Realistic or Modern ✽ Efflorescence ✽ Life in Skyvine [Main Thread]

[Queen.]

Discord chat: Efflorescence​

━━━━━━❦━━━━━━

Efflorescence
of the
Flowers
wilt as
One

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Who are the residents of Skyvine? Well... Some will tell you. Some will simply exist with grace.
❄
Colorado. Winter. It's snowing on and off.
The air is crisp, and ideal for sweater weather. The town is small.
There's only so many places to go. But this doesn't deter the blooming youth.
They love this place. Some escaped from other parts of the world. Some blossomed here from birth.
But regardless, they all want to stay. And for good reason.
The land is rich with a sense of freedom. It's like the very atmosphere bleeds peace and rehabilitation.
Some say even the waters are healing. Other say it's a myth, but sure as hell is a convincing one.
Flowers are who we are. We just don't know it.
Who are you?

━━━━━━❦━━━━━━​

Spoiler: C a r n a t i o n

played by: Danidify
Carnations are someone who's pure, affectionate, and peaceful.
They're extremely receptive to emotions and have a welcoming familiarity.
They're as sweet as can be, respectful, and seem like they can do no wrong.
They are usually positive people who enjoy helping others in their spare time.
They're selfless, innocent, and a little curious at times.
They can be naive, pushovers, and painfully timid.

Spoiler: C r o c u s

played by: Chimney Swift
Crocus' are someone who's entertaining and vivacious.
They don't see the glass half full, or half empty.
They're withdrawn, vengeful, secretive at times, with a tendency to be sly.
They're usually hiding themselves just to play it safe.
They can be mistrusting, but extremely loyal to those who gain their security.
Crocus' are artistic, but sometimes sheepish and insecure.
They can be paranoid, manipulative, and neurotic.

Spoiler: D a f f o d i l

played by: Minyari
Daffodils are someone who's intelligent and sharp, with defined opinions.
They are strong-willed and resilient to hate, always seeing the good in others.
They're respectful and obey authority.
You'll find them to be social as well, but not quite as forward as roses.
They're a bit shyer, but still just as popular.
They're positive thinkers, and you'll hear their bright side of life frequently.
They don't like to speak openly about emotion but are still eager to be a listener.
They can be impatient, stubborn, and unrealistic.

Spoiler: D a h l i a

played by: Soap
Dahlias are optimistic social butterflies, with unique personality traits.
They're a breath of fresh air to many but may also rub others the wrong way.
They're bright, warm-hearted, and nurturing.
You'll find them to be perky, and lively. Another common trait is loudness.
They can be immature, sensitive, and overly talkative.

Spoiler: L a n t a n a

played by: Queen.
Lantana flowers are beautiful, but considered weeds.
Lantanas are bottled up, reserved, and silent.
They tend to keep their thoughts to themselves and don't voice much.
They're the strong silent type, and always seem to be unfazed.
Inside, however, they're extremely emotional and can lash out if pushed.
Lantanas are cryptic and calculated and keep you at arm's length.
They're almost always gone in their thoughts.
They can be apathetic, moody, and unsociable.

Spoiler: M a r i g o l d

played by: apolla
Marigolds are upbeat, extensively creative, and humorous.
They're generally fun to be around and keep up great conversations.
They're trustworthy and loyal.
Not to mention easy to talk to.
But the biggest frustration about them is they don't open up.
Inside, they're locked.
They have no real need to express their emotions.
They're conservative and cautious.
They can be depressive, secretive, and self-destructive.

Spoiler: R o s e

played by: Inb4Cloaker
Roses are ardent, but may also be almost caustic.
Red is someone who's passionate, powerful, confident, and sharp-tongued.
They can't resist speaking their mind, and their temper is wild.
They're a rowdy, sometimes party type who always have something to say
and always need to get in the last word.
Many are attracted to their confident stride.
They can be harsh, ruthless, and vain.

Spoiler: S u n f l o w e r

played by: No one
Sunflowers are independent, free-spirited, and lovers of life.
They tend to prefer being outdoors and are frequently die-hard animal lovers.
They seem to have a sort of balance to them, as if peaceful.
Some call them wise beyond their age.
But these are on good days.
They're tranquil, and against controversy.
When you speak to them, it's easy to get lost in their individualistic charm.
They can be intense, easily afraid, and restless.

Spoiler: T i g e r l i l y

Played by: Nobelia
Tiger lilies are someone who's independent, noble, and loyal.
They are a fierce force to be reckoned with.
They tend to be leader types and may have a gracious presence.
Once you develop a bond with one, it is unbreakable.
They protect at all costs, and will always defend their beliefs.
Tiger lilies are often businesspeople considering their innovativeness.
They can be demanding, prideful, and relentless.

Spoiler: N i g h t s h a d e

Played by: brutus
Nightshades are cryptic, hard to read, and inquisitive.
It can be hard to satiate the Nightshades' thirst for knowledge.
As such, Nightshade's are curious souls.
They are quite creative when inspiration takes them.
Exploration can drive a Nightshade.
Nightshades are often smooth talkers, though still maintaining stoicism.
While Nightshades aren't particularly timid, they don't directly speak their intentions.
When they do, it is because they were coerced or found it to be a necessity.
Nightshades can be tricky, hot headed, and irrational;
brimming with venomosity.
They can be bitter and are most certainly grudge-holders.

code by spookie ​

 

[Queen.]

Boulevard Castleberry

Location: Frozen lake | Interacting with: No one | Mentions: Elias brutus

Nestled in her right ear was the bud of her earphones, chaotically blasting hard rock at the highest level. The drum solo was something legendary, and Boulevard found herself nodding along as she paced at the brim of the frozen lake. There was what looked like a bullethole through the "Warning: No ice skating" sign stuck clumsily in the snow, and the small woman eyed it as she paced past. Her eyes flickered toward the flat, still surface of ice, wondering just how thick it could have been. Compact enough to hold her 80lbs of fierce might? Or paperthin, like her wrists? Would she slip through the glaze? Part of her was tempted to test the limits of her own audacity. But even Boulevard proved not to be that reckless, and that was truly making a statement.

The vixen did a perfectly timed 360-degree turn to the beat of her song, sniffling toward the end of her shifting movement. Her nose felt stiff and raw from the frigid atmosphere, and she enjoyed the prickling at the ends of her blueing fingers. She wore a dark outfit, which generously complimented her holographic black lipstick. Her hands were free of the gloves she normally wore in this weather, primarily due to the fact that she enjoyed the numbness and stiff pain that accompanied going without. Her shamrock green orbs studied the horizon. It was around early afternoon, and the sun was at its highest. It was stuck behind a thicket of clouds, which she appreciated. Clouds had long come to be her closest friend, shielding her from unneeded warmth.

Clearing her itching throat, Boulevard resolved that the spot she had come across, just beyond a small snowed over collection of boulders, was the ideal spot to rest. She'd been pacing for miles, her tracks trailing back to the home she shared with her roommate unwillingly. Originally, she had intended to come here and live in confined solitude, not really planning to pursue any type of relationship with any of the common folk. Being what was known as a "Rockie" made her stick out like a sore thumb in this area, the lake more popular for the wealthier and expansive homes. She relished the privacy, as the nearest house was on the other side of the body of icy waters.

She dusted the cool white powder from the top of a boulder, perching her bony rear atop of it. She let her shoulder shrug so that her messenger bag would slip off, the weight transferring to her forearm as the strap fell. Boulevard pulled it to her lap, opening it up to peek into its contents. Her fingers were too numb to use her yo-yo right now. Perhaps she could eat those 4 pieces of sushi she'd prepared this morning. Her lip curled at the mental image of someone watching her chew. It was almost a fear to consume anything in front of people. Like they would say some utter judgemental garbage and mention her to their bored companions. Why that mattered to her, she couldn't identify. It was just a nagging threat.

The inky haired woman pulled the headphone from her ear, adjusting her black sunhat after unintentionally bumping it. It was unusual to wear a sunhat in this weather. She was unusual.

Instead of eating, Boulevard reached deep into the contents of her bag and spilled out a pack of cigarettes, along with her crappy flame patterned lighter. After lighting one, she slipped it into her mouth and took a hefty drag, almost like she was challenging the whole thing. The smoke came out with the vapor of the air, mingling together as the wind carried both away in its gentle gust. The cigarette held a touch of obsidian lipstick on it, smeared at the base. She smirked, then allowed her gaze to wander to the skies. There was a cumulonimbus that distantly resembled a cat, and her mind trailed back to Meechie at home. How was the little guy fairing?

Boulevard's eyes scanned the squandered elements of her messenger bag, and she began to wonder why she had so much crap stowed away at all times. Scratching at her upper arm, she picked at a loose thread from her shadowy ensemble, almost tempted to yank at it until it all came apart. Her fingers begged for cover, but the willowy woman refused their request. Instead, she threw her bag to the floor and began to scoop the innards back into it, an insignificant amount of snow coming with it. She froze dead when she gathered that the pills she had wrapped up in a diminutive woven baggie had come loose, spangling the grounded frost. "Shit." She whispered, having almost forgotten that they were there. Elias had dealt them to her, and she paid her loyalty fee in full. This hemorrhaged a chunk of her savings from the flower shop job.

After peering over her shoulder with mild paranoia, she returned the unsubscribed substance to the safety of their woven tomb, a couple finding their fate in her mouth. She dry swallowed three, shaking her head as they slid down awkwardly against her petite throat. If Neptune, her sister, had seen her pop them just then, she would have lost her red little head. Bee commonly wondered why she chose crimson for her hair, and Nepsy would question the same for Berry and her raven black locks. They were both naturally chocolate-brown maned, but as Bee always said, 'If there's something going on in your life, you're going to change your hair.'

The high came gradually. It started as a steady prickling in the shoulders and lower neck, then progressively snowballed into the entirely euphoric alteration of reality. She was grinning subtly, now lying warm against the snow with her head perched against a rock. It felt good to escape. Her mind was aloof and free of anxiety, and she simply watched, like a third party observer, as the billowy clouds overhead twisted into wild shapes. There was nothing to disrupt. Nothing to torment or wreak havoc on her consciousness. She was transiently unfettered. But was that true freedom in the long run? Especially when you knew you would return to yourself, only to totter in your despondency?

code by Ri.a

 

[Soap]

Alena Avery

Location: The GreenHouse| Interacting with:No-one | Mentions: Boulevard, Queen.

She sighs heavily as she carries in another box, filled with things she probably didn't even need, "Bee? You here?" she yelled throughout the small-apartment, she had waited a second for a response, but nothing. She realized she wasn't here, she began walking towards her room, it had been about a month since she first came to skyvine. Once her car had broke down, she thought of it as a sign. It was beautiful here, what better place to gather inspiration from? So, she started looking for an apartment. Many of them were pricey, and money wasn't exactly something she had a lot of, She looked around for a room-mate. & with just a little bit of luck, she had found one. Sure, Boulevard wasn't super cheerful all the time, come to think of it..She wasn't sure if she'd ever seen her smile, maybe she's just a bit... shy? whatever the case was, Alena's positive that she could get through to her. With another sigh, she dropped the box on-top of her bed. And flopped down right next to it, staring the ceiling. She'd came here for inspiration, something, anything.

But, nothing. Nada. Zero. It was like she completely forgot how to write, she had wrote articles just for the paychecks, but that's different, she didn't feel anything. She wants to feel passionate about what she's writing. She used to, now.. she just don't know what she feels anymore, she felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket. With an annoyed groan, she got up off the bed. And pulled out her phone, looking at the caller ID. It was her father, "Yeah..nope." she pressed decline, and put her phone back into her pocket.
She didn't want to find out what he wanted, she knew he didn't call just to chat. He never does, but she wasn't interested in dealing with it right now. She looked around her bedroom, she still had a lot of boxes that she didn't unpack yet, she really should get around to it, but it wasn't going to be today. Maybe Bee had a good idea, why stay in?
She threw on her jacket, grabbed her laptop bag, and walked out towards the door.

Whilst walking around the town, a café had caught her eye. Why not? she thought to herself, she had walked in, smelling the aroma of the expresso & pastries. she had ordered a hot chocolate, and picked a table near the corner, pulling out her laptop, to attempt to work. She took a deep breath, "Alright, you got this, put some words down, Alena." She talked to herself, staring at the blank page before her.

 

[Chimney Swift]

Location : The Greenhouse café and library
Interactions:
Mentions:

Tucked away among the dusty old tomes of the greenhouse library's historical nonfiction section, safely distanced from the overwhelming aroma of coffee and the constant hum of patron's conversations, sat a familiar little oddity.

The book in his white-knuckled hands, entitled The Rise and Fall of the Eocene Megafauna , was a lengthy volume that looked almost comically large in comparison to its reader, who was delicately curled up among the cobwebs and the shelves, gingerly turning pages. He had poised the book propped up on his knees, as if it was too heavy to simply hold in his hands. The faded rays of sunlight, the floating dust motes, and his grey tweed coat - tailored to his thin frame and still speckled with melting snowflakes - only served to visually shrink him down even more... just a little ghost with a giant old book.

Oliver was a frequent visitor to this corner of the library. It wasn't uncommon to see him quietly stumbling in on his way home from work, bookbag weighed down with his latest interests. His books werw nearly always a little overdue, but he generally had a handful of change to pay the late fee, and for the most part the librarians were just glad someone cared enough about the old texts to read them at all.

He never bothered anyone... Oliver was an expert at keeping to himself, almost oblivious to the rest of the activity in the greenhouse, momentarily lost in his own little world of prehistoric animals and odd evolutionary theories. It certainly hadn't occurred to him yet that he should probably have arrived home by now. Initially he thought he was just going to pick up some things and check out, but this volume caught his eye, and, well...

Oliver was never "just going to pick up some things".

It wasn't in his nature to be that precise.

​

Code by apolla

 

[Nobelia]

Teiga Reymore

At: Train Station ♦ Interacting w: Those Relevant to Him Getting Home ♦ Mentions: None

"Attention all passengers. Please proceed with caution. All tickets will be inspected to ensure their working order. Do not attempt to perform any sport activities within the premises. Next stop is Aspen Station."

A chime sounded from within the train, signaling to its riders that they have arrived at their destination. Two opposing doors glided open, seating themselves in the inner catches of the train's frame. A flurry of bodies crammed through the hatchway of the train doors, impatient to reach the rest stop in light of the chilly weather. The afternoon sun radiated sunny glory, yet it did little to thaw the frostiness of the atmosphere.

Teiga Reymore departed from the coach, and onto the platform--a sharp click sounding from the metallic bottoms of his Oxfords. He smoothly tugged at the inner collar of his dress shirt, the pairing pinstriped blazer folded over one hand, and the other tucked neatly away in his trouser pocket. His calm stood prominent against the surrounding disarray. People scurried together in groups, essentially for obtaining the bonus of warmth, and fighting against the bitter winds. Teiga couldn't fathom what the fuss was all about.

He focused intently into no particular form nor object, pondering over one fact. He'd reached his hometown. Perhaps this was a moment where he should have been properly sentimental, yet nothing but displeasure and contempt lingered within. An abdominal place with equally abdominal memories. Within the natural aesthetics of the landscape itself, however--there wasn't much to dislike. Healing, purifying, rewarding--it was, to exist in a place such as Skyvine. Had the habitation of certain individuals been removed from it, Skyvine would have ranked a utopia.

At least, by Teiga's modest requirements..

A gust of wind surged, and a passing group of teen aged girls shrieked along with it--half in amusement, and partially because the cold stung. The frigid breeze insisted on further disarranging his moderately disheveled slick back. Teiga absentmindedly swept his hair into position in one fluid motion. He raised his silver MontBlanc watch, leveling it within immediate view. The dials announced exactly 1:02 PM.

Remi was late.

How spectacular of her, however--he was incredibly lacking in more time to spare.

Teiga meddled through the slit of his trouser pocket, head tilted to the side, as he mentally conjured the item he was probing for. The moment he did so, his cell phone resounded, signalling surrounding attention towards him. A sophisticatedly clad young man, glowering at an offending ID, indifferent to the encompassing bustle, evidently wealthy, and, significantly attractive. Many among the masses interrupted their ventures to stop and stare. Teiga disregarded their presence.

His finger swiped right, answering the call.

"Remi," He stated curtly. "Fix this habit of yours, or you're fired."

"Excuse me?" a young girl's voice spiked indignantly. "I'll follow your little tail, be it Russia or Iceland. How, exactly, is it my fault this place has the connective power of two dead vultures chained on an island in the Bahamas?"

"How disrespectful to those creatures, am I hearing excuses for your laziness?"

"I was only two minutes behind!" Remi's tone was incredulous.

"Surely?"

"Don't mess with me!" Remi was probably kicking his desk in a bout of petty revenge.

Teiga tuned her out, scanning the crowds for a specific kind of person, and tucking his phone between the support of his shoulder and left cheek. He made eye contact with, and raised a sharp hand to the awareness of a porter boy, whom was intending to load up an irritable passenger's belongings. Said passenger sent the dirtiest of looks Teiga's way, clearly displeased that some rich bastard interrupted his service. The porter looked between the angry customer, and the wealthy one-- visibly assessing his priorities in life.

"Can I help you, sir?" the porter asked, jogging over with his trolley at tow.

For the sake of preserving some lives he fully intended to terminate, Teiga feigned not seeing the customer behind the porter flipping him off. He extracted a folded piece of paper, and held it out for the porter to collect from him.

"Seventh coach, compartment thirty two. Have Mr. Steele at the reception deliver the luggage to that address."

"Uh, s-sir, what?" the porter boy sputtered, staring blankly at the slip he took into his hand, and then at Teiga himself.

Teiga simply did not have the patience to entertain him any further.

"Exactly what I said. Take your confusion to Mr. Steele at the front desk, as I have extensive tasks at hand," he stated as a matter-of-factly, and strode away, down the ever winding platform.

He arrived at the ticketing office to verify his identification, and Remi, unfortunately, continued to speak.

"Who are you talking to? Are you listening?" She exhaled heavily, quickly growing bored.

"Remi, is Sonia here, or not?"

"And there you go again--can you at least pretend to care that I'm talking?" The voice on the other line sighed again, clearly fed-up. "If you were paying attention, you would've heard me say that no--I couldn't find a single file, article, document or hair strand that indicated her existence. Happy now?"

The poor ticket collector behind the desk nearly shrunk into the floor tiles at the hard, dark glare Teiga didn't seem to be aware that he was emitting.

"Barely," he eventually said, jaw tense. "Send me a copy of your investigation to my new address, and expect that I examine the files with you later."

He ended the call with an abrupt tap, leaving no room to hear Remi's response. His decision alone, saved him three extra minutes of whining, and then Remi begging to leave Wyoming to join him in Colorado. No, if Remi gave him any more headaches, her impending fate of being laid-off would strike in due time.

Several scrolls down, through his contacts list, he eyed the ID stating 'Driver #5', and pressed it promptly.

A man answered the other line, "My good sir, have you returned to Skyvine?"

"Yes," Teiga responded, "I need a stallion cab home. Make it quick."

It was his first day home in years, but his agenda was rapidly swelling with things to do, and by the minute.

code by Ri.a

 

[Inb4Cloaker]

Location~Hotel/Streets
Mentions~ None
Interactions~ Whatever poor soul he runs into first.

.

”Ho mierda, no dices.”
Victor scoffed and leaned back against the wall with folded arms. From outside the window, snow was starting to make its speckled appearance just below his view. The TV quietly echoed the same redundant news, something or other about snow, politics, and some guys cat. He came to this place because his work called for it, and he figured that living in a cold area would be pretty chill.

Vic snorted at his last thought, shaking his head in mock shame.

But seriously? It kinda sucked. Victor may never admit that he missed his old home, but he will occasionally make a comment or two about missing a sun that actually did its job. Either way, it didn’t really matter at this point. What was done is done, and besides, the scenery was breathtaking at times. His hotel wasn’t that bad either. By his standards, which weren’t inherently too high. Shifting his eyes around the room, he took account of the cozy but simple environment. On his bed sat two medium sized travel bags, and a rigid, black case. He really should unpack right about now, but he wasn’t going to. Maybe later tonight, in the meantime, the snow was occupying his attention. Gazing contently out the window once more, the newcomer arched his body against the wall ever so slightly.

As he stood idily and observed white flakes overtake the ground, the guerrilla twitched his hand repeatedly. One wouldn’t be able to see what he was holding clearly, until he brought his sporratic movements to a halt. Within his right palm resided a well maintained kukri knife, the blade extending to about seven inches out. Glancing down, Vic eyed the curved beauty for a brief second, allowing himself a moment to remind himself how dangerous it was. Ah well, worse case scenario; he’d lose a finger, claim a work related injury, and go off to retire in a popular place. That is how America works right? Victor seemed to firmly believe so, at least. Maybe he’d end up somewhere with a long name, like Mississippi.

“Meeseyipe... Meseyipi... Mis-sea-hip-ee. Mis.”

He couldn’t say it to save his life, it just wasn’t going to happen. He blamed the television. Delicately pushing himself off the wall, he deftly kept up the rythmatic twirls of his tattooed wrist. With a few strides from his bloused boots, Victor was beside the TV that dared to inturrupt his efforts of saying basic words. Reaching with his left hand, he had his index finger on the dusty power button for only a split second. Then he saw something new on the news. Go figure.

It was about the cold index comparison, analyzing the weather of where he currently was. The reporter was comparing it to countries that he seemed to believe were experiencing perfect conditions right now. He listed off a few places, and among them was Peru. Rolling his eyes, Victor genuinely felt like he just lost a few brain cells. That place wasn’t remotely as attractive as over-hyped tourists made it. He remembered when guards from his home would come back talking about how underwhelming it was. He remembered when he’d cut down the stalks of assorted plants to make way for new construction zones, and they would just drone on about it. He remembered when he’d be looking for gold under armed threat, and dream about escaping to this uninteresting place.

Victor no longer had his left hand on the button, he was just staring at the screen.

He remembered when his friends and family would all dream about it. He remembered when they would take beatings for even mentioning it. He remembered when the authorities would harass them about it, and offer to take them over there if they would fight over the ride for their amusement.

Victor took in a ragged breath; the spinning of his knife increased in ferocity.

He remembered when they made the plans to fight. He remembered when they failed, and they did try to flee. He remembered when he saw bullets fly, his friends fall, and when he took every single step through that overgrown foliage, with only the moonlight and screams to guide him. He remembered when he met a guard, and without thinking, without a moment to ponder his choice, he allowed the hate to overwhelm him. He recalled lifting the knife, looking at his startled face, bringing

-it down with every ounce of strength he had, forcing all remorse to incinerate within his very core as the knife cut-

He managed to nick the channel button, and flip the news over to a disconnected station that only offered static as entertainment. As his chest rose and fell with quick, shallow intakes of air, Victor unclenched his teeth and staggered back. It happened again. It wasn’t often that they occurred, but when they did, they only seemed to get worse. He knew there was something wrong with his thoughts, and that there might be something out there to help him, but he still refused with the false hope he clung to. He figured that they might have been evicted from his conscious last time, or the time before. That’s just never the case though. Hell, maybe this was the last one.

Victor calmed himself and assessed the scene. The TV was relatively undamaged, and the knife was on the ground. Simultaneously, his dark and shocked eyes fixated on a spot of crimson right as he was made aware of the warm sensation on his hand. Looking down, he jolted slightly when he was welcomed by the sight of a laceration on his palm. The pain had yet to set in, adrenaline and all, but it wouldn’t be long.

“Jesú Cristo.” He groaned out in distress, lifting his arm up in an attempt to restrict the mess he was creating. Hastily, Vic made way to the bathroom and snatched up a wad of toilet paper. After washing his hand off in the sink, he began to wrap up his wound sloppily. When it started to soak through, he just took even more in an effort to staunch the flow. Eventually, the top layer of the paper remained relatively untouched. As the sting started to radiate along his palm and through each individual finger, he tossed the pile of bloodied paper into the trashcan that was adjacent to the toilet. One thing was for certain, Victor most certainly was not well versed in medicine.

With his cut staunched, he winced as he attempted to curl his fingers. Taking the last pieces of paper, he gradually started to wipe up the small droplets he trailed throughout the room. A few minutes following, there was no evidence that indicated the accident ever took place. Except the trashcan of course, that was quite literally filled with evidence.

Pondering what his next move should be, Victor settled on heading out to get some air and maybe a bite to eat. He established that staying in the room was not good for his health. Having recovered and wiped his knife, the guerrilla slid it back into the dark leather sheath with a click. Tucking it into his pocket, and covering the protruding handle with his, thankfully, dark red button up, he began to gear up. Rummaging through his bags, he put on a light grey jacket, a black velcro cap with the depiction of an AK-47 on the front, and secured himself a plain black half-balaclava with a white skull on the front. Realizing that it may be a good idea to wait until he was outside before putting it on, Victor just allowed it to hang loosely from his neck as he prepared the rest of his inventory.

After having slipped on the jacket, and checked to ensure that both his wallet and phone were in place, the newcomer departed from his room. Upon navigating through the halls and ending up in the front of the hotel, Victor slipped the mask over his face and braced for the cold. When he felt the first blast of icy wind, Victor lost his breath for a few brief seconds. Shaking off the shock, he bowed his head slightly and tucked his hands into the jacket pockets. He had an inclination to believe that there were some restaurants, or maybe a cafe, a few blocks away. As the somewhat conspicuous and out of place man strolled over the now white sheeted sidewalk, he kept his head down and indulged himself in matters that were of the utmost importance. With any luck, he could ignore what happened back in his room, just like any other time.

”Miss-ee-sip-ee...Miss-ah...”

 

[soular]

Robin Lorne​

♠​

mood: confused, generally happy
interacts with: Boulevard Queen.
location: Frozen Lake

Robin was deliciously alone. Nothing but the crisp sound of the frozen earth crunching underfoot keeping her company. She was most comfortable this way. The hustle and bustle of a city held no candle to the effortless beauty of Skyvine, and the effortless beauty of the people who lived there. In the end, that's what had drawn her back. Despite her shrill cries that she'd never come back to the town that'd hurt her so much. The town that punished those who dared not to come from a place of wealth. And yet, she'd returned.

The brisk air nipped mercilessly at her extremities, and she found herself cursing herself for not bringing thicker gloves. The ones she wore were thin and cheap, picked up years ago and riddled with so many holes that she may as well have not worn any at all. A thick grey sweater kept her torso warm, and her dark jeans were rundown but still did their job. The pack across her shoulder annoyed her as it jostled around, for it was mostly empty aside from a small snack and a novel that she'd read a hundred times. It wasn't for carrying items, it was for taking things back.

Her stride shortened as the lake materialized before her. She made this walk so often that she hadn't realized this was where she'd end up today. It was as if her body was on autopilot. Though normally she would thank her legs for this, today she felt especially bitter. There was already someone there, and they looked quite comfortable.

The girl laying on the ground was quite small, her body seeming to barely indent the snow she was laying in. Robin recognized her. The two were coworkers, and yet she didn't seem to be able to place a name to her face. It was possible that they hadn't exchanged such details yet, however, far more likely was the idea that Robin had simply forgotten it. That would surprise her though, considering someone like the dark haired beauty before her seemed to command attention.

Her feet brought her closer, despite her brain urging her to simply turn around and mind her own business. The other woman was laying in snow. Wasn't she cold at all? Robin's curious gaze dragged across first her coworker, then flicked upwards towards the sky. The clouds lazily drifted across the expanse of blue. A puff of air escaped her lips and she took another step closer to the girl, placing herself at her feet.

She felt giant. Towering over the small curl of human beneath her. A hand lifted feebly and before she could stop herself, words were tumbling from her.

"Ah, Boulevard."

It surprised her how quickly the name materialized in her thoughts. A peculiar name for a peculiar person. She remembered thinking that same phrase when they first introduced themselves to one another. A much warmer day in the middle of July. Robin didn't miss that weather.

"Are you alright?" Boulevard had a faint smile on her face, which was new to Robin completely. Whenever they worked together, the small girl always seemed to have a frown planted firmly on her face. Not that she seemed mean at all, just... Not a very happy person. So the smile was odd. Admittedly though, none of this was any of Robin's business. If she were told to bug off, she'd know she deserved it.





.

coding by @Wapiti

 

[Queen.]

Boulevard Castleberry

Location: frozen lake | Feeling: euphoric, irritated | Mentions: robin soular

Boulevard slid her phone out from her back pocket, suffering inner controversy over whether or not she should text her sister. She had captured a candid of her bride to be client practically incandescent over her magnolia bouquet, and it was the only time Boulevard wasn't notably bitter over seeing another woman bathe in the glory of their special day. The noirette was actually a bit contented over the woman, who's name she'd learned over the months. Kimberly. Kimberly was a raspy voiced, bright eyed and dark skinned girl with high cheekbones. Boulevard found it rather a shame she was taken, and would have gladly scooped the attractive woman up.

Her eyes combed over her phone screen. struggling to see straight ahead of her. Some would call her a burnout. A nobody. She wouldn't disagree. She was too far up in the cozy, relaxing clouds to give a damn. She reveled in the feeling of her body smooth and light over the snow-coated ground, almost wishing to sink into its alabaster grip. Boulevard could discern that there was someone speaking to her, but it was more like a concept than actual realization. She was positively perplexed, wondering why her mind was trying to get her to believe someone was standing there, speaking in her general direction. How odd. What did they want? Were they directing their voice toward her?

There was a stillness to her breathing. with its slow lack of cadence. The moment it hit her like a train that someone was trying to communicate with her, she permitted a false sense of poise. Pulling herself up into a criss-cross position, she glimpsed up and squinted. The sun was right behind this person, their face scorched out by the rays of the sun. She placed her hand up to her dilated pupils, squinting tighter. "Oh, hey Robin." She nearly slurred, not really used to talking too much. Though, one could debate that was due to some other current happenstance.

"I like working with you Robin, you're funny." She smothered a gentle laugh, then surrendered to her gaze thrusting itself toward the contour of the rim of the lake. She didn't know what else to say, and at the same time, it felt like they had been talking for two months. Like they'd already completed decades worth of conversation. She didn't really care at the moment what was happening. The woman was simply existing, absolutely at peace with her surroundings. She clutched her pale olive messenger bag, pulling it into her lap. She slowly removed the flap, reaching inside. "Sush?" She didn't really manage the 'i' that completed that word. It more sounded like she was trying to give the already short word a nickname.

There were four compactly made sushi rolls adorned in cream cheese, salmon, avocado, and a bit of spicy mayo surged across each one. The sticky seaweed held it all together, but even through Boulevard's euphoria, she couldn't kick the fear of someone else seeing her chew. So, instead, her solution was to get rid of the food.

Her mind reeled back to the times they had interacted in the flower shop. Well, more like the lack of synergy that they held. It was no one's fault in particular. Boulevard was a difficult person at times. She knew it, and that's why she allowed everyone to spare themselves the burden of knowing her. Robin was no exception. The moment she laid eyes on her, she felt the lack of a click. It wasn't anything personal. She just knew she wouldn't put any effort into the woman. It was the honest truth of who she was. She popped out her left earphone and pressed pause on the screen, missing a couple of times.

"I was kind of here like, by myself though. Just... Yeah." Boulevard protested, suddenly flipping the script. She had seen Robin here before. But that was always before hightailing it out of there to not have to participate in a conversation.

code by Ri.a

 

[Inb4Cloaker]

Location~ The Green House.
Mentions~ None.
Interactions~ Whoever saw Vic’s shenanigans.

.

”Busquen la pala, la tierra y el ron~”
He swayed his head back and forth distinctly, each step he took seeming to add to his rhythm. The expedition to the nearby cafe had been enough to temporarily erase his lack of fortitude back in the hotel. Quietly singing the last song he had stuck in his head, hie eyes fixated on the light puffs of steam that slipped out from behind his mask. Victor seemed uninterested in the various snow covered architecture around him, but in reality, the contractor was thoroughly pleased by the current situation he found himself in. Walking through the snow covered streets in a foreign place just seemed so surreal to him, and the man made scenery around him left Vic awestruck sometimes. Despite how enchanting the environment, the pain in his hand and the cold enveloping his body didn’t seem to dissipate.

It wasn’t a far walk, it was just the freezing air that seemed to extend his journey. Right when his shivering was starting to give hint that it may not have been the smartest idea to walk, he glanced up from below his hat, hoping to visualize the destination that he was striving for. Surely enough, the cafe sat only half a black away from where he was standing. To add to his surprise, he saw posters that advertised something or other about books. Books, in a cafe? While not overwhelmingly shocked by this combination, he did find it a little unusual for the two to be joined together. But, he couldn’t complain. Coffee was nice, and books were a common favorite of Vic. Unfortunately, he wasn’t really in the mood to have a good read. Plus, this place most likely didn’t stock a wide selection of Spanish. Rather, he was still feeling pretty energized. As the afternoon pressed on, Victor was reminded of the first time he saw an American town in the late evening. It intrigued him, seeing people still milling about under streetlamps with little care about the time. Throughout the years, he retained his fondness for such a scene.

Speaking of scene, Victor was about cause one. It wasn’t because he wanted to, it was more of something that he just figured was gonna happen. As he crossed the tire track and snow coated pavement, his first thought was literally; ‘Hold my tequila.’ It was also due to the fact that he seemed to drag high-impact situations everywhere he went. The hotel was a prime example. One moment he was just chilling and watching the snow, the next moment he was trying to wrap a self inflicted wound with toilet paper. In his opinion, that was perfectly fine though. There’s nothing wrong with spicing up life every once in a while. He could only hope that the patrons shared the same perspective.

When Victor was only an arms reach from the door, he reached up to pull down the mask on his face. Exposing his lower head to the cold, the contractor deemed it necessary to remove the cloth, as to not immediately present himself as someone who is up to no good. Gripping the door handle with his non-injured hand, he yanked it open and slipped into the confines of the coffee shop.

“Mucho mejor.” He spoke a little louder than he would of anticipated, shaking his body delicately in an attempt to warm himself up again. Curiously, the guerilla took note of who was currently in the cozy, pleasantly fragrant room. He assessed his surroundings while simultaneously strolling up to a nearby seat. Pulling the chair back, Vic casted a final glance around the room before allowing himself to plop down onto the wooden furniture. Settling in, he placed his hands together and sighed, tilting his head ever so slightly while he searched for the little chalkboard thing he spotted prior to taking a seat. Upon spotting it, he sat up slightly and leaned over the table, squinting his eyes in an attempt to focus on the writing. Now, it wasn’t that Vic couldn’t see the menu, he was just taking a ride on the struggle bus each time he tried to decipher menus; for obvious reasons, he needed a bit more time to decide what he wanted.

When I get my next paycheck, I probably should hit up the classes again. Wait, is this French? What in the blue fu-

While lost in his thoughts and facing the obstacle of a rather simple task, he didn’t notice that his knife had slipped free from his hip. With a slow and anticlimactic fall, it landed on the cafe floor with a dull thud. Unfortunately, the contractor was blissfully unaware of this. Sitting next to his boot, the bladed tool rested indifferently. This may not have been an issue, had the blade actually remained under his table. Like all things that may not have been an issue for him, it turned into one quickly. All it took was one subconscious twitch of his foot to kick it out from underneath him, and spinning underneath another piece of furniture. The noise was subtle, but the movement was the furthest thing from it. The stubby kukri and it’s bid for freedom was likely to draw the attention of anyone who was remotely aware of their surroundings.

Unfortunately, this meant that Victor was excluded from taking into account any of the events that just unfolded.

 

[Nobelia]

Teiga Reymore

At: The Greenhouse ♦ Interacting w: Aseel & tattooed man ♦ Mentions: Inb4Cloaker Chimney Swift

The view uphill was pure magnificence, yet, such eminent purity only served to elucidate the darkness festering inside. The return to his birthplace was overpowering. The word itself left a sour taste in his mouth. Teiga Reymore was never reduced to fancying victim of self-inflicted mind games.

Yet--

For the entanglement unfolding in his mind, there was no word to be found in the Britannica dictionary or otherwise, which could adequately describe his emotions.

His brows furrowed, each step dredging through the white sleet as an age-old epiphany established itself. Emotions.

He breathed a shaky laugh, thoroughly acknowledging his foolishness first, and then, his mistake. The air claimed the imprint of his breath, dispelling his momentary afflictions with it. The beginning of the transgressions committed against himself emerged, once he chose to consider the lie that told him it was acceptable to feel.

It was a lie, because he was ever aware of the reality: don't feel, repeal. The code native, and constituted within. Resisting it meant endorsing self-destruction.

Teiga stared ahead at his estate, gradually materializing into view. As though a switch had been flipped on, the disoriented daze wiped itself from his face, clean.

His manor was just as he remembered: a residence, which hardly corresponded with the decidedly French bourgeois aesthetic the neighboring wealthy subscribed to. To the trained architectural eye, it appeared to be a fairly large courtyard home, of floor levels varying between one to two. Seated outside of, yet attached to the enclosure, was a wide circular tower presumably stretching to be four stories tall. An iron stair case melded around the circumference of the tower--top to bottom. Polished links of wood veneer fencing encompassed the property: smooth, broad and lanky.

There was one notable difference which contrasted with his memories: prevalent weathering, chipping, and rusting--as a result of the estate having been deserted for over three years. Teiga did not claim expertise when it came to distinguishing between beautiful and ugly. Nevertheless, the imperfections of the manor only served to complement the mythic sense of comfort exuding outwardly.

Nothing, however, was more comforting than arriving to an entourage of choral felines. Teiga shook his head, wondrous at the incessant reverberation of mewls. Of course, he had bought along his tribe of cats, whom fared their own share of traveling in the animal transportation services. They were rather devastated that the gangly fences persisted in isolating them from their master. A pair of steel keys clinked together, Teiga sinking one into the gate's keyhole. Soundlessly, the gate propelled open--encouraged by the gentle nudge of the winds. Or, by the barrage of shaggy cats stuffing themselves between the slight give.

The felines' greetings consisted of encircling between his legs, ecstatically smoothing themselves against him, and shaking their fur to eradicate accumulated snow. A Ragdoll, blush with snug tints of white and brown. A Ragamuffin, ivory and cream. A silver tabby Maine coon, and, a Turkish Angora as white as snow. May, Sian, Lima and Aseel. Mentally, he ensured that all four were present. When satisfied, he finally pushed the gate open, fully allowing the huge cats to bounce their way through, locking it behind them afterwards.

The landscape prospered infertile wilts of lifeless botany. Invulnerable vines began their ascension through the cavities of the slate brickwork, and the vast fixed windows aligned every couple inches of wall. Sliding glass panes were not ideal for main entry use, though, a man residing alone was entitled to the luxury of remaining unconcerned with practicalities. A notable wad of mail was left bundled together, placed center front of the door way. He stooped over to give them a closer examine, eyeing the inscriptions of the senders' printed addresses. Impassive, he tugged them out of their rubber bands, casually flicking through the stack as one would, typically when rounding up dollar bills.

Four white envelopes. Money rats. Trash.

Three black envelopes, each from individuals he missed so dearly--to the degree of awakening bloodthirsty tendencies. Also trash.

Seven fan mails. Documented for later review.

The remaining ten were welcome back letters from various business acquaintances.

Teiga tucked the ones destined for future reading under his chin, and drew out the lighter nestled in his trouser pocket with his free hand.

Click.

The flames scorched three black envelopes, and four white ones--eroding them until their blackened ashes fell to their deaths against the snow. Teiga dusted his hands of any traces of ash, although, the slight incense of smoke lingered on his skin. An electric door lock awaited, and he gently pressed his thumb into the designated slot, curious if the feature withstood the test of time. There was a brief silence, before the entry glass panes drifted apart to receive whomever lie outdoors. The cats bounded about their ways first. On his way in, Teiga duly noted that the door lock strangely appeared to be layered in a fairly recent coat of varnish. The security cameras would have to be inspected at a proximate date.

He headed for the first couch in sight, synchronously shedding himself of his professional attire. Oxfords at the entrance. Blazer on the floor. Belt on the couch. And, his moderately unbuttoned dress shirt. In a relatively unconscious gesture, he jerked at the collar of his shirt, willing for his bodily heat to dissipate. Sian and May came darting across the room, at the sight of their master's defenseless slacking alongside the contour of the sofa. They settled in between his thighs and on his stomach, before he could conclude to will them away.

Teiga scowled at them, albeit weakly. "Luckily for you, I'm already spent. Enjoy your little moment while you can."

He decided against resisting the urge to rest his hands in Sian's long fur. May purred her heart out, and Sian went limp, content under Teiga's hands.

Like so, the three dozed off into a small nap.

_______________________________________________________​

Teiga awakened to a migraine, the most harsh upon the senses. It was as though he'd been whirled through the midst of a tornado, dumped into a bucket of ice, and punished with stroboscopic light to his naked eye for final, dire measures. His brain weighed the ton of a bulldozer, and he could barely shift his jaw around without exciting his nerve system. Whatever the cause may be--it seemed intent on purging him of his sanity. Sanity he urgently needed to cling to, as it was critical to governing a productive day.

For an entire thirty minutes, he gazed at the ceiling above him.

Power was a rather humorous concept, actually. There was no power existing for a man unable to authorize the whims of his own body. Teiga was rendered motionless, any considerable amount of movement accelerating the rates of agonizing pain. Fine. His body wouldn't move, but his brain continued to run. He had several theories as to why this predicament continued to visit him. Either: his body was tired of him, or, he was weary of his own body. Teiga had no intention of conceding to the impression of suicidal tendencies, therefore, his body must have been tired of him. So what if he was overworking himself--and what a remarkable observation on his part.

Teiga lifted his watch to view, instantly noting that him being able to do so meant he was regaining control again.

He slowly pushed himself off the arm of the couch, bones grinding like a rusting machine.

This wouldn't do. It was time for a walk, and perhaps a meal.

_______________________________________________________​

He's uncertain as to what makes him feel increasingly alert: the chilly breeze stiffening his track suit, or Aseel being more eager to make it to The Greenhouse than Teiga himself understood himself to be. Regardless, afternoon tea was the current ideal. It was a sight to see: a cat and a man pacing downhill to the center of activities--the latter clad in a primarily jet black track suit which contrasted greatly against the pure white snow.

Normally, such trips were reserved for the early evening, when crowds were sparse.

Howbeit, Teiga wasn't exactly perceiving what was normal to him, because at the moment he felt far from. Ragged and drained did not look good on him. Priorities were priorities, and his presently ongoing interest was to re-establish himself in working order. Within half an hour, the unlikely pair arrived at the forefront of the Greenhouse. The tables had turned: Aseel was frazzled from the tedious hike, and a portion of Teiga's precious energy restored themselves in their proper reserves. Nearby onlookers who may have recognized him made no gesture to express so. That form of interaction was unlike the invasive prodding he'd grown accustomed to, yet it was not unwelcome. Perhaps being away for three years had its perks after all.

Entering incredibly populated arenas while going unnoticed was an art form, and an acquired skill of Teiga's. Upon setting foot into The Greenhouse, the surreal nature of its premises resonated with him instantaneously. Teiga didn't miss none of anything, but...he had missed this. His second home. Refractions of broken rainbows and fragmented sunlight designed themselves across the entire spacing of the building. The thriving greenery maintained within was accompanied by domestic birds who claimed kingdom within. Cozy furnishings adorned every corner--some tables occupied with people engaged in various tasks--while large circles of emptiness prevailed at spontaneous sections. The bare wood floors creaked ever so slightly with every movement, echoing along side the whirs of coffee machines and freshly baked bread ejecting from ovens.

His deep auburn hair clung to the humidity perspiring from his face, and the sun did well to utilize the makings of the structure designed to contain heat itself. He was growing quite warm, but it was all within tolerable levels. It had...been a while, and so perhaps lingering among the library stowed ahead would serve to be convenient. The more the idea persisted in his head, the more appealing it sounded. The tea could be postponed for the time being, and the urge to settle among towering shelves and antique books was too great to ignore.

"Shall we, Aseel?" Teiga whispered against her fluffy white head, before setting her softly upon the ground.

The pair barely made it to the open frame leading to the library, when Teiga caught the glimpse of something shiny and familiar, skidding across the boards to their immediate direction. The blade reached the underfoot of his boots, which he trapped underneath, ceasing all and any potentially dangerous movements. Aseel thankfully recognized the object to be threatening, and darted away before she could be nicked. Teiga applied pressure to the handle of the blade with his foot, punting it upwards in a timed propel of his boots, and seized it with one hand as it ascended mid air---all in one fluid motion. Except, he had caught the blade by the knife itself, instead of the handle.

Teiga stared unfeelingly at the red slit on his hand, gradually swelling before erupting into a dripping, bloody mess. Aseel half-mewled half-whined, visibly agitated by the scent of his blood. He paid partial mind to her demeanor, in case she decided to flip on whomever she deemed the aggressor.

In retrospect, he should have known to repress his reflexes and attempt to handle things normally. No matter, he simply needed to return the blade to its owner.

Teiga gazed intently out into the crowds, scanning every face and persona for a possible match, and resulted in nothing. Not far from the archway leading to the library, he observed a scrawny boy nose-deep into a book unnaturally large, or perhaps the boy himself was peculiarly small. Harnessing a blade? Unlikely.

Mentally, he exerted great effort into recalling the direction the blade had came from. His gaze landed on a rough looking male seated at a table at cross points with the library and cafe. His appearance suggested he was not possibly in his thirties, neither did he assimilate to what classifies as a young boy. Mid-20s, then. He wore tattoos for sleeves, and possibly loomed an entire inch higher than Teiga himself. Harnessing a blade? Feasible.

Teiga approached the man at the table, bloody hand in his pocket--the knife drooping from the one gone unscathed.

"Is this your toy?" he demanded, by way of greeting.

code by Ri.a

 

[Soap]

Alena Avery

Location: The Greenhouse| Interacting with: The Individuals' at the greenhouse| Mentions: Nobelia Inb4Cloaker

She stared at the computer screen, as if words' were going to magically write themselves. I mean, she's heard of crazier things. she shrugged visibly, thinking to herself, but she's been here for at least 15 minutes, and her fingers made no move to the keyboard. She put her face in her hands, furrowing her brows. Attempting to go into a state of concentration, She had heard the bells chime on the door, followed by “Mucho mejor.”
her eyes had darted up, to see a man who didn't look much older then her, maybe less then 3 years apart? She had took a moment to study him, the way his eyes scanned the room, his body language, a-lot of things about him caught her attention, he seemed.. unsettled? fidgety? She didn't have a word for it yet. Alena had thought maybe she was staring at him for a bit too-long, but nevertheless. He didn't pay attention, as he sat down at a table near her. She had watched as he read the menu, staring at him with curious eyes.


Sure it seemed a bit-creepy, Alena didn't see it that way, she's people-watching, something she did a-lot. She stared at people.
and she'd try to see their stories. to see what they show to the outside world, Things that they're comfortable with sharing, the kind of stuff that they aren't afraid to be, But it doesn't matter what they show, it matters what they hide, She looked at them to try to see the things that bother the person the most, their insecurities. The things they don't want other people to know, The things that shake people to their core, that's what makes people who they are. The saying "Dance like nobody's watching." is a saying for a reason, someone feels most comfortable when no-one is there, there's no-one to judge you, no expectations to live up to, you can be yourself. There is nothing more inspiring then a person being their true self, Another man had walked in, with a...cat? She shrugged the thought off, and brought her attention back to her laptop, typing some words down, she felt confident in her words, Alena had lost it just as quickly as she earned it, when a clattering sound made her eyes snap up, once again. Looking towards the hispanic-looking man who had just dropped a knife, and kicked it.


The knife has spun along the floor, near the man with the auburn hair, the cat next to him had moved out of the way, she breathed a small sigh of relief, however he had made a show instead of simply picking it up, She seemed impressed, raising a brow at his antics, until he grabbed it on the sharp end. She grimaced, as if feeling the sharp blade for herself, he put his hand in his pocket, and she continued to watch as he made his way to the hispanic man, "Is this your toy?" He had said, he seemed as though he meant it harshly. She hated how he had said it, Her eyes flickered from one man to another, sensing the obvious tension between the two, she quietly stood there awaiting an answer from the other.

 

[brutus]

Elias Dawn

Location: The Frozen Lake||Mood: Slightly humored, vexed, intrigued.||Interacting with: Boulevard Castleberry Queen. , Robin Lorne soular

Faceclaim: Jon Kortajarena

A gale that bore frigidity bit at his extremities, to the bone or so it felt and Elias cursed beneath his breath, which expelled a wispy, vaporous cloud spiraling into the cutting air. Not even his gloved fingers knew freedom from the sharp nip.
Moreover, Elias found himself reflecting, having completed business at a time suitable to his liking. Ole Sky-vine, where satisfied clients remembered their biases only when backs had turned from each other and the transaction to seek highs met its end.
That was when the yawning schism between the impoverished and the affluent flourished again, akin to a weed that grew before festering and blooming once more on its remnants in a circle of perpetuity. Those youth born prosperous grew to detest the poor, older generations sowing the seeds of such. Here, the wolves ate their young.

However, there lay a scintillating beauty within Elias's line of work which saw him connecting with individuals from all avenues of life. The latest, and last, for the moment, being a lad clad in a tweed three-piece, complete with the sheen of black Oxfords shined to finish and a watch lined with tricklings of gold; a man who sang exuberance from head to toe.
Oh, and how that wristwatch was a temptress, indeed; however, Elias did not steal from paying clients, if they were in good standing, at least.

Ah, and yet Elias held inclinations towards remaining a blur in the middle during these dealings, dressed so to obscure his economic standing, not outfitted to match stereotypes. Although his attire did not propagate a sense of overabundance, it did enough to gratify his wealthier clients. Lest he further attracted the attention of a traipsing police officer, better he did not resemble the common descriptor of a Rockie or anyone who might look an inkling like they were up to no good, which, in actuality, was his constant state of being. Did not mean he could not deceive the public in regards to that, wool over the eyes and such.

With a cigarette suspended between two practiced fingers, Elias forged forth through the bitter frost, teeth chattering between long drags where he blew smoke in a circular formation during his exhale. Yes, Elias loathed the cold, he near enough held a sensitivity to it with his emaciated frame, bony prominences offering him scarce fragments of protection against these elements, the modicum of sprawling warmth beneath his winter-wear he held precious.
Ah, what he pined for was to settle down in a tranquil location with the comforts of isolation and the delectability of a high. A straightforward yearning, yet the ease of acquisition seemed elusive when life bustled around him.
Regardless, flicking the rusted gear of his lighter, he bore a flame to kiss the end of his cigarette, which appeared to maintain resistance in staying lit.
In truth, he ought to go back to Clifford Heights, returning the bottles of prescription medication to their proper place of hiding, and yet, Elias found it strenuous and burdensome to pivot around and do such.
The insatiable beast known as hunger began to gnaw at him, tormenting him, urging him to binge. Another reason to get high, he could focus on that and not the dreaded sensation of wanting to devour a whole meal; with a viewpoint distorted by what he saw in the mirror, hunger left him miserly and bounded by guilt.
No one deals drugs if they fit in the confining and well-structured, obstinate and unbudgeable, box society conceived for those labeled "normal."
Furthermore, despite a stoicism in his countenance, Elias's nerves were frayed, becoming threadbare by each lapsing minute.

Aware of the reasoning, sourced from a letter addressed from the residence in which his Grandfather- a bad memory- dwelled, for now, Elias strived to suppressed the remembrance until it dissipated and slipped through his thoughts like granules of sand sifting through an hourglass, yet, he could not shake the perturbation.
While it was true, he tiptoed on a taut rope, and his woes were both mountainous and continual, he declined with a fervency to accept any aid from the bastard, Philip was manipulative, and the cyclic nature did not allure him.
Regardless, focalization upon another subject would help, so he toyed with an unlabeled bottle tucked within the depths of his jacket pocket, the rattling of the medications proving soothing in a peculiar way, like a lullaby. Despite their lack of labels, Elias knew which drug was which, each had an indicator of a sort, be it a symbol to its very form. Despite it being illegal, he prided himself on being a good dealer, and an even better thief.

Of course, he had hoped for something more, unexplainable and better, enigmatic almost, yet one must play the hand life deals them, even if with skewered cards. In the meanwhile, so consumed by his ruminations and pondering, Elias's foot went straight through a weak layer of ice, fracturing it so that it dampened it with the gelid water that it had snared.
"God damn it."
Wincing as the stinging bite of cold surged through him like a parasite, Elias reached into his boot, denoting his sodden sock with an explicative; this is where being lost in musings instead of being analytical of surroundings ends one up, a foot deep into the cruel, lapping waters of a glaciated lake.
Beyond exasperated, Elias shook his foot as if to shake the freeze and increase circulation. Had anyone seen his blunder? Having traversed away from the mass of humanity by accord of his own feet, he hoped fortune favored him to not look like a jackass publicly speaking.

To his dismay, two women were adjacent to him, one whose ebony locks made a stark contrast between the ivory purity of the snow beneath her, the other stood, looking downwards, as if engaging in conversations and speaking utterances Elias was too far to discern.
While one of the girls he knew naught, the one with noire tumbling, tendrils he knew, in a unique, yet intriguing, cocktail of friendship and business combined, and damned, did she look stoned.
Time as a dealer versed him in the cues of someone drunk or stoned, or perhaps an accumulation of both; visage alone was enough to unravel the inquiry of someone's sobriety.

Almost forgetting his drenched foot, Elias ambled towards the two, humored, a wry grin, minute, playing on his features. Never had he ran into Boulevard outside of a transaction, it just seemed fated never to meet unless it was to delve into drugs. Although, that changed now.
"Well, well-y, well Boulevard and-?"
Idling, he studied the other girl, and she looked like the pinnacle of sobriety, so, he imagined Boulevard had not shared.
"I don't believe I've met nor seen you in town. Either way, I'm Elias, a- friend, of Boulevard's."

code by Ri.a

 

[Chimney Swift]

Location: The Greenhouse

Interactions: Interact is a rather strong word for what Oliver's doing right now...

Mentions: Nobelia Inb4Cloaker

Normally, it was nigh impossible to catch Oliver's attention once it had been sacrificed to the pages of a book... hence why he should have long since been on his way home, but was instead here perusing the various texts. But a sudden metallic flash in his periphery, echoed by the sudden silence that fell over the background noise of the cafe, prompted him to reluctantly glance up... just in time to watch a small pool of blood spill over the side of a patron's hand. Oxygenated, and horribly, nauseatingly red. He was too far from the individual to realistically be able to smell it, but he felt like he smelled it. Oliver stiffened in disgust. Perhaps it would have been more polite to be concerned for the tall and smartly-dressed chap's hand, and Oliver would likely be concerned later, but it was a bit difficult for him to think in such compassionate terms under duress. At the moment, his thoughts were a racing, reeling mess, trying to recover from being so forcibly ripped away from his precious reading material.

And that's about when he noticed that he'd locked eyes with the tall young socialite for a little longer than appropriate. He seemed to be watching Oliver with a gaze that was more analytical than accusatory... nevertheless, deeply uncomfortable.

The teen's face went blank, as if he were too flustered to come up with a reason to have any sort of expression at at all. He straightened up with a jolt, fumbling with the book in his hands for a moment before ultimately dropping it to the floor with a loud whack that probably startled him more than anyone else. Mouthing an apology to no one in particular, he was left frozen until the other gent thankfully lost interest, moving away to interrogate another customer, dangling the offending object --which Oliver could now see was a relatively large blade of some sort -- with an air that could only be described properly as threatening. He said something in a harsh tone that the other patrons seemed to react unfavorably to, but Oliver didn't quite hear it. Knowing the encounter was far from over (and likely to escalate, from the look of it), Oliver cautiously went to pick up his book, dusting off the cover and checking for dents or scuffing before tucking it into his bag. Was now a good time to leave? Probably, but leaving would mean walking right through the thick of things, and that was an unnerving thought. Reluctantly, Oliver resumed his previous position, as if hoping this would draw attention away from him long enough to stay out of whatever was about to happen. Besides, he reasoned, this would give him enough cover to call the police if need be. That is, assuming no one had done so already...

Code by apolla

 

[Inb4Cloaker]

Location~ The Green House.
Mentions~ Chimney Swift Soap
Interactions~ Nobelia

.

”Oh genial, mi día puede empeorar.”
He quite literally called it.

Victor had spent his time deciphering the board, but it would appear to be time well wasted. The instant he fidgeted in his seat, the contractor felt a significant lack of weight on his right side. Instinctively, his lacerated hand lunged towards the empty space, seeming to make an effort to conjure the very item he couldn’t comprehend losing. His previous lingo was not elicited during the momentary shock of losing his possession, however, it was uttered when he tilted his head up just enough to see what he could only assume to be a well dressed man.

Refusing to arch his head any further, the contractor made a deliberate effort to avoid tracking his gaze. As a grunt of acknowledgement exited from his pursed mouth, Victor pondered how this situation would play out. Of course, the type of conversation that would unfold was somewhat predetermined when the adjacent figure broke the silence.

Thankfully, the contractor could read social cues with relative ease. Without the shadow of a doubt, the man sounded as though he’d rather walk into a flaming cactus before establish contact with someone such as himself. He could conclude that the phrase ‘toy’, referred to his knife. The attitude that accompanied his message was something that Vic would be able to appreciate; it was straight-forward and deprived of the uncertainty a normal bystander would have. Under different circumstances, he could see himself and the opposing party discussing business over a stiff drink. Regrettably, the cards didn’t read such pleasant events this time around.

With his hands underneath the brim of his cap, Victor strained to sear a glare through the dark fabric, vaguely guessing where the well dressed newcomer currently had his head. As he spoke, the guerrilla offered a forced smirk, just barely visible within the shadow of his cover. Discreetly and in perfect unison, the insurgent began to pop his knuckles with quiet, smooth constrictions.

“Yes. It is. Here, let’s try this. You give it back to me, and I won’t...”

He noticed the woman. Trailing off his previous sentence, he gradually flicked his eyes to meet the staring customer. Without so much as a twitch of his face, he returned his own glare. The view of his darkened pupils radiated a sense of ill will, and it wouldn’t be far fetched to assume that he was pushing a non-verbal message to the curious bystander. A falling book deterred his interaction, forcing him to tilt his head ever so slightly and break contact with one person, only to fixate his view on a frail teenager. Victor didn’t return the same glare to the younger male, seeming to soften his stare before arriving to his contingency plan.

There were too many eyes on the two, and with one holding a knife? It already looked like a disaster in progress. So, Vic tapped his cheek and let out an unenthusiastic sigh of contempt. With his chest rising and falling in one deep, fluid motion, he had no choice but to acknowledge the idiocy of his previous intention. He was far too new to the town; it would not be in the his favor to start a physical altercation. All it would take is one phone call, and he would be right back on the pain train.

With great care, and effort, he finished the sentence that he began:

“... feel so guilty about offering to purchase a beverage for you.”

Reluctantly, he now raised his head even further, daring to meet the man with his own view. He sized him up, but not based on his physique. It was about how he carried himself, and the manner in which he held the knife dangling in a dangling posture. Afraid of the weapon? No, he was just demonstrating his distaste, most likely. The contractor could tell that he had some type of wits about him, but how well would he take up the subtle challenge Victor settled on offering?

“Por favor, desconocido, let me apologize for the inconvenience.”

The contractor outstretched his leg and nudged the chair opposite of him, a bit harder than he intended. The screeching furniture ceased its advance towards the man when it was nearing an inch from his body. Crossing his arms, Victor grinned at the precision of his kick. Mildly interested, he wanted to see how this desconocido would respond. With a delicate twist, the contractor leaned his chair back on its hind pegs and awaited the response. He expected the man to relinquish his property, turn around, and leave without a word. The guerrilla anticipated that the man would refuse the show of bravado that was acted out, and his confident body language conveyed the message clearly. The tatted and bandaged insurgent did not have any previous indications that may make him uneasy, and his boldness didn’t waver externally. Still, Vic couldn’t shake a feeling of... anxiousness, that was nagging at his core.

 

[soular]

Robin Lorne​

♠​

mood: uneasy, wary
interacts with: Boulevard Queen. | Elias brutus
location: Frozen Lake

Awkward seconds ticked past as Robin stared down at the brunette vixen. Perhaps she should just leave. It didn't seem that a single word she'd spoken had registered, the utter disinterest upon the face of her coworker not shifting in the slightest. In the moment she felt dreadfully alone. She felt ignored, and though she enjoyed the serenity of her own thoughts, this was different. Effort to communicate was meant to be matched and returned, and yet Robin was suddenly thrust back into the insecurities of her old self. Could anyone notice her for once? She thought she'd banished that yearning deep down within herself.

Sudden eyes were on her, and Robin immediately regretted her previous thoughts. Boulevard's piercing squint seemed to stare right through her. Nervous fingers tugged at loose glove strings, unraveling ancient holes further and exposing red flesh to the biting wind. A slurred greeting elicited a raised brow from the willowy woman. Was Boulevard under the influence right now? For what reason? The tiniest flame ignited within her, stoked by her coworkers next statement. Funny wasn't a word typically used to describe Robin, usually the opposite really. Fun sucker. Buzz kill. Yet funny stung also. Ironic.

Her teeth drew her lower lip inwards, nibbling on it while she waited for Boulevard to say more. Something that she could latch onto. The squinted gaze dropped from her face and redirected itself to the lake--Robin took the opportunity to release a shaky exhale. The two women were worlds away from each other. Robin couldn't help but feel tense. And yet, she didn't move her stare from the small woman. Instead watching as nimble hands retrieved food from the small bag. She visibly recoiled at the site of the sushi, wondering if Boulevard realize the blasphemy of her actions.

"Ironic isn't it?" she started, her voice quiet but not wavering. "You come here to enjoy the nature, and yet you consume the very beings who inhabited it before us. Beings who writhe beneath the frozen sheet that covers the lake at the moment." Her words weren't meant to be confrontational. Delivered with more of a wondrous tone than a vindictive one. Now it was her turn to cast her eyes across the lake. The beauty of it all, something that could never be matched by anything man could design. No matter how hard they tried.

More awkward second past before Robin realized that she was still the intruder here. Boulevard reminded her of the fact with a pointed sentence and a small frown crept across Robin's lips. A clumsy step backwards put some distance between the two, but she waited there expectantly. It would be rude to leave without a goodbye, right? But Robin couldn't think of how to string the words together properly. Though she soon found herself wishing that she had just turned and left. Another person was approaching. She wanted to laugh. They weren't even on the "pretty" side--the side that bordered the rich area of town. This was likely the most traffic this area had seen in quite a bit of time.

"You invited him?" she directed towards Boulevard, unintentionally ignoring the newcomer. Robin wouldn't have pegged her coworker as a friend haver, but she supposed Elias could fit the bill. The gentleman was roughly attractive, yet she wasn't silly enough to say he seemed nice. Coming from a not-so-nice part of town, Robin prided herself on identifying people who seemed dangerous. And no matter how brightly he smiled, she wouldn't dare disregard the danger that seemed to emanate from him.

"Robin," she said finally, acknowledging his question a bit later than most people may have. "I work at the flower shop." She felt silly for adding this fact, but it seemed the pair of them were explaining their relation to Boulevard. She took another step backwards. Space was good when you didn't trust someone.




.

coding by @Wapiti

 

[Minyari]

Sofia Clermont

Location: The Greenhouse | Interacting with: Greenhouse People | Mentions: Soap Nobelia Chimney Swift

"...eighteen, nineteen, twenty.", deeply exhaling as she finished her set of pull downs. The constant air conditioning sending chills all over her skin as she stood off the machine, grabbing her exclusive squeeze bottle as the liquid rapidly comes spurting into her mouth before gulping it down. It was a rough last night with her being on shift. After relieving the build up stress by working out, Sofia quickly showered and changed into her casual outfit. Her EMT department t-shirt with a plain black jacket to keep her warm.

Walking out of the gym Sofia placed her earbuds in, pulling over a fuzzy beanie. With the crisp air numbing her face she began to vibe down the street towards the cafe. The cafe wasn’t just a cafe for her. It was a soft spot for her heart as a place her dad would go weekly taking the family with. A smile began to form upon Sofia’s face as she opened the familiar entrance, the warm and fragrant air filling her nostrils as she stepped within.

The cafe was relatively empty with the minimal amount of customers. Some were familiar while some were just unknown to Sofia. Walking towards the cashier ordering her usual herbal tea and a slice of cheesecake as she took a seat at an empty table.

code by Ri.a

 

[Queen.]

Boulevard Castleberry

Location: frozen lake | Feeling: euphoric, irritated | Mentions: robin soular , elias brutus

Boulevard's fog managed to dissipate, even if a little, and the hazy screen that had collected over her eyes cleared up. She found Robin all too adruous to read, and kept herself distant for precisely that reason. She never knew what the pixie-cut was thinking, and she wasn't very certain she would like to. Primarily due to the fact that they just seemed all too different in psyches. What she was able to perceive was the tension. It wasn't the fun kind of tension, either. Instead, Robin seemed to annex a more standoffish disposition toward her offer of sushi. She felt slighted, and curled her top lip ever so subtly.

She was still sailing on her little party boat of ecstasy, but still managed to find agitation erosive against the deepest part of her stomach. Why did Robin have to enforce her views on someone else? She hated the fact that some people would shove things down others throats. Even if she didn't mean it that way, Boulevard took it and swallowed it like a pill sliding down the wrong way. She propped up one of her legs on the lowest boulder, sort of kicking back in her stance. The sun was still scowling behind Robin, but Boulevard had adjusted enough. "I'm fairly certain I did not ask about how you feel that I eat fish. If you don't, I don't care. I really don't. But do not come at me with that shit, even if you're just being subtle." She snorted, climbing to her feet and picking up her bag. What a literal buzzkill.

The shock that billowed through Boulevard's sunken gut came as an unexpected and inconvenient blow when she spotted Elias. Her face must've paled, or reddened, or somehow a patchy mixture of both at once. Because it sure as hell felt like it. What was he doing here? As if she needed her buzz to get any more trampled on. Elias was definitely a sight for sore eyes, and at the same time, the opposite of what she wanted to see right now. Her dealer catching her high on his product compared to the feeling of your Burger King employer catching you at a Wendy's.

"Glad you could join Robin here, my coworker. I was just getting ready to go anywhere else." The noirette resounded, adjusting the worn strap of her messenger bag as it pulled against the soft sinews of her shoulder. Her eyes trailed back to Robin, and a coy little smirk rose in sarcasm at the edge of her lips. "I didn't invite him. He just has a tracker on me or something. Don't worry, you don't have to high tail it out of here. I'll take care of that for you. It's getting too weird for me, my loves." She apologized sardonically, her words carrying slow but steady. She wanted to sprint away but knew damn well that was a horrid idea. She was almost nervous; like she had been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to.

Why did the concept of Elias finding her stoned freak her out more than Robin finding her? Possibly due to the fact that Elias was the closest thing she had to a friend in this universe, and didn't want to screw it up so fast. Despite remaining there for another couple of heartbeats beyond her 'great last words', Boulevard couldn't help feeling entirely unsure of what to do next. So the mildly emaciated woman struck off two fingers from the forehead in a salute, angled herself 180 degrees the other way, and began to pace off. She knew where she would go next. Home. Home was better. Safer. It didn't hold anyone who would provide a threat to her mood. No outside sources to cast a gloom over her. Why did she hate people so much? Why did she feel so against association with new ones?

Even though Robin wasn't technically new, she'd never spotted her outside of the store. Only once, a couple months ago, she thought she might have seen a pixie-cut in the market, but that was the last of her sightings. She'd probably be fairly stiff and strange going back to work after this, having to face her again once it really hit her how she'd acted out. Boulevard gritted her teeth. She couldn't put distance between her and everyone else fast enough. No matter where she went, people would follow. And that was almost too overwhelming to bear.

code by Ri.a

 

[Nobelia]

Teiga Reymore

At: The Greenhouse ♦ Interacting w: Tattooed man ♦ Mentions: Inb4Cloaker Chimney Swift

What was this?

The present circumstance progressively reeked of a predicament. Teiga's formerly cool gaze fortified into a stone-cold glower, his mouth set equally rigid.

Dismiss the bloody toy--let us retrograde the implications of the matter, shall we? First and foremost, there was an incredibly lacking rationale behind the forces which advanced him into such a situation. How amusing was it, that when it came to the most straightforward of tasks, they never ceased to bare him problematic results in return? So amusing, in fact--he'd rather castrate himself than reenact what led him to this to begin with. Secondly, the knife.

The tonnage of the knife rested with a crude density in his hand, and he grasped and unclasped the handle with sickening familiarity.

Yes. This was the dilemma. He should have been the wiser man as to not entertain seizing the tool into his own hands. Yes, kicking the blade across the room would have been more constructive in opposing to the concealed hideousness of his psyche. Disrespectful, it may be perceived--but Teiga found great trouble rearranging his priorities to the order of gratifying another--in respect to societal courtesies. Especially not, at the prospect of releasing the monstrosity, he'd exerted himself to suppress by extensive means. Has he mentioned also: how atrocious a setting it would be to fall under, losing himself?

The knife was cursed to be in his hands. No, it was always a bedeviled thing--that object that existed in glorified edges, that object he'd long since exterminated his own private spaces of, that object submerged in forgotten memories, that object which played seductress--and it was ever so devastatingly tempting. Effectively, it reigned startling potential of reeling him deep into venal cravings---

To tear and pierce across skin--and who's flesh, exactly?

Perhaps, his. Maybe, theirs. It didn't have to be--it could be anything that proposed to be scarred. If he were allowed--if he were. How long can a blade pressure the skin, before it cracks? How much can a wound bleed? How deeply would it hurt? Would his heart seep through his torn veins? Would he rip away at everything in sight like a storm?

A dead pause, killing off every system of discernment.

Teiga's mentally convoluted realm rapidly crashed to a halt--

Whatever you do, don't feel.

Repeal, repeal. Repeal.

It was a brief period before he regained composure over his brewing inner turmoil. As with any mental affliction, what was endured for seemingly hours had only elapsed over the course of fleeting seconds in reality. How convenient psychic injuries were in this regard---they endangered no one but himself.

Teiga bore holes into the antagonizing object in his hand, cursing his negligence first, and then its unforeseen momentary possession over him. His hand rattled ever so slightly with the knife, the only telling movement of his initial mental engagement. He regained all senses of awareness in time to regard the man cracking his knuckles before him--smirking--as though in preparation for an elaborate means to light fire to a skirmish.

Teiga had seen plenty times too many of his kind.

It was rather effortless to categorize the man under the assumption of a common thug who delighted in arousing shallow spectacles, and unethical bloodbaths. Teiga prided himself in the science of interpreting personages of strangers--yet, his pride took the back seat as instinct suggested to him that this man was not at all as Teiga may have been inclined to believe.

The man opened his mouth to speak, ever so subtly affixing impending threat to his statement--in the instance that Teiga refused to return the knife. At the very least, that was where his motives appeared to be leaning towards.

The man gave permission for his statement to linger off--perhaps for emphasis--which, Teiga wholly intended to overlook for the sole purpose of retaining what humanity he had left at the moment. The man seemed to reconsider his pioneering motive, as his gaze met something adjacent to them. Teiga followed his gaze--eyes landing on a woman--before he returned to face a menace eminent in the man's eyes before him.

Any other day, Teiga would have entertained him no more than a lion regards a finicky cub. Today was unlike any other day. Teiga found that strangely curious--decidedly determined to understand why.

Nearby, a book impacted against the floor. Aseel spooked, and ran in the direction of the sound--prepared to strike it in a frightened flurry. Teiga did not expect the cat to reach a state of calm in the instant that she did--upon sizing up the smaller boy from before, perceiving him to be harmless--and choosing to remain in a safer space other than where tense men and knives resided. He steadily eyed the boy, somehow wistful that he had to be a spectator. Perhaps he was just being reminded of Sonia.

The lively atmosphere surrounding had been segmented into broken remnants of what it once was, as onlookers began to catch onto a deadly elephant in the room. A man with a knife. Two men engaged in ripping the other apart through gazes alone.

Prominent danger, danger was prominent.

No one dared move, even if to summon authorities. Somehow, that would likely aggravate the situation--a risk no one was willing to take.

There was only stagnant breaths, and dreadful anticipation.

The man's demeanor visibly changed, and by the looks of it--through laborious efforts and strains invisible to the eye. Teiga could sense that the man may or may not have been sincere in what he proposed next. There lie some form of obscure weighing of options unknown to Teiga, which flickered in the man's eyes, before he asserted something unexpected--

Did he mention a drink?

Teiga stared at the man in the most Teiga-like manner he could possibly summon: utterly vacant, his eyes every so slightly narrowed in gesture of highlighting just how perplexed he was---perhaps awaiting some void in the air to assume translation of such a questionable scenario.

It only took for the man to mention presumed inconveniences for Teiga to recognize instantly, that he disliked where things were heading.

Forget the fact that it was highly unlikely for anyone within the circle of his existence to attempt to approach him without ulterior motives---tacking on strong words such as 'inconvenience' and 'apologies' instantly changed the game.

If there was anything inconvenient for Teiga, that would be accepting the apology to begin with. He was no dense man--and he could smell a challenge even if it was masked under the blanket of a sea.

A false dichotomy presented itself: take the drink, or back down. Both were unacceptable decisions to be made on his part. If someone offered something, it was atypical of societal mannerisms to return the favor in the future. That would mean Teiga emphatically tying himself to being indebted to the man.

He would give that scenario a hard pass.

Too problematic, and involved emotions which he were currently allergic to.

Alternately, if he backed down, that would lower him to being susceptible to developing exceptions which distinguished between appropriate and inappropriate times to forfeit a confrontation.

Funny, Teiga didn't recall 'forfeit' being established in his dictionary.

This too fell under scenarios most inconvenient to him.

Unfortunately, the man before him selected the wrong time to screw around.

Perhaps it was time to play the cards in his favor?

A wry smirk crept upon his features, a brilliant stratagem conspiring in his mind.

Teiga's listless grip on the knife went rigid, as he calmly raised the knife under the man's chin--his shoe placed underneath the raised chair, daring it to fall over his foot.

His eyes were sharp in contrast to the quiet demeanor of his body language. Truly, like a tiger regarding its prey--the unsettling anticipation of its strike, lingering behind.

"You need this, you say? And what exactly were you planning to do, if I entertained not returning your little toy? Attack me? Strange. I seem to recall a blade in my hand, and a startling lack of weaponry in your own."

Oh, this? Manipulation at its finest--and Teiga's most prized forte.

He flipped the blade a few times, concealing and unconcealing it from its shaft, just inches away from the man's neck.

Snap--open.

Click--close.

The edging sound of the blade was disturbing in the silence of expectation.

"How kind of you to offer an exchange for peace," he continued, voice lowering coldly by the minute, until the words were only audible to the man before him, "But I find you slightly naive. There was never any chaos, rather--you chose to conjure it, and by artificial means. Do proceed to explain how difficult it is for you to commit to a task as mere as receiving back what's yours. Does unnecessary dramatics help you sleep at night?"

Whatever atmosphere which was propagating between the two men had became unbearable to watch. Onlookers resumed their activities, albiet wearily and in great hesitance. To the naked eye, everyone had safely fell back into routine--though internally, a great deal were keeping a mental eye on the situation at hand.

Teiga at this point, was deeply enjoying the change of events, and he made no effort to mask those emotions from his face. He wasn't of the belief that he was so nasty as to relish in the sufferings of others. At least, not in this scenario--where one's sufferings would hardly serve to benefit his end goal.

What he was trying to achieve--he simply needed to rile the man up enough for his end goal to smoothly fall into place.

He continued his well-targeted provocations, seeking to spark the only drive needed for everything to cultivate--and it relied on how strongly the man regarded his knife.

"Unfortunately for you, I happen to dislike the options you presented, which leaves me no choice."

Teiga gazed at the knife. Unfortunately for him as well--

"This piece of fun will be staying with me," he stated, a moment of displeasure contorting his features.

Knives and Teiga did not mix well together. On the rare occasion where they bonded, Teiga was the one who suffered as a result. He did not quite appreciate that he had to attach it to his being, but he did quite indulge in having the upper hand.

"However, you are free to seize it from me however you prefer. A working contract? Slavery? A brawl to the death? Essentially, I am offering a way for you to gain back your property, which I remind---you have complicated such matters by your own volition."

He smirked at the latter scenario. There was no chance of him being defeated -- he had high and nigh, much at stake to be lost. He could have ended it at just keeping the knife -- but giving the man a chance to regain it effectively rid him of a burden, and, regardless of the outcome--he primarily reigns victorious.

"Ah, but you may spare yourself from making a decision now," Teiga slowly lowered the knife, slidding his black business card containing his personal information onto the table, with his bloodied hand--of which had already began to pale and dry.

"I consider myself a fairly reasonable man, of course---so don't scare away from the worst of what you may desire."

He smiled a mysterious smile, as though reminiscing a particular memory which was ironically unhumorous in nature.

Now, he wasn't the one who had to make something as uncertain as decisions.

code by Ri.a

 

[Soap]

Alena Avery

Location: The Greenhouse| Interacting with: The Individuals' at the greenhouse: Feeling: Upset, Tense. |Mentions: Nobelia Inb4Cloaker

Alena watched the interaction between both of them closely, she was almost certain it wasn't just her, it was then the man started speaking, “Yes. It is. Here, let’s try this. You give it back to me, and I won’t...” he trailed off in his sentence, The man & her had caught eyes, and he gave Alena what looked to be a hostile glare. She tilted her head in confusion, & she narrowed her eyes in his direction, she held his gaze, didn't look away until a book fell to the ground. Creating a loud smack, against the floor, startling Alena. She turned in that direction She saw a young boy, bending down up pick up the book. She would've helped, but it was just a book. She was sure the boy could handle it himself. She went back to her laptop, mindlessly tapping keys that made up no-words. Only looking up to see a girl walk into the cafe, taking a seat at one of the empty tables, Alena was still listening to the conversation, but giving no indication that she was. “... feel so guilty about offering to purchase a beverage for you.” If Alena could be anymore surprised, it'd be a miracle. “Por favor, desconocido, let me apologize for the inconvenience.” She was impressed at his patience, he didn't look like the type who had any. She waited for an answer from the other, expecting the well-dressed stranger, to accept the drink. She looked up just in time to see the stranger raise the knife to the man's chin, she kept her eyes locked on the knife, "You need this, you say? And what exactly were you planning to do, if I entertained not returning your little toy? Attack me? Strange. I seem to recall a blade in my hand, and a startling lack of weaponry in your own." At the mention of this, Alena fidgeted uncomfortably, she picked her phone up in an attempt to call the authorities. her phone had died, this obviously looked like a direct threat to someone else, and she wasn't having it. She stood up out of her seat, She was unsure what she could've done to help. But she wanted to, she watched the stranger with the knife, as he lowered it down to the man's throat. Alena, now giving him a glare of her own. She was watching carefully, she didn't want to intervene fully, she was afraid what he'd do to the man if she went up to him, If there was a time to call the police now would be it. But no-one did such thing, she assumed no-one expected it to escalate this far. He had started to flip the knife, the soft clicks of the knife was all that could be heard in the cafe, besides some of the people chatting around, whoever wasn't paying attention to this mess. Alena had started getting anxious, she hated violence, and she didn't want this to escalate any further then it already did.

"Hey, back off. He tried to apologize." Alena said, pointing one hand towards the man, but it drowned out by the stranger with the knife muttering to him, she didn't hear what he had said, but it seemed serious enough. The stranger looked at the knife in his hand, "Unfortunately for you, I happen to dislike the options you presented, which leaves me no choice." Alena narrowed her eyes at his words, "This piece of fun will be staying with me," he said, Alena stared at him in disgust. How could someone be so rude?"However, you are free to seize it from me however you prefer. A working contract? Slavery? A brawl to the death? Essentially, I am offering a way for you to gain back your property, which I remind---you have complicated such matters by your own volition." He told the man, whilst smirking, Alena crossed her arms, even though he had lowered the knife by now, it didn't make her feel any better, everything he had just said has been offensive to to her, it seemed stupid just for a knife, & his own volition? it don't matter. This whole scenario could've gone a lot differently if he decided to walk his cat, & mind his own business, or chose a different attitude to live through life with, which she was sure if he had, a lot of people could've benefited from it. "Ah, but you may spare yourself from making a decision now," He put a card of some sort on the table. She couldn't tell what it was. "I consider myself a fairly reasonable man, of course---so don't scare away from the worst of what you may desire." he smiled, she raised a brow, she couldn't hold her annoyance in any-longer. "Do you also consider yourself a pretentious asshole? it's probably the only personality trait that you'd get right." She realized she had said that out loud, whoops.

 

[Chimney Swift]

Location: The Greenhouse

Interactions: La police

Mentions: Soap Nobelia Inb4Cloaker
​

Almost as soon as Oliver had retreated back into the bookshelves, someone else came scrambling in to take cover with him. He hadn't noticed the cat before... one of the other cafe customers must have brought her in. She was beautiful and silky white, clearly both well groomed and well fed. Her skittering pace slowed to a gentle trot as she came nearer. And, for once, Oliver was grateful for a little company.
He carefully removed one of his gloves to hold out his hand to the cat, who graciously collided with it as a casual form of greeting.
"Well, that makes two of us." Oliver sighed, under his breath. His new feline friend ignored the sentiment, instead circling around on the floor before elegantly flopping down by his book bag.

Oliver had always liked cats. It was no surprise that their aloof, tentative demeanor resonated with him. And, at this moment, there was no more natural place for the two to be found than tucked away in the library, watching the soporific cafe atmosphere crumble into something resembling a TV soap drama. From this detached spot, it was almost a little funny, watching the two point knives at each other and hiss inaudible threats, as other folks began to either flock around to spectate or scurry away clutching their coffees and purses and children. Even the appearances of the two: one tall, ritzy young fop, and another guy who wouldn't seem out of place in a New York City tattoo parlor.

Just then, the encounter took another unexpected turn. A previously quiet-seeming girl looked up from her laptop and her beverage to give the men an earful. Again, he couldn't at all hear what she had said, but it must have been quite scathing as even she reeled back at her own words.

The utterly insane nature of the incident, combined with Oliver's tendency to detach himself in times of stress, made it intensely hard to believe that this was real life. Except it most certainly was real life, and real life consequences were bound to occur if this was going to keep escalating. He had more than half a mind to get some authorities in here... but for whatever reason his mind wasn't having it. Oliver, you're terrible on the phone. His conscience took on his mother's midwestern drawl, Remember the last time you tried to call someone in an emergency? Besides, kiddo... someone's probably called them already. You don't want to hold up the phone lines, do you? What if someone's in a real emergency and they can't get a hold of the police because you're too busy stuttering and telling them to speak up? That person will die in a car fire, and it will be your fault and their family will leave you angry threats in your mailbox for years...

...Alright. Maybe that devolved a bit at the end, but it was still enough for Oliver to stop for a moment, slightly chipped cell phone poised in his hand, wondering if he was about to be more of a nuisance than a help. In a state of dread, he looked back to the cat, as if for advice. That was stupid -- the cat was too busy pawing at the latch on his bag to offer any sort of practical guidance.

So, fighting down the knots in his stomach, he quickly dialed the number and held it to his ear, hoping this wasn't a disastrous mistake.

Code by apolla

 

[brutus]

Elias Dawn

Location: The Frozen Lake, heading towards the Green{drama}house||Mood: Humored, intrigued.||Interacting with: Boulevard Castleberry Queen. , Robin Lorne soular

Faceclaim: Jon Kortajarena

Never had it materialized in his mind before, yet, as he began to immerse himself like a thorn into the mood of the atmosphere, he discerned vehement tensions, sparked like the emission of electricity and as caustic as a vial of acid. An equilibrium within the air non-existent fragmented any tranquility one might amass from the still, serene view of the gelid lake. Since the observation, Elias focused on his numb foot again, concentrating instead on a physical sensation rather than the gaping and vast discomfiture of confrontation of which he had gallivanted into with little in the way of concern for consequence.
Observing Boulevard's cheeks flush, blushed against her pallid skin, however, his grin grew mischievous.
Did his current existence disconcert her in the midst of her high?
Humorous.

Leave it to a dealer to crumple highs the same way they concocted them.
When the other indicated to him without a greeting, his brow arched, uncertain if the frigidity was, in particular, deliberate or a flaw unperceived. Shrugging off the lack of pleasantries, viewing it as irrelevant, given that individualism in the form of being cut-throat or maintaining certain turbulence in personality was not something seen as unique to him.
At last, in a lapsing of time proving to be a tad stiff, the girl introduced herself as Robin, to which he spat back.
"What the hell have I walked into?"
Chortling, Elias shoved his hands into the depths of his pockets, fiddling again with the pill bottles that remained nestled in protection there.
While piqued with intrigue at the scene that had unfurled, exposing a dissonance, he held no inclination towards fanning a flame he, in a manner metaphorical, descended into; not yet, that is.

"The flower shop, I get my succulents from there, it's sort of where I met Boulevard, regardless-"
Skepticism had it that he looked like a man with a zeal for succulents, despite its truth, and he found himself trailing off in pursuit of other foci.

In an abrupt clash, clarity struck him; Robin appeared brimming with trepidation in regards to his attendance.
Perhaps she took heed of that sliver of the danger he tended to embody.
Anyway, capriciousness was a fraction of his nature, although, he did have a particular caution when indulging in that side of his personality, so, while not calling out the tautness outright, Elias decided he would settle for the lesser, passive approach. Meanwhile, Boulevard was as brutal and blunt as he knew her, venomosity in her bite like an adder.
When that venomous bite took its aim to him, he did not recoil nor flinch, facial visage still sardonic, molded with unwavering wryness.

"Nice to see amicability is still a trait you ardently keep on the table, Boule, although, you're always on my doorstep, remember, not vice versa."
Winking, he alluded to their dealings, with "doorstep" emphasized and figurative, yet, only Boulevard would know Elias never did transactions at his place of residence and was not being literal otherwise, for Robin, the sentiment would be a parable; let her contemplate on it.
"Not that I'm complaining."
Dragging out the last word, Elias, found himself tickled further, given that, in no conceivable way, had Boulevard expected to see him off shift, per se.
For Boulevard, she was the sort that was hard to catch off-guard, and he intended to revel in it.
When she announced her proposed departure, with terse, pointed words, a few seconds passed before, with a saluting gesture, she pivoted a full one-eighty and began to wander off.

Exhaling in an audible sigh, Elias muttered an utterance of, "hold on," to Robin, not foreseeing her to follow a demand that held no real worth beyond being a habitual phrase, and trailed after Boulevard, blocking off her escape with an immediate and nimble step in front of her, so she collided into him.
Careful, so prying eyes could not visualize his actions, he unscrewed the cap off the Ativan in his pocket and fumbled for a pentagonal pill, before grasping with ease Boulevard's hand and urging it into her wan palm, enwrapping her fingers around it, before relinquishing his hold.
"Chill some, take it easy, on the house."
Smirk not faltering, Elias flicked his analytical gaze towards Robin.
"Maybe your pal could use one, eh?"

At once, Elias garnered a sobered mien, removing a pack of cigarettes from his other pocket, and plucking a cig from beneath its cardboard fold, although, he opted to twiddle with it as opposed to igniting the end with a flash of flame.
"I don't care that you're high, I see it all the time. Regardless, I'm heading towards the Greenhouse."
With no certainty in the proposition, yet, no outward display to show the lack thereof, Elias resumed.
"Come with me if you want, or not, whichever."

Afterward, Elias whirled around, rolling his shoulders before continuing to trudge through the cumbersome blankets of snow, nodding towards Robin as he passed, presuming through body language that he might be the sort of rift-raft she would not mesh with.
Besides, he had a train to catch.

code by Ri.a

 

[Inb4Cloaker]

Location~ The Green House.
Mentions~ Chimney Swift Soap
Interactions~ Nobelia

.

”Vamos, hijo de puta, haz un movimiento.”
Nearly silent mutterings were emitted from Victor, daring the man and whatever omniscient being that controlled life itself. There were times when he made irrational decisions, when his ego got a head of his mind, and when he had tilted just a bit too close to the edge of no return. Without warning, and without any telltale signs, he was thrusted once again into such a situation.

It never occurred to Victor that this snobby brat would pose even the smallest threat. He was too absorbed in his own assurance; absolute control of the situation was destined to be maintained by the instigator. The sight of his opponent shaking was minuscule, and barely perceived by the contractor. He had struck a nerve. Something he said or did clearly cut deep into the psyche of his newfound enemy. A soft chuckle slipped past his lips, but it was abruptly replaced by a sharp gasp, arched chin, and widened eyes.

To no suprise, this wasn’t a new experience for the insurgent. Well, maybe this particular scenario was, but his life being on the line for previous acts of idiocies? Waking up in the morning was just as common. The only significant difference was the suspect. Victor had been held at gunpoint by more than his fair share of thugs, criminals, the occasional authority, and frightened civilians. The man did not fall into any category previously described, which meant that Victor needed to make a new one specifically catered to him, or erase the outlier. Victor had the means. He had been reaching for it ever since the man threatened his life. The question was, would he need to use it? Or simply obligate the man to the knowledge of it’s existence? Going quiet was never the style Vic rocked, and this time would be no different.

While his injured hand twitched and slithered with centimeters of movement, the contractor held the rest of his figure with an eerie type of immobile discipline. It was difficult for him to register the reality of his current situation. It was a sickening joke. Him? Held at knifepoint by a man who brought his cat into a cafe, and who looked as though he had never endured anything resembling a fight? The urge to have the literal last say in the matter, was taunting. While Victor was still engaged in his internal struggle between swallowing his pride or making plans for an indefinite stay back in the Americas, he replied to the man without hesitation. Each phrase that he uttered was met by some type of response. The contractor wasn’t partial to accepting humiliation.

“It doesn’t matter what I had planned, just what I am going to plan. I’ve got guns, I’ve got more knives, and now I know your face. All I would need now is pictures of your kid, su esposa, tu mamá, tu papá... Speaking of daddy, did he buy that watch for you, puta, or did you steal it from him after he slapped the everliving f-“

He was cut off as the knife pressed closer, his knife. Come to think of it, this was a first in more ways then one. He’d never been held hostage by his own weapon. Victor was aware that his words were filled with disgust, and his belittlement of the man could possibly incite him to put an agonizing end to his life. Still, he was well accustomed to violence, and understood it to the fullest extent. Back home, people would cut the hands off of others just for fun; it didn’t take long to become desensitized. More often then not, if someone threatens to snuff out another’s light, it wasn’t an idle promise. That small piece of knowledge didn’t entirely drive Vic, fortunately, so he was calling bluff on the articulate figure. He didn’t think the track-suit wearing man would have the fortitude it took to take a life, but he had been wrong in the past. Hopefully this wasn’t one of those times.

Delicately swallowing his anxiety, he felt the cold steel of his blade press against his neck. It gave him a chill far worse than any winter breeze. Overshadowed by his current captors voice, the contractor identified the woman who was watching him previously. As she spoke, he glanced down at her with a somewhat bewildered glare. Either she had little concern for personal safety, or she had a pure heart, most unlike the two men who were at one another’s throat. For the most part, literally. Both of the options intrigued him; should Victor survive this, he may offer a drink to this new stranger. With less heated words and conflict, of course.

Refocusing on the ceiling, as well as the face looming above him, Vic maintained his balance upon the chair. The occasional wobble came and passed, but he still didn’t falter. Meanwhile, his hand had slipped past the belt around his waist, and a few fingers began to peek into his waistband. As Victor started to lose patience, his calm and cool appearance was encroached by another wave of anger with his next response.

“Yeah, it does. You know what else helps me sleep? Knowing that little shits like you are around, and that one day, you’ll meet someone who won’t offer such a friendly introduction, like me.” The contractor gave way to a grim smile, betrayed by the gritting of teeth. He had found access to what he was searching for. As the digets of his injured hand began to collapse around something, they took up the shape of what Vic would refer to as second nature. His arm began to retract, and the insurgent could only ponder one question; where would he go from here?

“Let me tell you something, while you rave an’ rant. A roach can live for a few days without its head—but you can’t.” With those words, he glanced around the Cafe a final time before settling on his target. While accepting the inevitable consequences of what was about to unfold, Victor took in a deep breath and gradually withdrew a portion of silver from his grey cargo pants. Thankfully, it was completely concealed under the shadow of the table, and unlike the knife, he wouldn’t be dropping this on accident. Since the man didn’t immediately flick the knife towards his exposed neck, he could safely conclude that his opponent didn’t know he had a contingency plan up his sleeve. This left Victor with a few options, and the possibility of only a few seconds to choose. As his opponent spoke, the contractor kept the silent library-boy in his peripheral view; then it dawned on him. He was in the way. Not in terms of being between the conflict, exactly, it was more about where his position was. If he risked action now, he may be an unfortunate victim. Silently, he attempted a motion with his pupils for the teenager to get up, desperately trying to evict him from his seat. It wasn’t his problem, why was the boy unlucky enough to make it so? Victor didn’t anticipate that he would have such strong feelings against collateral damage in this case. It would’ve been easy to just say a prayer and hope for the best, regardless, Vic found himself unable to make his move. While his mind raced for a solution, his roaming eyes focused back on the man one final time as he spoke.

“Que...” Was the only word he spoke, furrowing his eyebrows as the tension within him dissipated ever so slightly. The man gave him his options, and lowered the knife. No longer restricted to holding the pose of leaning back, Vic slouched slightly. With no immediate threat, he slipped the item he partially withdrew back into its place of origin. A business card, black and inquiring, attracted his attention. Without allowing the man to leave his point of view, he retained his injured extremity in his lap, and utilized his previously dangling left hand to collect the card. Victor noticed the blood that crept onto the card, and was momentarily enlightened as to why this man gave him such a troublesome suspicion. He didn’t fear death. This is what Victor figured at that very moment, perhaps he was wrong, but that was the first thing that presented itself from within the recesses of his conscious. He had seen it before as a trait displayed in those who had either completely lost their minds, seen too much of it, or reached a point in life where they just didn’t care if they saw another morning.

Pushing aside his thoughts, he focused on the task at hand. There were no stiff drinks to be had, but he would be conducting business either way. Inspecting the well crafted card, Vic identified few important aspects. There was only one piece of information he needed; the name.

Victor could fight the man, sure. He could raise up from the table and pop him once too. But for a knife? It wasn’t worth it. Now, the mention of a contract? That was a tidbit of information that he’d like to pursue. This man also seemed to strike Victor as someone with their fair shair of wealth; and he wouldn’t mind a little bit of it. Tapping the table with the card, he quirked an eyebrow and spoke with a contemplative accent.

“Reymore, huh? What kind of deal are you looking to make?” The insurgent lost his previous tone of apprehension, and the sarcasm wasn’t easily detectable, perhaps it was finally absent. With a few rotations of his head, Vic heard a quiet snap as his neck stretched out the kinks that were induced by his captor. He didn’t mention currency yet, the tension was still too palpable to risk asking for payment. It could only be assumed that Teiga would fully comprehend an important aspect of the potential contractor.

It would cost more than a knife to enlist Victor in a cause.

The woman spoke again, and he couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. True, this was no laughing matter, but it was still comedic to see her insult the man who just held a knife to his flesh. Something told him that she wasn’t the type of person to engage in altercations, judging by how she seemed to shy away from what had occurred earlier.

“You know what that is, in Spanish? Gilipollas pretenciosas, Mister Reymore. I think it fits pretty well.” The thin, stern facial features of the contractor were replaced by an amused, half-grin. This woman interested him, to say the least.

What also interested Victor, was how the boy in the back had lifted his phone. Years of recognizing reactions in people taught him a thing or two, and while he may have met a wild card with Teiga, Vic would put money on his next guess. The teenager was about to make a call to someone the contractor really didn’t want to meet. With his smile drooping, he locked an unwavering stare in the teenagers general direction.

“If he says anything into that phone, there will be a problem. For you. Because I will be out that door so fast...” The insurgent spoke factually, and without flinching, as though he was having a conversation about the weather. This phrase was directed towards the man in the track-suit, with the assumption that he may be just as inclined as Victor to prevent the boy from phoning in a friend.

 

[Queen.]

Boulevard Castleberry

Location: frozen lake | Feeling: entertained | Mentions: robin soular , elias brutus

Boulevard had held coherence in the certitude that Elias was speaking, but the primary sound blaring in her ears was the own rhythmic nag of her heartbeat. She had perceived his voice, however failing to assimilate it. Consequently, her gait carried on regardless of his speech carrying to both herself and Robin, as she wanted to place a hefty amount of distance between her and each existing Sky-vine citizen. She heeded her unorthodox mixture of drug dealer and sorta-kinda friend express to Robin that she was instead the one who frequented his metaphorical doorstep.

She well-nigh huffed, her brittle raven bangs tickling the livid skin of her forehead. Just as the woman’s footsteps faltered due to her vertigo-like bout of dizziness, her body crumpled in a heap against a bony figure. For the fleeting moment of contact they had swapped, Boulevard felt Elias’ ribs indent her cheek. Consternation rippled through the petite femme, and she came a hair length from plunging backward.

Her seafoam orbs blinked twice, as though recovering from the impact of the notably immovable man perched before her. He was essentially a towering wall to the young, troubled woman. She had half a mind to feign snapping her jaw back into its rightful place, as though it were truly that dramatic. It would have been a farce, but still carry across her point of how he could have seized her any other way. She grunted abruptly, resisting the surging itch to stick out her puny blush tongue.

His hand fished for hers, and she consequently felt her heart seize up not once, but twice.. The contact felt strangely personal, and her body managed to tense aside from her foggy influence. Something fell into her palm, and she glimpsed down to discover what it might be. Bee spotted a small pill that she could only label as Ativan. Instinctively her groomed eyebrow perked into a full arch, just up until he explained himself. Nonetheless, a laugh barraged out of her willowy frame once he suggested Robin be on the receiving end of medication.

“That's a no from me, sweets.” She razzed, pretentious in her vibe as she stretched out to fluff his cocoa locks. Castleberry's ankle crossed over the other as he revealed his next destination for the afternoon. He was extending her a not so formal invitation to join in his antics, and so long as she could shield Robin from the mischief, she would oblige. Boulevard couldn't say that was the only motive behind her reasoning. Just as well, she was lonely, and her life navigated strictly outside the line of connection with others.

Elias, in his own way, was paving his way into some sort of unique but functional companionship with the noirette. She chortled with bemusement, shrugging her slim shoulders. It was effortless abandoning being so vexed when you were still clinging to the buzz of self-treatment. “I'll go with you because I need some goddamn floral tea in my life. Get your ass in gear.” She declared valiantly, beginning down the direction of the cordial little greenhouse.

code by Ri.a

 

[Nobelia]

Teiga Reymore

At: The Greenhouse ♦ Interacting w: Tattooed man & a boy ♦ Mentions: Inb4Cloaker Chimney Swift Soap

He hardly blinked.

Instead, he chose to cock his head towards the woman, as though beckoning her to continue. Surely, this was not the first he'd experienced the receiving end of judgement, and neither would it be his last. In fact, he'd smelled this coming miles before it hit him. In this particular instance--was he getting carried away? Perhaps, but debatable. He hadn't been the instigator, but as he was now involved, it was only suitable to see the case through to its closure.

Teiga observed the woman from the corner of his eye, unmoving. Ever so curiously.

It didn't take long for him to assess that she was another harmless midget--the latter being recognized in absence of any malicious conclusions. Compassion dripped from her eyes--small feet bearing sturdy ground above the big situation. The epitome of what makes a human. Teiga qualifying to be human was questionable.

He looked away, favoring the decision of letting her vent as she pleases.

His perception of self was not reliant on the projection of others--nor was he obligated to annotate his behavior, nor designate excuses.

Teiga's gaze met another form of menace aimed through a furious stare.

Somehow, the more the man increasingly became upset--the more he wanted to harass him.

Teiga quirked a confused brow at his own inclinations. More on that, later?

The way the man shifted through cunning transitions of swiftly maturing defense caught his eye. Had he not been horribly accustomed to being charged at indiscriminately as a blaring red target would, the movements would have gone undetected. By the same fashion of thought, it occurred to him that the man was likely well-trained in the aspect of assault. Teiga unwillingly summoned the prospect of his family--the idea of an assassin indiscriminately appealing in his mind.

Well, this changed things quite a bit--but it hardly mattered as the changes were favorable to him.

Teiga decided to ignore the slander being delivered at hand, and with great restrain. It appeared the knife did not possess the influence he so desired to accomplish his intended objective. This meant that it was unreliable as an object to use against the man, and that he would have to retire himself from it. However, he incredibly lacked interest in surrendering it all the same.

Theft was for the insecure, but Teiga had presented the option for the man to receive his property--yet the man was unimpressed by the opportunity. The knife did not belong to Teiga, so he couldn't so simply dispose of it. He would have to hold onto it until the man either changed his mind or gave it up. An aggravating position to be in, as knives had no business being near him.

As easier as it would have been to stab the man with his own property, and order him to send his stubbornness packing through the door--it was an unfortunately counterproductive move to make.

Fortunately for him, the man had given a statement declaring intrigue in the aspect of the contract.

Even, with the absence of involvement of his precious knife?

How curious. He was infamously the world's renowned asshole by any commoner's explicit regards--yet the interest was still there. If an individual wasn't pursuing him for neither his appearance nor capabilities--that unmistakably gave room to the remaining apparent factor he had going for him---his money.

It was filthy attractive by the standards of most men and women--and his least favorite reason for being approached. Nothing was more terribly ironic than having wealth and despising it all the same. Given, there was no coincidence that the aforementioned were correlated to each other.

Teiga couldn't quite claim disappointment in the man's need. At the very least, he appeared to be confidently honest with himself, much unlike those who went through the trouble of masking their true nature.

"I believe courtesy has it that the speaker is burdened with the introductions--and not the other way around," he stated, in a fairly observant--yet non-accusatory tone after the man addressed him by his name.

"But then again, we aren't men of courtesy, are we?" It was more of a statement, than a question---the answer evident in light of their current predicament.

"I'd say its less of what I want, and more of you need, no? I'm sure I don't need to elaborate on that---but I likely have something of interest."

The knife rotated in hypnotic circles in his hand--as though contending with the urge to puncture something. Or rather, he was just concentrating on the task at hand.

The knife briefly halted its rhythmic whirls, Teiga staring at it--carefully, almost casually, mulling over his next words.

"How well do you fancy playing ... guard dog?"

The appropriate translation would be: I'll pay you to be a slave--an affluent slave, but a slave nonetheless. Body guard, guardian, employee servant, escort, or chaperone--such terms were useless if the core of what the occupations entailed were more or less the same.

Teiga himself, was a slave to his own endeavors.

Rumor had it that he was the kind of man who materialized wealth from the crops of his backyard. His personal favorite--without doubt, was the one where jealous men fantasized he simply chewed on his father's wallet and swallowed cash whole-- as one would with an sip of afternoon tea. Humorous, but desperately out of touch. Teiga would rather crawl while amputated, than receive any form of coinage from anyone sharing his last name.

The man in the chair dedicated half of his being to repressing laughter at the nearby woman's antics, and proceeded to reiterate her statement in Spanish---rather amused at her guts--or the lack thereof.

A semblance of puzzlement vaguely overcame Teiga--comparable to that of a student who remained the one and only in the classroom where any novel wisecrack went straight over their heads. It was fleeting--not strong enough to bear any reasonable impressions on him.

Teiga became increasingly aware of the man eyeing a portion of the room behind him--whatever he was looking at, becoming a source of growing...? It may have been unease, but he could not fathom what for..

He glanced down. The knife was still in his hand, and he hadn't stabbed the man yet so what..?

The guessing games did not last long, as the man voiced his concerns--his slackened tone not at all coordinating with the wariness in his eyes.

Teiga didn't realize he'd walked over to the boy before he found himself staring hard at the offending device.

He placed both his hands in his pockets--concealing the knife and his scarred hand--somehow attentive to the impression that whatever he'd do next would be imperiled if he hadn't.

The last thing he needed were double agents considerately informing certain people of his whereabouts.

He should've stayed home with a plan at hand--and all of that noise his conscience could berate him for at an appointed date.

He eyed the boy, and his cat. An unlikely combination, and Teiga figured that he were going to come across more unlikely things than were comfortable in his way of life in the near, and far future.

To do with the boy: advise against, be firm, or negotiate?

No deal would talk the scare out of the boy's mind--presumably. A dose too heavy of being 'firm' would end up killing him--probably.

He breathed a sigh, cracking his neck---his hands running through auburn as his heart burned with minimal irritation.

It was a nice day to socially fuck up, wasn't it?

The dismay bare in the boy's shaky irises said otherwise, and Teiga wasn't interested in harming small animals.

"I appreciate the concern, but I guarantee whatever you believe is about to happen--will not happen. Perhaps reconsider your decision?"

Teiga just barely stopped himself from saying: I wouldn't do that if I were you.

code by Ri.a

 

[Chimney Swift]

Location: The Greenhouse

Interactions: Cafe Criminal

Mentions: Nobelia
​

There were several long, painful seconds of Oliver sitting petrified in the corner of the library, waiting for the police to pick up. Would they? Who knows... Maybe the line was busy, or somehow they knew without even picking up that it wasn't worth their time.

If that were the case, they would be correct. Oliver was snapped out of his anxious fog by a gleaming, pristine pair of dress shoes. oh, no. Oh, no no no no-- The weedy nerd had been caught red-handed and trapped like a mouse.

Oliver could practically feel his throat closing as he looked up, and then up some more -- dear god, this man was tall, until he finally found the face of the man who'd approached him and his newfound cat friend. Oliver instantly recognized his deluxe attire and auburn hair as belonging to one of the knife fiends from the cafe... and, to boot, he couldn't help but notice how young he looked. Probably no More than a year or two older than Oliver himself. But, despite this, he felt himself dwarfed by the stranger's atmosphere.

Suddenly realizing the nature of the situation he was in, Oliver lowered his phone from his ear. Not that he had at all been convinced that the police didn't need to be phoned, but at this particular moment he was more worried about getting gutted here in the library. After watching the two men point blades at each others throats for the better part of the last five minutes, Oliver had good reason to feel unsafe.

The ritzy knife aficionado breathed a heavy sigh, reaching up to crack his neck. Oliver visibly recoiled at the sound, inching back towards the wall. After this uncomfortable pause, in which the young gent appeared to sink into a contemplative reverie, he spoke up: "I appreciate the concern, but I guarantee whatever you believe is about to happen--will not happen. Perhaps reconsider your decision?"

Finally enough, the man's almost patronizing tone seemed to spark a bit of resistance in Oliver. His wide, dull green eyes blinked for the first time in far too long, flashing with a kind of annoyance as he stood up to his full height of 5 feet and 7 inches, stiffly shoving his phone back into his pocket. The fact that he still had to crane his neck slightly to look at the other's face kind of defeated any chance he had at looking more imposing, but his timidity appeared to have all but melted away...

...that is, until he realized he didn't have any sort of comeback to the man's statement. He got stuck for a moment, staring up in silence, racking his brain for anything he could possibly say to that that wouldn't get him stabbed. He nodded slowly, biting his lower lip for a moment before awkwardly stating "...That's good to know." Even at the best of times (that is to say, not staring down a knife-wielding stranger) Oliver had a somewhat odd sort of inflection and spoke a bit too loudly, both of which stemmed from his hearing loss and neither of which helped his case in this situation. Fidgeting with the strap on his book bag, he took a step towards the exit, hoping that he was in a good enough position to run if this guy decided to rip him open.

Code by apolla