Fandom Demon Slayer: North America (Arc 1: The Eastern Pinkerton Estate) [Closing]

[White Masquerade]

The East Pinkerton Estate

Yes, we are human. But we are also immortal. Though our bodies may break…our actions, our thoughts, our ideas, our will…they will live on forever. Juliana Pinkerton

The Grand Mansion

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Spoiler: Inside

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The Grand Mansion. One of the three major Pinkerton headquarters across the United States, it's the most famous one by far. As the very first Pinkerton safe-zone stablished throughout the United States, it served as home to one of their first commanders: Juliana. A fiery woman fit with a heart brave enough to endure the trials of being a slayer, Juliana fought side-by-side with those under her command, even becoming the United States' first Flame Hashira. The Eastern Pinkerton Estate was built from the ground up through her blood and the gallons of those who also gave up their souls for the cause. The mansion is ornate. It's designed to big. It's designed to stand out. It's designed to be a beacon. A place for slayers to gather in the face of demons, to gather in defiance of them, and to show those monsters that humans were here to stay. Truly, the grand mansion is bold and over the top -just as she would have liked it.

Notable Locations:
Grand Lobby
Regional Director's Office
Mailroom

Atmosphere:
Bustling, with people hung out in every direction. As one of the main Pinkerton buildings headquartered across the United States, suffice to say, there's always something going on here - or about to.

Attendee Size:
Varies from being full to being even MORE full.

The Training Center: Pertmore Academy

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Spoiler: Inside

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An academy no regular person has access to, Pertmore is a much-talked about institution that most of the general populace doesn't even believe in. A magical facility that produces top-notch weapons and hellish training for people who can jump large buildings in a single bound...right. But little do they know, the rumors are very real. Pertmore is in fact, a real place people can go to to train, but only on one condition. They must swear their lives to becoming Demon Slayers, protecting humanity, as well as keeping their roles and that of the Pinkertons a secret. If the terms are accepted and all parties agree to it, Pertmore is a place where a human can go to become a god. This is where styles are honed. This is where weapons are forged. This is where a girl becomes a woman and a boy becomes a man.

Notable Locations:
Weapons Room
Headmaster's Office
The Blacksmithsonian

Atmosphere:
It can be tense during especially hard training sessions, but most often it's jovial with everyone working up a good sweat.

Attendee Size:
Sometimes a small group of demon slayers can be found fighting with another here: honing their crafts, improving their talents, swapping out weapons, or even picking up a new skill or two.

Purgatory

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Spoiler: Inside

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For those especially strong demons the Pinkertons deem worthy enough to study, they are captured and herded to the lower levels of the tower Purgatory. Usually bound with chains made of nichirin behind walls lined with wisteria, the demons here are kept under constant sedation so they never fully muster enough strength to break out. On top it, there is always one Hashira hiding within the floors, patrolling the corridors and waiting with sword at the ready for any who might try to escape. The more dangerous the demon, the lower they are in the cell count and positioning across the floors, with the bottom holding the most dangerous of all. There, one can find a huge open area lined with large green nichirin swords on each side of the room, pulled apart so the magnetism between them is strong. Should these be released, anything caught within the open area would be sliced to shreds as the green nichrin blades come together. Demons should tread lightly coming to this place - the building just might fall apart.

Notable Locations:
Bottom Floor: Max Containment Area
Cells 1-60

Atmosphere:
It's quiet, still...and kind of creepy in here.

Attendee Size:
Very few people can be found inside, save for 1 or 2 prisoners cussing from cells hidden behind in the wall. There is always one Hashira there on guard, but you never really see them.

The Stables

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Spoiler: The Animals!

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Every good Demon Slayer needs a trusty sidekick and the stables is where they come from! Whether it's a Jamestown eagle to carry across their messages over land or a horse to give them a ride to the next town over, it can be requested from here. Though people don't exactly flock to the stables for a good time, some slayers do go just to pay respects to the animals that help them. Whether it's to feed rodents and bread to the eagles, cabbage and carrots to the horses, or other manner of food to whatever creature lurks in there, this is how the relationship is kept strong. If one wants to check whether they have a mission waiting and wants to accept, they can come here as well to get the information attached to their animal partner. As animal companions pass, new ones are brought in here to the stables to be trained and eventually given to a new slayer to help conduct their business.

Notable Locations:
Aviary
Job Board

Atmosphere:
LOUD...unless it's at night.

Attendee Size:
Varies. There are a few kakushi assigned to the stables to tend to animals, but otherwise, only a small stream of people really come in on a regular basis.

Lake Wisteria

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Spoiler: Wisteria View

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The most beautiful and peaceful spot on the Eastern Pinkerton Estate, Lake Wisteria is scenic and a symbolic place for all Demon Slayers. The reason is two-fold. A gift of knowledge from a Demon Slayer that came travelling from Japan, Wisteria is a representation of the ability given to the Pinkertons to combat the demons. Planted here around the lake and grown back from the days of Juliana Pinkerton, Wisteria now covers every edge of the area. It seems apt that a place adorned with these demon-repelling flowers would also be home to the bodies of those claimed by them. Though not many people come by Lake Wisteria to hang out, there are occasional ceremonies and processions where surviving friends, families, and partners come to pay their respects to the deceased. If one looks a little far off into a corner, they can also make out a small grove with steps leading up to a clearing where if needed, one can meditate.

Notable Locations:
Meditation Grove
Demon Slayer Burial Grounds

Atmosphere:
Peaceful. Wind can gust at times, but it only makes this spot feel even more scenic.

Attendee Size:
Not many. Sometimes none.

The Hospital: New Genetics

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Spoiler: The Best Medicine

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The pride and joy of American Demon Slayers, New Genetics is a place where the power of America shines. While the Eastern countries of the world focus on discipline and mastering the self, the West focuses on science and taming it. With the latest breakthroughs and discoveries in the world of medicine, New Genetics is where humanity can be pushed to its limits. Every day new processes and procedures for how to re-attach limbs, speed up workings of the nervous system and how to develop the potency of mind-altering drugs takes place. Though some may call it an abomination, even insane, this is the line of work that allows a regular human to be on par with demons...and in some cases, surpass them. Just as with the same fire and passion the most dedicated rush into battle, so do the researchers at New Genetics, trying to be the wind in their sails.

Notable Locations:
The Dispensary
The Injury Ward
The Research Wing

Atmosphere:
Busy and bustling. Directions are constantly being given and nurses can always be found running around.

Attendee Size:
Over 100 people at any given time. Patients are being treated, research is being conducted, drugs are being dispensed - there's a lot going on!

 

[White Masquerade]

Somewhere In The Country
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Wayra Catawnee

..Thump..​

There it was again...the shattered bowl on the floor. The blood splattered down her chin and the hand gripped tight around her neck. Looking into the eyes of the man she loved, the woman saw no more of who was once there. The usually kind smile, so pretty and wide, was drawn down into a snarl - one that threatened to kill her dead. As he raised her into the air, Wayra could tell he was conflicted. Tears spilled down one edge of his face, while the other turned a hue unsightly and gross. It took all she had not to let go and let him eat her alive, but to ball her hand into a fist and hit him across the nose. Dropping to the floor once more, she steeled herself, picked up a broken piece of ceramic and lunged at him, fully prepared to drive it down his throat.

And she did. But-

"Guh!"

That was where the dream ended.

Sitting up in a cold sweat, Catawnee breathed laborious and ragged as the evening air whistled through the woods. For the 3rd time this week, she relived the repeat of that time in her mental womb. Demons. Demon Slayers. Killing humans. Nichirin weapons. So it turned out it wasn't a legendary monster from the stories her parents told in her childhood. These were something entirely different. They were real. They killed and fed on humans for fun. For pure pleasure. And now her husband was one of them too.

"But that's where it's going to end. And I swear it on my life. I will personally take you down."

How long had it been since that day? Months? Years? Wayra didn't know, but Leto could have consumed hundreds of other people already. If there was a chance she could have restored him to normal she would, but there was no way they knew of at the time. Apparently, researchers under the Pinkertons were hard at work studying the idea of turning them back human, but the going was slow. It could take a year or more to unravel the transformation and how to undo it, yet time was not on her side. If a demon could be not be saved, then they had to be eliminated. That was the condition she agreed to when she took the bow sitting next her. If he had to die, then Wayra would at least kill Leto with her own hands.

EREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHH!

EREEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

EREEEEEEEH!
​

Head turning to the west, the slayer's ears perked up as she knew the call. It was a great bald eagle, her personal messenger arriving from headquarters, likely to assign another demon for her to kill. And right after my last mission just ended too, she mused, watching it circle to land on the jagged Oklahoma ground. Though looking at the eagle, this time something was off. Normally it would squawk and speak a few words on where to head next, but this time it only bent down to drop rolled parchment it carried in its mouth.

Strange. I wonder what that could mean..?

Squatting to pet the eagle and give it a light smile, Wayra picked up the document and rose her brow upon sorting through what the letter said. "Ah, well that will do it," she nodded. "So to the East it is then huh, little guy? I'm guessing your buddies are all delivering this same message to slayers over the country too? I wonder what it could be now. Maybe the crowning of another new Hashira? "

Looking at the bird, she half-expected something in response. However, saying nothing and taking off, the eagle rose and flew off in the direction she would eventually go once the sun came up. From there it'd be over a week's journey walking away. Not to mention the hordes of brigands sprinkled throughout the wilderness lying in wait to rob the unwary in-between. It might've been wiser to just settle and take a train to her final destination. Unless she was the level of Hashira, no amount of breathing was going to get her to the East unhindered, not tired, and in less than a week.

"Hm. So I guess to the south first," Wayra corrected herself. "Then the east."

The Letter

Spoiler

To Whom It May Concern,

Roger Pinkterton, current head of the Pinkerton Alliance's Demon-Slaying Division requests your presence at an emergency commune being held at the Eastern Pinkerton Estate in 1 week. I imagine you may be in the middle of a mission, maybe even on the other side of the continent, but please do try your best to make it here in a timely fashion. If you cannot make it, I will understand, but attending this meeting should be of the utmost importance. Our morning session will take place at 10 A.M. in the Grand Mansion on property grounds. State your name and show the guards the rank on your wrist once you arrive and they will let you in. I wish you good health, protection, and the best in your travels here or to wherever you may be going.

White Masquerade
Castello
IG42
QuirkyAngel
ZackStop

 

[IG42]

Somewhere In The Country
Perry O'Donovan
A dull thunk echoed through an empty bar as an empty glass smacked against the counter. "'Ey barkeep, another one here!" The call was far louder than necessary considering it came from the singular customer in the joint. With an almost unnoticeable huff the barman poured another two fingers of whisky into the glass, he gave the well armed day drinker a curious and slightly worried look.

EREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHH!

EREEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

EREEEEEEEH!
​

Remaining as steadfast is his refusal to acknowledge the screeching from outside as he had for the past ten minutes Perry took a deliberately slow sip of his drink.

"Why won't this damn bird shut up?!" A furious voice shouted. "I threw every rock in the street at it and it still came back."
"Ah let's just shoot the bastard down." A second voice called over another screech. "We can probably sell the feathers, if not at least it'll be quiet."

Pausing mid-motion Perry listened for a moment then sighed as another screech assaulted the ears of everyone nearby, the blasted bird was calling his bluff. Knocking back what remained of his drink he slapped a few bills onto the bar and ambled outside. "No need for you to waste your bullets gents." He held out an arm and the eagle swooped down to perch on it, fixing Perry with an even more piercing stare than usual it dug it's talons into his arm slightly. "Little shite." He grumbled then raised his voice. "Sorry 'bout the noise fellas the bird is unfortunately with me, I'll take him home and make sure he knows to keep his beak shut from now on." The shameless scapegoating earned him another squeeze on the arm but did pacify the angry men enough for them to leave.

Walking off to a more secluded alleyway Perry shook the bird off his arm and pouted at it as it perched on a nearby post. "Now what's so important that I had to be mostly sober to hear it?" Catching the rolled up note his eagle unceremoniously dropped from it's beak Perry skimmed it and sighed as he scrunched it into a ball to throw away. "I suppose they didn't bother to tell you why they want me come running like a butler with his arse on fire?" Up on his perch the eagle averted it's gaze and ignored him. "Fine be like that." Leaving the alley he strolled off in the direction of the train station.

 

[Castello]

Somewhere In The Country

Russel Gibbons
Interactions -
Mentions -

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Bang!

The ringing of a small clay pot could be heard shattering. Fellow thuds of gunpowder hoisted bullets sounded throughout the shooting range, each making their own distinct sound as they rung off either one of the wooden targets or wheat dummy. In between shots, Rus' mind went silent, devoid of thought or anything that could be scrutinized as presence, the light in his eyes only glistening when he raised the barrel of his rifle and took aim.

Bang! Clush!

Another distant clay pot could be heard exploding into dozens of pieces. Russel still looked unphased, until a gentle pat reached his shoulder. His eyes met for an older gentleman's pair. The newcomer looked at Russel with a cheek-to-cheek smile, revealing a pattern of golden teeth that shimmered. He had a distinct grey mustache, no hair, but in place was a verbose top-hat, that he so gently tipped in Russel's direction. The incomer stood with a cane, and had feet so swollen his toes poked out his leather boots.

"Howdy son, ya' shooting like ya' just got outta the civil war! If yer ever lookin' for some good payin' work, why not offer yer shooting to protect my manor?"

Rus replied with a stare only a brick wall could give. The gold-toothed man prodded him with his cane, a subtle tilt of the head forming from the interaction. "Now son, when someone gives ya' an offer, ya' best give him a prompt response!"

A few seconds of silence and blank staring commenced, before Rus turned around to take another shot. The old man ruffled his body, like a penguin with wet feathers. His cheeks turned ever so red, until he walked a way in a huff.

"Folks these days, ain't appreciaten' my kindess!"

Bang!

This time, no accompanying sound could be heard, whistling into the forest's void. Russel stared for a while, until an obnoxious honking noise could heard, rustling the very fabrics of his grey matter. On the rest where his rifle sat, flew a quaint little mallard duck. It had a rusted copper green coloration to its head, with shrill brown feathers for its body. While it was clearly a duck, it evoked the presence of a goose with its cries.

Honk

Somehow, the duck was almost louder than his gun. Rus did everything he could do to ignore it, but each effort only took a toll on its ears.

"What!?" Russel invoked.

"Honk, honk." Said the Duck, this time more respectively.

It was then Rus noticed the letter strapped elegantly with a rid ribbon along the duck's neck. Without care, Rus yanked it into his hands, reading the letter before promptly tossing it to the wind. "Damn Pinkerton, always making me attend these pointless meetings."

The duck simply tilted its head.

Russel sighed quietly, "You're right, it's not like I am even doing anything." He said, strapping his rifle across his back.

The duck seemed pleased.

Perhaps not with the haste that the letter commanded, Russel made his way for a nearby carriage. East Pinkerton was not a far hike from his current location, after all.

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[ZackStop]

Somewhere In The Country

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Tony Rogers
The rising sun began to shine through the tree line of the Arkansas wilderness, the slow sheathing of his Nichirin signifies the end of a long night of battle. Tony Rogers closed his eyes as the guard of his katana hit the sheath with a solid clink. He took a moment to feel the sun on his face when the wind came through, letting him know which way to head next. The Demon Slayer took his time heading North down the trail to begin his journey, when he could hear the caw of his first bird, a crow, who circled around overhead before descending.

"I'm already on a mission, what is it?" He asked as he held his arm out. Before he could get an answer from his crow, a loud screech in the distance echoed through the tree line as a second bird descended. A majestic bald eagle flew over head as it dropped a letter down for Tony to receive. "Not often do you show up. This must be important!" His crow squawked with aggravation as the much larger bird took up an absurd amount of space on Tony's arm. The two birds didn't quite get along, the eagle perched with superiority, knowing full well how it got under the crow's feathers. Tony ignored the differences they had and began to read the letter. Tony read allowed but found the longer he read the more questions he had rather than straight forward answers. "What could be so important to tell us at short notice?" The birds left his arm while he began to fold it up and tuck it into his uniform. They continued to circle around him for a moment then left promptly. "It is an emergency, at least that's what it said..." His thoughts trailed off as he watched his messengers depart. "I wonder just how many this message does concern."

Tony stood there for a few more minutes to enjoy the sun and contemplate what he should do. Either run straight for Grand Mansion, or continue North to fulfill his duty. He closed his eyes and felt the wind blow through his path once more. He turned to the East as he thought. "This is my responsibility..." Tony opened his eyes once more. "...I am sworn to them. As a Demon Slayer it is my job to kill demons." Tony turned to the North path once more and began to double time it. "There are people in need of aid, if I'm late so be it!" The path ahead of him curved to the right, so he simply leapt onto rocky ground and flew through the tree line of the mountains once again. When his mission is complete and the town is safe, only then will his path lead East. Until then, it is another night of killing demons.

 

[White Masquerade]

Grand Mansion:
Grand Lobby

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Wayra Catawnee
"Wayra Catawnee."

Then silence.

After a moment, one Kakushi draped in white and black nodded to the other and dropped their staff as Wayra in return slightly lowered her fist. Sighng and releasing the tension built up in the muscles of herself, she did not know why she even questioned the direction in the letter. This was headquarters after all and a safe-zone crawling with some of the strongest slayers around. Why would it have been a lie and she walk into a well-planned trap? Though never being to this particular estate, Wayra understood it was the first one established in the United States...ever. And taking it all in...it seemed about right. She wasn't certain which was more ornate - the grounds or the mansion itself. It was almost as if it was designed to be big. Designed to stand out. Designed to be a beacon to let demons know that humans weren't afraid and they weren't going anywhere. Almost laughing and smirking to herself at the thought, Wayra started to ease and walked further into the estate, leaving the Kakushi and entrance gates behind her.

However, it wouldn't be enough to say that the place was beautiful. As far as the eye could see, there were a multitude of things filling Wayra's vision. While the mansion itself was straight ahead (you couldn't miss it), to her left, she could see stables where eagles, ducks and animals of all sorts were rushing in and out. To the right, she could see a tall, lone, brown building jutting into the air like a massive spire. Windowless and plain, it was a curious thing to be looking at. Turning around further to take in what else she could find and subtly losing her bearings, Wayra smacked straight into a tall man with blonde hair, a machete, and a pair of revolvers strapped to his hip. Stunned and at a loss for words, the Cherokee could only stare at the person, clearly a slayer, with her mouth ajar. It would be a moment before she was able to gather herself, look to the side, and mutter a hurried "Excuse me," before stepping to the side and almost jogging off. ( IG42 )

Eerie. He reminded her of the same slayer that tried to kill her husband while saving her and failing in the process. Those revolvers strapped to his hip glinted in the same exact way and though it had been a while since then, she was still not yet ready to fully face the thought. It was enough that she convinced herself to become a slayer. She could process what that meant she had to do when she eventually saw her love face-to-face. Then, she could embrace it and let the tears flow. Then, she could re-open the chapter of that book and once more read the story written on those pages. Though, in back of Wayra's mind she honestly wondered if she really could even do it. Strength-wise at least. She had no teacher who showed her the ways of the tornado, just felt out the movements on her own and what she could glean from the spiritual walks she had while under the influence. Many a thing about how she could fight were elucidated under those conditions, but there was a nagging feeling that when put up against the other slayers around her, she could not compare. While not the level of some Hashira, she could at least get a sense of the power level from both friend and foe, and in her travels, the auras of some people Wayra encountered seemed to be off the charts.

Speaking of the devil.

Wayra instinctively turned her head towards a woman a ways off traveling through the crowd of the mansion grounds. With locks of long, white hair and a glowing red Nichirin Axe strapped to her back, it was crystal by how the Kakushi and slayers both moved aside, that she wasn't the only one who sensed it. ( QuirkyAngel )

There was something ferocious that radiated off that woman and Wayra was glad she was at least on their side. A miniature wolf walked closely behind the woman and being a person raised in nature, could tell the kind of loyalty it had to its master. But what also caught her eye was the weapon of a man to the other side of the clearing to the woman. A large rifle with the strap slung around one shoulder, it was the color of it that threw her off.

Gray.

That was the first time she'd even seen it. From what the instructors explained at the exam, it was a color of Nichirin fit to assassins, since it made the arms lightweight and devoid of sound. ( Castello ) A rare color, it was not like red or yellow that espoused energy and will, but came from a certain kind of person - one that may not have had anything to live for. It was indeed a sad explanation, but just like her, Wayra could understand others too may have lost loved ones to the brutality of a demon. Her gaze soon turned from the slow procession of that man and instead focused on the front doors of the mansion that she was now before. It was nearly 10 o' clock and the morning session was about to begin. The journey had been a long and boring one, but in the context of being a slayer, that was most certainly a good thing.

Taking one last look at the bottom edge of her Nichirin bow before going in, the slayer could have sworn it glowed a bright shade of purple and stared in shock. Rubbing her eyes, Wayra glanced at again, but now the bow seemed normal.

Woah...I must be tired. Yeah, that can't be right. There's no way a demon could be here. There are slayers everywhere and we're at the Eastern headquarters after all. If there was one here, I'm sure someone would have noticed.

Uneasy, she rubbed her eyes again, took one more look at her weapon, then walked inside the Grand Lobby following another group of slayers, some calm, some excited.

Yeah. It must be nothing at all.

simj26
ZackStop

 

[White Masquerade]

Purgatory:
Cell 10 To Cell 6

​

August
Another glob of drool spewed out with an audible *drop* from the mouth of the demon to the floor below. A wide moass of saliva rippled as a snake materialized from thin air and bit its master once again.

Ouch...

Glassy-eyed and indian-Style, the man in black slid an eye towards Monty trying to keep him in control. How long had it been? How long had it been since he was stuck in this god-forsaken place, shut off from the world and bound in Nichirin chains? A day? A century? Groaning, August fought against the stupefying effect of the drugs the clinic folk gave to him in regular dose. Pulling hard on the chains that wrapped around his wrists, August failed to muster up the strength required to beak out of them like he normally could. And to make matters worse, the wicks of wisteria lining the prison walls served to further sap what power he had.

"Ngh.."

That damned Hashira. How could they do this to him!? Being in here was a fate worse than death! Drugged and pulled taut like a common animal, experimented upon, sedated, then left to do it all over again. Unspeakable. Those people always claimed that demons were the monsters, but in reality, just where did their brutality come from? Where did they learn it? Humans themselves.

"H-Hashira..I'm going...to kill...y-y..."

But he could not continue to speak.

*Thud*​

Slumping diagonally to the floor, August conserved the clarity he had left and closed his eyes to focus on his friend. In all their travels, Monty and August would be an inseparable duo, leaning on each other and drawn together by a force he could not explain, but it was clear that in this moment, what August needed was to rely on him.

"Alright, buddy," he exhaled, leaning further into the floor. "It's on you, friend. Help me. Blood Demon Art: Serpent Control."

Instantly, August's eyes connected with Monty's and a warm feeling washed over him. The snake suddenly straightened, slithered a bit, then coiled into a ball like it was possessed. Sniffing the air, Monty then detangled itself and burrowed into the floor searching for the scent of a person it just caught a whiff of. The wisteria burned the snake's skin causing scales to tear and fall off, but it was no matter, it wouldn't be going too far. There was a peculiar scent that had been in the jail for a long time now, though it was not like his own. August was aware of it for a while, but kept on wondering why. Was there some kind of schism in their ranks? One he could learn of and potentially exploit to get out of here? It was dangerous to find out, but considering his situation, worth the shot. If they were locked up here, then that at least meant they were not on the same side.

C-c-c-crack!​

Breaking up and through the floor of the fourth cell from the left, a rumply black snake heaved and ho'd into a sorry mass a few feet away from a woman with long, black hair. In one corner of the cell, sat a large red scythe that looked just as tall as she was. Pausing and taking it all in for a moment, the snake cleared its throat and started to speak.

"Oi," it hissed. "Human. Tell me. Have the demon slayers abandoned you..? Locked you up in here and thrown away the key? It doesn't look like they're coming back for you." However, with the fact that the girl still had her weapon, August knew this couldn't be true. There was something else at work. Something else he had heard before. Cocking its head to the side, the snake then gave a thick smile.

"Ah...then could you be the infamous rogue I've heard people here talk about before? A Kincaid disliked by slayers as you prefer not to be under their charge? Hm...yes. Why else would you be here? It must be true! Well lucky for you human, I'm not too fond of them myself. From what I understand, they've locked you up because you’ve killed demons without their permission. Haha! What fluff, eh? You don't need their permission to kill us, they only hide behind that to force you to submit to their way. Look how you are both human, both killing demons, yet you are here locked up with me while they celebrate in the sun. A shame," the snake concluded.

"Tell you what? How about we make a deal, you and I? I wish to escape, yet I don't have the means to do so. It seems you are in the same predicament. What do you say we help each other out, human? It's true I am a demon and it is my desire to wipe you out from this land, but this one time, I'd be willing to turn the other cheek and leave this place with everyone in it unharmed."

Rising up further, the snake straightened itself.

"Your kind calls me evil, but I do not lack honor. In this you would have my word. All you would need to do is follow the hole this snake has made to my cell and cut off my chains. I will be able to handle the rest. And afterwards," it hissed.

"If you need assistance, I will of course return the favor."

Friend Or Foe

Who Do You Choose? Woop! SimJ26 an old thing I liked to do, you have received this RP's first, "Second Breath." Now what is a second breath? It's a point in the story, where a player is offered a decision between two different courses of life. Whatever is chosen, has the potential to drastically change their circumstance; for better or for worse.

(1) Kincaid, The Renegade

A strange snake has broken through the floor of your cell to speak to you. A pariah among Demon slayers called Kincaid, it appeals to your troubled status to help its demonic master to escape Purgatory. In exchange, it promises not to kill any humans and will give you its aid should you need it. What will you do?

Requirements:

• Accept the demon's request
• Follow snake through its burrow back to its master's cell
• Cut the Nichirin chains off the demon you find there
• Begin your escape of Purgatory

The Black snake sits coiled and patiently awaits your reply. It is a demon and the Kincaid are sworn to kill them and cleanse perversion of humanity...however it has a point. You have been locked up in Purgatory by the hands of Demon Slayers. Why should you give a damn about keeping this demon they have locked up?

(2) Kincaid, The Lawful

A strange snake has broken through the floor of your cell to speak to you. A pariah among Demon slayers called Kincaid, it appeals to your troubled status to help its demonic master to escape purgatory. In exchange, it promises not to kill any humans and will give you its aid should you need it. What will you do?

Requirements:

• Deny the demon's request
• Kill the snake
• Call out to a guard to inform of the contact
• Wait in your cell

The Black snake sits coiled and patiently awaits your reply. Yes, you have been locked up by the likes of demon slayers, but your lack of respect for them is nothing compared to your hatred of their enemies. Demons are evil and you will not take the bait. Maybe stopping this attempt and alerting a guard will get them to free you from this accursed place.

simj26

 

[ZackStop]

Grand Mansion:
Grand Lobby
It had been a week when Tony received the letter. A request to all Demon Slayers for some kind of emergency, but Tony had another emergency to handle. After one day and one night, the town was demon free thanks to his efforts, and since then it has been a mad dash East to the Estate.

9:56 A.M. and Tony was sprinting through the woods. He felt the wind grazing his ears leaving them cold while he strafed past trees. He had no time to stop as he was already running late, though struggled to stay the right way. "I really hope I'm not lost!" He said through huffs with a stupid grin. "that would be" huff "really bad." He quickly took a look down at a compass he had with him to make sure. He could see off to his right, the light shining through the tree line where a clearing was. He quickly slid across the ground riddled with leaves, and took a turn straight to the light.

With a quick leap, Tony landed on a tree branch and before long, jumped through the branched and into the clearing, landing right beside the stables. As he did, the animals went absolutely wild, the birds flapping about and all sorts of critters darting around. He was somewhat shocked by this, but the animals quickly took to Tony's warm nature leaving him with a smile. He quickly became distracted and allowed some birds to land on his outstretched arm. He spotted a horse poking it's head out of its stable, showing interest in this new presence. "Hello there!" Tony waved to it as he made his way over. He was gentle with his approach, placing a hand on her snout and giving them a nice pat.

He was caught in the moment, but then suddenly realized he had somewhere to be. "Damnit, there I go again." The birds flew away as he said his goodbyes, quickly jogging off to the main building. As he leapt over the fence surrounding him, his jog became a sprint, seeing that the crowd ahead of him was shrinking and leaving him behind. "I'm coming, I'm coming." He wasn't at all surprised by the size of the Grand Mansion or the magnitude of fellow Demon Slayers. The more the merrier! He was ready to mingle for a bit before the main event.

"Hello there!" He said as he passed a Slayer on his way in. "Hey, 'scuse me." He said to another, and this continued for several seconds as he made a point to say hello to at least one-hundred people before leaving the estate. This was of course when he stopped everything he was doing, to converse with a particular fellow. He couldn't help himself, he crouched down in the crowded interior of the Mansion to greet what appeared to be a well trained wolf "Why, hello there!" He grinned before looking up to see the Boreas' master, a fellow Slayer with long silver hair. ( QuirkyAngel )

 

[IG42]

Grand Mansion:
Grand Lobby
Perry O'Donovan
Letting out an unrestrained yawn Perry reluctantly meandered his way through the grounds, he had taken his sweet time getting there on account of not wanting to spend any more time there than necessary but it did mean he probably couldn't squeeze in a nap by the lakeside before whatever was so important got started. "Maybe I should've dipped." He mused to himself without any seriousness to the idea, much as he disliked the place the cryptic message made him curious enough to show up.

With a resigned huff he stopped walking for a moment and pulled out a hip flask to take a quick sip, fortunately he had mostly finished screwing the cap back on when someone ran into his back. Turning around he found himself looking down at a native woman who was staring at him with something close to shock. "You alright there lady?" When she dashed off with barely a word Perry was left watching her retreating back, noting the telltale odd colouration of the bow on her back his brow raised in slight surprise, while he'd found the most slayers had had their racial biases put into perspective by fighting actual inhuman beings he was still intrigued at seeing someone like her in the corps.

Shrugging the curiosity off for the moment he headed inside taking note of the various other bits of anachronistic weaponry carried by the other slayers including one who seemed to have brought her hunting hound along. he wondered if there was anyone around he might be able to strike up a decent conversation with, most of the slayers he had spoken to had either been the grim type looking for revenge on all demonkind or gungho twats thinking they were going out to shoot deer.

 

[simj26]

Purgatory:
Cell 6
KincaidHow long had it been? They had long lost count. It might have been hours, it might have been days, it might have been weeks. The Pinkertons sure knew how to build their prisons. The cramped walls, the windowless, suffocating, stifling walls, made for poor company, not that they had ever been used to company in the first place. It rid Kincaid of any sense of progress of time, and perhaps, that was the purpose. For eternal beings that Demons were, this would surely drive them mad after a while. Try as they might to count the hours, sooner or later, they would lose count. How many hours have they slept? How long did any normal activity take? Let the mind slip just once, and everything would become a downward spiral from there. Ingenious. It was a useful torture tool. Why, then, had they been put in the same place as the same monsters that both the Reapers and the Slayers hunted? Did they consider Kincaid, themself, to be a monster too? No permission to kill the same beings they killed? The Reapers were making their jobs easier! It would have been funny, if they weren't trapped in here, their blade unwhet with the blood and bones of Demons. They leaned back against the wall, one hand tracing the shaft of their scythe, dipped their hat over their closing eyes. At least the Slayers let them keep their scythe and their hat. It would be terrible for them to be seen without their hat.

Alas, before they could drift off into another fitful sleep upon these cold cobblestones, they were interrupted. Strange shiftings, rumblings, and the crack upon the same cobblestones. At once, Kincaid rose gracefully, carefully, their hand grasping the scythe, directing it at the intruder to their cell. A serpent emerged from the hole in the ground. Kincaid groaned. As if there weren't enough things to worry about in this place- now there were snakes crawling all over the foundations. They moved forwards to step on the snake and grind it underfoot, but froze when it spoke. Sorcery! Foul demon magicks! They readied their scythe, ready for whatever venom that would exit the snake's mouth next. No attack came, only more words, more exposition that they already knew. That having been said...

They weighed the words of the serpent in their mind. They did have some weight to their words. Kincaid needed out of this place. At the same time, they vowed to kill every demon on the face of the earth. The Slayers were ineffective, with their burgeoning bureaucracy, their limitations, their need for organisation. It sickened Kincaid. They sighed deeply. To think that they would have to resign to assisting Demons so that they could kill more of their numbers. Their hand tightened upon the scythe's grip.

"Very well, serpent. Take me to your master."

They will have to play their cards close to their chest for this one, for if there is one thing that was clear in their mind, Kincaid had no reason to let the Demon leave Purgatory alive.

 

[White Masquerade]

Grand Mansion:
Grand Lobby

​

Roger Pinkerton
Looking out over a section of railing to the crowd gathered below, Roger checked out his gold watch as the time approached. With one last sip of the cigarette, he flung the butt in the trash and gave thought to the walls they all currently stood in. The Grand Mansion. One of the three major Pinkerton headquarters across the United States, it was the most famous by far. As the first Pinkerton safe-zone stablished throughout the United States, it served as home to one of their very first commanders: Juliana Pinkerton. A fiery woman with a heart brave enough to endure the trials of being a demon slayer, Juliana fought side-by-side with those under her command, even becoming the United States' first Flame Hashira. This estate here was her crown jewel. It was built from the dirt through her blood and the dreams of those who too, gave up their lives for the cause.

Eyeing the golden crown moldings, Roger agreed the mansion was ornate. It was obviously designed to big. Designed to stand out. Designed to be a beacon. A place for slayers to gather in the face of demons, defiance of them, to show those creatures that humans were here to stay. Truly, the grand mansion was bold and over the top -just as she would have liked it. Laughing to himself, Roger would have liked that. The idea of meeting her. Ever since the death of his late brother, ever since he took up the mantle, many people have said he resembles her. His quick-thinking, vision of a brighter future, and aggressive tactics to get there earned him a spot in the hearts of many, though he did not fight alongside them. They say he believed in them. Believed in their value, believed in their worth. He would never sacrifice them lightly like his brother had, and always moved to win the most he could in any match.

Yet Roger did not think he was anything special. He just followed a singular goal he kept in his mind to reach: ridding the country of demons and finally ending the scourge that so plagued the lives of many. If only he had the passion and strength to wield a sword to fight demons like she once had.

Well...it's time. No use crying over spilled milk. I'm here because they believe in me and I will do my best to see that through till the very end. We will get rid of the demons and I'll give my all to make sure we do not fail.

Rising up to his full height, Roger motioned for the idle Kakushi to start getting the people quiet and ready. He had some big news after all and wanted to share it with the corps, even if the complete details were not fully de-classified. He did something that could win them the war, something not everyone would agree with, but in time, maybe they would. Now though, was when they had to take big action and bolster themselves to prepare for the pivotal moment when everything would change.

Roger nodded with a clear of his throat and the clock struck 10. The meeting had begun. The grand lobby now un-customarily shushed, Roger took a deep breath and spoke to the crowd in a loud, all-encompassing boom. Though his demeanor was serious, the tone of his words belied a comforting and assuring air that whatever message he gave, everything would be okay.

"Friends! My comrades in arms! Demon Slayers! Protectors of the land- no - the Earth!" Grinning, he continued. "I'd like to thank you all for being in attendance today. Some of you may be familiar with me, some of you may not. Some of you may have been here before, some of you might not have. Either way, let me make a brief introduction for those who are not in the know. My name is Roger Pinkerton and I am the current head of the Pinkerton's Demon-Slaying alliance. After the death of my late brother, the previous head of the alliance, I assumed control and have been leading it ever since. Most of the missions you receive through your animal partners come from me. While you are out in the field fighting, I am always here planning our next move, countering any action the demons take and anticipating how best to strike them next."

While the next bit of info a person might have kept to themselves, Roger was an honest man and wanted to keep things clear. "After the assassination of my brother at the hands of one of us, demons rampaged and destroyed his home - our safe-zone in the mountains of California. We took a big hit that day, losing our foothold on the west side of the country. He was inept," Roger mumbled.

"A poor commander that did not understand the depth of his duties. He was spineless, ill-prepared, and treated this fight like a game. And for that I am truly sorry."

The Pinkerton bent close to the bannister, the top of his head showing for all to see.

"I apologize for the passing of those you may have known serving under his command. But I will say and reiterate this again and again to whoever asks: I am not him and I will never be. I cannot promise you won't die, but I can promise you will find no better friend with me. I will prioritize your lives, seek the swiftest conclusion to this war, and if harsh decisions need be made, make them with only our assured victory in mind. Friends," he continued. "So it is with my great pleasure that I make this announcement. It is with my great pleasure I share with you what we've done." Lifting both arms high into the air, he said, "Through the power of our top Hashira, we have successfully captured the Eastern King!"

...


...


...

​

It took quite a long moment to sink in, but at the words, gasps rippled through the crowd from more experienced slayers who knew the tale, with some even losing grip of their weapons and falling to the knees.

"Which Hashira was it!?"


"When did it happen!?"


"Are we going to kill them!?"


"Are we going to make them pay for their crimes!?"


"Where are they!?"


"Thank GOD!!"


"It killed my best friend!"


"Are we going to destroy the rest of them!?"


"Is this war finally coming to an end!?"​

As some of the slayers digested the news, Roger could see the pain on their faces. The Eastern King. The strongest demon in the East United States, it was responsible for brutally killing many humans, Kincaid, and Demon slayers alike. From what he knew, victims numbered in the thousands with hundreds being added everyday. While the other three kings were in a way more docile, this one in the East was something different. Always looking for a fight, it frequently attacked unprovoked. Nobody was too small, insignificant, or beneath them to go after. Truthfully, it was a wonder how they managed to make this happen at all. How they even pulled it together. Well...the thing was Roger did know, but for now, it would be a secret he was going to keep close to his chest. That was not what people needed. Right now, as they always did, they needed hope.

"Yes! It is true! We have captured the demon and it's being kept on the maximum security bottom in Purgatory as we speak right now!" Instantly raucous conversation broke out, but the Pinkerton was not mad. This was a grand development in their battle against the demons and it would hopefully serve as a good catalyst to spur them to work harder and develop in ways to help end this war. Continuing once more, Roger focused to emphasize that victory was within the next opened door. They just needed the strength and courage to seize the opportunity, walk forward and push on.

"This will change-" and being interrupted by a small Kakushi dressed in black-and white tapping his shoulder, the Pinkerton seemed almost shocked at it. Leaning down to hear what the servant said, Roger slowly nodded with a slight confusion on his face. He was not sure who the person was, but if the Regional Director needed to speak with them at this moment, then it must have been important.

"I have just received word for a Perry O' Donovan. When you have a moment, the Regional Director would like to have a word with you in the office. Head there as soon as able. It's of personal importance to you." Nodding again to the Kakushi as they walked off, Roger found his place once again continuing to rouse the troops amidst the delivery of good news. IG42

"This will change the tide of the war, I promise you. Work with me friends. Fight with me friends. I have produced. I have given us an advantage. With these next steps we can tip the odds in our favor and reclaim our home. America is ours. And soon we will end the scourge."

"ROGER!" A slayer yelled in the crowd. "ROGER!" another one shouted, putting up a clenched hand. One by one slayers called his name and raised up their weapons in passion running from heartfelt respect to utmost appreciation.

"My friends! As much I'd love to, I cannot take all of the credit. It is because of fighters like you, going out there day in and day out, fighting demons on their turf in the night, lacking regeneration and the skills that make them strong that I am successful. Even more to the Hashira who go above and beyond, putting themselves through hell and pushing to become the best and brightest swords. Which is why I encourage everyone here to continue perfecting and mastering their craft whether on your own or in one of our prestigious academies like Pertmore, so that one day I'll be able to call on you and do this."

Pulling out an envelope from his pocket, Roger slipped out the paper and read out the name.

"Hilda Von Rowenburg," he boomed. "I have received recommendations. Recommendations for you to become Wolf Hashira of the United States. However, though praiseworthy, a recommendation will only get your foot in the door. Moving you to the next stage would require a vote by the slayers in attendance where they can either abstain or vote for or against your nomination."

Slowly the attention in the grand hall shifted down to the woman with the wolf trailing behind her back.

"Ms. Rowenburg. I have been told of your exploits and clearly someone's been impressed. Tell us, is there anything you would like to say before the voting begins?"

QuirkyAngel

Old Friends
Kakushi Sevant
Silently moving through the crowd, the servant clad in black-and-white had a mission to fulfill. The hall was bustling and filled slayers from across the land, but they were sure Tony Rogers was here...or so his crow and bald eagle had said. Pushing past and saying sorry to the fourth boy with short black hair, the Kakushi finally spotted the man petting the wolf of a slayer in front of him. Striding over tp Tony just as the room began to look at the owner of the wolf, the Kakushi gently pulled Tony to the side and whispered softly in his ear.

"Tony Rogers, I'm here to fetch you because a Hashira sent me. They wanted you to meet them at the burial grounds near Wisteria Lake. They want you to meet them in front of the grave of a former Water Hashira, Dolton Ray."

ZackStop

Becoming Stronger
Wayra Catawnee
Gawking at the woman named Hilda Von Rowenburg, this was turning out to be more than Wayra could have imagined. What started out as a boring journey to the Grand Mansion was turning out to be an insightful, interesting display. The Eastern King! And this demon was captured?? Being held right here no less! Huh. Maybe that was why her bow glowed purple from before. It could have been so powerful its energy radiated from there to her weapon up above. Well that would explain it! And also explain why nobody was in a big fuss.

So...cool!

And apparently this girl in front of her was going to become a Hashira?? The same kind of one that captured the Demon King? Man. What power they must have had. As a human at that.

Hilda was already intimidating, but then these Hashira were even more powerful??

Gripping the hem of her skirt tight, Wayra acknowledged that to make it to her husband, to make it out alive, it was imperative she get stronger. If Hashira was the level required to do that, then that's what she would aim for...or get right close to it. Becoming a Demon Slayer, Wayra had slowly realized she got in way over her head. Passing the initial examination was one thing, but it seemed like there were even greater levels to achieve. And maybe Leto was already on one of those.

...

The spirit walks and communing with the guardians of her totem would not cut it. She was going to have to adopt the ways of these foreign people. With their fighting academies, surgeries, and miracles of medicine, Wayra could possibly get to that next level. She remembered hearing travelling, word of a mythical academy. A place where Demon Slayers got magical weapons created and received training from the depth of hell. They said it was tough, but truly a place where normal human beings could go to become gods. It seemed like a joke or a tall-tale spun by slayers to spread fear of themselves through to the people of the land, but Wayra could still recall the name those people called it.

"Pertmore."

...the same name Roger said. So the place was indeed real. Excitement started to build in Wayra, and due to it, she could not wait for the vote to be over with. Beaming and looking over to her right, Wayra's face turned to meet a somber expression gazing back at her. Him. There he was again. That man with the grey Nichirin. It was probably the fate of the gods that they met again.

"Don't let the demons kill you before they've even killed you," she smiled, walking to be in front of him. In this profession, the Cherokee knew that friends could be few and far between due to the high rate of mortality. It was a miracle when any group of people were able to become friends and stay together for any real length time. Even if it was only for a short amount of time, the woman would do what she could for him. Maybe crack a smile. At least once. Or it could grow to be something more. Throughout her lifetime, Wayra learned that these decisions were really not hers to make, but the gods. All she needed to do was listen when they spoke.

"Wayra Catawnee," she voiced, extending a hand. "What do you say after this vote, you train to perfect your craft with me like this guy suggests? I hear Pertmore is a nice place to go to, recommended by the man himself. I've never seen a grey Nichirin myself either. How about you show me what it can do?"

Castello

 

[QuirkyAngel]

Grand Mansion:
Grand Lobby
Hilda Von Rowenburg

Having left the butler of the Von Rowenburg family behind to deal with the Kakushi, as well as the vehicle that transported her to East Pinkerton Estate, Hilda traversed the grounds that belonged to the First Flame Hashira of the United States by foot. Boreas naturally accompanied her. The gray wolf growled the entire way and Hilda reached down to soothingly stroke’s her companion’s neck. If there were a demon present, it was likely under lock and key. Or perhaps its head was strung up somewhere the light of the morning didn’t reach. Hilda didn’t know much about Pinkertons, after all, despite receiving her assignments from them. She couldn’t say she paid too much attention to other Slayers either. Her task for her family, nay humanity, was just to slay any demon she came across…such that she wouldn’t even be terribly surprised if the scent of their blood stained her a bit.

The eagle that had delivered her letter flew back to its stable, leaving her and Boreas to enter the mansion on their own. Eyeing the crowds of slayers gathered at the Grand Lobby, Hilda sighed before finding her way to a corner and crouching down to feed Boreas some snacks (slabs of raw meat) she’d acquired from the Pinkerton stables.

“I’ll let you hunt on your own in a bit,”

After finding out what Roger Pinkerton wanted with them.

She didn’t expect anyone to greet them and so eyed the green-eyed male that fearlessly approached Boreas with wary interest. Her wolf companion didn’t seem to dislike him at least. The canine sniffed as it circled the stranger, but didn’t growl. It simply let out a bark (of greeting) and stared at the human boy with curious, silver eyes. Hilda nodded politely. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Was there anything else to say? All those who passed the Demon Slayer Exam, who joined the American Demon Slayer Corps, were comrade-in-arms, but it wasn’t as if she knew very many of them. Demon Slayers died. All the time. It was better not to get too attached.

Then Roger Pinkerton made his appearance in the grand lobby and all the chattering seemed to cease as the 10AM meeting began. He…had a lot to say. The man that led the Pinkerton Alliance sounded a bit like a politician in fact. However, the words were interesting and informative.

The Eastern King? Was that the demon that Boreas sensed?

Why was it captured and trapped underneath the mansion instead of being killed? Was it too strong? Hilda had never faced the Eastern King. Never even seen it. However, she’d heard the horror stories. Heard the name escape from the trembling lips of demons she’d slain. Perhaps she was even a little curious about it…but more important than her curiosity was the death of a powerful demon that had reigned terror and taken many human lives. Stewing in her thoughts, Hilda didn’t pay much attention to the celebratory cheers of excited demon slayers. They were understandably pleased. Hilda was pleased as well.

A step closer to ending the war and humanity’s victory.

Her eyebrows rose when a demon slayer, Perry O’Donovan, was called to speak to the regional director, her eyes briefly darting over to the person that reacted to the name, before her attention was drawn back to Roger Pinkerton as her own name was called. Hilda blinked. Hashira?? Her??? Who recommended her? Was she more popular than she thought even though she tended to keep human interactions (outside of her demon-slaying family) to a minimum? Feeling herself tense slightly as eyes turned towards her, Hilda exhaled and straightened her back.

Breathe.

If demons couldn’t frighten her (not anymore at least), a crowd of humans certainly shouldn’t. A rise in the rankings would make her family proud. It would make her father proud. As for herself, well, she wasn’t quite sure as a title was only just a title to her, but she did know she carried the Von Rowenburg name on her back. Chin lifted, Hilda’s determined gaze swept the crowd, from the green-eyed boy (Tony Rogers) that was currently talking to a Kakushi to the natively dressed girl gawking at her, before settling back on the head of the Pinkerton Alliance as she folded her arms and met his expectant gaze. “Words? I don’t really have any. My actions speak for themselves.”

Behind her, Boreas howled.

ZackStop White Masquerade IG42 Castello R U S T

 

[IG42]

Grand Mansion:
Regional Director’s Office
Perry O'Donovan
Listening to the lengthy speech Perry tried to not to look noticeably disinterested in the whole show, he snorted quietly as Roger dumped on his brother. No love lost there then. Classic new management with the 'do everything new and better' shtick. Still at least the Pinkerton could back it up with the good news that one of the big cheese demons had been captured, killing it certainly seemed like the safer option but maybe they thought it could be made to spill on how to find it's underlings.

Having shown up with little expectation of anything interesting happening one of the last things he was expecting was getting called out personally to meet with the director, shifting awkwardly he lowered his gaze trying to avoid catching the eye of those looking around for the mysterious man that warranted such a personal summons.

Not wanting to draw any more bothersome attention to himself he elected to remain for the rest of the speech which included calling out a white haired girl as a potential wolf Hashira, Perry supposed she at least brought a wolf along and if all her speeches were over as quickly as that one she could have his vote.

Deciding that the distraction should be enough he slipped away as discreetly as he could manage and found the same Kakushi from earlier waiting for him, while the Kakushi beckoned for Perry to follow he suspected they may also have been there to cut off an escape. Arriving at a door with a suitably shiny plaque the Kakushi gestured to the door and left with a respectful nod. With a sigh Perry went to knock but decided he didn't much care about the niceties and was expected anyway, opening the door he strolled in and gave a belligerent excuse for a salute. "I have been summoned?"

White Masquerade QuirkyAngel

 

[ZackStop]

Lake Wisteria:
Demon Slayer Burial Grounds
Tony Rogers​

Tony was pleased to see that the admittedly intimidating wolf was friendly with him, he hoped their master would be the same as they locked eyes. He stood up as it would be awkward to greet her otherwise. "I'm Tony, Tony Rogers. Nice to meet you!" He spoke after standing tall. It was a pleasant surprise that she too was as friendly to him as her companion. Truly, his expectations were subverted.

Before they he could catch her name however, the meeting had begun with the entrance of Roger Pinkerton, who was prepared to give them all a speech. Tony turned forward and looked up at the small man all the way ahead of him. Tony could hardly see Roger from up there.

"Time to see what this is all about." Tony said allowed with a little grin, and as the speech went on, Tony's mind stayed clear. Not to say that there were some question. He didn't know of any brother or family member of the Pinkertons at that. The story he told of a commander in the west he was unaware of, and even this Eastern King. "Who's that? A demon, and they're here?" Tony thought to himself, looking down as if he suddenly got the feeling of something dark and truly evil. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but it was a feeling he had felt many times before. Demons. It must have just been the mention of demons that gave him the suddenly feeling, rather than a keen sense for their kind that he was only just now discovering. But a demon held captive here with several hundred Demon Slayers, molded by hate. If there was a strategic reason for keeping them alive this long, who's to say a particular scornful Demon Slayer won't go find and kill this 'Easter King'? But that was just a thought. One that seemed dangerous.

Tony may have trailed off a bit, not paying mind to the sudden halt in Mr. Pinkerton's speech. Until the name was called for one Hilda Von Rowenburg, to be named 'Wolf Hashira'. At the sound of that, Tony realized that the one he was standing next to was Hilda Von Rowenberg. Boreas gave it away. Tony graciously stepped back to not draw attention away from her. She was being honored in this moment after all. He found it best to take a couple paces back, just before all the eyes were directed over to the silver haired woman.

As more was said in light of what was occurring, Tony looked down to see a rather petite figure had approached him playing a familiar role. A Kakushi, those he had seen much of during his time in Japan. It gave him a nice feeling of nostalgia as he lowered himself with crossed arms to hear their words. At first, Tony was surprised and somewhat humbled that a Hashira would ask for him specifically. "This is totally out of the blue! I wonder what this is about." He thought to himself.

As the Kakushi proceeded however, at the mention of Dolton Ray, Tony tensed up for a moment. All those memories and feelings of betrayal ran their course like he was being ushered along a path, with brief images he recalled from his trauma. Visions of blood splatter and the taunting face riddled with laughter. It played out like a horrible dream he tried not to think about. It made him feel powerless and naive. Like a hopeless failure. It gave him goosebumps that ran up his spine and made his hair stand up. Greif and anger rushed over his body like it was being cooked, but these feelings were only on the inside. They were short lived, and did not change his outer appearance or body language, not for more than a second.

Tony nodded and unfolded his arms. He straightened up and turned back to Hilda. It was bizarre though, as if he had just been on a trip somewhere distant, but tried to remain as though he was present. He was notably less cheerful than before, but not somber. More calm, like a wiser, older man perhaps. He heard Boreas howl in agreement to Ms. Rowenberg's brief response, then spoke. "Well, you have my vote." He said with a smile, without really knowing anything about her. He could tell that she was qualified by her demeanor, a brilliant confidence. He didn't stay after that though, promptly leaving the building without much of a trace.

---

He took his time down a path, eventually seeing headstones of those who had fallen in battle. Except for one. Tony looked around for this particular grave with little interest. He would be relieved if he got lost, but a Hashira was waiting for him. So against his wishes, obligation came first.

He was cautious with his steps. Hashira were often a strange bunch, so he was half expecting a test of reflexes or strength as he approached what appeared to be the right place. He wasn't at all enthused by this meeting spot, it was strangely specific, which gave him an epiphany. Tony didn't know who they were, but whoever this Hashira was, they knew Tony. A troubling thought.

 

[Castello]

Heading towards Pertmore

Russel Gibbons
Interactions - White Masquerade
Mentions -

​

---

Rus stared into the crowd, losing himself in a droopy-eyed malaise. The words of Roger Pinkerton were indeed filled with valor, that was the least Russel absorbed from his tone, but he simply could not focus on the punch-line of it all.

Why were they here again?

Russel could only guess someone had died, someone out there was always dying. This time it was someone of status, or maybe it was an important Demon. The most Russel could feign as a reaction was a small yawn, as he drifted aimlessly in the cloud of his mind. He would have probably fallen asleep, had it not been for a virtuous slayer who promptly elbowed him in the stomach, pursing her lips as she finished him with a scoff.

"Rude!" The female slayer huffed.

Rude? Russel's jaw dropped, not in reflection of the woman's audacity, but out of sheer confusion. He killed demons, he listened to his duck, what more did this damn organization want from him!? In the end, Rus refused to engage, only offering the woman a brief raise of his left eyebrow. Despite the annoyance, Russel finally grasped onto what the point of the meeting, when he heard the word's "purgatory." Despite his indifference to the organization, Russel's scholar background did earn him an interest in Purgatory. He could only sigh at the implications of this, however.

This was not going to end well, wasn't it?

It was certainly human arrogance that they thought it was possible to keep some of those demons in chains. He had heard the stories, and he was a recipient of the sorrow. Demons only belonged in one place: buried six feet under the ground or turned to ashes and then buried six feet under the ground.

But as per usual, Rus digressed.

He did not have much time to dwell on it, as another female entered his line of sights. Russel made contact with Wayra, subtly and almost inhumanely. His eyes made for her, but it was almost as if he was looking into a glass crystal, or as if Wayra was just another vivid apparition of his mind. Yet, her words caught him a smile, not a normal nice smile, but a manic smile that chattered like a hyena. It was the irony of it. The demons had killed him a long time ago. He was simply a walking husk, and whatever concept of "Russel Gibbons," was forgone.

To her request, however, the laughter stopped. He wanted to say no, but Pertmore was where he planned on going anyway. He was between a rock and a hard spot. Russel could say no, but then they would reunite awkwardly at Pertmore. It would create unnecessary conflict.

"Ok. Let's go."
White Masquerade

Russel was not paying attention to the whole vote part, he never was one for politics. He just started walking away, assuming Wayra would follow.

---

 

[White Masquerade]

Purgatory:
Cell 6 To Cell 10

​

August
Slithering out from the maw of the ground into the air of cellblock 10, Kincaid and the snake were introduced to August's pale, limp form. Eyes closed and breathing forlorn, it was a sight for a mighty demon to borne. But with the cancelling of the Demon Blood Art, the snake's body dropped low while its demonic master's did the reverse.

"So you are here," he breathed. "Finally."

Turning onto his back, the shackled monster smiled big. It was a curious sight. The way demons were tied up and strung in Purgatory, one might have forgotten for a moment how truly dangerous these beings were. But in certain moments, certain moments where they bared their fangs, the perniciousness was easy to see.

"Haha. The way your hands flutter around your weapon. You think I'm going to kill you, don't you?" Laughing quiet, it sputtered into a wet cough. "Human. As much as I would love to, a deal is a deal. I am starting to get desperate," the monster would admit.

"I'm of a reclusive nature. I adore the solitude, but even this imprisonment is becoming too much to bear. These people do strange things to demons here. The nurses, the doctors, supporting staff; they are all cruel. They all work in concert to test upon us demons day after day. To figure out how things work. How we regenerate. How much poison we can take. How much pain we feel when they tear off a limb...

AARRRRRRRRRRARRRRRRRRGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
​

And in a brief fit of anger, the aura of August seemed to radiate out and grip the air, yet just as quickly as it came, it hid.

"But...I couldn't even kill them if I wanted."

Flipping onto his side, the demon reiterated what he wanted from them. "I want out of here, human. And I'm sure that you do too. Cut off my head and you'll be stuck. Help me and you'll have your chance to escape."

The demon angled from his side to his belly and exposed the Nichirin cuffs that held his hands to his back.

"Please."

A Visitor
????
"HAHAHA! Oh that's good!"

High-pitched laugher echoed throughout the halls encircling cell block 6. After a moment's delay, out of the walls a shadowy figure emerged - entering the room opposite Kincaid and the demon on the floor.

"Please?", the newcomer asked.

"PLEASE!?" Again it asked, yet this time, more urgent.

"HAHAHA! You said please?" The person guffawed. "To a human?"

A silhouette and inky blob only moments before, the shadow materialized into and produced features of a woman with golden eyes, a golden necklace, and obsidian markings across her face. Spitting, the woman's expulsion landed inches from hitting the lying demon's face.

"Kuh! This does not concern you."

"Oh, but it does little August. What did I tell you, trash?" The woman asked. "What did I say about cowering in front of these things?" She inquired, looking toward Kincaid. "Please," she uttered once more, though to the reaper as if she didn't hear it herself.

"What kind of shit is this, hm? A demon begging a human for help?" Disgusted, the demon shifted a hard look to August, then slowly back to Kincaid.

"I can assure you human, my kind is not all like this. In fact, the majority of my kind makes sport of killing people like you. But looking at that weapon you hold, I'm sure you already know." Smirking, the feral-looking demon crossed her arms and leaned into the side of one wall.

"Slayer," she said in calm tone. "I give you permission to kill him. A demon that weak is hardly worth my time. He'd serve no purpose to us and get killed by one of your demon slayer infants before too long. He did well to keep that snake of his a secret from the humans, though it's still not enough. It would make no difference to me whether he died then or now. I'd only suggest you kill the staff from the hospital too when they make their rounds. Surely they would be mad to find one of their prized specimens gone."

Still smirking, the woman closed her eyes and yawned. There was not much to do in Purgatory, and the design of the tower definitely played with your mind. For now, messing with prisoners and the staff that observed them was all she could do. The Scythe-carrying woman seemed uninteresting from the time she was brought in, but this development now admittedly broke the monotonous run.

Hmph.

A shame it'd be over so quickly.

simj26

 

[simj26]

Purgatory:
Cell 6
KincaidThe demon was wrong. So wrong. Their hands weren't 'fluttering about' their scythe, because they think the demon wanted to kill them. They did so because Kincaid so dearly wanted to kill him. Kill. Kill, kill, kill, their entire body seemed to speak to them. They suppressed the urge, just enough to slightly loosen their grip on their weapon. Weak, pathetic, deprived of his sustenance in this oubliette, left here to be forgotten by the rest of the world. That was how the demon looked. If he were human, Kincaid would have felt something as he spoke. Unfortunately, they weren't. They didn't care. Demons were a plague. Being subjected to experiments and torture, that was no worse than what the demons had given humanity. Years of torment, years of pain. Kincaid had wandered far, and had heard stories many. One too many. Of lost loves, lost family, lost friends, taken by the demons, ones just like the one in front of them now. The demon should count himself lucky, that they were offering him his last words.

Another voice joined the conversation. Kincaid angled their head slightly, just enough to catch sight of a being materialising behind them. A golden-eyed woman, a demon, perhaps, from the looks of it. No man could command magicks like this. Kincaid doubted that this was her actual form. Nevertheless, Kincaid gripped her scythe. The blob-turned-woman began to speak. This was what they liked to do, wasn't it? Talk? Just talk, and talk, and talk. Kincaid wasn't listening to anything the woman was saying. That was, until she said a few select words. Slayer? Permission? Kincaid grit their teeth. Without so much as a warning, Kincaid spun around, and cleaved the woman in half. "I do not need your permission. Slink away back to your hole." Kincaid ordered, then turned their attention back to the other demon in the room, murder in their eyes.

They brought their foot down onto the demon's companion, trapping its head on the ground. It was not hard enough so as to kill it, but it was enough to cause it to writhe in pain. They raised their scythe, and brought its blunt end up at the demon's neck. With the slightest amount of effort, they lifted the demon's head up by his chin. "I'll be killing you now," Kincaid stated in a matter-of-factly tone. As sudden as a bolt from the black, their eyes lit up like embers in the dark, their whole being screaming out with killing intent. Blood, blood, blood! the scythe seemed to sing to them! Kill them all! Slaughter them! Bite, gnash, gnaw, crush! "I'll free you from this cursed life. Consider it my blessing." Kincaid declared. A prayer? Last rites? A catchphrase perhaps. It didn't matter. The only thing Kincaid knew for real, was that they had to kill demons. No matter who they were, no matter what they offered. Take one offer, turn one blind eye, and sooner or later, demons would overrun the world. They had to be stronger than this. To even momentarily consider a demon's offer was a mark of shame for them.

Words spent, Kincaid withdrew the blunt end from the demon's chin and brought the scythe down in a swift, sweeping motion, aiming straight to take the demon's head off his body.

White Masquerade

 

[White Masquerade]

Grand Mansion:
Grand Lobby

​

Roger Pinkerton
Grinning bad, Roger could not help but chortle at the words of the slayer. It was true indeed. Actions did speak louder than words and it was something he knew very well. As one not supposed to be fit for the role, but one who proved himself to be, the man saw that fire in her, one like Juliana - and he was impressed. Whenever one became a Hashira, at least under his command, he went through a process of finding whatever early history on the recommended he could. A person from the Rowenburg family, Hilda was heir to an old and wealthy lineage - one only a few millions dollars away from being on par with his own. An ancestry littered with wolves, there was only record of one incident in her life he had stumbled upon. And even then, his sources couldn't quite give the full story. It was only through the story of Jason, another slayer, that he had learned what transpired in full. A sad occasion where more than 7 children died, Hilda ended up being the only survivor. Later her father took care of the demon masquerading among the children, but the damage was already done. Little Hilda remained scarred. She never returned any of Jason's letters or correspondence and all her father could say was that his daughter had something to do and he firmly supported that that was where she was putting her all.

And now lo and behold, here she was nearly a decade later. A grown woman.

"Very well then," Roger announced not just to the slayer, but the whole hall. "My friends! The Kakushi will now be walking around amongst you handing out scraps of paper. If you choose to abstain, you may leave or wait to hear the results. If you vote yes, or vote no, please notate your choice and hand it back to the Kakushi that's closest."

Proceeding to walk back towards the wall in back of where he stood, Roger took out another pack of cigarettes. The more Hashira they had the better. It'd only make them stronger. Didier was blessed and Samantha was a prodigy, but there was always room for somebody with a heart willing to obtain a higher level. Whether Hilda turned out to be that kind of someone, it was a good chance to see if they could add one more to their ranks. Having six Hashira might be just enough to launch the backed operation they were thinking of. With the Eastern King -

"Sir?"

Hm?

Glancing over to a Kakushi now standing beside him, Roger raised a brow to see what was up.

"A light? Did you need a light, sir? You've been standing there staring at your cigarette for a long while now. I thought you might need one."

Embarrassed and caught off guard, the Pinkerton could only answer, "Heh. Okay, yeah why not?"

The cigarillo was lit and inhaling the smoke, Roger thanked the kid as they left. He was always getting pensive like this. Well, either way, what was done was done and now they had an opportunity to strike back, however ridiculous it seemed. He exhaled and taking another puff of the cigarette, the commander checked his gold watch to see the time. It was a pretty good turn out they had: over 500 slayers were there in attendance. While a few of the Hashira did not make it and several hundred of the regular men didn't too, what could he say? Demons could pop up anywhere and sometimes, there were simply some jobs you couldn't leave. Peoples' lives depended on it. He only wished wherever everyone was, they came out alright.

Decision Time

Spoiler: Decision Time

Walking back up to the bannister in full view of the congregation, Roger Pinkerton held the results of the vote in his hand. "My Slayers," he spoke once more that morning.

"With 335 abstaining and a vote of 223 yes'ses to 12 no's, I hereby declare Hilda Von Rowenburg in process to becoming the first Wolf Hashira of the United States!"

An applause erupted throughout the lobby: first by the Kakushi, next the novice demonslayers, then those still remaning in the room at large. It didn't seem like slayers were a handsy or affectionate set, but those men and women who still had any shred of warmth left in them after what they had experienced, went over to congratulate the Hashira-to-be. Roger watched the well wishes, pats on the back from the more brave, and the nods of those more reserved to Hilda.

"Hear, hear! Welcome, Hilda," Roger joined in, saluting her from the rafters. "You see you have the support of the rest of the corps behind you right Ms. Rowenburg? They have no issue with you becoming someone that will stand above, for, and before them. Carry the honor proudly. I know you know your father would be so proud."

Falling silent, the man let the commune go for a few more minutes, before travelling down the stairs to meet the woman himself. Slowly, the slayers backed away from the pair as the Corps commander laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Ms. Rowenburg. We expect great things from you. I expect great things from you. Humanity expects great things from you. I'm not sure if you're apprehensive or scared, but from what you said, or rather, didn't, I'm sure you'll go far. You and that wolf of yours." Letting her go, he continued.

"The person who recommended you would like to meet you. However, there's one more thing for you to do. I'd like you to head to New Genetics, the hospital here across grounds and speak to the Kakushi manning the dispensary. Tell them Roger said you're cleared to become a Hashira and they will tell you what to do next."

And that was that. It was now out of Roger's hands. From this point on, it would be up to Ms. Rowenburg whether she could do it or not. If the others would eventually come to recognize her as Hashira or not. Yey, before she could even begin to fight demons as one, there were things she would have to overcome herself, herself.

QuirkyAngel

 

[GasMaskie]

Grand Mansion:
Grand Lobby
​

"...Democracy at work, I suppose." Among the crowd of novices, barely minted, the young man smirked as he watched the proceedings. Naturally, he would have contributed some applause as well... Were it not for the cuffs that kept his arms bound. He had the urge to bring a hand to his chin as well, making his bindings all the more stifling. His eyes fell upon the newly confirmed Hashira.

Fair-skinned, no, perhaps even moreso as a result of her hair. The young man lacked experience as a demonslayer, let alone a fighter. But, he was certain of a sort of strength the woman possessed - one that made this promotion far more than just a possible political move. What struck him most about the woman, however, had nothing to do with her appearance. Rather, it was her name. Hilda Von Rowenburg.

"Germanic nobility." Blue-blooded - the sort who'd likely possess vast swathes of wealth in their native country, and likely even more pull in the land of the free. Relationships and connections tended to travel hand-in-hand with someone after all. While it wasn't too difficult to pass one off as the heir to some wealthy foreign dynasty in America, falsehoods seemed to have no place in this organization. The young man's eyes narrowed as he considered his current situation.

He had ultimately been caught, by a Pinkerton no less, and made privy to the secret dealings of honest-to-god demons. Pressed in to service, he narrowly managed to avoid becoming one of those strange servants. Better to be able to defend oneself as opposed to only having running and hiding as options. And while he hadn't been tossed into a suicidal situation quite yet, the handcuffs they adorned him with whenever they brought him out was proof enough of the distrust even as someone who had passed the exam. There was also the matter of his nichirin color - amber. While it served its purposes well - it offered little benefit to him on his own.

His eyes closed as he listened to the Pinkerton's words next. He had no real interest in living at this point, but he'd also prefer to die painlessly. It seemed as well - with the situation concerning that Eastern King fellow, that things would hopefully be winding down for the association. That Hilda woman was perfect for him - if his nichirin meant that he could do little more than support someone, then sticking with a Hashira would be the safest option. On the slimmest of chances that he could charm his way into her heart? He'd be set for life - regardless of his status as a captured thief.

Lawrence took a deep breath as his eyes opened once more. He had his priorities straight - and his gaze full upon the woman once more. The parasite had found his perfect host.

 

[QuirkyAngel]

Grand Mansion: Lobby --> The Hospital: New Genetics
Hilda Von Rowenburg

Arms folded, Hilda focused on her breathing while the Kakushi handed scraps of papers to other slayers, matching her breath with that of her canine companion. Regardless of the results, her duties didn’t change. Kill demons. Protect humanity. Popularity mattered little in that regard. If anything it’d be a hindrance…though, rising in the rankings did bring her in contact with stronger people, hence making it easier for her to achieve her goals. Her family’s goals.

Time ticked.

There wasn’t really anything for Hilda to do but wait, so that’s what she did. Wait and train, standing as still as a statue while Boreas stood protectively in front of her.

Now in sync with Boreas, Hilda was able to hear the steps Roger Pinkerton made as he walked back up to the banister to announce the results as clear as day. Pale blue eyes opened and zeroed in on the head of the Pinkerton Alliance. Was she nervous? A little. Opportunities to be considered a Hashira didn’t come everyday. However, she also knew that it was out of her hands as well–what other people thought of her that is.

Was being a Hashira really so simple?

223 to 12. Most abstained. And, just like that, she became a “Hashira”.

No. The Corps comander had said “in the process”. That meant this was just the beginning. Exhaling, Hilda returned the salute that Roger Pinkerton gave her, then turned to the clapping audience and saluted them–the 223 that voted for her–as well. She wouldn’t deny it felt nice to have her efforts recognized. Thanking them for their vote of confidence only seemed right as well…except she didn’t know who voted for her, who didn’t, and who abstained.

Roger was the first to approach and congratulate her, hand on shoulder. Awkward. Were they close enough for such a casual greeting? She’d expected a simple handshake offer at most. Still, Hilda nodded at his words. Expectations and directions. That was the sort of thing she was used to. “Yes, Sir. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Swiftly turning on her heels with a simple, casual flip of her long silver hair, Hilda would’ve made her way to New Genetics Hospital right away, but for the many people that stopped to congratulate her, following Roger’s example. Hilda responded cordially to her fellow Slayers. Shook their hands. Politely turned down offers of wine. Made quick excuses to cut the conversations short and leave. Just the usual. Perhaps because her senses were heightened, but Hilda felt an usually strong gaze on her and met eyes with a well-dressed blonde in cuffs( GasMaskie ). Briefly. Gloved hand dropping to soothingly stroke a growling Boreas, Hilda turned and continued on her way. She felt no malice…exactly. It was simply strange.

Still, Boreas growled the entire time she exited the mansion and crossed the grounds to New Genetics Hospital. She felt his displeasure as clearly as if it were her own. “Calm yourself, Boreas. We are in the presence of allies.”

Frankly, she had an idea of why she was being sent to the dispensary for the final portion of becoming a Hashira. A guess. She’d heard of the strengthening drugs used by some of her American Demon-Slaying comrades to become as strong as a demon. She’d never touched them. Never felt the need to. Was that the norm for becoming a Hashira these days? Was there a newer drug being developed? Science has come a long way since the discovery of the first demons on American soil.

New Genetics.

Hilda didn’t quite know how she felt about that. However, she did know she wanted to become stronger...strong enough to match her future comrades…and there was always a chance she was incorrect in her assumptions. Perhaps she was being sent to a dispensary called New Genetics for something else. Some other test that didn’t have anything to do with altering her DNA.

A gloved hand tightened around the knob of the ax strapped to her hip and her eyes hardened as she walked through the hospital doors, announcing her presence to the first Kakushi she encountered. “I am Hilda Von Rowenburg. Roger Pinkerton has given me the clearance to become the next Hashira.”

Hospitals always made her uncomfortable. The smell of blood. The smell of death. However, unlike Boreas, Hilda had been trained to school her features.

White Masquerade

 

[White Masquerade]

Grand Mansion:
Regional Director's Office

​

Theresa Marvo
It felt like an eternity Ms. Marvo found herself staring at the man who burst in through her office door. Eyes moving to and scanning him slow from left to right, then up to down, Theresa raised her head from the paperwork on her desk. Stopping work, the director leaned back in her chair. As she sat studying the man, not a word was exchanged between the two as the contest went on. The thing was, usually when people came into the Regional Director's office, they came into the office with a little more...class. And irritated, Theresa had to say the same exact thing.

"Usually," The woman repeated aloud. "When people come into the Regional Director's office, they come in with a little more...class. However," she admitted. "You are right, B-Positive, Perry. I did summon you here."

That was right. The moment Perry stepped through the door, the woman could already smell what his blood was like. The people with B-series blood had a faintly distinct whiff of what she could say was almond spice, while typical A's carried a sort of...lemon salt. Type O's. Type O's though...they were a different category all on their own. From blueberries to mangos and apple rind to cinnamon, you never really quite knew what you would get when O's walked by. And this string of variety was the very reason her preference were for the type O's and why, the instant Perry set foot into her room, she knew she would dislike him.

A god damn type B.

It was hard to hide the disdain curling on her face, but as a professional, Theresa was at least used to working through her personal affections. What she had to discuss with the man was of utmost importance anyway.

"A-hem. B-Positive. As you already know, we have been tracking the movement of different gangs on the highways and byways for any organization that could have been the same one that killed your family. Even though we have the network of the Pinkertons at our disposal, when it comes to learning about the actions of demons, the tactics of humans don't amount to much. During the time of your employment up until now, the Pinkertons have only been able to find a name. A name belonging to the group that may have did it. Demons Are Ruthless Killers - or Dark for short. It's not exactly the most creative, but it does get the point across I suppose."

And that's when quite suddenly, a change of circulation from the office's ventilation system turned and Ms. Marvo was hit in the face by a wall of Perry's B-positive scent. Lips beginning to tremble and the woman now holding a hand her mouth, swallowed hard. This was not good. The reason Ms. Marvo hated B-type blood holders was not because they did anything wrong...but because they made her like this.

"P-Perry!" She gagged, quickly pushing hard down on her desk. Supporting herself into a stand, Theresa kept hidden the manic gaze across her face as she waited for the feeling to pass. After moments, she regained composure and continued on.

"Th...Those shipments," she breathed. "Those shipments your family smuggled for DARK, were highly experimental drugs, weapons and materials. Drugs not stable enough to use on regular slayers despite the boost in speed and power. Weapons building upon the latest advancements in automatic and semi-automatic firing technology. And materials such as hybridized wisteria along with proprietary reducing agents to mine nichirin ore. We would like to get these items back, as demons knowing what we research does not bode well for us in the long-term. I think you understand the importance of this, right B-Positive?"

Looking at Perry now, the eyes of Ms. Marvo's were locked firmly on his. Breathing heavily, she gripped the sides of her desk and muscled through the streaming desire. At just the right angle, the eyes of the woman seemed to twinkle a pale blue as the light catching her face gave her irises an unnatural hue.

"I-I pr-propose a plan to clarify whether this Dark group is in fact those we are searching for, both you and I. Recently at New Genetics, we've developed a new pill, ah, a kind of opiate that makes its user immune to pain. What I want to do B-Positive, is take these drugs and go undercover. I want you to pretend you're transferring these pills for us to another one of our other estates and see if they come for you. It will be a trap - one they cannot resist. We will give you a minimal amount of security and carelessly disseminate when, where, and how we're going transfer the drugs. When this group appears, B-positive, that will be your chance to ascertain if they're the ones or not. The only thing I ask, is that you do not kill them until you have information on the whereabouts of our stolen merchandise. It is imperative that we get those back."

Stepping out from behind the desk, Theresa's cheek were flush. Inhaling the scent of his blood was pure ecstacy. Before she knew what she was doing, she had already made her way to the front of the room and locked the office door.

"It's awfully hot in here," she smiled, unclasping the first button of her shirt. And walking closer to him - "What I want you to do Perry, is go to the dispensary in New Genetics and pick them up. Once you leave the estate, your eagle will give you a letter detailing where you should be headed as soon as everything is ready on my end."

Pit.

Pat.​

Now they were directly in front of each other with Ms. Marvo imperceptibly moving her body to block Perry's route to the room door. "Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be with a demon? How they would mate? If the relationship could even work? The thought of it is quite fascinating, is it not? Perry," she said slow.

"Suppose I were to tell you I was a demon. Would you have a drink with me if I offered? Would you spend an hour with me if no one would know? I'm curious, demon slayer. If I offered you everything, how far would you go?"

IG42

 

[Lucem]

Somewhere in the Country
Colt Curtis
Quickly pulling his head out of the lake, Colt slicked back his hair and felt wet strands of gold slap against the back of his neck. A smile stretched across the young man's face as he slowly opened his eyes, enjoying the sun's warm kiss. "Phew!" With his thirst quenched and his body cooled, he let out a deep breath, feeling as lively as ever.

Licking his lips to get rid of the few remaining droplets, he savored the taste once again. Some folks probably wouldn't be so eager to drink from a place like this because of potential diseases and whatnot, but Colt never had to worry about things like that. With just a flick of his tongue, he could tell right away if something was bad. He'd heard a few stories about people who were really good at hearing and smelling, and it seemed like he fell into the same category as the rest of those oddballs. Compared to those other skills, tasting wasn't very flashy, but it suited him just fine.

"Nothin' better than straight from the source. Ain't that right, Sugar?" Turning his head, Colt looked to the brown mare at his side. In response, his partner flared her nostrils and blew air undeneath the water, causing bubbles to form on the crystal-clear surface. She didn't give him much of an answer, still refusing to pull away from her well-deserved drink for even a second, but he got the message. "Knew you'd agree."

They'd been on the road for a while now, never sticking in one place for too long. It was always one mission after the next, only giving them time to rest in a nearby town for a day or two. Now that they were able to enjoy a rare moment of relaxation, neither wanted to leave their little oasis. If possible, Colt would've liked to spend more time kicking back and lazing around, but the Pinkertons didn't seem very keen on the idea. That was made evident when he saw a familiar eagle soaring above his head once again. "Guess we're just too popular for own good."

Extending an arm, Colt smiled at his feathery friend as it came to rest on its new perch. "Whaddya got for me this time, bud?" Like every other time they went through this, the messenger opened its beak and let the rolled paper fall into the blond's other hand. After receiving a few pets as a reward for its hard work, it took flight, circling around a few times before leaving to fulfill its other duties.

Having gone through this more than enough times over his long career, Colt fully expected the men and women on top to send him straight into another mission. However, he was pleasantly surprised when he discovered there was no drab job description for him to read. There was only a request for him to come to the the eastern Pinkerton estate. No reason was given for the summons, but it must've been something big. "Sure hope we're not gettin' canned."

Turning his attention back to Sugar, he sauntered over and gave her a few pats as he waved the letter in the air. "Looks like we got a little party to attend. Ready to hit the road?" In response, she lifted her head from the water, the splash subjecting Colt to a little bit of unexpected rain. The energetic neigh that followed earned a chuckle from the soaked Slayer. "That's my girl."


Grand Mansion:
Grand Lobby
As everyone around him erupted into applause, Colt followed suit, clapping for the young woman who was now in the process of becoming a Hashira. Despite being one of the people who voted for her to receive the honor, he'd never actually met Hilda before. All the information he had came from acquaintances who liked to talk about her skills, her beauty, or the charming little fella that walked by her side. It was enough for him to judge that she was a good candidate, but he would've liked to get to know her a little better. He was tempted to walk over and offer her a celebratory swig from his flask, but he noticed that she was turning down a few glasses of wine. It was a real shame.

Whenever he had the chance, Colt liked to invite his fellow Slayers to chat with him over a strong drink and a hot meal. That's usually how he stayed so well-informed on what happened around the country, getting the particulars from various sources. People also liked to talk about how their training was coming along. Socializing was a good way to know when someone perfected a new skill, and he'd often ask them to elaborate so he could add said skills to his own repertoire. Although, getting the news and stealing breathing techniques wasn't really the reason he fluttered around people like a social butterfly. That was just a byproduct.

Colt just liked talking to people. He loved meeting new folks, learning about them and the things they've seen. Unfortunately, being marked as one of the tastiest snacks in the country made it hard to do that. The other Slayers were the only people he could chat up for long periods of time without having to worry. They could handle themselves just fine if one of the nightkin caught a whiff of his wonderful scent and lost control. Joining up with the Pinkertons was never his choice, and his passion for the mission wasn't as strong as others, but being here gave him the opportunity to feel like he was something besides a walking hazard. However, he always remembered to keep things in moderation. At the end of the day, he was just too irresistible.

If he could give his coworkers any advice, it'd be to take things easy whenever the opportunity presented itself. Life was short, especially in this field. He believed everyone should be able to spend every day doing what makes them happy. Sadly, the people here would only be able to do that if demons were no longer a problem. That's why he hoped all the stuff Roger said turned out to be true. He wasn't overly optimistic or invested in the war, but it would've been really nice if everyone could enjoy peace. He missed working in the kitchen back home.

Peeling himself off the wall, Colt tucked his hands inside his pockets and scanned the crowd, trying to spot any familiar faces. With a turnout like this, there was probably an old friend or two around here. If not, that just meant he had the chance to turn a stranger into a buddy. It was a celebration, so he was gonna enjoy his free time as much as possible.

 

[IG42]

Perry O'Donovan
Smirking belligerently at the chastisement Perry spread his hands and shrugged. "Sorry, I was in such a hurry to get here I left the bugler who was supposed to announce me behind." Dropping his arms a touch of impatience leaked into his voice. "Since we're missing the pomp how about we get down to business instead?" Grabbing a chair he planted it in front of the desk and dropped himself into the seat.

Lounging in the chair Perry's brow furrowed in confusion as the director spoke. Why does she keep saying "be positive"? Do I look that grumpy? The rest of the briefing had him lean forward with interest, at last there was not only a lead but a concrete plan to find the killers of his father and brothers. "'DARK'?" He echoed. "At least I was a subtle criminal." While he was focused on mulling it over the anticipation still wasn't enough for him to miss her increasingly flustered behaviour.

Watching her as she walked around the room he stood when she locked the door and watched her carefully. "A bit late to decide this is a private meeting isn't it?" The segue into talking about the mating habits of demons made the scene even stranger. "Demons don't age or die from sickness so I doubt they have the capacity to breed at all, though I expect the hedonistic shites do it for fun on occasion when the mood strikes and be more bitey than most." Stepping closer he leaned in and kissed her neck leaving a hickey, pulling away slightly he whispered in her ear. "Well I make a point of not turning down a drink." There was a slight buzz underlying his words as he began using his breathing style, if she really was a demon the mark he had left on her should fade away any second with her unnatural healing and he would be ready to draw a weapon.

White Masquerade

 

[White Masquerade]

Grand Mansion:
Regional Director's Office

​

Theresa Marvo
The euphoria that rushed through her every synaptic nerve was like nothing else. That single kiss and suck from the bespectacled demon slayer threatened to make the woman go blind.

This. This was what made those who were B-Positive so irritating to her mind. Similar to those who carried the marechi blood, B-positives functioned like an aphrodisiac. The once quiet, direct, and introverted woman would in moments, become someone else entirely against her will. To be frank, she might even say to hell with the Pinkertons and treat herself to a large bite of this human, but inevitably her logic would wind on and bring her down to Earth. It was true: the blood of humans was enticing and she'd love to kill them all, but what kind of consequences would that bring? A life on the run? Constantly being hunted? Denial of access to the books, research, and tools that so joyously feed her mind? Ms. Marvo was not just hungry in the literal sense of the word, but metaphysically too. And to the woman, she'd much rather starve her body than nurse malnourishment of the other kind.

"Well, I guess now the cat is out of the bag then?"

The hickey Perry left on her neck shimmered and disappeared as the cells of her skin regenerated anew. "However, there's no need to be hasty drawing your weapon. I would lose immediately to someone so trained like you. Even if you are, just human."

Smugly smirking, the director moved quickly to unlock the office door while steering clear of Perry's path.

"I was merely trying to satisfy the ruminations of my mind. I really am curious as to whether demons can mate with humans, what that would look like, and other things of that nature. There are so many things, so many things I have questions about. So many things I'd like to figure out. Though it's clear you are not one I can share that enthusiasm and passion with."

Gesturing towards the open door, Ms. Marvo failed to directly confirm whether she was in fact a demon or not.

"I really do hope you find the ones responsible for the tragedy befalling the O'Donovan family. It must have been a terrible sight seeing their remains chewed and strewn across that concrete floor. Maybe after you've dealt with killing those monsters and making peace with what happened, you'd be more amenable to trying out some of my remarkable things with me, yes? Well, one could only hope."

And straightaway with that a Kakushi in their mime-ish garb, stepped to the office door from the outside, in. Bowing to both the director and demon slayer, the Kakushi held out a hand for Perry to take. Before the man would know it, he'd be being led to the hospital's dispensary to pick up the pills Ms. Marvo told him about. That was at least...unless he had other plans?

IG42

 

[White Masquerade]

The Hospital: New Genetics:
The Injury Ward

​

"AHHHHHHHHH!

NO!

NO!

STOP!

IT HURTS!!!

NO!!!

STOP!!!"

Disoriented and groggy, Ms. Hilda Von Rowenburg would find herself strapped down to a small bed, white and devoid of anything to make it feel nice. Time passed slow as her eyes felt heavy and began to close. In mighty frantic and anxiety-filled growls, her pet wolf Boreas, would clop around the bed, snapping jaws at any Kakushi or nurse that would dare to come close.

"How do you even get a wolf to listen to you," one Kakushi asked, turning to the other by their side.

"Trust me, it's not normal," the other replied. "She's from the Rowenburg family. Their family has been slaying demons for a while and is known for using wolves to assist them in the hunt. I even heard her dad runs with a pack of 8 of them. From a fat one to a small one, he has a wolf for every occasion. If you ask me, I'm surprised she's only been able to tame one."

Looking at each other, the two Kakushi shook their heads and idled on as a nurse tried her best to monitor Hilda's vitals even if it was from afar. It was a long time since anyone was sent over to the injury ward to undergo training to become a Hashira. At first, looking upon the woman and her pet wolf, the nurse didn't notice a missing limb or trail of blood, so figured it might have been something more sinister: a side effect related to the drugs some of the slayers took. Many soldiers came by New Genetics after overdosing on brain-boosting pills or to get their minds re-aligned after crashing from the drug's initial high. Thinking about it, there was a woman who just last week, came in and complained of getting poor sleep, constant tremors, and frequent hallucinations after coming back from an extended mission. Suffice it to say, the work they did here at New Genetics was good, but more often than not, the most they found themselves being able to offer patients who returned was a pat on the back and a kind word.

So as this woman, who apparently had no injuries, strode up to the injury ward and stated her name, there was only one thing that nurse could think of for the formality. The execution of a Hasira.

"Room 12! Room 12!

Please!

I need someone in room 12! He's going into shock!

Get him some Morphine and begin conducting CPR, STAT!"

Fwoosh.

​

Gowns whistling in the air brought the nurse back to reality as an attache of emergency room specialists ran past door 27 where she was stationed. Hilda Von Rowenburg's skin looked clammy and her eyes fluttered, but at least the woman's breathing was rhythmic and steady. The nurse had heard of demon slayers taking training to become a Hashira, but never really witnessed the process herself. Honestly, she was wondering what was so marked about this thing that Roger and The Regional Director would both have to sign off on it.

'Hm. What's going on in that head of yours I wonder...?'

What's Going On Inside Her Head!
In an empty city split by roads and concrete buildings, it was shrouded by night and looked eerily familiar to the town of Lancaster, Pennsylvania near the hours of 7 PM. All was silent there and undisturbed with even the moon hiding its silver face. But if that were the case, then how was she able to see?

There was no sun. No Boreas. No father. No people. No light. Just her and her red Nichirin axe pulsing by the side.

"Liar!" Once voice called from behind.

"Freak! There's no such thing as demons!" Cried the sound of another.

"You're as dumb as your dog!"

"Hahaha! That was a good one! We didn't even want to play with you anyway, creep! Just get out of here!"
​

Like illuminated ghosts, glowing young boys and girls swirled around Hilda Von Rowenburg, laughing, pointing fingers, and guffawing as they continued to taunt her. This went on until one of the children suddenly tripped and burst into black as they hit the ground, emitting a blood-curdling roar. The other kids froze, and immediately stopped their taunts of Hilda, with each one falling and disappearing until the slayer was-

Fwoop.
​

Once again by herself, surrounded by pitch black.

Before long, light returned to the woman's environment, albeit tinged in blood-red. Standing before her now were the upright corpses of those same children, maimed, half-eaten and held together more by sinew than bone.

"You let us die..." One kid murmured.

"If you knew they were a demon...why didn't you do anything?"

"Hilda...WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE US???!" screamed a child, falling and twisting unnaturally on the floor.
​

"Yes. I’m at a loss myself. Why didn't you save them, Hilda?" This one was new. A new voice coming from somewhere. From a body more mature and not covered in blood. From aways it came closer, and walking into full view of the slayer, this new person carried the same red nichirin axe as Von Rowenburg.

Eyes a similar mix of blue and grey, the newcomer shared the style of hair as the one now tightly strapped and convulsing in room 27 of the New Genetics Hospital's injury ward.

"Hello, Hilda. I am also Hilda. And by the request of these children...I've come to kill a demon. And the demon…is you."

QuirkyAngel