Other －𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝒹!〚𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎'𝚜 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎〛

[riddle .]

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ABOUT​

Welcome to my attempt at organizing my writing samples into something cohesive for myself and potential partners to look at. These are from group and 1x1 roleplays I've done on RPN, but some are older or from other places that I've dug up. The examples I've included in this thread is more character focused rather than dialogue heavy so that any of my partners can see what my style is like most of the time, but it isn't always the case and I am working on adding more variety into the samples right now. Feel free to take a look and if any characters interest you and you'd like to rp with me using them, shoot me a DM and I'd be happy to write with you if we click!

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RULES​

1. Please don't post on this thread. As I said above, if a character interests you or you have a question about a particular post, please DM me! But do feel free to react to a post, I am a sucker for hearts

2. These are my works and I would greatly appreciate if you did not use anything I've written as I do try my hardest when making these characters and writing with them. Thank you!

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CHARACTERS​

ryuuji sakai — cursed, pruning

wystan — the spare

lucien datura — cleanse

sirius yaw — thrill

valeriya basanova — dealings

 

[riddle .]

cursed

character.

oc; ryuuji sakai

art.

by era_pippi

Forced smiles and politeness are a second skin to combat the ugly thing underneath his mask of complete blankness, his most worn and familiar expression. Youth earned him a reputation for being overly giving, eager to help to receive favors in exchange, overlooking the sharpness in his eyes as he in turn took more from them in their ignorance. Nothing comes for free, and Ryuuji has always abided by this life rule. There can be selfishness in selflessness, and any good Ryuuji sees himself do is blocked out as he swindles another person in feigned kindness. The feeling of being a stranger to himself is constant, akin to the hunger after skipping another meal, something his adult body now suffers for - stunted and small. How awful it is, he thinks, to be a dreamer in a world where he's been kept awake and dragged through its dreary reality.

Ryuuji has kept an empty feeling ever since, and it deepened when his father's "friends" came into their home, with the way they slid him a few 100 yen with leery grins as they went back to his father, leaving him in the half-light to meet his father in the dark. Ryuuji thinks he'll never feel clean after using the meager change to buy himself the rare indulgence of chocolate to make the bitter taste he swallowed all the time go down easy with the sweetness.

What never goes away with ease is the rage that hits him suddenly, especially when cash is low and he finds his father passed out, reeking of booze again. Thoughts he aims to shudder away, closing his eyes and counting until it's over, refuse to fade out like usual, and he wonders if he should walk away for good. Or do something much worse. In the end, Ryuuji gets halfway through his violent plan before he calms himself and returns to his father, turning him over to his side and covering him with a blanket, falling into another role shoved upon him, ever the dutiful son and caretaker. "Ryuu", his father will call out in a haze. "Ryuu don't leave, forgive me." Anger morphs into care, and he stays.

The love and loyalty Ryuuji feels keep him rooted in continuing his current path of illicit activity. While he sheds one persona to the next, adopting what he needs to get his way, these traits remain, tying him back to his true self. A self that longs to create rather than destroy and take. He desires to give back and stop the cycle of taking and being taken from. But poverty has left its mark, and envy of those better off than him keeps Ryuuji steady in creating his other selves to deepen his own pockets.

Creation, freedom, and compassion are for those with security and privilege, not for those who have to fight for every coin they earn. So, for this, Ryuuji becomes a silver-tongued snake, a brilliant mind honed to keep people at a distance and see them as a means to an end on a chess board where he excels in the game of wits.

He just wonders how long he can keep lying to himself until something gives, and his desperation to be seen rivals his cruel apathy.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[riddle .]

the spare

character.

oc; wystan

art.

manga; bungo stray dogs:
BEAST

What is the point of a musician if no one hears their melody?

Wystan ponders this as Jude makes a mockery of each painstaking composition he created. The masses who adore this counterfeit do not truly see the beauty of his symphonies, not in the way he thinks it deserves. The applause that follows sounds like laughter to him. It's cruel to bear witness as he stands along the sides like one of the many props designed to make his sibling even more radiant. When the lights dim and the seats empty, Wystan walks onto the abandoned stage to stand at its center and knows that this is where he should belong.

There is injustice in everything. Wystan lives and breathes this truth once his eyes shed their rose-tinted lenses and become wise to the lies. The den he resides in is full of hungry lions, all vying for a piece of the cake, oblivious or willful to the destruction they leave in their wake. They want their pound of flesh, but they eat off a carcass that was once a sacred being to continue the toxic industries they established with its blood. And now, Wystan is in the center, holding in his bile as he takes a bite of it from one ornate plate to the next, pretending he is one of them.

A silent rebellion had become his new instrument of choice, yet he struggled to find the right tune. There needs to be more done, he hashes into the night, a virtuous body pinned down in the birdcage he's bound to. This lull he's being pulled into, back to the ground when his imagined wings yearn to fly Above, threatens his resolve. His mother's empty stare harkens to a future where he will be alone, with Jude and their ilk, forever a spare.

Rela provides the answer, and finally, Wystan is gripped with determination so strong he feels as though he could conquer the heavens.

The group was beautiful. Once he wandered without a sign, disconnected from a calling, but now he had one, and it was glorious. He could strike down the institutions that had laid waste to his Hartland, to the people whose greed corrupted its soul. Wystan's justice would be absolute, and a joy he hadn't felt in years rippled through his body. However, he needed to remind himself that he was still among the blind.

Rela is a misguided leader, Wystan decides. They aim for selfish justice to end their suffering, which Wystan sees no end to. There are times when they reach a consensus, with their bond once strong keeping Wystan allegiant, though he still sneered at being passed over by the others in favor of Rela's whims, pushed to the side once more.

He scoffs at Jude's inclusion, ever annoying and needy to be at the center of everything, especially concerning Rela. There is hope, however, that this new undertaking will open this jackal's eyes to the truth of the world's pain, Wystan's pain, and deliver themselves easily to bare their neck for Wystan's gavel and sword.

There is only one opinion, one voice, Wystan values, and it is one he hates to see given enthusiastically to Rela. Camille has been his steadfast companion, even when Wystan began to be consumed by his own pride. Wystan revered this muse more so than his personal crusade for vengeance. A beauty he puts upon a glass pedestal for his eyes alone. He refuses to let his dragon fire touch this treasured part of his life, fearful it will shatter under the heat. Wystan could not bear to pick up more pieces of Camille or be the one to continue to take from one who has already been taken from. They are unsullied in Wystan's mind, perfect as they are. But there is jealousy behind his placating mask, one of many, when they look away from him toward the guilty and undeserving.

Look at me, Wystan calls silently. Look only at me.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[riddle .]

cleanse

character.

oc; lucien datura

art.

my own

Faith doesn't steer Lucien's road as it does the others. It aids him forward, surely, but it doesn't guide his heart, mind, or blade. It would certainly make things easier if faith overtook him as desperately as it did the captain or the ignorant fools within the capital. His ensemble of a rosary pinned against his hip and holy book tucked away in his saddle bag classify him as a man of faith, akin to the stone-faced priests who he'd watch march through the streets with new proclamations in their freshly tailored cloths. But his rosary has never been clutched tightly to his chest as he recites a prayer and his book has only been opened for the weekly mass held within the training barracks. He has no saved pages carefully marked, and he handles the book as he handles any other tool - quickly discarded once it's served its purpose. Lucien doesn't do it in spite or maliciousness, he truly respects those who give themselves so devoutly to their faith, but he has never connected to it as many of the other hunters have.

There is, however, a part of the faith he finds particularly moving. It's what has him perking up in between monotone sermons or staring at his rosary's cross more intently in the night. It was the closest thing to a calling he has had toward faith since he first lifted a sword.

Cleansing.

God cleansed his world once, Lucien had been told, to rid it of the filth plaguing it. Many times God sent prophets, warriors, and angels to cleanse his world, and now he was sending his hunters. Lucien had never felt so gripped by a word before, and he had carried that revelation so intensely he remembered how brutally he sliced into another trainee's knee that day, how each opponent placed in front of him either ended up with a bloody face or broken bone. The captain had only increased his chore load that week, but never commented on his violence, and Lucien had thought it was because he was proud. No, no other word could come close to what Lucien made his personal guiding purpose that day.

Then came the whisperings as he walked through the barrack's halls. There had been talk of him before, when he was first brought into the hunter's graces. A half-dead youth with a useless eye who refused to speak for months after recovering. It stirred the younger boys who would often poke their heads in the infirmary doors to catch a glimpse of him, often after being dared to look in the eye of the ghost boy they gossiped him to be before being shooed away by Sister Helena. His reputation turned less of a ghost into more of a demon as he grew, and the jokes made at his expense for his height and death rattle of a voice turned to hushed whispers. They become more quiet with each witch's head he brought back. Pyke called him an overachiever. Callahan called him a dog. Captain Falk called him a prodigy.

That was the likely reason he was sent so far from the inner parts of the country. A high bounty for a slippery witch who had evaded his fellows and caused quite the stir. The captain had warned him that things were becoming more political as of late, people of the capital growing comfortable behind gates that they feared anything threatening it. The Church wanted a crusade and for their reach to extend beyond the neighboring villages of the capital and into the heathen lands. Lucien didn't care much for the label and said as much to Captain Falk during their meeting, which was seconded by the elder, but they were a part of the King's will and the Church heavily influenced that will. In the end, a witch needed to be purged, and regardless of the political reasoning to seek one out so far away, Lucien would do it.

Sugarcane snorted and her sudden shift to the left brought Lucien from his ponderings to pat the side of her long neck comfortingly. The brown-patched mare had been his traveling companion since he first ventured from the capital for hunts. She's loyal but temperamental, so they got along swimmingly. They'd been traveling for days now with few hours of rest. They were far from the capital, and Lucien was grateful for it as the stench had always been something he could never overcome since arriving there as a boy. The chill wind brought the smell of wildflowers and pine, and Lucien had taken off his hood to let his hair be blown whichever way the breeze wanted, but the knots would be troublesome to deal with later. He reached a hand back to feel the unruly strands, idly watching as they fell down over his sides and whipped against the saddle. Sugarcane whinnied at him, flicking her tail and he leaned forward to rub at her ear.

"Easy, Sugar. We're close now." He whispered, straightening as his eye caught sight of a bell tower peeking out from atop tall trees.

The chatter of common folk became clearer as they approached and Lucien dismounted from Sugarcane, running a soothing gloved hand over her flank until he moved to his saddle bag, unclasping the buckle to dig for his eyepatch. Callahan had once called him unsightly when they'd been given permission to leave the barracks for breaks during training. Pyke had insisted that Callahan was being cruel for cruelty's sake, but Lucien thought he was honest. Lucien knew what he looked like with such an ugly scar, and with being so near the King and upper echelons of society as he grew, he had seen the way their faces soured at the sight of him. Alone with Sugarcane, there is no need as she doesn't care for human looks, but Lucien knows people, so it's for the best. Once the patch was secure and he'd moved his fringe over it for good measure, he continued forward while gently leading Sugarcane by her reins, eyeing the villagers milling about.

For hunters, there was a unique set of laws laid out for the people when it came to interacting with them. To get in a Witch Hunter's way was illegal, to obstruct the truth of a witch's whereabouts was illegal, to impersonate a Witch Hunter was illegal, and so forth. There were also certain benefits afforded to Witch Hunters, especially traveling hunters. Upon request, a person must allow a hunter shelter within their home or provide accommodations, as well as a meal. Lucien cared little for benefits such as those as he preferred to sleep under the stars and find his own food, and he doubted that these people heard or would adhere to the Witch Hunter's laws, even if they'd been decreed by a king. More often, he'd be pestered by those who recognized the hunter's insignia of a snake being pierced by a flaming blade hanging from a silver chain around his neck until he gave in and allowed himself to be their guest. He'd be more recognizable if he followed the uniform code and dressed in the traditional grey and white, but it made the clean-up after a hunt agonizing. The blood was nearly impossible to remove from the bright cloth. Black was better suited, even if it made him more of an eyesore to his peers.

Lucien felt the stares of the townsfolk as he continued his walk through the village, cataloging the shops and objects. The buildings were clean and there was care placed in the upkeep of the town. The people looked healthy, if not wary, but he expected that. He approached an older woman sweeping outside her door, clearing his throat, which caused her to startle and turn to face him, blinking down at him in surprise followed by shock that paled her face.

"Excuse me," Lucien began lowly. "I'm in search of a dangerous witch. I've received word they may be hiding here, among you."

The woman shook her head, clutching her broom tightly, glancing at the sword resting against his hip. "No, no witch here, sir."

Lucien stared, raising a brow. "They might call themselves a healer, or doctor, instead. Promise cure-alls or miracles. My information is not wrong."

"I swear there's nothing like that here. We have an apothecary, but-"

A shriek, followed by an influx of people crowding around the base of the tower interrupted her, and Lucien quickly left her as she stammered from the distraction. His cloak billowed behind him as he inched closer to the commotion and Sugarcane dug a hoof into the street from the noise. He shushed her, petting her muzzle. Peering through taller bodies, Lucien's eye widened upon the sight of a boy sporting a nasty break and he followed the steady flow of blood leaking from the boy's broken leg. Poor boy, he thought in sympathy. Lucien began to pull Sugarcane back toward where he originally started, but the murmurings of two men had him pause. He turned slightly, playing with Sugarcane's bridle as though to adjust it, and listened as a balding round man picked the boy up while a more spindly man shook his head.

"Won't be any use."

"Well, then what would you have me do? If they won't treat him, then he's lost for sure."

"Take him to Mae's boy, he'll know what to do."

"Right."

Lucien watched the man carry the boy away and gave a thoughtful pat on Sugarcane's neck, a faint grin etching its way on his face as he leaned close to whisper to her. "Sound promising to you, Sugar?"

The mare bumped the side of her muzzle against his hair, tail flicking, and he huffed at her before pulling her along to follow after the man. Lucien kept his distance until the man rushed to a shoddy-looking tent, and Lucien's fingers tightened around the reins he held as a younger man appeared from the side, listening to the words of the other man while looking over the boy. His eye narrowed at the young man, likely no older than himself, as he began moving around in his tent, no doubt creating something that would have Father Kruger raising his cross in fear.

Lucien approached the tent, letting Sugarcane's reins go once he stood in front of the opening, trusting her to remain still as he entered, his right hand coming to rest over the hilt of his sword. His entrance had the man carrying the boy turning to him, eyes going wide at the sight of him. Lucien ignored him, though his eye glanced at the whimpering boy in his arms until Lucien unsheathed his sword, the metal screeching low as it left its scabbard. In a quick motion, the tip of his blade was pointed at the witch's chest, directly over his heart before he could let anyone react. Lucien frowned at the witch's height, which forced him to crane his neck back slightly from their meager distance to meet his eyes.

"Hello, witch." He greeted quietly, pushing his sword more firmly over the witch's chest, readying to reel back and bury it into him.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[riddle .]

thrill

character.

oc; sirius yaw

art.

manga; all you need is kill

His mouth was unfathomably dry, a sharp contrast to the sheen of sweat that coated the rest of him as his head whipped toward every far-off sound around him. Licking his cracked lips, Sirius returned focus to the box in his hands, an equal mixture of awful delight and apprehension stirring beneath the vest he wore, which contained his tools. The prototype for it had been sitting on his desk the entirety of winter break after he made quick work on it when the annoyances of the academy had returned to their pathetic parts of the world. Sirius had to suppress a smile as he fiddled with his trap with the knowledge of what it could do with a careless press of his finger against the left panel's upper half - the trigger that could send him suspended in the foliage above him, body contorted as a beaten marionette, though much more bloody.

Not yet, not yet, no.

His mind was in fits of unrest. Thoughts and images of the monsters expected to crawl out from the cave's seemingly endless depths mangled by his newest creation were almost too much to bear for his imagination. The academy would never let him test it on school grounds. Not in the way he wanted to, anyway. Testing on dummies was no fun.

In all honesty, Sirius had only volunteered to come along for the exact purpose of using his trap on something new. He was sure the others had come for more heroic pursuits; honor, justice, public safety, and other meaningless things of the like. His eyes traveled to where Eva's bright light among the cape of darkness that covered the rest of their surroundings was visible from his spot on the ground, distaste coating his features. At least he could stomach the rest and all their colorfulness. He uncurled himself from the tight knot he'd made behind his hiding place behind a line of jagged stones covered in moss, peeking out to search for his latest interest. Nocturne Lovejoy. They were older than Sirius, and they didn't share many academy bullshit lectures, but Sirius was curious never-the-less. Must be due to the snakes, he reasoned. Snakes are good.

Anxious about being caught staring, the freshman retreated, settling into his previous position. Quickly, he glanced over to Elias, who had been busying himself with making cuts into the earth beneath him, wondering how the mission leader was feeling. Sirius tried copying the stifling seriousness the demigod exhumed, but dropped it when Elias finally met his eye, giving a nod. Sirius merely blinked at it and returned to making adjustments to his beloved creation. Just a few more tweaks and it would be complete. A toothy smile overtook his face as he tucked in a loose wire behind its respective panel, excitement threatening to leak out in forms most unbecoming of the serious warrior he was playing at. Ah, the joy of creation!

Then, the shuddering sound of death rang out from the maw. The shiver that found home under Sirius's skin crawled across his frame, raising gooseflesh from under his layers. His dull hues snapped to Elias, the other's nod of promise and safety something he was eager to feel again as his lips began to form the other's name, only to find himself frozen upon seeing the demigod's blade being embedded into the lifeless creature they had been sent to exterminate. His grip on his invention tightened along with his chest at the sight, but fear came only secondary to the thrum of exhilaration that flowered at the cracking of bone against metal. Let it be from the stings of my instrument of choice next, Sirius thought deliriously, finger itching to activate the failsafe. Soon, soon!

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[riddle .]

pruning

character.

oc; ryuuji sakai

art.

era_pippi

"Get it together."

Ryuuji is glaring down at a particularly pathetic-looking sugi, holding a watering can as he stands outside the laundromat. It's a watering day for his amass of plants that litter the inside and outside. He's fond of them, truly. Gardening and species collecting has become a hobby, and he enjoys tending to them. However, while his hydrangeas, ferns, peace lilies, and others remain bright and blossoming, the sugi before him has become resistant to staying healthy.

Ryuuji is annoyed beyond belief at the sight of it.

There's been steady foot traffic inside the laundromat. He had few regulars, as always, and new faces of travelers or new locals in the area. Ryuuji's sure his expression must be off-putting to the newcomers as it's been a tense one since he arrived, and it's an unusual face for him to put on when he's in public like this, but there's a lot on his plate right now so he couldn't care less. He hasn't been sleeping well since that meeting in the bookstore, and more unfortunately, Ryuuji's been avoiding the place. He hates that part the most as it used to be a welcome retreat from everything else, but now it feels...awkward. He doesn't know how he's supposed to react if Ryuuji went in alone and how he'd do facing the guy from that night - Prime.

Codenames. Stupid but necessary, Ryuuji reminds himself. The conversations from the group chat linger in the back of his mind. He'd tried to examine each response of the members to gauge them more than what he had time to back during that first meeting. It was enlightening, to say the least. Each new message had him either rolling his eyes or smacking a hand to his face at the absurdity of it (thanks Hato). The whole thing has been a giant pain in the ass and it's making him moody. Well, moodier than usual if he's to believe his father. The failure of a plant in front of him is just another thing to add to the list of Things Currently Pissing Off Ryuuji.

He sighs, tilting the watering can to let the water he's treated with liquid-soluble fertilizer and powdered charcoal flow out into the soil because he believes in using only the best for his babies plants. He's intent on keeping the green charm of this place as many foreigners and locals alike have complimented in the past. He'll deal with the plant thing later. For now, he takes the watering can with him as he heads deeper into the laundromat and past the door labeled 'Staff Only'.

His father is already in the back, no doubt getting ready for their guests to arrive. He sets the can down near the cabinet where he keeps most of his supplies for the laundromat. Moving further back, he finds his father sitting at his desk with a strained expression as he flips through documents. There are a few envelopes around him, and Ryuuji knows they're filled with varying amounts of yen. Some will be just for them, others to put into the laundromat, but most are going to be placed in accounts under names with no resemblance to their own. His father looks up when Ryuuji's steps approach, a wobbly smile replacing the frown.

"Ah, Ryuu, there you are. I'm happy you decided to come today," His father tilted his head, glasses glinting under the overhead fluorescent. "You normally dislike being a part of these things."

Ryuuji shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Yeah, well, figured I'd start paying attention since someone's getting to be an old man."

"Hey now, I'm not that old yet!" His father is grinning and Ryuuji's chest feels both very heavy and light at the sight, though there's an edge to it as he scans over his son and Ryuuji hopes he gives nothing away.

The scrutiny makes him self-conscious and he glances down at himself, taking in his appearance. He's wearing his grandfather's hat, per usual, but he's dressed down a bit. Well, if one considers a white button-up tucked into black jeans with an equally dark leather jacket dressed down, it certainly isn't as big as he could go. There are some of his bracelets that jingle together and the belted choker around his neck. He and his father have never outright talked about his fashion sense, but he has a feeling his father knew to hold his tongue considering half of what he wore was probably in need of a wash and several years old and could end in the worst outcome of all - having Ryuuji withhold his allowance of drinking money. Ryuuji's studying his boots when his father's phone buzzes, both sharing a look before his father checks it.

"They're 5 minutes away." He says, and Ryuuji nods, turning away to head back out. He stuffs his hands into his jacket, feeling where his phone rested in the left pocket. Once he's back in the front of the laundromat, he takes it out and opens the group chat to call Witch and the others. Once the call connects, he quickly speaks, albeit quietly as he eyes a black SUV pulling into a parking spot across the street out front.

"Hey," Ryuuji starts, "They're here. I'll try to get as much information as I can, so you guys better be listening."

He places his phone back into his pocket and watches as five men exit the vehicle and approach the laundromat. One of the men in front with bleached blond hair spots Ryuuji waiting and waves and Ryuuji grits his teeth. Sato Arata. Annoying fishy bastard. Overly friendly and touchy with him like Ryuuji hadn't seen what the man was capable of. It was the man to his left that had Ryuuji tense as he walked in, though. It was an imposing figure in all black being flanked on all sides by the others. The biggest fish - a shark. Kiyotaka Masato. Ryuuji hated that he felt admiration toward the man at the sight. The patrons in the laundromat had their attention on the group so Ryuuji plastered a wide grin on his face as he walked to them.

Kiyotaka already had his sharp smile in place, though it looked more authentic as his hand met with Ryuuji's shoulder and Ryuuji immediately felt an oppressive air fall over the laundromat as Kiyotaka towered over him. "Little Ryuu-kun! So good to see you again."

Ryuuji looked quickly around the laundromat, seeing how everyone appeared to return to their laundry. "Ah, yeah, good to see you too Kiyotaka-san. Please, follow me."

He waited for Kiyotaka to remove his hand and gestured for Ryuuji to walk. Ryuuji led them into the backroom to his father and after he let them all pass inside, he turned to shut and lock the door behind him. He hurried to his father's desk to find his father giving Kiyotaka a deep bow in greeting and offering him a seat in front of the desk. Once the man took his seat and his gaggle of idiots took their places around him they began to speak.

"Sakai-san," Kiyotaka begins, eyes fixed on Ryuuji's father. "How goes business? No trouble, I hope?"

"No, no, none!" The elder Sakai rushed to say, shaking his head enough that Ryuuji feared his father's glasses would fly off.

"Wonderful! I assume then that there are no unmet quotas this time around?"

Ryuuji jerks to face his father in surprise. His father pales, avoiding meeting Ryuuji's eyes. Kiyotaka looks pleased with himself, eyes near slits as he watches the two Sakai men recover.

What the fuck?

There shouldn't be anything wrong with their quotas. Ryuuji goes through all of it himself each month, sitting back here until early morning, hashing out numbers and dividing assets. It used to be as close as he wanted to be with any of this, but his father's continuous downward spiral as Ryuuji grew older had him taking on a more active role. How the hell did his father mess it up? Why was he taking what he shouldn't? Why wouldn't tell his own son?

"N-No, Kiyotaka-san." Ryuuji's father promises, bowing his head as Ryuuji's blood warms with hot anger.

"Good, good. I would hate to lose my most promising business partner." Kiyotaka says, gaze fixed on Ryuuji as he speaks.

The elder Sakai blanches at the blatant disregard for him in favor of his son. Sato snickers, fishy eyes glancing back and forth between the scene with amusement. They wanted to see Ryuuji's reaction, that's why they'd bring past mistakes up. Shit, he thought. It's a test.

A test that he and his father failed. They knew now who was responsible for the missing amount owed. The delicate balance Ryuuji had maintained of remaining a shadow on the wall, appearing full of disregard towards anything his father dealt with was ruined. He knew it would happen eventually, either when his father couldn't handle it anymore or Ryuuji decided for himself to officially take over, but not so soon, not now with everything else hitting the fan.
Kiyotaka turns his head to glance up at Sato, who meets his gaze. Wordlessly, they communicate something and Sato looks away to smile brightly at his father, faux friendliness dripping from every part of him.

"Say, Sakai-san, let's discuss better things over some drinks, hmm? On me, of course." Sato suggests, earning his father's wide, hopeful expression.

"Wai-" Ryuuji goes to object, but finds himself pinned by Kiyotaka's intense stare as the rest of his men urge his father out from behind the desk and toward the door, throwing arms around him with fox-teeth grins.

Ryuuji breaks away from Kiyotaka with a glare, turning to face his father. Their eyes meet, blue against inherited blue, but his father simply leaves him with a strained smile of apology as Ryuuji's face pinches with betrayal until he's gone. Ryuuji stands there bereft until he feels a presence near him. He jolts, whirling around when he's crowded against the wall, eyes wide as he stares up at Kiyotaka's eerily blank appearance. Ryuuji can't speak, too stunned by the action as the other leans in.

"He's going to bury you with him, Ryuuji. Your father," He spits out, like venom, like how Ryuuji does in his thoughts, "can't keep up with all this anymore, and I think you know that. You're resourceful, Ryuu-kun. You got this sham of a laundromat by swindling an old man for it and helped your father make a little extra for yourselves because you know how this life works."

"That's not- I'm not-" He tries to defend himself, but the words won't come out right.

"You'd be better off without him, doing what you do best: cheating your way up. I've known you a long time, kid, and I know you can aim higher than this place. I could even help you get to where you want to be."

Ryuuji takes it in, staying quiet. He reads between the lines, the dark cracks of it. He'd trade a shackle for a new, shinier one. But, he'd be freer for it. Ryuuji eyes the sharp tailoring of Kiyotaka's suit and the shine of his shoes, imagining having the kind of influence he does. He's right about everything. What Ryuuji has now isn't sustainable - it never was. He'll be left behind again. Maybe, it's better to be the one to leave first this time.

Ryuuji sucks in a breath and roughly pushes past Kiyotaka, sneering at him. "Thanks for the great advice, much appreciated, but I'm good. No offense, but tossing one geezer for ten more sounds like a nightmare."

Kiyotaka merely smirks at him, shrugging. "Alright, but the offer still stands if you ever change your mind."

"Uh-huh, for sure." Ryuuji bats his words away with a flippant wave of his hand, grabbing one of the envelopes marked for Kiyotaka to hold out to him, signaling a bold dismissal, earning a chuckle from the older man as he bids him farewell with a wave of his own as he pockets the envelope to join the rest of his crew outside.

There's a long moment of silence where Ryuuji waits until he's sure they're all gone, deflating to press his hands on his father's desk, bending over it to stop the nausea rising in his stomach. He's overwhelmed, and can't rationalize for once after everything, a mixture of lack of sleep, proper meals, and stress. He reacts poorly, moving to the back of the desk to pull out the bottom drawer where he knows his father stashes his liquor. He grabs the first bottle he sees, Honjozo-shu, opening it with a pop and bringing it to his lips when he freezes, remembering his phone still in his pocket and the people listening on the other side.

Slowly, Ryuuji sets the bottle down and takes out his phone, clearing his throat of any shakiness before speaking. "I'm on my way over."

With that, he hangs up. He stares down at the bottle of sake, caught in an internal battle. He curses, pushing away from the desk and heading out the staff door, locking it behind him. He briskly walks out of the laundromat and down the street, fixing any imperfection he sees as he passes by shop windows. Once he finds himself before Tasogare, he forces a calm over himself, folding his hair over one shoulder, and enters the used bookstore. He quickly locates the others to stand in front of them, arms crossed.

"You guys' better have that pizza party ready cus I'm fucking starving."

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[riddle .]

dealings

character.

oc; valeriya
basanova

art.

by pemaformain

Her drink is lackluster, and the smoke in the room is beginning to threaten a headache, and the side glances everyone keeps throwing her way indicate that they're waiting for the explosion. There might be if Nick keeps her waiting any longer.

Valeriya hates time wasted, especially when it's her time being wasted. Her diamond-lined watch flashes under the low lights as she checks it for the umpteenth time that night, huffing lowly, barely audible over the muffled thrum of the godawful music playing in the club below. Papa would tell her to practice patience, but what good is patience when it was too big of a word for the worms of the city even to spell, let alone practice it themselves? If he were here, she would have spat that only fools and beggars wait for others, but he wasn't here, so she continued to fume silently, taking another sip of her piss-poor martini.

"Fix your face, you're making the rats nervous," Lev says from the side, not looking up from where his face is downturned, reviewing the folder of paperwork in his hands.

Valeriya shoots him a glare, sighing. "The documents are already signed, what more do they need us for? This music is giving me a fucking headache."

"Language," Her brother chides with a lopsided smirk. "They just want to toot their own horn of hosting you - probably blabbing to everyone in the vicinity they have the Baran head in their shitty little club."

"Well, I'm about to withdraw our deal if I have to stomach another sip of this damn drink."

"Then stop drinking it."

"No, I'm thirsty."

Lev shakes his head, and Valeriya braces for another taste of the martini. Clubs like Heaven's Night were prime real estate for drug trafficking and other illicit things. Everyone who walked in wanted to have a good time, and Valeriya was more than welcome to that, under certain restrictions of course. One restriction was that everyone also knew that it was because of her good graces they got to sample some of the best money could buy and also keep business afloat for her little dogs who eagerly obeyed their master and gave a good chunk of their earnings to her. Everyone gets something they want.

Heaven's Night was by no means the classiest joint to deal with, but they were a good choice for selling to as the clientele were mostly young, stupid, and gullible. Her eyes shifted out towards the large glass windows where she could see the strobes flash from the dance floor, picturing them now and the money to be gained from ignorance. Her gaze dropped to the floor where various stains of all origins stuck out, and she scrunched up her nose in distaste. She was sure that her designer split skirt was declining in quality from simply sitting on the uncomfortable couch she occupied, and she kept having to adjust so none of her bare skin touched it. Nick had better be grateful she let him off easy this time due to his sales because Lord knew it wasn't because he was a class act in business running or hosting as it would seem as she checked her watch again.

She was about to call the whole thing off when two of her men entered the room, moving her and respectfully dipping their heads in greeting.

"Nick says he has a gift for you and would like to bring them in."

Valeriya raised a brow at them before looking to Lev who had a similar bewildered expression. She nodded, and they crossed back to the door, opening for Nick to enter in all his Hawaiian shirt atrocity, along with a woman Valeriya had never seen before.

The hired hands circled Valeriya and Lev as Nick came closer, effectively putting distance between him and her, waiting for her to give a signal to allow him to approach. She flicked her wrist in a vague motion and they parted to let him in, moving to block the door behind him and the woman whom Valeriya kept trying to get a better look at.

"Miss Basanova," Nick started but stopped when Lev gave a light cough, and Valeriya presented her hand to him, and he hastily moved closer, bending down to kiss the ostentatious ruby ring on her pinky; her symbol as boss inherited from her father and matched pretty damn well with her hair currently cascading down one shoulder and framing her face neatly.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself." Nick continued, smiling fully at her now.

"As much as I can," Valeriya answered with a wide smile of her own as she set her drink down pointedly, the white of her teeth visible as Nick paled from the malice in her blue hues. "Now, who have you brought to meet me?"

"Meet my lovely new friend," Nick introduced, backing up to the woman and gesturing to her with a flourish, nearly making Valeriya roll her eyes. "She thought it would be fun to try and do a deal with me without going through the proper channels and take your money out of your territory for herself. Isn't that right, darling?"

"Oh?" Valeriya snapped her fingers, and her men urged the woman forward until she was in front of the Basan head who tilted her head up at her with a sharp smile, crossing her legs elegantly. "Well, that's not very nice. Anything to say for yourself?"

♡coded by uxie♡