Milo believed that Barker was an HP. That his potential, somehow, allowed him siphon the artistic talents of others and somehow turn them to his own ends. An art thief of a different color. A vampire, of sorts.

The first challenge? Barker was not a known HP. By all accounts, and there were surprisingly many, Barker was without Potential, at least in the pseudo-scientific sense... That would be the first test. If Milo could prove that Barker was an HP, a fact that he must have carefully hidden to prevent it from being revealed before now, then he’d be one step closer toward his proof. One step closer toward justice for Sazawa and all the other nameless, faceless talents who had fallen victim to the monster that was Barker.

He knew a little of vampires. If you get a vampire to incidentally feed on the thing that is anathema to it, you can weaken if not outright kill it. Milo didn’t want to kill Barker. Just expose him.

Thus, an idea bloomed.

"Oh? I've followed Barker's career for a while. When I heard about this workshop, I jumped on the opportunity." Milo said, happy to not elaborate—not yet, anyway—as they were led to the next chamber.

He sat next to Tak. Watching him out of the corner of his eye, Milo's idea flowered. After a short pause, he reached over to hand Tak a brush. "Here. You can use this if you want."

With his right hand, Milo would paint something simple. Something easy. Something that would only require half of his concentration. The other half was reserved for the brush that he'd handed his scruffy easel neighbor. It was an object that he'd painted. It was a brush that he'd linked sympathetically to his left hand. If and when Tak daubed the bristles in paints and took his first stroke, Milo would guide his hand.

He'd make sure Tak appeared as a meal worth devouring.

 

[thebigfella]

Shishido Takakazu

CS Link

SCENE:

Three Most Scariest Things To Wake Up To: Someone In Your Bed, A Missed Call From Mom, And In A Coffin

LOCATION:

East District, Taiyōkō Shrine

DATE:

May 29th, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Hifumi @BluEndings

Three Most Scariest Things To Wake Up To: Someone In Your Bed, A Missed Call From Mom, And In A Coffin

Tak stared in horror at his crimes, body frozen, buttcheeks bare as he was unsure of what to even do. He stood there long, feeling the soft breeze against his taters.

And then, with a realization, deep shadows went over the contours of his face. His chin sharpened and chiseled, pebbles forming in it as his eyes sharpened, all of his features becoming more pronounced in his new art style.

“Alright. Time to leave,” he declared valiantly. And with a single step forward, the world quaked underneath his determination.

Then came the sounds of footsteps, and all that confidence melted away. Tak’s face scrunched up like a prune in horror, sweat pouring down his whole body as he stumbled backward, raising his arm in reflex. The world became purple spirals of distraught around him.


“S-Someone’s coming!?” He shouted, his head darting around to try and figure out what to do, and then suddenly he came up with a great idea, marks flashing above his head as his neck straightened. Quickly, he dove off the scene as Hifumi entered his family’s sacred shrine, broom in hand, prepared to fulfill his holistic duty.

But, quickly as the man’s eyes narrowed on the pile of vomit (luckily not noticing the pile of shit nearby yet), Tak quickly felt a glare upon him. There he stood beside a tree, twigs in hand, branches and leaves strewn between his hair, and a particular large leaf placed to cover his privates as he stood still as he could.

He didn’t make eye contact; he stood still, fulfilling his desire to become a tree as if he could become a part of nature if he stood there. But after a long pause and growing discomfort clear on his face, he finally spoke.

“Uh…rustle…rustle rustle…..”

A cold wind wafted past the shrine once more, the chiming of bells, as they moved with the gust, dinged in tune with the awkwardness.

"...Sure is cold out here..."

Tak’s lips twitched at the corners. His head dropped as the shadow of his hair covered his eyes, and his straight pose faltered as his body began to rock. Abruptly, he tossed away the branches, then ran, his feet scraping across the stone as he dashed right towards Hifumi, closing the distance between them.

He leaped up like a swan taking to the skies, his arms outstretched, blocking the sun at his altitude. His naked silhouette cast a shadow onto Hifumi as he rose ahead.

“I’M REALLLYYYYYYY--”

He prepared to dive like a dolphin towards the ground, and when he finally made contact, his head dropped on the floor, his hands clasped underneath in dogeza, as he slid himself right at Hifumi’s feet.

“SORRRRRYYYYYYY!”

Naked and afraid, Tak repeatedly bowed his head in forgiveness, his thick skull slamming against it as he sputtered out his appeals.

“I really have no idea where I am, I just remember going to a party, and there were a bunch of sexy babes tryin’ to rub up on me and stuff, and then I remember going to the bathroom, and now I’m here! I’m really sorry! Please forgive me!” He rambled along pitifully, raising his head to look up at Hifumi with beady eyes and a bruise now on his forehead.

What a sorry man he was.

 

[thebigfella]

Mirka Novak

CS Link

SCENE:

You Still Have Family

LOCATION:

West District

TIME:

Pre-Arc 1 || July 22nd, 1998

PARTICIPANTS:

Mirka, Chikage Doctor Llamabean

You Still Have Family

The rain pattered against the windshield. The wipers shut off with the last mumbling snore of the engine as it fell asleep. Keys jingled, pulled from the ignition, and the cold metal was hung between warm fingers.

Thunder rumbled, a flash of purple in the distance, swallowed by the clouds. The flash reflected across purple eyes, nowhere as bright but just as vibrant. Only dulled by the dreary weather.

A hand reached up towards the rearview window; it turned to look upon a face, eyes scanning across her features. She reached up to adjust the bangs of her hair. The day had begun to take its toll, with frayed strands of her ponytail and fading lip gloss. She smacked her lips in tempo with the rain splatters against her windows. She had worn a new type today, wondering if he would notice.

“Did you do something with your hair?” He asked, leaning in his chair, a file in his hand as he looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.

She hated those eyebrows.

She glared at him with a frown, crossing her arms, “You ask that every day! No, I didn’t do anything with my hair!”

It would always go like that. Why did she even bother?

Yet, she was smiling.

She stared at her smiling face for a pause before sliding the rearview mirror back into its rightful place, reaching towards the passenger seat to grab her umbrella. As she clicked the door open, sound flooded the car, rain dropping across the concrete, the petrichor in the air. She stepped out into the elements, splashing a puddle as he raised her umbrella, closing the door behind her.

She stepped onto the sidewalk, keeping the umbrella angled above her face to keep the wind from pulling it away, but it made it hard to see in front of her. Luckily, she knew the way to her house and the back of her hand. She stepped down the road, glancing as a small river traveled downhill, disappearing down the storm drain.

She paused as she reached the latch of her front gate, finding it open. The wind must have blown it open, she reckoned. And thought nothing of it as she stepped into her yard, closing the gate behind her.

The path to the front door was adorned with a small garden, a simple hobby of hers. Small flowers of different colors decorated the pathway, the occasional vegetable sprouting closer to the fence. Stray bags of fertilizer and tools were supported by pliable metal. Their leaves and petals bobbed and weaved in the rain, bounding in the wind as she strolled past.

Slowly, as she made her way to her porch, the sounds of rain went from the splatters against her umbrella to the banging against her awning, dripping through the crevices as it clattered the thin metal. As she lifted her head to close her umbrella, she noticed a trail of dripping footsteps leading up the stairs to her front door. Curious, Her eyes blinked, and she pondered if it was the mailman. However, as she followed the prints, stepping up the creaking wooden steps, she found the perpetrator.

Her expression softened with familiarity, and with a shake of her umbrella, she leaned it on the nearby wall. She approached but didn’t ask any questions; instead, she placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning down to be closer to his level.

She knew why he was here. And she would never turn him away. She owed his mother that much.

“You’ll get a cold standing out here. Let’s go inside, ’kay?”

 

[miki]

Hiachi Ito

CS Link

SCENE:

Lyrical Misery

LOCATION:

The Serenity, South District

DATE:

Pre-Arc 3 | Nov 11, 2021

PARTICIPANTS:

Hiachi, Hitoshi

LYRICAL MISERY

What do I think?

She thought it was an odd question. What did she think about what?

Maybe he was talking about his performance.

Or maybe he was talking about karaoke itself.

Or, perhaps, the drink they now shared in common.

She downed the gin & tonic. It was flowery and sour, and way stronger than the watered-down beer she had been slowly sipping. It burned in her throat and chest. She scrunched up her face. Hiachi stared down the drink in her hands, watching as the beads of condensation let go of the glass and ran down her hand.

“...Not my thing.”

---

Spoiler: me oh my, me oh my

I’m so fucking drunk…

She held onto the mic with both hands, strobe lights circling on the walls and ceiling of the bar. Hiachi squinted at the lyrics that sprung up on the screen.

“Listen to me honeyyy…”

At some point along the way, Hiachi’s swirling consciousness convinced her. If she just let go of the reins, became the performance, she wouldn’t have to be herself anymore.
“Where’s your common sense right now? Did you mess it up again somehow…?”

And so she listened to it. It wasn’t measuring up to be nearly as bad as she thought it would be. In large part because she was drunk, probably. She wasn’t lamenting about the crowd or the lights anymore. She was just… singing. Despite the odd dry note and laugh melted into the lyrics, she thought she sounded rather pretty.

“It’s kind of getting funnyyy…”

Her throat hurt like hell, though. She hadn’t sung in years, and smoking wasn’t doing her any favors. This was a miracle, actually.

Spoiler

@joshuadim

 

[miki]

Little Red

CS Link

scene:

A Daughter’s Eulogy

location:

South District

date:

2021 | Post Hurricane

participants:

Red, Jericho

A Daughter’s Eulogy

His sarcastic gesture at his body cracked a smile across her dried lips. She giggled as warmth spread through her chest.

He was funny.

This reminded her of something.

She couldn’t remember what it was. Why couldn’t she remember what it was? Why was that memory beyond reach? Why was it familiar when it felt like a moment that didn’t belong to her at all?

Dread draped back over her. Anything she meant to say was choked back. Her blue eyes glossed over with the threat of tears again. And she felt horrible. She didn’t mean to cry. She always meant to cry when she did, because she did it when she wanted something. Food, accessories, blood. But she didn’t want this man to feel guilty at all.

“I’m sorry…” She started, and then she couldn’t stop. “Lord, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I...I—”

The cry bubbled up her throat. She managed to fizzle it out by pressing her lips together, but then her eyes were squinted and tears fell down her cheeks.

Sobs slipped out. Red covered her face, trying to make herself invisible.

The blood that rushed to her face made it hot to the touch. All at once, she was overwhelmed by the mental images of her bloated baby face, stiff from the years of prodding needles. Of the feeling of pity being siphoned out of him, for no purpose other than misery.

She was messing everything up today.

“Go away,” she squeaked out. The weak, childish outburst did little to mask her embarrassment.

Spoiler

angel doe

 

[miki]

Little Red

CS Link

scene:

Fairytales Stay In Books

location:

West District, Photo Studio

date:

Post Outbreak

participants:

Red, Alice, Basil Briar Warren (NPC)

Fairytales Stay In Books

Red flashed Basil a sweet smile as she nodded her head and shut her eyes tight.

“Thank you Mr. Wolf!”

The decidedly wrong nickname was squeaked out with the peak pitch of her tone. As she gripped her square woven basket, her nails dug deep into the meat of her palms. The nature of the habit was unknown to Red herself. Was she nervous? Was she giddy?

Perhaps both.

There were plenty of reasons for both, after all. The way ‘pretty girls’ slinked through his canines made blood pound in her ears. The cool blade of her machete pressed against its hidden place on her back, and she wondered: how would it feel as she skinned the fur from his muscles? Would it come clean off like butter, or would it be a bloodied, hack mess?

Then again, she could feel the pressure on her skull from the overwhelming amount of things to think about. For all these years, she was an actor and a mercenary. Thinking about when or where to strike was never the problem. The location was bigger problem in of itself. She was used to bloodletting within the comfort of moldy motels and trashed apartments. This place was rather high-brow, with its black marble floors and high ceilings. Foreign plants were planted in the tall pots that lined the hallway. There were the places where the walls have eyes, Papa once warned; We stay away from them.

But she had made it this far. Donned her caramel-colored wig and her favorite red sundress. Tricked them all with a coy grin and shy naïveté. And now, as she stood next to this bright blonde, the importance of her mission rung true.

Red stood still, but her eyes followed Basil as he walked down the hall. This was where the game begun. Two possibilities had split off: She could either distract the others and follow Basil to his hopefully isolated destination, or play along and gather more information. Her gut wanted her to begin swift pursuit, but her brain said otherwise. Specifically, the memories of that recent conspiracy against her. The consequences of not knowing as well as she should have almost cost her the privilege of being alive.

Red turned to the blonde again. She looked just as nervous as anyone ought to be in this scenario. Basil’s operations were scetchy as hell from top to bottom. Really, what kind of company approached a girl who was clearly young and clearly without parental supervision?

Though, that might have just been Red. Regardless, she stuck to the conclusion she came to yesterday: the end goal for this girl and any other innocents would be to get them out before she struck. But she had to know more first.

With a twist of the lip, Red blurted out her first question.

“How’d you meet Mr. Wolf?”

 

[Elenion Aura]

MILO NAGISA

CS Link

SCENE:

New Phoenix Golden Age

TIME:

July 20th, 2022 | | Post-Outbreak

LOCATION:

Phoenix HQ, South District

PARTICIPANTS:

Bolt, Hector, Helva, Hitoshi, Milo, Musai, Pei, YY

NEW PHOENIX GOLDEN AGE

A brief flush of embarrassment rosied his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Getting a shout out from the man on stage left him feeling like he had eyes on him. The feeling swiftly passed, and he raised a hand in reciprocity for the greeting.

"You too," Milo said, looking his old friend up and down and smiling wryly. When he'd gotten his first look at him, Milo had nearly toppled over at the sight. Boltius in a suit. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen that. If ever. And yet, upon closer inspection, Milo spotted elements of the outfit he'd affectionately refer to as Boltius' 'charm'. Surely, these alterations made the act of wearing a suit itself more palatable for the young man, if they didn't exactly scream professionalism. But then again, this wasn't a professional setting, not counting professional killers and thugs.

As Milo gazed around the spacious meeting hall, it occurred to him that he'd been here before. Not just since he'd joined the Phoenixes last year. No. These flashes of memory were older than that. He was a young child, walking beneath these high, coffered ceilings. Rubber shoes smacking against polished marble floors. This was always his legacy, he supposed...

No matter how we fight it. We all become our parents in the end.

 

[Haze-]

Dante Aguilar

CS Link

SCENE:

R B S Y D O I B C

TIME:

April 3rd, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3

LOCATION:

Blast Off DVDs, West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Minato, Dante

Returning Back Something You Don't Own Is Basically Childbirth

As Tak stood there groping at the wall in the blind— Dante lazily guiding him to it with a hand turning left to right like he were telepathically working him like a claw machine— “Nah, man, I’m telling you,” — He squatted, one hand scratching the back of his head while the other tentatively poked around the empty air of the lasers, as if teasing them. Just inches away from touching those red lines. Hovering a hand over it and bouncing it up and down like he were a kid testing how close his hand had to be to candle fire before it burned his palm.

“It’s like…” — Dante pinched two fingers over one of the red lights — “Right her—”

His words stuttered to a stop, a flash blue static crackling and lighting up half of the store, on the periphery of growing into straight up lightning. Dante’s head slowly swiveled over his shoulder to meet Tak, eye brows raised up to his hairline, mouth bent and twisted to a— “Huh?”

He watched with a mess of budding emotions warring in his brow, his chin— pulling his mouth agape with a mix of dread and confusion— as Tak’s hand welded itself to the wall. His whole body twitched like a tubeman fending off the wrath of a storm, and he watched the whole thing in stunned silence. Like a car crash, he couldn’t unglue his eyes.

It wasn’t until Tak came flying off the lightswitch, towards him, that Dante snapped awake. He rolled onto his back, sprawled out, back against the floor. A complete deadpan took over his face as he only got to catch the faint shadow of Tak’s feet overshooting him. He waited for a few moments after he heard him crash, watching the lightbulb above them swing a slow pendulum. Waiting, listening in for signs of life.

“Yo, T-Takakazu?”

He nodded the moment he heard Tak’s usual complaint off in the background, letting his held breath out in an exasperated sigh. Dante brought a hand up, trying to pull himself back to his feet. His eyes shot wide open with realization when his forearm grazed one of the red beams of light. A mechanical rumble rose from within the two shelves cornering his sides, rusty springs unwound, then released. A flash of something that shone in the moonlight phased through his hand with a sharp, snappy noise— the snippet of a cleaver, scissors cutting through paper— a swish of brisk wind sharp against his nose.

Dante sat there like he’d stared back at the snakes, met Medusa’s gaze— frozen still. An eye twitching. He brought his chin up to his chest, looking on with still eyes at the two massive blades that were now protruding from the shelves. A giant Swiss Knife immediately came to mind when he looked at them. A silent tear slowly flowed down the corner of his eye; his mouth twitched to a smile.

His whole arm came down with a meaty thump on the floor, blood splurging from his new stump and onto his face. The smile widened, and unfocused, blurry eyes peeked from under the red mask he wore to look at the slumped arm still twitching across from him — “Hah…hahaha…what the fu…—”

Before the shock and adrenaline could settle down, something clicked under him, followed by the sound of a firing squad overhead shortly after. Without so much as a feeling of lightness, a release of tension from his back, the floor split itself wide open beneath him. A gaping maw, lined with sharp spikes hungrily waiting for him below.

For a split second of unconsciousness, he was adrenaline, he was motion— thought and action blurring into the same thing. The next, he found himself teetering on the edge of that pit. One hand and both feet clinging at the rough edges while the weight of his stump leaned half of him into the hole.

Funny enough, he’d seen this exact same thing in a movie he’d rented here. ‘The Pharaoh’s Wrath (1997)’. Terrible plot. Terrible endi— “HAHAHAHHAAHAHA— FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUCK!!!” — He cackled like a maniac, spit and drool mixing in with the pool of crimson stuck to his face. Every muscle straining, every nerve fighting to keep him from passing out from the shock, his nails dug for purchase on the slippery floor tiles.

“F…FUCK! Wh—WHINY! SHIT!” — Dante called out to the void between gunshots, labored gasps and nerve-response chuckling, fingers slipping. On cue, a set of shadowy hands forcefully yanked him out of the hole. A shadowy haze, still taking form, holding him up mid-air by the collar of his jacket, like he were a stray kitten.

“QUIT FUCKIN’ CRYING.” — Shouted the loud, brash voice of a man resounding in his mind, drowning out even the ringing of the gunfire.

After 15 long seconds, Dante stood there amid the empty shells. A wash of a dry, red stain sticking his shirt to his body— chest heaving, gasping for breath with his pupils thin and dancing on the retinas.

A tall shadow stood looming on two legs behind him, trying to shove his arm back where it belonged. Matted fur. A rabid, hot breath leaving bubbles through the froth that rose from its jaw. A chalk white wolf skull stood out from his dark shape, black tears constantly pooling down from the round hollows of his face.

The stub denied Dante’s arm for a bit, before shadowy tendrils began to pull and tug at it. Twisting it in place as if it were a lightbulb.

“Are you…fucking…s-serious?” — Between breaths, the tatted man snarled at Tak’s calm take of the situation.

“BALD-HEADED FUCK.” — The shadow flashed behind Tak, lifting him up by the bald spot. Placing him a few steps back with a growl. Unlike the other hound, this one wasn’t smiling at all. There was no kindness, nothing polite about it. Tak was getting manhandled whether he liked it or not.

“BEHIND ME.” — Whiny ordered, simply. Shoving a wrapped knuckle into Tak’s chest.

Dante sighed, hunched over with his still functional hand holding his knees. He coughed, huffed, raised a hand up to get Tak’s attention — “D-Don’t go making him angry…I can’t control this one…I’m not j-joking…He’ll fuckin’ kill you…” — He warned, still struggling to catch his breath.

“Just go return that damn DVD…He’ll help you out…”

He chuckled, slowly setting himself down to sit in a corner, looking like he was phasing in and out of conscious.

“I’ll…I’ll take a lil’ break…G-Go ahead...”

Spoiler: whiny

thebigfella Elenion Aura

 

[Elenion Aura]

SHEN YUE

SCENE:

Reparations

TIME:

Post-Outbreak, July 21st, 2022

LOCATION:

Ruined Bridge, North/East District

PARTICIPANTS:

Bash, Shen, Kisara, Kanna, Sang-cheol, Celestine, Sabrina, Peyton, Raphael, Ruriko, Lloyd, Jesper [Guardian], Sylvaine

REPARATIONS

“No.” Shen said simply. With no lie in his eyes.

“But I take responsibility for it.” As he was King.

“As I understand, we were struck and struck back.” That seemed fair to him. Because he was simple-minded.

“Do you intend to strike us back?” He asked plainly. “Tell me if you do. We can settle this here and I will let your people go safely.” It was left unsaid, but hopefully well understood, what would happen to the Serpents if they lied.

 

[Elenion Aura]

RAPHAEL SHAW

CS Link

SCENE:

Reparations

TIME:

Post-Outbreak, July 21st, 2022

LOCATION:

Ruined Bridge, North/East District

PARTICIPANTS:

Bash, Shen, Kisara, Kanna, Sang-cheol, Celestine, Sabrina, Peyton, Raphael, Ruriko, Lloyd, Jesper [Guardian], Sylvaine

REPARATIONS

Suddenly, Raph was bored. A terrible development for everyone involved.

He squinted across the invisible barrier that separated their two factions, the No Man's Land that few, as yet, had been willing to cross. Stealing glances to his left and to his right, Raph let a kernel of an idea rattle around the cavernous reaches of his black mind.

"Fucking hell, it's like a middle school dance. Boys over here, girls over there. How utterly dull." He mused out loud in an exaggerated croon. He leaned so far forward, raising up on tippy toes to avoid tripping over the imaginary barrier, that he lost his balance and stumble-stepped into the gulf of empty space that served as the sole gap that divided the Serpents from the Dragons.

He smirked deviously, feigning shock at his own scandal. Oops. ~

Well, now that he was here... Raph sauntered all the way across the boundary, maintaining strict eye contact with the Dragon directly across from him. His dance partner. Someone always had to make the first move. Luckily, he wasn't shy. Sparing only a cursory glance for the little girl riding the drones—making the shape of a handgun with his fingers, he pointed the barrel back at her and pantomimed the hammer falling, Pew ~—Raph focused his attention on the one who'd captured his interest.

Lifting his hands up in a show of 'I come in peace', Raph continued his approach until he was nose-to-nose with the Dragon... Or he was stopped. Nevertheless, he didn't take a swing. No. But that didn't mean he wasn't absolutely asking for it.

It was a fun game of chicken... For him, anyway.

He was feeling emboldened after he saw Bash's handshake, knowing what it meant. It was already checkmate. Why didn't they dispense with the pleasantries?

But, no. Bash had said don't start anything. Which, of course, in his mind Raph had twisted to... Get the Dragons to take the first swing.

With a smile made for war, Raph purred a mere arm's reach from the line of Dragons. "Hello, there. ~"

 

[Roda the Red]

Keith Sullivan

CS Link

SCENE:

Shifting Around The Side View Mirror Is Good Until You See Your Own Reflection

LOCATION:

Azure Dragon HQ, East District

TIME:

Post-Arc 3, June 17th 2022

PARTICIPANTS:

Takakazu, Kisara, Keith

Shifting Around The Side View Mirror Is Good Until You See Your Own Reflection

Keith winced sharply as his arm was victim of a tenacious uppercut, pain and literal force coursed through his eldritch limb like a wave, weakening the follow-through efforts of his attack. He was fortunate that his limbs were flexible and elastic, their inner anatomy much of an enigma even for himself, otherwise, his arm might've suffered from a broken bone with that blow. His appendage rappidly zipped back to place like an unlocked measuring tape. He stared at his malformed hand, shaking and tingling from the counterattack, yet satisfied with the sight of vermilion coating his metallic claws, dripping down from his knuckles.

Oh to make her bleed further, no lesser punishment would be m- "GAH! WHAT?!" Pulled back into reality, both figuratively and literally, Keith's eyes traced back behind him, able to catch sight of a certain, familiar frame. "S-SHTOP THAT ALREADY! IT HURTSH YOU BRUTE, RELEASHE ME AT ONSHE!" Keith struggled to properly speak through his stretched face, arms instinctively thrown back to push the man away, however stopping just a few inches away from making actual contact, as the state of his hands could easily injure him, wrestling while holding a knife is never a good idea, and he had ten of them.

Through the trhashing and yanking, the two men found themselves exhanging positions eventually, the Dragon now worried about having lost sight of that vomitive rosy serpent "LET ME GO, YOU BUFFOON! I NEED TO SHEE-" But then, he felt a strong push, a force striking behind him, causing the young man to stumble forward. The painful grip on his carmine mane was relief, causing him to gasp in relief.

Turning around, Keith beheld a sight most atrocious, the woman stood nearby, one of her horns dyed a deep red, the cause of it lying right at Keith's feet. His pupils contracted, a drop of cold sweat running down the side of his head.

"B-BYSTANDER, NOOO!" The young man shouted, kneeling over to reach for the bleeding man. The rookie's blades vanished, his hands returning to their comparatively normal selves. He raised the man's head, gently holding it. "You can't die on me like this! Hang in there!" He looked in horror at the man's lifeless eyes, the foam in his mouth clearly signaling the life slowly seeping away from his body (wrong). He raised his head, still holding onto the dying (not really) citizen. His eyes focused on the serpent, spelling fiery vehemence.

"He was innocent...He had nothing to do with this, yet you killed him..." He layed the man down on the ground with careful movements. Keith's arms stretching ludicrously as he get back on his feet, some of their length piling up on the ground. "You serpents are all the same, doing nothing but making everyone around you suffer..." Blades sprung from his fingers once more, however not stopping just there. Metallic blades and spikes began to sprout forth from the entire length of his limbs, some smooth and some jagged, reaching well over the hundred total.

"I WILL KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!"

Fleshy vines threw themselves forward erratically, wildly whipping around towards the woman. The arms tore into concrete and bricks, damaging the parallel walls across the alley from miscalculated movements.

simj26 thebigfella

 

[simj26]

Kisara McDowell

CS Link

SCENE:

Reparations

LOCATION:

Ruined Bridge, North/East District

PARTICIPANTS:

Bash, Shen, Kisara, Kanna, Sang-cheol, Celestine, Sabrina, Peyton, Raphael, Ruriko, Lloyd, Jesper [Guardian], Sylvaine

Reparations

“That’s enough biting.” The tapping feet of impatience finally moved forwards, stepping in between the Dragon King and the Serpent Queen.

Once, perhaps, she would have been in awe of someone given the title of King. Once, perhaps, she would have stars in her eyes, showering the Dragon King with adulation befitting of a fangirl. Now, in the face of death, at the face of flooding darkness and the tower ever looming closer, she felt nothing facing the Dragon King. Her dark eyes passed over his retinue, as if to size them up. Again, she felt nothing, except a burning flame in her heart, waiting to be ignited by violent battle. It would be a difficult fight against all of them, but she would relish every single second of it.

How she craved to test their mettle, how she yearned to see how they bend, how they break, how they fought their wars. Yet, today was not the day she would test them. By Bash’s orders, she would not lift a single finger.
Not yet. Bash was trying something new, and she wanted to see where this brought them. If it was possible to make an uneasy alliance with the Dragons, she would find some use out of that thread.

“We’re here to settle things…diplomatically.” Her tone softened. “No fists need to be thrown. Just a clean talk, alright?” She tried to offer a reassuring smile, but found herself unable to summon one. Without missing a beat, she turned her attention over to the dark-haired bloodbender who had wandered over to the Dragons, his physique arched in a way that she recognised as a deliberately goading posture. “Raph, please don’t bully the drakelings. Let Bash talk things out first, and then we get to bully them, alright?”

She shrugged dismissively. “As you can see, the snakelets are getting kind of hot under the collar, so let’s lead by example, and simmer down, alright?” The smile finally managed to manifest itself, baring its jagged pearly whites. “We don’t want this to get bloody.”

Elenion Aura Misuteeku QuirkyAngel angel doe Coyote Hart Nobody Special Beann Jexon Whells AriAriAbabwa FabulousTrash TheAphelion

 

[thebigfella]

The Tanker

CS Link

SCENE:

The Dangerous Part Of A Tiger’s Den Is The Walls That Make It

LOCATION:

Docks, East District

DATE:

July 25th, 2022 || Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Mugen Elenion Aura , Eustass Doctor Llamabean , Tak

The Dangerous Part Of A Tiger’s Den Is The Walls That Make It

The thunderous cry of a foghorn echoed through the open seas. The water’s surface rippled, and seagulls chirped as they flapped overhead, weaving between the spewing smokestacks as they cast their shadows down below onto the deck.



Clouds drifted overhead, curving to disappear down the horizon. The growing night brought sparkles in the sky that danced across the water’s surface like fireflies in the night, caught in the rivers of frozen time. The moon's reflection was distorted, misshapen, and misplaced, and as a massive tanker hull tore through it, it was dispersed into the waves.



The horn bellowed once more, and the sea tore from its movements. Its rusted hull and chipping paint grew less worn down the higher it got, and thick metal became separated by side-deck windows, giving views of the cargo below.



Shipping containers lined the uppermost parts of the deck; they rose high above the ground like towers in their own right, with different patterns and shapes. Brand names painted across them quarreled with the graffiti that had been sprawled across. From vandalism to works of art, it all coalesced in the stack homogeneously.



Workers strolled through the gaps between the massive stacks of metal containers, bright-colored neon green strips, and hard hats as they surveyed the cargo. They wrote down tag numbers and sprawled down notes as they went about their business. Their footsteps rattled against the metal, echoing through the lower decks as things panned down, a bisection of the interior, slowly moving down to see one of the stairwells between above and below; more men and women in hard hats made their way down the steps, but the standard uniform was suddenly disrupted by the appearance of suits, a contrast to the workers as they walked past each other with already experienced familiarity of minding their own business.



Two men in black sunglasses hid their eyes. They were of different ages. One was clearly older and more experienced. His head had been clean shaven, a faint bit of facial hair forming a beard and mustache on his face. One of his sleeves hung loose, missing an arm. The other was much more confident-looking, less stern than his partner as he strode casually, a head of bright blue hair.



The suits walked along a hallway silently, the floodlights above reflecting across their glasses like strolling under streetlights as their footsteps echoed, approaching a large metal door. As they pushed it open, the faint scraping against the floor, clattering against its hinges as the momentum abruptly stopped, they stepped into another cargo room. More shipping containers lined in rows and piles, joined by stacks of boxes and the occasional barrel, it was much less organized than the area above, with walkways and space for forklifts, warning signs, and marks in the ground to dictate the flow of transport underneath their shoes.



“They’ve been in there for what, six days now? Don’t they need food or water or something?” One of the suits questioned as he put his hands into his pockets, looking at his partner with a frown, “We got these guys all the way here just to let them die from natural causes?”



“You heard what he said, Guile,” the other man in black replied, a stern grimace on his face as he gave a sharp nod of his head towards the way forward, encouraging the man to keep walking, “NO ONE touches the box without her permission. He said that they see everyone else as the enemy unless it's her. They're only loyal to their buyers; outside of that, they’re just sadistic killing machines.”



Despite the warnings, Guile rolled his eyes, a carefree smirk on his face, “Killing machines, really? They’re just a bunch of island rats. You saw that village they live in? They’re still out there banging rocks together to make fires like fuckin’ monkies,” he bantered, though his partner him crime had no interest in humoring him, “Plus, they got into the container all nice like, seems like they knew their place to me.”



“Tch,” a click of the bald man’s tongue, “You idiot. You just wanna play around with the exotics, don’t you? You’ll regret that shit,” he stated, pulling out a cigarette and putting it to his lips as he let the younger Tiger walk ahead of him.



Guile spun around on his heels, giving jazz hands as he chuckled, “Ya caught me! What, can you blame me for wanting to put some charm on those babes? I’ll just ask ‘em if they’re hungry or thirsty, and that’s it, alright? I’m nice like that!”



He turned back around, his footsteps slowing to a pause as he stopped in front of a shipping container. It was special because it was left by itself, nothing stacked upon it. It was dark black, and no indications of any type of marking or designation were painted on its side. It was a black box, and the only way to access it was through a keypad-operated lock mechanism.



Guile hummed as he pressed his fingers into the keypad. A few button presses, the beep of the buttons, and then the sound of confirmation—the heavy thud of unlatching pressurized locks—echoed through the chamber.



The door cracked open only slightly, allowing fog to spew out from the corner, sliding across the ground before fading into the atmosphere a few feet away. Guile stared at the entrance, a cold sweat going down his back that he didn’t know he had until now.



A second guess came to the back of his mind; his fingers placed a hand on the door, considering closing it, before, with a steeled expression, he snaked them around to grasp at the edge of the door.



But before he could make an attempt to move it. He felt the muscles in his arm go weak. He blinked in confusion, and then his eyes widened in realization.



His skin rippled, breathing like it was alive, and then it began to peel, like hundreds of tiny books being flipped open at once. From his cuticles to his wrist, he watched as the skin flayed open, revealing pulsing and twitching muscle exposed to the air, blood gushing and seeping from the open pockets within his flesh.



He screamed in agony, using his other hand to pull his wrist away, stumbling backward onto the ground, his eyes scrunching in pain from feeling his hand fall apart and falling onto the hard stone floor. But when he opened them again, he saw more and more separations of his skin crawling up his arm as if he was made up of brickwork, it all began to fall apart, tearing itself away and falling to the ground like piles of human-sourced confetti, exposing more pulsing muscle until even the muscle started to peel away and reveal bone.



“GRRAAAAUUUUUUUH!” He twirled his body, trying to crawl away, a hand desperately reaching out to his partner as the pattern traveled up his neck, covering itself on the matching half of his face, “TERRY! HELP ME! PLEASE!”





The other man lit his cigarette, then a click as the lighter went out. He held the flame between his fingers, taking a long breath, before blowing the smoke out between his lips.



He didn’t look down at the other man as he pleaded for a savior.



His neck burst open from the seams, exposing his twitching esophagus, the movements of his vocal cords as everything began to fall off, his jaw fell apart with no muscles to hold it together, his eye dropped out of its socket before wetly falling to the ground, his hair fell out in strands.



“Pl-Please…save…meee…”



Those were the last words he could choke out before his whole body went limp, half of his face leaving nothing but bone and a few hanging straps of meat, left in a pile of his own flesh that had formed into a small cushion for his corpse. The afterparty of viscera.



Terry shook his head, taking another drag of his cigarette. He glanced upward, and his brow tightened upon what he saw. The cargo door had opened only slightly, just enough for a single eye to gaze at him. Its purple shimmer had precise focus, but it lacked any emotion, any distinct direction besides gazing upon his very being.



“Is our employer here yet?” A female voice asked.



“No.” Terry simply replied, tossing his cigarette to the ground, no longer having a taste for tobacco, “We’ll be arriving in New Oasis shortly. She should be meeting us at the dock.”





…



…



…



No words were exchanged for a long moment.



“I see.” the eye finally replied.



And with a slowly groaning creek and a final hollow slam.



The door shut.





Terry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He stepped away from the corpse and walked away from the whole scenario as he quickly exited the room.



He only paused, just to glance out of the window. He could see it now.



The cityscape of the East District was quickly approaching, and with it came the clouds of the storm brewing overhead.



“Storm’s brewing,” Terry absentmindedly remarked, turning his head away as he stepped through the door.



He looked over his shoulder as the weight slowly closed the door behind him, giving the black box one final glance.



“I wonder if stories about the Thunder God are true.”



And then the door slammed shut.

Shishido Takakazu

CS Link

SCENE:

The Dangerous Part Of A Tiger’s Den Is The Walls That Make It

LOCATION:

Docks, East District

DATE:

July 25th, 2022 || Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Mugen Elenion Aura , Eustass Doctor Llamabean , Tak

The Dangerous Part Of A Tiger’s Den Is The Walls That Make It

The faint growling of an engine choked itself as it fell silent. A silver moped with rust around its wheels leaned on a nearby wall. From the chin, a strap was unlatched, and a helmet was tossed onto the floor next to it.



Dirty white shoes quickly stamped across the ground, running all the way up to where concrete met water. They loomed over the edge as waves crashed against the barrier between land and sea.



Dull, grayish-green eyes looked across the horizon with urgency; a single ship approached in the distance, from a tiny blip to a large blotch.



A foghorn echoed across the dock.



He raised a hand to rub through his hair, a scowl across his face. His teeth gritted as his brows furrowed.



“My whole body is quakin’...the fuck is on this ship…”



“Somethin’ ain't right here.”



He had just visited a grave, but his instincts were screaming at him. His nerves tingled, and his spine twitched in fearful anticipation. His scowl sharpened as his gaze narrowed on the approaching cargo ship, his stance widening as his fists clenched.



He could feel it.



“What’s about to happen…?”

 

[WhiskeyMarten]

HECTOR MOSES

CS Link

SCENE:

Bedlam Blitz!

TIME:

Post-Arc 3 — July 10th, 2021; Late morning

LOCATION:

Whiteleaf, South District

PARTICIPANTS:

Boltius, Hector, Milo, Yukari, Raquel, Leaf, Zach

BEDLAM BLITZ!

He should’ve had a better handle on the situation, starting with keeping the others in check. Why did the situation devolve the way it did? Had discipline slacked since he was promoted? Is it Lyric’s absence? His skin itched and fingers twitched whenever he heard a voice that wasn’t his own.

Hector would’ve realised the danger sooner if fewer voices were circling his head. He tried to grab the man, but there was no stopping what was coming. He turned for the exit, but it felt ten times further than it had been moments prior. His body reacted violently while it had the energy to do so, but it was short-lived, and he had barely made it a few steps to salvation.

He woke to a hacking cough and the smell of blood. Chips of metal coated the exterior of his nose in his body’s attempt to block the invading gas, clumsily formed in ways that sliced into his skin. He had enough strength to tilt his head to the side, a streak of drool dropping onto the floor. It was then he caught view of their captor, feet first before focusing up to the face, and then the other face beside him.

Bolt?

He hadn’t found his words yet, but rather than fury, he felt… relief? This wasn’t their first adventure that went down a similar path, and despite still coming to grips with what the situation was, he already felt assured that Bolt was in control of the situation. He just had to sit tight a little longer, and the plan would be enacted, right? Isn’t that right, Bolt? He stared at Bolt, not conveying much, but hoping that it would be read as understanding.

And if the plan were to fail… Hector moved his arms, tugging at the restraints. Brute force never failed. He attempted to sit up from his position, the fog in his mind and body having cleared a bit. His chest twinged with pain, but it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world. Guess for now, he had to wait and see what was in store for them.

 

[thebigfella]

Tommy Sulliven

CS Link

SCENE:

Getting a Manicure is Fun, But So is Throwing Bricks Into Ongoing Traffic

LOCATION:

Central District

DATE:

July 28th, 2022 || Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Inigo simj26

Getting a Manicure is Fun, But So is Throwing Bricks Into Ongoing Traffic

“Huff…Huff..Huff…”



Labored breathing, heavy, rapid footfalls through an alley. Sweat ran down the man’s back, his lungs straining tightly as he ran as fast as he could, fearing to even slow down a little.



He grabbed a nearby trash can, and with a shout, he tossed it behind him, letting it spill onto the ground and roll in the pathway to hold off whoever was chasing him, even for a second. He stumbled as he shifted back forward, barely dodging out of the way of a dumpster, and he picked up the pace.



“This fucker…won’t….give up!” he shouted between shallow breaths, only affording a blink behind before he gazed forward. In his way was a fence to block access from the alley and the sidewalk.



With a click of his teeth, he hopped up as high as he could, his fingers locking into the links, his wet shoes squeaking against the metal as they rapidly tried to find any footing, and quickly, the runner began to scurry upwards like a rat, and as soon as he reached the top they didn’t even bother to look where he’d land before flipping himself over.



“Ohh shiiit!” he shouted out, not measuring the fall before he came crashing down in cement, only a pile of rotting, wet boxes to break his fall, all of them flattening under him. He quickly rose back to his feet, stumbling onto the sidewalk as he used the wall for support, barely getting time to catch his breath before he was trying to run off again.



However, after making only a few steps, a sudden bump into someone made him stumble backward.



“Oi, watch where you’re goin’, asshole.” A man replied with mild annoyance.

Shishido Takakazu

CS Link

SCENE:

Getting a Manicure is Fun, But So is Throwing Bricks Into Ongoing Traffic

LOCATION:

Central District

DATE:

July 28th, 2022 || Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Tak, Inigo simj26

Getting a Manicure is Fun, But So is Throwing Bricks Into Ongoing Traffic

“S-Sorry!” The man uttered a quick, weak apology as he dashed off in the other direction. Tak gave a raised eyebrow as the man cut the corner.



“Peh, he’s lucky I’m in a good mood, or I woulda really laid into him,” Tak spoke of his generosity and kindness as he shoved his hands into his pockets, a slight grin worming its way onto his face as he stuck his hands into his pockets.



The perspective followed his eyes; sitting at the corner of the street was a large building, its Western architecture reminiscent of buildings from Xia, contrasting the modernized style of Central. It was adorned by red pillars patterned with streaks of golden; sculptures of tigers were at least fitting, joined by hanging lanterns that were lit up, beckoning its guests inside.



“I never thought this day would come…” he felt tears welling up, putting pressure on the back of his eyes as he pulled his hand out of his pocket, a bright red coupon held between his fingers, held up high above in the sky, shimmering in the streetlights as he waved it around proudly.



“A FULL SERVICE COUPONNNNNNNN!”



Clenching the coupon tightly between his fists, he brought it in front of his face, clenching his eyes shut as the waterworks began, “A massage, a manicure, a sauna, a facial, and even acupuncture! Finally, I can deal with all this soreness I’ve been dealing with and revitalize my dry skin!”



Tak rubbed his hands over his face, imagining his new glossy, clean look in his head, visualized in a cloud floating above his head, women fawning over him as he wore a massive cleft chin, a well-formed jawline as he visibly sparkled like a vampire.



“YOSHAAAAA!” Tak roared, and like a rocket, he ran across the street; cars had to stop on the brakes abruptly as they beeped, watching the trail of dust leave him behind as he burst through the door curtains.



He skidded to a stop at the front desk and slammed his hands onto its counter. He looked at the woman on the other end, an older Xian lady. She had the phone held between her head and her shoulder, filing her nails as she loudly chewed gum, looking at him unamused.



Tak’s energy immediately left him upon seeing her, and his realization of where he was made him rescind his counter-slam. Clearing his throat as he straightened up, he meekly offered the woman the coupon.



She aggressively snatched it from his hand, "Go to back, first room left,” she spat out towards the disheveled man, not even attempting to hide her distaste for his existence.



“Uh, thank you,” Tak meekly replied before marching down the hall, disappearing around the corner. The sound of a sliding door indicated he had opened his way into another room.



“Excuse me, is this--WOAAAAGH!”



His cut-off shout came with the door slamming closed.



Just what had happened to him!?

 

[WhiskeyMarten]

DARIUS KENNEDY

CS Link

SCENE:

Dissonant Ichors

LOCATION:

Alleyway, East District

TIME:

Pre-Arc 1: December 21, 2020 -- Dusk

PARTICIPANTS:

Darius, Shen, Raph

DISSONANT ICHORS

“Yep, all in a hard day’s work! Best of luck with… Whatever’s brought you here. Maybe I’ll see you again.” He hoped not. The excruciating couple of minutes he had spent with Raph felt like ten eternity’s worth of punishment. He’d rather work directly with Caio, or, God forbid, even Yuudai. One thing was for sure. He was staying out of the East from now on. Talk about crazy. Whoever runs their tourism campaigns must be getting serious compensation because it was nothing like what he’d… heard…

Darius hadn’t turned around the whole time he had backed away from Raph, stopping only at the sound of the groan behind him- no, above him. He noticed then the warmth on his back, and only then did he turn his head to see two hands headed his way.

“Shit-”

He managed a leap forward, and a hand crashed near enough to send wind rushing through his hair. As he landed, the second hand connected, knocking him into a tumble down the alley, landing him not far from the other casualties of the night. The pain was almost too much to bear, but not quite the fatal blow it should’ve been. Something had caused the giant to hold back from attacking at full strength.

“We gotta go.”

Darius choked the words out between frantic breaths as he got up onto his hands and knees. It was hard to tell apart from the pain rushing through his neck and back, but there was another pain indicated by the fist-shaped patch of red, irritated skin.

The giant let out a bellow of discomfort, not even watching its prey after crushing him. It looked down at its hand. His fingers had already begun to swell, leaking blood and pus as the outer skin fell apart. It wasn’t getting any worse, but it hurt like hell. It looked to Darius, and back at his hand, and the few brain cells it possessed worked overtime to link the two. It lunged forward with surprising agility, raking the ground with sweeping claws intent on shredding everything in sight - the snow, the corpses, and the serpents.

 

[Jexon Whells]

Lloyd Sorvocah

CS Link

TIME:

Post- Outbreak: 2022, July 21st

SCENE:

Reparations

LOCATION:

Ruined Bridge, North-/East District

PARTICIPANTS:

Bash, Shen, Kisara, Kanna, Sang-cheol, Celestine, Sabrina, Peyton, Raphael, Ruriko, Lloyd, Jesper [Guardian], Sylvaine

Reparations

Oh how badly Lloyd wants to attack them, to beat them, to kill them. All of those filthy Serpents, right there in front of him, just across from him with nothing in between. Yet here he remains, on his side of this broken bridge that was likely once a battleground, and likely will be again. He is here to guard the King of the Azure Dragons, not go on a killing spree on Serpents. Not this time. Yet, it doesn't help that this persistent voice is itching for a fight, to cause carnage.
"Can we fight them already?!" it basically shouts in Lloyd's mind, "They are ripe for the picking. Look at them! Look at how they are staring at us, how they think they are stronger than us! We have to show them they are mere prey!"

"No," Lloyd responds in thought, "You want it right now, not we. I told you, you can play when it is time, and this is not it."
The voice gets agitated and says, "Do you think that I have those instincts solely on my own? No no no. I get that from you. It is what makes you and me, 'us'. But you are adamant on ignoring that. You don't really cut loose. You WASTE our potential!"
"Shut up!" Lloyd screams in his own head, "You have no idea how the world really works! All you think about is being an uncontrollable beast, and that is all you seem to be! A beast! Something that should be put in a cage! Funny enough, that might just be exactly what would happen if I let you go out of control, if they don't outright kill us."

Although this exchange takes place in Lloyd's head at rapid speed, the effects are noticeable in his body language. The leather of his gloves squeaking against the handle of his sword as his grip tightens. His exhale fierce as if he is blowing smoke from his nose. His unfazed expression is now one of annoyance, bordering on anger.
Then a soft chuckle in his head with a response, "You said 'us', too."

Lloyd was about to respond until someone else got his attention, a damn Serpent playing games. At first Lloyd thought the person was drunk, as would be expected from a gang where a lack of inhibition is commonplace. But as the person continues approaching, he concludes that they aren't drunk, just plain stupid. In response, Lloyd steps forward. While this particular Serpent may not be directly approaching the King, he is technically getting in a closer position. That, and he isn't not going to take point when a fight does break out. He doesn't know all of his colleagues, let alone their powers, but he does know his and how to use it.

He wouldn't allow the Serpent, called 'Raph' by one his own, to get all that close to the rest of the Dragons. Lloyd stares down at him, unbreaking eye contact while his hand remains firmly on the handle of his weapon. He remains silent, only listening, and waiting.
It is only after Kisara speaks that Lloyd says anything to Raph. While trying to maintain a calm tone and not get overly aggressive, he says, "You heard your master. Get back in line, dog. Being off your leash is more a danger to you than anyone else."

 

[thebigfella]

Areith Rozárie

CS Link

SCENE:

To Be Reborn is To Rebirth

LOCATION:

Abandoned Church, North District

TIME:

July 17th, 2022|| Post-Outbreak

PARTICIPANTS:

Areith, Ordelia

To Be Reborn is To Rebirth

Dead trees lined the cobblestone pathway, weeds strewn between the cracks, choking the life out of the grass, hailing above the corpses of flowers. Crows cried, perched within rotting branches, finding their nests between the broken infrastructure of the building of His creation.

You stepped upon the steps, avoiding the cracks, the crumbling stone worn down from years of neglect, ages of weathering. The sun peered through the clouds, reflecting off the stained glass windows, absorbed by the thick film of dust and dirt that muddied their vibrant colors.

Within this desecrated land, you found yourself at home, a life of living your task. To rebuild the world, one must be able to restore mind, body, and self. That is what he was trying to tell you. This church had become an extension of you, and its growth would come with your own enlightenment.

You strived higher. The desire to fulfill his wishes guided your actions, leading you to the bottom of the holy temple’s steps. The grand church stood tall behind you. The decaying garden that surrounded you would be replanted, and it would bloom.

Your eyes gazed upon the hollowed earth, the dead soil until you spotted one small flower. It rested underneath a crumbling tree, the sun basking it in light as it bloomed despite all odds. The flower told a tale, speaking it to you in whispers that only you could hear and understand.

Even amongst all the detritus, one must allow oneself to see the light if one is to awaken if one is to pollinate and spread one’s love. Such was clear.

So, that is why you stood there, seeking to rise above, reconcile, grow, and bloom. Retribution and forgiveness it was powerful. You had lived entirely of sin and sought to apologize to all you had wronged. Many would not accept, and more would not bother to listen to you. But you were not deterred, for His understanding was limitless, as would yours be.


His holy scriptures spoke; they sang of the power of forgiveness, of not judging, of spreading your arms open wide for all who would accept your embrace. The sun felt warm on your skin, the wind brushing against your skin like a breath across your neck. His gentle touch was all around.

So, you extended an invitation—a welcoming invitation to reconcile and hopefully put a troublesome past behind you.

And so, you waited, with hands clasped, as long as it would take for them to appear and for the absolution seeds to be planted beneath your feet.

You would experience efflorescence as effervescent as His blinding light could be

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

The King's Seat

, Collab with Elenion Aura

SCENE:

Cold Smoke

LOCATION:

The Stripe, West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Passeri, Markus

Cold Smoke

A hole in the shape of a woman cut its way through the thick, indomitable haze of smoke that hung over The Stripe’s club floor. It was typical of the place, an exclusive club frequented only by the crème de la crème of New Oasis’s seedy business underworld. A thick perfume of foreign cigars, woody and thoroughly spiced, clung to the air like some sort of territorial mark. This was deep in the thicket, past the endless stalks of bamboo that hid the Tigers’ countless machinations from the world. Here, only predators roamed free. Predators, at least, and those who were unlucky enough to be counted as their pets.

Passeri was not sure which of the two she was here as today. This was not her sort of haunt, and these were not her sort of people. Even through the fog-like layer of smoke, she could feel the gazes of those present as she cut a trail across the floor. In some eyes, she was sure, she cut the figure of a threat. In others, there was an upstart who needed to be put in her place. And then in those awful, ambitious few, a stray prey animal, waltzing right into the hunter’s den.

But today, such fetters were beyond her concern. A bristle of murmurs flowed through the upper floors of the club as a fleet of black-suited security agents oversaw the clubroom. On the floor itself only a few were present, seen but not heard. Through the smoke and behind their uncompromisingly black sunglasses, they may as well have been faceless, but Passeri was still able to find the one she needed. A subtle nod beckoned to her from across the room. Another led her to one of the few, hyper-exclusive private rooms which lay even deeper in the thicket.

The domain of the King.

“Hey.” Passeri entered the hideaway a few minutes later. She’d dressed lightly, but still not enough to avoid a body search. “Thanks for meeting me so suddenly… You never know who’s peeking in on your messages, these days.”

The room was small, but by no means any less impressive than the rest of the club. Imported leathers lined the seating, and glittering crystal sat wherever glass should’ve. Most luxurious of all, Passeri thought, was the absence of the club’s trademark smog. The scent of tabacco was something she found nostalgic, but not enough so that she sought to languish in it in the absence of good company. She slid onto one of the leather sofas with a tired sigh, indulging herself in the clean, cool air.

“It’s about what I expected… Collecting critique was a crock of shit. Hashimoto’s gone off the deep end.”

Markus looked up from a laptop screen that was being shown to him by a studious looking middle-aged man in a frumpy old suit. The light of it cast weird shadows across the planes of his face. One thing was obvious: he was in a good mood.

“Action that,” Markus said to the man in the suit, gesturing at whatever it was that had been shown to him on the screen. Reverently, the man shut the laptop and seemed to relax, if only slightly. A few stray drops of sweat beaded his hairline, which bowed out near to the start of his neck.

Markus turned to Passeri as if to say something, only to catch himself. His eyes shot back at the man, a little surprised he was still there.

“Go on, fuck off.” The way he said it… It was almost… Gentle. Encouraging. The man bowed his shining, bald head and rose, clutching the closed laptop to his chest as security led him away.

When they were “alone”—in the loosest of terms; Markus was rarely alone—the Tiger King turned to his Jack and gestured that it was her turn to say her piece, much in the same manner as he had to the bespectacled businessperson, picking up the thread of the conversation where she’d left it.

“What else’s new.” He snorted and took a sip of clear liquid from a crystal tumbler beside him. He set it down on a coaster.

“That he’s not playing coy anymore.” To most, it would’ve looked like the two Tigers had exchanged their parameters. Her with the restrained grimace, and him with whatever approximation of good spirits this was. “It was all very explicit. A new age for the Tigers. A rising tide that drowns out the old and washes in the new.”

Meltwater. A great thaw.

“And, of course, that the removal of one ‘Markus Weiss’ is the key to get us all there. Death, or the dignity of exile. That was just about the only thing that came out of his mouth that wasn’t wrapped up in a poem and a history lesson.”

Markus’ expression was measured. His gaze, unblinking. “N’ how’s that sound to you?”

“It sounds like something I wouldn’t be telling you if I was considering it.” A returned gaze, just short of a glare. Passeri breathed deep and steady. Patience, she reminded herself. Keep that tongue tight.

“Much less buying into it, okay? Hashimoto is a loon. Think whatever you want, but I’m not enough of an idiot to start sipping on his Kool-Aid.”

“Good. Smart.” Markus leaned back, let a thimbleful of tension drain from his shoulders. “So he’s finally makin’ a play.”

Markus was silent for a moment, then asked. “You got a good memory, right?”

“Good enough to recite his little speech back to you, if you’d like.” Though she didn’t give it a voice there was surprise in Passeri’s eyes, slipped through the cracks of her increasingly chronic exhaustion.

“Any particular reason why? I’m guessing you’re not just asking for small talk.”

Markus wasn’t smiling, wasn’t blinking. His hands were up in front of his face just below the nose, fingers interlocked. “Was thinkin’ you could sing me a song o’ which motherfuckers I gotta kill.” His eyes narrowed.

He wanted names. He wanted them now.

“Well…” The rhythm of Passeri’s speech slowed. The words that followed were careful. Considered. What she was doing now was signing death warrants, and she knew that well.

“Calrissian, Montana, Gaspari and her little hanger-on with the smoke were all quite taken with the idea… And Morel and Yumin seemed on the fence at best. I’ve a feeling that Dagger and I were the only ones present who weren’t at least entertaining the concept.” That had hardly come as a surprise, though Passeri kept that little snippet of thought to herself. “I’m in the process of scheduling a… Chat with Morel to try and talk some sense into her, but the rest…”

She sighed. As ever, Yumin was a wild card and nothing more, and everyone else may as well have been eating out of the palm of Hashimoto’s hand.

“Well. If I’ll be singing anything tonight, it won’t be their praises. Some of them even seemed excited.” There was a tinge of genuine disgust there. “Some company we’re keeping, huh? And here I thought that self devouring was supposed to be the Serpents’ thing.”

He leaned back, bringing steepled index fingers to his lips. His expression shifted slightly. For a moment he appeared almost contemplative. Then he said, “Nah. This is always how it goes down.”

The anger would return soon. But for now, he was satisfied. Turning his face away he leaned to whisper something into the waiting ear of a suit who’d been making himself scarce until now. When he’d gone off to do whatever Markus had bid him, the Tiger King returned to his thoughts.

Rather, he would have. The sight of Passeri sitting there seemed to give him pause. It was as though he’d forgotten she was there. Or that he’d expected her to be gone by now.

“... Thanks, by the way… For bringin’ this to me.” He said with a touch of uncertainty, as though the words were foreign to him. “Now get outta here. You don’t wanna any part a what’s next.”
“You’re… Welcome…” There was an equal measure of surprise in Passeri’s words to match Weiss’s uncertainty. A summary dismissal. That was about all she’d expected to hear out of the man’s mouth at the end of all this.

“I’ll get out of your hair in a minute, but… Listen-” Passeri shifted in her seat, uncomfortable and unsure. Why she was bothering saying these words to this man was beyond her even as they left her lips. Maybe the length of the night was getting to her.

“Whether I want it or not… I’m already a part of what comes next. I’ve picked a side and it’s yours.” The sidelines weren’t somewhere she could afford to be for this. “Just keep that in mind. Believe in my sense of self preservation, if loyalty’s still too much of a flight of fancy to buy.”

Another moment of strained pause, and then Passeri was on her feet.

“I’ve got your back, I suppose. Promise not to stick a knife in it.” A wry smile. A joke. “And I’ll see what I can do on my end. I should be able to slow things down, at least…”

He listened. When she was done, he looked down into his hands. When he at last raised his eyes again, he found hers and nodded.

“Alright.” Markus could think of nothing more that needed to be said.

Some way. Somehow… He believed her.

What a sorry state of affairs this was.

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

Moon and Star

, Collab with simj26

SCENE:

Stay Indoors

LOCATION:

Passeri's Penthouse, West District

PARTICIPANTS:

Passeri, Dagger

Stay Indoors

“...who is on a mission to help the poor people who call this ravaged district home. Tell the world, what is it like for those unfortunate enough to be caught up in this senseless tragedy."

The television’s droning filled the room. Every few minutes the channel changed, flicking from one urgent news broadcast to the next. It was all the same. Jennifer Lawson, Quinten R.V. Ewe, Alexa Jones… On site and reporting on New Oasis’s most recent disaster.

Passeri’s bedroom wasn’t looking much better. What was usually a well organized retreat from the world, instead more closely resembled a bomb site. Junk clattered across the floor as she rifled through her belongings, tossing whatever she might maybe need into a bag, and anything else clean over her shoulder.

“Shit, shit…” Passeri cursed under her breath. Her person was as frazzled as her chambers. She hadn’t had time for her morning routine, not when she’d woken up to all of this. Again, again, again… Everything kept going wrong. She couldn’t just sit by this time. She wouldn’t.

Her hands were shaking as they plunged into her bedside drawer and found the sensation of cold iron within. By the time Passeri had pulled the still alien-feeling firearm into the light, her fingers were already clumsily wrapped around the grip.

Her eyes lingered on it.

“Just in case…” She mumbled to herself, and threw it into the bag.

Perhaps it had been the sufficient distraction that her panicked packing had afforded her, or perhaps it had been the white wolf's habit of turning up around corners with nary a sound, but from the corner of her eye, she managed to glimpse the appearance of the one-eyed woman, standing by her bedroom door. The black long coat that framed her almost seemed out of place in the backdrop of the rest of her home outside of her bedroom, and the woman herself seemed to fidget uncomfortably.

“‘Seri? What are you doing with that?” Her discomfort, it seemed, was not borne from being in a place that wholly disagreed with her presence, but, rather, from what Passeri had been doing just moments earlier. Elise's solitary eye gave the storm-swept room a cursory scan, and her expression shifted. “Are you planning on going out there? Now?” She tucked her gun into her belt behind her, and stepped towards her.

“Mmm.” Passeri spared a moment to observe the woman in her door frame. Only a moment. A cursory glance, nipped in the bud before it could turn into anything more. A pause to consider, to contemplate, meant distraction, and distraction meant hesitation. “I have to do something. Did you see the news? People are out there just…”

She didn’t know how to put it into words. When she’d first turned on the television, she’d thought that she was watching a movie. An earthquake, at least, she’d been able to comprehend, but a tide of monsters? It didn’t even feel real.

“I have to do something, Dags.” What, yet, she didn’t know. She flung the bag over her shoulder, and moved for the door. “Do you mind getting the front door for me? It’ll be a bit awkward with all this shit on my back.”

“Hm.” The other woman's expression, as it usually was, was impenetrable, but the pensive growl that came from her had its implications- she was weighing the actions and their consequences. She shifted, as if to move aside, but ultimately held fast. She lowered her hand across the door frame gently.

“Nuh uh. No way.”

“I… Sorry?” Elise’s words may as well have slapped Passeri in the face, for how quickly they stopped her in her tracks. The bag she’d slung over her shoulder jangled as she tottered on the spot.

“What do you mean ‘Nuh uh’?” Weighted by her confusion, Passeri’s eyelashes fluttered. This might’ve been the first time she’d ever heard the woman say ‘No’. “I’m not asking you to come with me, Dags. I’ll be fine. I just need help with the door.”

Her gaze urged the other woman to move, but despite the sense of urgency that nipped at her heels, Passeri never once made a move to force her aside.

“Okay?”

“‘Seri.” Quiet. Not quite steady. Elise fell silent, but it was clear from her pained, shifting expression that she wanted to say something, but was plainly struggling to form the words with the intent that she had meant to deliver them with. “Your safety is my priority,” the words finally struggled their way into form. “I know you want to help, but–” Her solitary eye glanced over at the television. “There’s too many. I can’t keep you safe.” She stopped there, but even in the darkness that she shrouded herself with, it was clear that she meant more than that, more than just keeping her safe, something more akin to a fear of the inevitable, something that assaulted her icy exterior once, and only once, in Passeri’s memory.

“Dags, I dont…” Passeri started, and then she stopped. She didn’t what? Need protecting? Who was she kidding?

There had already been doubt. She knew that she was being brash. She’d been running from her wits all morning, and the harsh, strained look that stained Elise’s features was the hurdle that’d slowed her down enough for them to catch up. She peddled back, one weighty step after another, and then fell onto the edge of her bed.

“I feel so useless.” They were words that fell from Passeri’s lips with all the grace of lead into water. “I couldn’t do anything during the earthquake.” When Caio had vanished she hadn’t been there, either. “And when that fucker attacked me last week, over a dozen people died. Do you know why they were there that day? Because of me. They were there to see me. And they died because of it.”

Because of her.

"And now I'm supposed to just sit here while everything goes to shit again? What's the point of all..." She gestured, limply, to their surroundings. The glamour and the fortune. The opportunities that had given them to her. "...This if I just sit by when it matters?"

“You can’t be everywhere all at once.” Elise hung over the door like a white shadow. “You can’t save everyone.” There was something in her voice when she spoke, as if she was being stabbed by her very own choice of words. She moved away from her place at the door to approach Passeri, and knelt by her side, like a dog curling up by its owner’s side. “If you’ve tried–” she started, and quickly halted her speech, as if gnarled thorns had crept up her throat, snatching her voice away from her. She shook her head. “You’re not…” she started again, this time searching much more carefully for her choice of words, “you’re not useless. Every person is brittle under different kinds of impacts.” Elise lowered herself down further, sitting by Passeri’s bedside. “You may save some souls today, but if you die saving them, how many would you lose to a tomorrow without you?”

For what felt like minutes, Passeri was quiet. Her eyes, downcast and dim behind the gloom of her bangs, stared into her bedroom carpet. There was a lot she could have said, but instead, she thought. She pried through one thought after another, until her mind finally settled.

"Thanks, Elise…" Passeri's hand reached for the TV's remote, which she'd previously discarded atop her bed, and shut off the broadcast that had been polluting the room. The room went even quieter in the newscaster's absence, and Passeri took another moment to stew in the silence. What thoughts she'd had were heavy ones. The yesterdays she’d been a part of had been terrible. Who was there to say that tomorrow would be any different?

There was a dull thud as Passeri slid from her perch to join Elise on the floor. She cast her eyes up, now. A ceiling fan sat still up above.

"I have one condition." Passeri's voice was dull and tired. It was the sound of defeat, but not quite surrender. "You too. I won't go anywhere... But only if you don't open the door first. I don't care if Moon or Weiss or the President of Amestria has a job for you... If you go out there… I will too."

She wasn't being fair. She knew that, but she didn't care. One person. She put tomorrow aside. So long as she could keep this one person safe today… Maybe that would be enough.

"...Okay?"

“I never had the intention to.” Curt, simple, honest. Like her namesake, the white wolf's words were as plain as snow. “I'm only here because I know you're the only one foolish enough to rush headlong into saving people.” She rested her head against the bed with Passeri. “Not a bad idea. Not very smart though.” A semblance of a smirk came upon her face as she stared up at the ceiling fan as well. “One soldier in the dark against an unknown number of enemies? Suicide. I should know.” She let out a harsh bark, which was, by all means, supposed to be a laugh at her own expense.

“Smart is exhausting… What’s wrong with a bad idea every one in a while?” Passeri’s voice turned a shade hoarser, dyed with weariness as the past week’s exhaustion caught up with her. But within that, too, was a sliver of relaxation. Her stupidity had at least won her one small victory, and that was enough for her to relent. She wasn’t a soldier, but at least the one that she knew wasn’t going to be deployed today. Her body went slack, and Passeri fell to her side, landing lightly against the eyepatched woman’s flank.

“Stay there a minute for me, would you?” Her head laid against the other woman’s shoulder. The one-eyed woman's body tensed up, then relaxed- a reactionary response from someone unsure of physical contact. Passeri finally let the hastily packed bag which she’d been clutching drop from her hand. “I’ve barely slept this week… Even if I’m stuck here, there’s still a lot to do, but…” Her voice faded into a sigh. She’d no plans of sleeping, but a moment idle like this was still worth its weight in gold. As awful as it was given the circumstances, there was no telling when the next time she’d be able to relax like this would come.

Fingers brushed against her hair, lightly, gently, unsure, hesitant. An attempt, measly as it was, to grant her some comfort. She had no words to give, she had no gifts to give, like the wolf that she was, she could only grant Passeri Park some relief from the world without and the overwhelming darkness within through the only way she knew how- warmth.

The wolf’s touch was, at first, alien. To Passeri Park the touch of another had rarely been a gentle or comforting thing. It had always been a tool, something to charm a fan or seal a deal, but as the other woman’s fingers ran through her hair, she sensed something softer burgeoning within her chest. With each pass Elise made through her frazzled, silver locks, Passeri felt her breathing slow and grow rhythmic. Gone, for a moment, was the world beyond the four walls of her bedroom. The tragedy that gripped Central, the endless machincations of the Albino Tigers, the harrows that had taken her nights from her… She let herself become blind to all of them. She let whatever this warmth was melt them all away.

“Okay…” She aimlessly muttered as she let her eyes fall shut. If ignorance was bliss, then for the moment, it was ignorant that she wanted to be. For the moment, she wanted to bask in this gentle, alien warmth. For the moment, she wanted to let it become alien no more. For the moment, amongst all other things, this was what she did not want to let herself be ignorant of.

“Hey. Elise… Could we stay like this for a while?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, mute to any beyond her bedroom’s threshold. The wolf did not budge, nor did she say anything. An affirmation of her own brand. “I’m so tired…” There was so much she had to do. So many things to check, so many calls to make, but she decided to let it wait.

For once, she decided to let it wait.

 

[Wxnter]

Callista Reinhart

CS Link

Scene:

We Who Remain

Time:

Arc 3 - May 31, 2022

Location:

Shady's Motel

Participants:

Callista, Ashley, Bandy, Jericho, Bolt, Gideon, Milo, Raquel

We Who Remain

Callista strode down the hallway, her face twisted in a scowl. The once bustling corridors now stood empty, bathed in a muted silence broken only by the rhythmic tap of her heels. Reflecting on her dramatic exit from Ashley, she acknowledged it had been a touch excessive, but her frustrations had clouded her judgment. Though she'd feigned concern over Boltius' potential reaction to Ashley’s injuries, her true worry lay in how Ashley would handle seeing him in his equally precarious condition.

It had been her selfish intention to delay Ashley from finding his friends until she could verify the stability of Boltus' condition, and in doing so, she’d failed to consider his feelings. The thought of Ashley's distress over not knowing the fate of his friends weighed heavily on her mind, yet a selfish voice within her clamored for acknowledgment of her own feelings. "What a pain," she muttered to herself.

Outside Boltius and Gideon's room, a red butterfly perched motionless, observing as Ashley stormed past without so much as a glance. It remained in place, a silent sentinel, ensuring Ashley would keep his promise to seek medical attention after confirming his friends' safety.

Meanwhile, Callista had set her own agenda. Armed with vivid descriptions of the mysterious duo who had rescued her from the headquarters, she wasted no time tracking them down. Locating them proved to be a swift endeavor; two red-skinned men were not easily forgotten, and with the assistance of a cooperative staff member, she was promptly directed to their quarters.

Without the courtesy of a knock, Callista stormed into their room unannounced. She surveyed the scene with an air of nonchalance until her gaze settled on the pair, engrossed in the phone clutched in Bandy's hand. "My, you look terrible," she remarked, her attention directed at Bandy. Callista noted the shattered glass strewn across the floor and the bottles of Corona adorning his nightstand with a raised eyebrow. “Did you manage to hurt yourself after I left? One could almost think I was your good luck charm,” she teased, a wry smile plastered on her lips.

Slowly, she sauntered across the room, her movements deliberate as she plopped down onto the bed, pulling out her phone as she did so. She was about to pull up the photos she'd taken of their findings, but the pained look on Jericho’s face caught her attention, causing her to pause mid-action. Callista's eyes narrowed. “And what’s with you?” she inquired. “You look awfully pale for someone with such a... vibrant complexion. Are you hurt somewhere, or just anemic?”

Interactions: Bandy and Jericho
Mentioned: Ashley, Boltius, Gideon

Spoiler

Doctor Llamabean angel doe Lucem Elenion Aura Coyote Hart

 

[Elenion Aura]

JAVI ONEIRO SILVA

SCENE:

Losers!

TIME:

Post-Arc 3 || June 11th, 2022

LOCATION:

East District, Skate Park

PARTICIPANTS:

Pei, Javi

LOSERS!

Rocco warbled a warning. Its socketed eyes, milky white and unblinking, absorbed the newcoming creature, watching closely for any signs of aggression. As a precaution, its 'plumage' puffed up defensively; the alien being stomped around and out in front of Javi once more, shielding his master from this fresh threat.

Javi, on the other hand, thought the little guy was kind-of cute with his tiny jacket and his swooping locks. In a weird, vaguely-unsettling kind of way... Until he really listened to what the little chatty critter had to say, that is.

He crouched down, placing a gentle hand on the crown of Rocco's head to calm it. He gave the being a few head-scratches, which ellicited trills of appreciation from the small entity, though its guarded expression never faltered. Neither did its gaze upon the diminutive, green lizard-like creature before it.

That was before they were surrounded. As the vandal summoned reinforcements, Javi stood up suddenly, casting a quick glance around at the tightening ring of little renegades before his focus returned to the supposed 'ring-leader' of the pack.

"Dude..." Javi sighed. He didn't like guys like this. Miniature or otherwise.

"Chirreee-trrr-chi-chi." Rocco snapped a warning in response to the newcomers crowding his master, clicking its beak protectively. Rocco maintained its perimeter, cracking its beak at any rowdy delinquent that dared step too close. Javi laid a hand on the mirror-shining surface of the orb of his satchel. If these vulgar little guys wanted a fight, the Dragon Rookie would give them what they wanted.

"Roc—" The new sound of a previously unheard voice, cackling like a hyena, cut Javi's command clean. The Dragon turned his head, eyes starting out low—he was used to meeting these little guys at eye-level—where he found the tops of shoes clipping through the crowd. He raised his head as he found himself standing face-to-face with a decidedly less (but also somehow more?) freakish-looking being.

"Uh—" He began, only to be cut off by the strange man's monologue. At the mention of the East being peaceful, Javi opened his mouth as if to retort, then closed it as if he had to think about that one. Then, when the little guy snapped back at the hedgehog-haired man, Javi waited patiently to be handed the talking stick. But when the man fired a gun and seemingly ended the poor critter then and there, both Javi and Rocco concluded that the time for talk was over.

The pair of them started forward. As the psycho unloaded his clip into the air, Javi's hand instinctively reached for his satchel's strap. Only the timely awakening of the once-downed critter halted their advance. Still, after everything he'd seen and heard, Javi felt he knew just enough about this guy to know he wasn't welcome here.

"Nah, man. You guys gotta go." He said in a serious voice. Rocco punched one flipper into the other, punctuating his master's statement. Though, Javi would still abide them to leave peacefully. He wasn't holding his breath.

 

[WhiskeyMarten]

HECTOR MOSES

CS Link

SCENE:

Blank Canvas

TIME:

Pre-Arc 3: September 30th, 2021 - 11pm

LOCATION:

South District

PARTICIPANTS:

Hector, Milo Elenion Aura

BLANK CANVAS

Hector looked down at the artist as he got to work, in awe of what unfolded before him. It wasn’t a surprise or anything, but to watch it happen while he wasn’t trying to dodge all the murder attempts was something else. ”Even if you were an NP, you’ve got a talent you can use. That’s some good stuff, Milo.” His hand loomed over Milo’s body, plucking the blade, whistling as he inspected it.

”Trying to decide if our armourers would be glad to have you, or annoyed you’d put ‘em out of business. This just as good as the real thing?” He slashed the air, though a keen eye would notice it seeming slightly foreign to him. There were small differences between wielding a weapon you were holding, and one that was a part of you.

The sound of the car brought Hector to a stop. ”Show me more later.” He beckoned Milo to follow with a nod of his head towards the car but didn’t wait, striding ahead. Only when he was a few steps away from the car did he notice something. None of the figures in the car resembled the one he had been waiting for. It was hard to make out details in the darkness, but doubt shot through his body, and he adopted a fighting stance.

”Visitors ain’t welcome yet. Get outta here.”

Silence. No doubt they heard him at the volume he made his demand. Nobody budged.

”I’m not telling you again.”

Hector stepped towards the car but detected no movement from the others. He waited a moment, then another, and then, with a flick of his wrist, sent a metal spike through the windshield.

It went straight through, and then bounced back, colliding with Milo’s knife, sending both weapons flying across the lot. Then the lights came on, dazzling Hector and illuminating two masked men who had begun to exit their vehicle.

 

[Elenion Aura]

RAPHAEL SHAW

CS Link

SCENE:

Dissonant Ichors

TIME:

Pre-Arc 1: December 21, 2020 -- Dusk

LOCATION:

Alleyway, East District

PARTICIPANTS:

Darius, Raph

DISSONANT ICHORS

Raph's simpering smile stretched as he watched the slow wave of realization crest across his fellow Serpent's face. That look of surprise as it morphed into terror? It simply tickled him. As the large brute swatted Darius back down the alley towards him, Raph—who'd taken pleasure in observing the other's flailing limbs as they ragdolled through the air—leaned forward to get a good look at the carnage.

“Ooh," he winced, feigning empathy. “That looked like it stung." Raph watched as Darius struggled to his feet, deigning not to offer a hand. To the surprise of absolutely no one. “Oh, do we?" Raph asked rhetorically, tutting and shaking his head. “And is it really we, now, darling? We've only just met. ~"

Unfortunately, the beast did not care whose blood it spilled this night. Raph noticed with some annoyance that he was now included among the list of lives it would attempt to snuff out as it continued on its warpath.

He dove aside, narrowly escaping the clawed clutches of the mutated freak as it barreled down the alley. Rolling to his feet, he let a bloody dagger fall into his outstretched hand and fell upon the creature from behind. Clambering up its fleshy backside, Raph plunged the calcified blood into the giant's shoulder as it thrashed and howled. He pulled his weapon free, raised it, prepared to drive it through the back of the creature's head... Only to feel the sudden pull of gravity as the beast's balance shifted.

Raph looked over his shoulder as the neighboring building's solid brick wall rose quickly to meet him. The crushing force made him lose his grip, so when the giant killer stomped away towards his other quarry, Raph slid down and landed with a dull thump in the snow.