• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.

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

OOC
Here
Characters
Here
Lore
Here
Other
Here
ZANE RIDDLE
CS Link
SCENE:
[DOUBLE TAKE]
TIME:
Post-Arc 3
LOCATION:
Shady's Motel | Phoenix HQ, South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Hector, Zane
DOUBLE TAKE
Zane’s shades might as well have absorbed the tension in the room, with a varying simper just short of a snicker, but sobered by something other than goodwill or reason. It wasn’t impatience in his step, nor consideration, even if the words that bumbled out were abruptly sympathetic.

“I don’t like seeing you like this.” His knuckles coaxed. “It doesn’t suit you. Not as a phoenix, or a person.”

“No two ways about it—my whimpering off has got nothing to do with that yapping of yours. Think of it more like… an investment.” He tossed a mauve handkerchief onto the bed. “I’ll play the faithful knight to you and the others, but make no mistake: I don’t finger grapes into the mouths of a hobbling aristocracy.”

“If any of the shit you’re flapping is true, then this sort of prostration won’t happen again. Not for you, the so-called ‘Phoenix elite,’ and definitely not for a Scarlet King.” His taut glare rent a miniscule crack across his eyewear. “Cause if I catch another whiff of anything this pitiable, forget about unruly.”

The slack, coltish edge to his voice fell deeper and deeper into memory, replaced by something unrecognizable. This wasn’t the usual playful arrogance or frustrated resolve that had accompanied the troublesome phoenix of old. Whatever pit had been climbed, or hell risen, the propensity being displayed was a firm reminder that the person standing in this room might as well have been a stranger.

“I’ll prise the wings off each and every staunch bird, and knead their stubs inwards till their innards spill out their arse.”

His exit from the room allowed for one last clarification.

“If I could pull that off, then things really would be hopeless.”

“The Phoenixes I know aren't that weak.”
 NAVIGATE
 
Last edited:
ZANE RIDDLE
CS Link
SCENE:
[Crossed Lines]
TIME:
Pre-Arc 1 | November 11th, 2014
LOCATION:
The Mirage Diner, South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Vulken, Zane
CROSSED LINES
If you could read the air, you could read your opponent. So when the air begins to flare enough for intuition to forfeit wit, there is little to comprehend but fear. It was something as natural as a nip of cold making your hair stand on end. There was no shame in that, yet the bubbling sensation at Zane’s core was one of humiliation and reproach. A detestable understanding in which he had no choice but to refute—because if he accepted an early defeat offered by reason, then he really had lost.

“Yong-Yut.” The name rang no bells. “My blunder for not realizing there was a line.”

His fists rose, as requested.

“Though if you’re out here fighting her battles, it wasn’t much of a mistake.”

Zane’s leer had returned with audacious brilliance alongside the only path to victory he could devise. It had been some time since he had fought the strong, but his body remembered. It forced against hesitation, and pushed itself into a blitz whose strength was destined to fall short. This was no attack, but the ‘readying of nails for a hammer to bludgeon.’

In this case: the dragging of fleeting steps to upturn glass dust.

He wasn’t sure yet—about what he was fighting for. Whether it was pride, supremacy, or righteousness.

It just might be survival.
@Nobody Special
 NAVIGATE
 
The Agency
CS Link
SCENE:
The Idol’s Mask
TIME:
Post-Outbreak, July 31, 2022
LOCATION:
Vernwood Park, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Agency Employees, Security Personnel
The Idol’s Mask
Tragedy often turned to comedy with the passage of time. Was it then one gigantic joke that the agency decided to host another fanmeet so soon, so close to the North? A show of bravery, they said. A message of retaliation, they said. Just think of the profits, they said. At least they were honest about the real reason for placing their best asset in danger once more.

Vernwood Park was situated a mere half-kilometer from the bridge that led to the Northern District. It was divided into four sections, each bearing trees that thrived in every season. At the middle stood a fountain that depicted a tiger pressing down a clawed foot against the head of a serpent. Water flowed out of the serpent’s mouth, trickling down to the basin littered with thousands of coins, in case the imagery wasn’t subtle enough.

At the foot of the fountain, the agency’s employees milled about, setting up the booth, the speakers, and the life-sized cutouts of the pink-eyed idol. Mingling among them were the plains-clothed PMC soldiers hired for the event, running the gamut of disguises from businessperson to hooded smoked leaf enjoyer. Their heads kept swiveling towards the North, as if a group of Serpents would suddenly pop out of the ground and wreak havoc on everything. Perhaps they would, but probably not in the way they expected.

Public opinion on the entire thing was polarized, to say the least. The fandom was divided between keeping their idol safe and flipping the big middle finger to the Serpents. Majority of the Tigers were silent over the entire thing, but the lower ranks whispered about conspiracies that the event was a cover for an offensive against the North. Whatever it was, one question loomed over everyone’s heads...

What would happen to Passeri Park this time?

Interactions: The One Eyed Bandit The One Eyed Bandit Faker Faker



Sheridan Vale
CS Link
SCENE:
The Idol’s Mask
TIME:
Post-Outbreak, July 31, 2022
LOCATION:
A certain cafe across Vernwood Park, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Sheridan, Melody
The Idol’s Mask
The tea tastes absolutely divine, given that somebody else made it and not me. There is that hint of a few days past the expiration date, with notes of the wooden drawer the teabag sat in for who knows how long. Fascinating how it tells me much about the cafe’s owner, specifically how he does not care one bit about the cafe itself so long as it serves as a front for money laundering. How do I know this? Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m just making things up. Still, I take another sip of the lukewarm tea and smile. Something much more interesting will happen today.

I glance down at the three tickets tucked beneath a black saucer, each printed on pink slips of paper, each bearing the face of a person I never knew capable of showing such a smile. It was a stroke of fortune when two customers from the West showed up five days ago, talking about some famous idol and arguing about whether it was a good idea to hold a fanmeet so close to the borders of the North. Looking over their shoulders, the face I saw on their phone screens brought me back to those early years of the Fool’s End Cafe, particularly that one rainy day when a skinny, pale-haired teenager came in and asked for work.

Those customers called her Passeri Park.

I can’t help but smile at the memory, and all that came after. It wasn’t hard to get a hold of these tickets. All it took was a little bit of bribery and blackmail (and no small amount of threatening from Mori) to encourage them to help me meet with one of the greatest idols of the age. Funnily enough, I never knew she existed until that day. Or maybe I did. Who knows? But I digress. Perhaps you’re wondering why there are three tickets when there’s only one of me? Of course, there are more of me. I still have many masks at home, and the golden half-mask I have on now is just casual wear. Again, I digress.

The reason for the three tickets sits right across the table from me. Actually, make that two reasons: Melody Tucker, and her daughter Cassidy. I never knew the two of them before this all started, and she just happened to enter the cafe with her daughter when I was politely telling those two customers from the West the myriad ways I can peel their skin off. I was split between politely asking them to leave or politely threatening to turn Melody into a hundred jam-filled donuts if she said anything, but ultimately I decided on a third course of action. That is why the two of them are here, enjoying their orders from the cafe, waiting with me for the fanmeet to start.

Why did I bring them with me into hostile territory when all I wanted was to mess with a person from my past? Maybe because I can use them as insurance or backup in case anything goes wrong. Maybe because their presence here throws a delightful wrench into everything. Or maybe just because.


Interactions: miki miki
Mentioned: Wxnter Wxnter

 
Deirest
SCENE:
Legacy Lost
TIME:
June 13th, 2022 | Post-Arc 3
LOCATION:
Zhànzhēng, East District | Silverlit Grounds
PARTICIPANTS:
Hifumi, Deirest
Legacy Lost
"Mmmm... Mmmhmhm..." Air warbled within Deirest's throat. In each breath mingled the pronounced, earthy aroma of fresh-steeped tea. It was like the grave. Layers of dirt piled atop her senses. This child. He reminded her of the Sister. Their voices rang with the same timbre, though masked by a different tone. She knew it. She could taste it in her gullet, buried deep by her layers of slumber.

She was free of it, but he was enraptured.

Faith. Delusion.

There it was. Buried beneath the pitiable mud of decrepitude. She saw it. She saw it. The pieces, broken. Fractured. Scattered to the wind.

Freedom.

The guttural, spent thrumming in her throat turned giddy.

"It is important, you know..." Her attention returned. No, that wasn't the right word. For the first time that night, the week, this decade, this lifetime, her cognizance was with her. For the first time in her short, fledgling life, a twinkle of fel clarity blossomed within Deirest's eyes.

"You're missing it too aren't you? I can see it. Your walk. Your talk." Words following the same actions, actions following the same words. An endless, deadly spiral. A fool's cage. "You've lost it. You're losing it."

She loomed up and leered over the table. She lay her palm laid across the teapot, just lukewarm enough to remain her it was there.

"This, too-" She swiped it clear off the table. Decades old porcelain shattered across centuries old timber. "-you're just like it."

Lukewarm. Half-assed.

"Hey, fairy..." She was smiling now, her eyes balls of orange fire within the dim light of the sitting room. "The future. That's what you said. Do you know what it tastes like?"

"Not tea. Not a hint."

 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
Shifting Around The Side View Mirror Is Good Until You See Your Own Reflection
LOCATION:
East District
DATE:
June 13, 2022 || Post-Arc 3
PARTICIPANTS:
Kisara ( simj26 simj26 ), Keith( Roda the Red Roda the Red ), Takakazu
Shifting Around The Side View Mirror Is Good Until You See Your Own Reflection

“Huh, fire?” An empty-eyed response came from Tak as the guy trying so hard to get out of recouping him for damages spoke of more ridiculous warnings, an uninterested scratch of his neck as he looked at Keith with a glare, “You think I’m dumb? Like hell, I’mma fall for that! I’ll take a look up, and you’re gonna dash away, the oldest trick in the book,” Tak stated, crossing his arms with a shake of his head, “Just own up already; be a grown man!” He declared, before giving a smirk as he pointed to himself, “After all, the only thing that’s on fire about me is my crotch after I get done fuckin’ your m--”

Before his crude joke could finish, the sudden grasp on his shoulder pulled Tak off his feet, leading the man to stumble before falling into Keith’s tug as he was pulled sharply enough to cause his body to jut in response, Tak’s disoriented eyes looked around from the sudden change from standing to moving, looking at the red blur with a scowl as he shouted, “Oi, what was that for--” before getting unceremoniously cut off once again.

The rending of metal caused warm water to burst forth. The pressure burst and caused the water inside to splash and splutter out into the outside of lower pressure. Steam wafted up in the air, absorbed by the atmosphere, Tak becoming engrossed within the cloud as he was utterly doused.

“PWAAAH MY MOUTH WAS OPEN DAMNIT!” Tak cursed through the steam, his hands flailing wildly to stop the water from splashing him in the face, going all over his body and soaking through his clothes, matting his hair, and making him step back to get away from it.

Unaware of his danger, the fire was doused, but Tak looked unphased. Calmly, he raised his hand to wipe his wet hair out of his face, then took off his jacket, flapping it out and giving it a wrong right between his fingers, letting the water splash loudly against the ground. He then hung it up on the edge of a nearby dumpster in the alley.

And then he reached up to crack his neck, a satisfying snap.

Tak’s body braced tightly, his knees bending, his shoes embedding in the cement, the pebbles rattled against the floor, his muscles tensed, and the engines began to turn. Gears whirred and spun cranks that coursed blood through his body as his heart roared, the motors growling.

And then he lifted off; the air was nothing to him as all resistance broke down as he charged forward, his hands grasped outward, and his fingers were primed like claws.

“YAAAAA LICORICE HAIRED BASTARD!” Came Tak’s enraged shout, and immediately, a blur slammed itself around Keith. His fingers reached and grasped into his scalp, tugging sharply to pull at the roots, tugging so hard that it seemed like Keith’s face would tear off like a mask.

“Do you know how much it costs to use a dryer at a laundromat nowadays!? You just cost me some quarters! I need those for my Xian food, y’know!? I ain't myself without my eggrolls, you hear me!?” Tak shouted in Keith’s ear as he wrangled him, pulling on his hair like reins, like he was trying to pull it out, “HUH!? JUST HANG ‘EM OUT!? LIKE HELL, I CAN DO THAT! I DON’T NEED SOME WEIRDO STEALIN’ MY UNDIES AND SNIFFIN 'EM!” Tak rebuked a comment that Keith hadn’t even said, using it as fuel to pull harder, bracing his feet against the dirt.

Amid his rampage, he hadn’t even noticed the approach of the other member in this battle, which he had yet to realize was going on. However, the sound of her approach made the man stop the torture only for a moment, blinking as he glanced over his shoulder; it was too late for anything to change.

The sound of flesh being pierced, Tak’s eyes widened, dilated pupils slowly looking down as his mouth hung down in horror.

A horn had pierced right through his pants, torn through the fabric, and gone to parts unknown.

Blood burst forth like a geyser, and Tak’s eyes rolled backward. Foam began to bubble out of his mouth as he let go of Keith’s hair, his whole body going limp as he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Blood spurting out of his asshole like a sprinkler.

The chime of a death bell, as his spirit began to float out from his mouth and fly away to the Heavens.

 
Last edited:
Hooded Chimeric "F"
Scene:
All That is Mortal
Time:
July 13th, 2022 || Post-Outbreak
Location:
Lower Central District Ruins
Participants:
Stitches, Deirest
All That is Mortal

“You got all that?”

The man in front of them kept opening their mouth to speak, and they watched him from under the shade cast over their eyes. Saw their lips parting and sealing, stringing up words from a language they'd heard, a language they spoke— a language they didn’t care to understand right now. Languidly, as though they’d just come awake after the blonde-head in front of them blurted out that last question, the only response the stitched figure gave was a silent nod, a sigh.

A trail of damp breath unweaving through the bandages covering half of their face, breaking off into a fading plume in the air. Head tilting from shoulder to shoulder, cracking.

They were barely listening. It wasn’t rocket science either way.

They had been sitting in the waiting room just outside of their employer’s office, going over the target. If it wasn’t clear from the sight of the bundle of bandages and stitches and multi-toned skin walking around robed and barefoot among a room full of suits; they were out of their element. Most jobs, the similar ones, whence they came, were a trivial little unplanned thing. Spun by a crackhead willing to pay, or another serpent with delusions of grandeur.

Drug-induced, majority of the time

This one. This thing. Whatever it was that they’d gotten themselves snared in. This was as professional as it got. Something straight out of the Western district, or a mobster flick. It had them tight at the stitches, crawly-skinned, on edge— but they’d been handling the luxury office, tall windows and potted greenery quite well. Gritting their teeth, going along with it.

Even, used to the grime as they were. They were doing it for Melody and their niece, after all

There weren’t any niceties spared to the deal. No why’s, no when’s, no dead-lines— they were meant to bring someone’s head in because they’d told them so. Didn’t matter how long it took.

The man in front of them was tall, much taller than them. A tight-fit black suit that made his muscles pop out when you looked under the jacket he had over his shoulders. Bowl-cut, blonde. Golden eyes, perpetually half-lidded. A smirk that wouldn’t leave his face.

He’d been playing with a drawn sword since they very moment they started talking. He told them before, back when they first met, before this job, that his name was…’Nameless’. Mumei. A dragon, working for vipers.

The woman beside him, just as tall. A pretty dress, straight out of a fable, black-and-white that grabbed your attention, wouldn’t let the eyes wander too far off from her. Pale-head, blood-red eyes, a resting bitch face kept scowling at them every time they looked over.

She hadn’t spoken a word, not since they entered the room. Not even to introduce herself.

These weren’t their employers, however. No, that would’ve been the man inside the office they stood at the foot of. They’d seen shades of him, blurs of motion through the half-open door leading to that leather couch they could see just beyond. He was sat there, pacing through a glass of something fancy. They could see half of him through the opening.

Pretentious little prick.

The pile of bandaged stitches pushed off the corner, taking a few tentative steps forward, head angled straight at the open slant in the door. Watching the pair of crossed, business-slack-clad legs waiting behind, tapping and bopping their loafers together on a rhythm. As if mocking them to be so daring, to come and step right in if they had the balls to do so.

They managed to outstretch a tissue-covered hand out, and before they could bump the door open, they walked throat-first into the strong grip of a hand. Thenar web tensed and wrapping around their entire neck, squeezing the air back into their lungs— snapped one or two stitches.

He lifted them like they were a child, easily, threw them back to the corner before they could even open their mouth to curse like a sailor at him — “M’awwe, maaaan~! C’mon Stitch!” — The bundle of bandages tried to move, bark back, but the edge of a blade sliced the words right out of their throat. A clean cut through the stitches, a snappy motion. Surgical. Nothing that would’ve hurt.

Trickles of blood spurted and washed down their chest, onto the floor. Nameless only stepped back as the red pool steadily lapped toward the tip of his polished, business-man shoes, clicking his tongue and shaking one foot like he’d just missed stepping on dog shit by a hair — “You’re breaking my heart, y’know? Are you trying to make me lose my job on purpose? You can’t just walk into the boss’ office like that— already told you so.”

The hooded figure only stood there, tipping their chin down to the blade drawn and pointed at their face, rubbing a hand on the broken stitchwork. Dirty, white linen going red-tinged as they coughed up the remainders of whatever blood remained at their throat. Even through the taut bandages wrapped around their face, one could still see a wicked, disgusting grin stretching across, pulling at the white tissue.

Stitches wheezed out a laugh, leaning into the blade — “You’re a meanie, Mumei…You’re a meanie…” — The blade slipped, spearing straight through their throat as they walked into it without a care, pushing it further with each step until the very hilt was pushed up to their chin. They gargled blood, but still spoke, emotion quivering at their throat; Mumei felt it vibrating through the blade — “I can’t see the face of my kind employer? That makes me sad…”

“Oh, he’s a very secretive man, you see,” — The blonde didn’t even seem all too fazed by the act, just keeping the blade steady in Stitches throat. Tapping a finger on the hilt, humming, leaning in closer to those wrathful eyes he could sense glaring at him through the wrap of bandages — “A young entrepreneur on the rise…He’s gotta keep his wits to him. It pains him too, but he can’t allow himself to let his guard down, not even among his employs.”

“That so?” — That rough, growled question curdled out of their throat, and it hung there still in the short air between them, between the few inches left before their foreheads touched, before they butted heads. Mumei stared at bandage’s petty, child-like boldness with wide-eyed amusement.

His lips twisted to a smile, his loose fingers already beginning to wrap around the hilt of his sword. A narrow, pin-point focused look in his eye. One that quickly dropped when,

“Both of you,” — Her voice snapped the tension in the air. It threw the two off their axis, a pair of heads turning to look at her like dog’s listening in for the whistle, one of them gliding across steel as it did — “Pipe down. You’re making a damn mess on the floor.”

There was a stillness pressed down on the oxygen they gasped whenever she spoke, something, throttling them out of conscious. Or trying so. Mumei withdrew the sword, flicking the blood down onto the puddle beneath him. Stitches groaned, muttered something under their breath as they stepped back.

They both stared at the blood splatters— stuck to the walls, dripping from the plants, gliding across the costly ceramic plates on the floor— it was a mess.

“Tch…That’s going straight out of my paycheck…” — He lamented, one hand going up to palm his own forehead as he hissed. Stitches crossed their arms, scoffing, wheezing.

“You bring her dead. Understand? Don’t show your face around here unless you have what the boss wants. No questions. No demands. You’ll have your pay if you get it done.”

“Pfft—Tall fuckin’ order…”

“You’ll have that bitch’s head on a silver platter by tomorrow morning, if that fucking freak’s so desperate about having her.” — They barked, gesturing at the door leading to the office. A gnawing, meaty grumble resounding at their throat as it stitched itself back together— “Just remember that you better have my money ready by then…”

There was one final look between the peons and the hooded figure before they turned to the stairs leading out the building, then a final one, just over their shoulder. At that slit in the door. The man behind waved his goodbyes with a hand, legs still crossed, getting comfortable. Pristine hands, not a bruise or a cut. Trimmed nails, polished.

Pretentious prick.


Lower central district, whatever bits and pieces of its sprawled-out corpse remained after that night, was nothing but a charred wound on the skin of Oasis. Something kept picking at it, re-opening the blood flow, widening the gash. It had been two days since the outbreak.

Now all that was left is ruins, traces, recollections of what it used to be. Left for someone else to pick the pieces back up. The night sky was dotted full of stars, if you had an eye for looking through the persistent smokestacks still filling the air.

Beautiful. Awfully beautiful.

Their faint, gentle glow only served to bask and mingle with the rubble, overcast in the sharp angled corners of broken-down, splattered architecture that filled the road. Their glow, their sheen, only to pester the half-closed eyelids of the poor, trembling worms that still remained in their broken homes. Miserable, weak. Queasy, dizzy.

The shinning light coming through the clouds was nothing but a mockery for those who’d bared the storm.

It was laughable.

They walked now, a shadowed figure in a dark, tattered robe. White bandages jutting out of the night’s cowl. Covering their face, their arms, locked fingers twitching, their bare feet that trudged along the sharp feeling of rubble underneath their sole. A hefty bag thrown over their shoulder, full to the brim with meaty bumps and things that still twitched on the inside, like a bloated stomach. A gift bag— dripping with red.

It was Christmas, and they were joyous. Galloping around the night looking for that one dear person they were holding out these gifts for.

Most of them were still hiding in the gutters of the district, those monsters. Majority still fresh, frozen as they were. Even fresher than they were back in that new year’s eve. They would do just fine. For her they would.

Their footsteps echoed through the empty streets, blood-shot eyes drifting around the premises as they walked, conscious of every shift in the wind, every howl that wafted through vacant alleyways and the gaping holes in some buildings. It took a while, thirty minutes or so of aimlessly wandering the ruins, but just as they’d told them, she was there.

Was she hiding from something? Running? Was she just up in the wind, letting it carry her away?

They didn’t give a shit — “Kye-heh—HAH~!” — In the silence of the abandoned, broken-down highway, they stood as shadows playing into the gloom, barely flickering into existence for each other under the spotlight of the stars. The second shadow, the stalker, loomed over the other, peering over a hill of rubble with one step already planted on it, elbow propped on the knee.

He, she— whatever they were— merely glared in perfect silence at her. A hand reached up to unravel the bandages covering their face, taking their first breath of fresh air. Bangs of pale, wet hair dropped immediately. A disgusting, yellow-toothed grin greeted Deirest from under the hood.

“Looks like I finally found my little pay piggie…” — There was no explanations, no warnings. Just suddenness. Ill intentions. Like two dire wolves meeting in the wild, under the cover of night— there was only primal instinct, and the smell of matted, damp fur of the other.

“It took me a bit, took me a bit— ya’ damn whore.” — Stitches cackled, bandages unweaving and getting carried away by a gust of howling wind.

“You know,” — They gestured, wheezing — “Your little miserable, miserable life’s worth over twenty thousand Amestrian’s right now…It’s probably never been worth that much at all, has it? You should be happy, jumping with joy.”

“I know I sure am.”

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon then— what’s it gonna be?” — They jumped over the rubble, whole body bending and twitching sickly the moment they landed on a squat in front of her. Their head drifted up, tilting, grinning at her — “Y’ gonna start running? Gonna hide? Gonna cry?” — Before she could even get to reply, the hooded figure snapped again at her, cackling.

“Hey, hey— I’m talkin’ to you, dumb fuck. You paying attention? You slow?” — They stood up, bones cracking. Taking a gasping, slow breath. Labored — “What’s it gonna be?”

They chuckled, slowly ambling toward Deirest, feet padding through the cold pavement.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me…”



  • AZURE DRAGONS
    MUMEI
    MUMEI
    N/A
    N/A
    AGE & BIRTH
    ???
    ALIAS
    Mumei
    GENDER
    M
    HEIGHT | WEIGHT
    6'4" (193 cm) | 190 lb (86 kg)
    GANG & RANK
    xx of the Azure Dragons
    ACTIVE SINCE
    xxxx
    REPUTATION
    ???
    Home District
    East District
    GENERAL DESCRIPTION
    "I want to smack that fucking smile off his face..."
    PERSONALITY
    "Cocky."
    HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY
    "A dragon. From Sankai?"
    RELATIONSHIPS
    "He seems to be close with that woman..."

  • caeruleum dracones
    MEMENTO MORI
    • pasithea
    nomen.
    ???
    agere.
    ???
    identitatis.
    Pasithea
    sexus.
    F
    altitudo//pondus.
    6'2" (187 cm) | 170 lbs (77 kg).
    secta.
    xx of the Azure Dragons.
    activus.
    xxxx
    fama.
    ???
    regio.
    North District
    descriptio.
    "She creeps me out."
    persona.
    "Resting bitch face."
    narratio.
    ???
    domus.
    ???


The One Eyed Bandit The One Eyed Bandit
 
Last edited:
MILO NAGISA
CS Link
SCENE:
We Who Remain
TIME:
Arc 3 — May 31st, 2022
LOCATION:
South district, Phoenix HQ; Shady's Clinic, first floor
PARTICIPANTS:
Boltius, Bandy, Milo, Gideon, Jericho, Ashley, Callista, Raquel, Faelan
WE WHO REMAIN
Milo helped Boltius to sit up, relieved just to feel helpful. To feel needed. Even if it was too little, too late. "Sure," he breathed, his voice tinged with worry. He wanted to say more, but no words came. No words of comfort or assurance. He just stood there dumbly and stared at the back of Boltius' neck.

That was just as well, Milo thought. They would've all disappointed, anyhow. Besides, he, too, was keen—maybe even keener than Boltius—to hear the answers to some of his questions. He turned to Gideon, having ignored him for the most part up until now, as much as he could without being overtly rude. After all, he still was grateful that Gideon had been there with Boltius... At least, he had been, before Gideon opened his mouth.

Slowly, as he listened to Gideon's recounting of the events that had led them here, the events that had nearly cost Boltius his life, Milo's neutral expression fell, sinking deeper with each passing moment until his lower jaw hung slack. Did he say 'bomb'?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Milo felt something snap.

When Gideon stopped speaking, and in fact a few beats after that, as the thoughts were still swirling, Milo spoke. "Are you insane?" He asked in a low voice that may as well have been a scream. His expression was deadly serious, now. Lips pursed tightly. "Well? Are you?" He asked in a tone one might've expected him to take when attempting to chastise a particularly air-headed child. He stepped between Gideon with his outstretched pain reliever and Boltius. His fists clenched so tight they ached.

"Knew the risks?" Milo threw Gideon's words back at him. "It sounds to me like you're the risk."

 
Brut (NPC)
CS Link
SCENE:
Losers!
LOCATION:
East District, Skate Park
TIME:
Post-Arc 3 || June 11th, 2022
PARTICIPANTS:
Pei, Javi
Losers!

“Heh, well, ain’t ya a damn do-gooder,” Javi’s hopes of getting attention would be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Steps came from behind, soft and light, hinting at the sudden intrusion's size before eyes could even gaze upon his small form. His arms hung in his pockets, his bright orange pompadour cast over half of his face as he wore a scowl-smirk, eyes filled with nothing but rotten thoughts as he stopped and looked up at the towering human.

“Lookatcha, you even got yourself your own little pet! It's real cute! KYAHAHAHAH!” The green creature guffawed, his tongue hanging out like a lobotomized dog, as he pointed at Javi in condemnation. It was short-lived amusement before he crouched down like a delinquent, his tongue retracting back into his mouth, not without licking his eyeball like a gecko before sliding across his lips.

“What was it you were sayin’? Kids play here? I don’t see kids here anymore, do ya!?” Brut shouted, a slam of his foot as he stretched his arms outward to display the rampaged skatepark and all its desecrated glory, the sound of squeaky bike borns echoing across as a pair of tricycle riders sped past, letting out frantic shouts like they were wild hyenas.

“It ain’t a kid's space no more; we decided to take up shop, made it look real nice too. Diggin’ the grunge, ya feel me?” Brut spoke on behalf of his fellow gang members, his fingers waving dismissively through the air, “If those kids really wanted this park, they should’a fought for it! Cryin’ home to mommy ain’t get ‘em nowhere!” He exclaimed before letting his hands fall into a cross across his chest.

“It sure was nice to flip those old bag skirts and see the look on their faces! KAHAHAHAHAHAH!”

Brut’s continuous laughing slowly began to grow the attention of those around, obedient mutts dressed in jackets, sunglasses, bandanas, and other street apparel as they strolled up, circling around Javi like a swarm of plankton, joining in on their boss’ laughter.

With a snap of his finger, they all stopped. Brut motioned towards the crowd, and like a holy Excalibur, a tiny, rusty, nail-ridden baseball bat was in his hands. In anticipation, he hefted its weight to let it clap into his hand, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he gained that frenzied look into his eye.

“You want us gone, huh? Well then, how about we give ya a shot! Think you can survive against all o’ us!?” Brut roared, pointing the bat towards the Dragon like a spear, a glint in his eyes; he meant business.

There was a pause for a moment, and the bubbling tension only seemed like it would lead to a fight, the swarm of toy-like creatures poised to jump Javi in a swarm, like a bunch of pesky gremlins.


“KEKEKEKEKEKEKEK!”

Suddenly, a loud cackle came, grating against the ears, dripping with malice and joy. Nails were hammered against a chalkboard, and the erasers were slamming. The rowdies immediately reacted, turning their heads to look towards the source.



Zentsupa Pei
CS Link
SCENE:
Losers!
LOCATION:
East District, Skate Park
TIME:
Post-Arc 3 || June 11th, 2022
PARTICIPANTS:
Pei, Javi
Losers!

A man in blonde, his hair spiked and disorganized, ears that were sharp as knives. His mouth was twisted into a giant smile, with jagged teeth that looked prepared to tear through flesh. Contrasting to the demonic look of his face was his frail body, thin and lanky, almost ghoulish. A crimson bat, looking straight out of the circles of hell, hung on his shoulder, its expression matching his almost uncannily.

Amongst the madness, he was undisturbed. He had laid out a picnic blanket surrounded by debris from emptied cans and broken soda bottles. He had brought a whole set-up: a series of TVs that all showed different programming, power cords that stretched out wildly like vines to get outlets who knows where.

His fingers held a remote, and quickly, he flipped through channels, a chuckle under his breath as he leaned in closer to the screens expectantly. Abruptly, everything went to static, earning a scowl from the blonde.

“You piece of scrapshit!” Pei shouted, his anger came with growing veins in his forehead as his perspective shot upwards; sitting on top of the TV sets was a small robot, struggling to balance on top, arms flailing, as a giant satellite dish was positioned out of his head, spinning around for a signal.

“W-Wait, I almost got it! Give me a second!” The robot pleaded, but quickly, he was silenced by the remote slamming into its body, knocking it right off the TV, and only its robotic screams and the clattering of it against the ground were heard.

The blonde’s sour expression continued as he clicked his teeth and then pushed his body off the blanket, head dipping down as he turned to look towards the confrontation between Javi and the yankees, “With nothing good on TV, guess I’ll have to make do with you fuckheads!” His expression suddenly brightened, and casually, he began to stroll over; the crowds parted for him, allowing him to step right up to Javi, letting the Dragon get a close-up look of his maniac simper.

He cackled under his breath at Javi for no conceivable reason, his monstrous bat joining him as it looked at Rocco as if it was some sort of competition.

“Kekekekek. I doubt you’re interested in having this turn into a brawl. The East is supposed to be a peaceful place, right?” Pei proposed the rhetorical question, raising a finger to tap it against a temple, “So, how about you two handle this without going’ at it? It would be much more damn interesting that way! Kekekekek.”


“Haaah?” Brut instantly expressed his disinterest, the green creature stepping forward with a scowl and a protest, “This is our turf now! We ain’t boutta give it up over some dumb game!”

The reaction to his defiance was immediate; a hand slipped underneath the man’s jacket, and when he pulled out a weapon, a pistol colored as if it was a toy, there was no time for Brut to react before the trigger was pulled. A bang, and then the Playmate fell to the floor.


“WHEN I TELL YOU LOSERS TO DO SOMETHIN, YOU DO IT! YOU HEAR ME!?” Pei sharply declared, raising the gun in the air and letting loose the whole magazine, causing all of his Playmates to immediately stiffen up in response and quickly nod in understanding.


“Tch, fine. We’ll do it,” came a familiar voice; instead of what would have been assumed to be a corpse, rose Brut, rubbing a hand over the hole in his chest as if it was nothing as he stood back up, looking to the side, dejected.

With his gun still brandished, he casually hung it over his shoulder. He looked towards Javi, an expectant smile on his face.

“What about you, mossball!? You in!? Or you a chickenshit!?”


 
Last edited:
Boltius "BLITZ" Beckman
CS Link
SCENE:
New Phoenix Golden Age
TIME:
Post-Arc 2 — July 20th, 2022
LOCATION:
South district, Phoenix HQ; Old Bank of Amestria
PARTICIPANTS:
Bolt, Hector, Helva, Hitoshi, Milo, Musai, Pei, YY
NEW PHOENIX GOLDEN AGE
Standing upon that stage by Hector’s side with his arms folded across his chest, Boltius surveyed the gathering below. Scarcely a face to call unfamiliar, the gathering stared back. His heart drummed in his chest and his lungs felt short of breath. It was unlike him… to be so nervous.

But this was different.

Seven years ago—on the fateful day that Boltius discovered Vulken’s gang affiliation and made the decision to join, too, succeeding two years later—he never would have imagined he could be Queen of the Scarlet Phoenixes—not when his only purpose for joining was to protect Vulken and to protect his family. Now… somewhere along the way, the lines between family and gang crossed and the borders blurred, loyalty grew, ideas changed. Boltius was a Scarlet Phoenix, not just a fledgling trying to fill his brother’s shoes. He had sculpted himself beyond that. He could finally say it. He stood no longer in his brother’s shadow.

Lingering doubts aside, the power to protect everyone he cared about was finally within reach. That recognition brought ease to his nerves.

He locked eyes with a set of golden hues amid the turnout and after a moment’s passing—time enough to appreciate who it was—he smiled, uncrossing his arms, and gave a two-fingered salute in greeting. “Yo. Lookin’ sharp, dawg,” he told Milo before looking down at himself, at the suit Yong-Yut had crafted him. From the waist up, snazzy best described him. However, Bolt’s touch was apparent in the opposite direction. Below the belt, his dress pants were cut off at the knees with black compression tights underneath. They reached his calves. As for his shoes, well, there was only so much Yong-Yut could do in that department. He wore a pair of black and orange tennis shoes to match the rest of his attire… in color, at least.

Speaking of Yong-Yut, Boltius spotted her in the crowd and stuck up a hand to draw her focus. “You look beautiful!” he blurted out, a modest flirt, for he’d always found them a blessing on the eyes, but he quickly broadened his attention and addressed the room’s entirety, “We’ve got the past, present, and future gathered here, today, Pharaoh…” His voice carried.

There were faces he never got the chance to fight beside in their prime, but faces he could put to stories he’d heard as a Rookie scrambling to grow. There were faces who’d had his back in bloody skirmishes, of which, in return, he’d had their backs with equal vigor. And, at last, there were new faces still—faces that would only know him as he was now and forward.

Grinning, enlivened by the sight of them, he spoke again to Hector, quieter now, but didn’t look away from those below, “I’m startin’ ta get a feelin’ some a these guys know what they came for.” The seat had been empty too long.

“What’s a Phoenix do best, y’know?...” It rises. Any who knew that well enough could have guessed what they were dressing up for today.

(Interacting w/ Milo, Yong-Yut, Hector)
(Mentioned Vulken)
Elenion Aura Elenion Aura gxxberkit gxxberkit WhiskeyMarten WhiskeyMarten Peckinou Peckinou Kameron Esters- Kameron Esters- thebigfella thebigfella ​
 
CAMILA GASPARI
CS Link
SCENE:
Call to Arms
TIME:
Post-Outbreak, July 23 2022
LOCATION:
Ryutaro's Rooftop Garden, Imperial Gardens Condominiums, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Camila, Ryutaro
Call to Arms
Camila bit her lip in frustration, her eyes, shifting down to the ground. Just what was this asshole's problem? Didn't she just tell him that she WASN'T their boss? It was infuriating to be given a title she had never claimed to begin with. She barely ever got to enjoy the sense of respect that came from such a position, yet she was now expected to carry on through every responsibility of one considered to be such?

"I...I'll try, sir." She responded in a dry, unenthusiastic tone, her feet idly swinging back and for on her seat, just barely unable to reach the ground. "I have my ways of getting them to listen if it's really necessary." It was mostly a true statement, she DID know how to get them to cooperate when push comes to shove, but the methods weren't pretty, certainly not the kind that gained you a person's good favor, and from Camila's experience, that was also the easiest way to have a knife sinking into your back before you could realize.

"But I'd rather not waste my time dealing with unnecessary problems." She stood up, meeting Ryutaro eye too eye as much as their height gap allowed. "Just tell me the truth, Queen. I know you don't just want me to prove my worth," She folded her arms, hips tilting a handful of degrees. "You want assistance with whatever you wanna do with Markus, so just tell it to me straight, what kind of help do you want from my associates? Narrowing things down will help me get it all done in time." He may act like he has everything under control, but Ryutaro's rallying efforts were clear as day, he couldn't get his goals done if he didn't reach out to anyone in his power.

She knew she was taking a bit of a risk standing up to her boss like that, she was barely able to mask her fear with a steadfast facade. But even if she was being roped into something grander against her wishes, she'd still not allow anyone to be played with like a puppet without showing a bit of zest and pride.




joshuadim joshuadim
 
Passeri Park
SCENE:
Telephone Line
TIME:
July 20th, 2022
LOCATION:
North District
PARTICIPANTS:
Passeri, Dagger
Telephone Line
Harrier, Cameron.

"That's good!" Passeri's eyes remained trained on the binder, even as Elise stammered behind her. It was unusual of her. Typically there would've been some level of playfulness, some level of coy fussing over the lapse in Elise's usual, snowy stoicism. Passeri was no empath, but she was no slouch when it came to reading people either. That wasn't there, now. The more pages she turned, the less she seemed to listen. The hollower her words rang.

Finch, Louise.
Devonson, Patrick.

"There used to be a diner in this area. We never did manage to check out the one near the shop, did we? Maybe we could..."

Diaz, Micheal.
Cooper, Clarke.
Curtis, Lily.
Ba-

Her mouth felt dry.

"..."

Four words, barbed, caught in her throat.

"...S-sorry. Um. What was I talking about? Lunch?" She pressed the binder shut. "There's a... couple of leads here. Why don't we come back to this after we check them out?" Her voice was tense now. Still bright, but strained. Like a string pulled taut. She slipped the binder back in its place and exited the tiny office. The mail room brushed through her peripheral, and then she was back in the lobby. All without looking at Elise even once.

Aisles of doors flanked her. None of them the right ones. There had been numbers to the names. Numbers and letters. Floors and apartments. Which one was she looking for? She couldn't remember. No, she could. She'd never been one to forget easily. She was stalling for time. Wasting it. Both hers and Elise's. She couldn't do that. She'd said she was busy, hadn't she? Or was that yesterday? Or the day before? She-

The elevator doors parted with a ding.

"Actually, um- I think I forgot something in the van. My phone. Do you think you could go grab it for me? The fourth floor. Apartment Nine. I'll wait up there." That's what the book had said. She waited for Elise to shuffle out of sight, and then thumbed down on the appropriate button. Alone for the moment, the quiet felt like it would stretch on forever.

It didn't. Another ding. More doors.

There were about twenty per floor, laid out in a loop. 401. The core of the building was what held the necessities. 402. An elevator, the staircase, central plumbing, and anything required for the building's upkeep. 403. The idea was that each of the apartments had access to the sun, all of them lining the building's outer wall. 404. She supposed that even somewhere as ramshackle as this still had to be up to code. 405, 406. When it was first put up, at least. 407, 408.

409. She rapt on the front door and took a deep breath.

"Remember what I said. This doesn't-" Shit. Elise wasn't there right now. She'd forgotten. How long did she have until she got back? Minutes? Could she take care of this that quickly? Impatiently, Passeri knocked again, and then there was a muffled shout. Loud footsteps. The jangle of a chain, and then-

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YA'-!"

She looked beyond the face in the doorway, first. She recognized all of this too. A mess, just like this one. A couch, just like this one. Not the same, but identical. Old sights. Sights she'd never thought-

"-THINK YOU'RE DOIN' AT THIS HOUR!?"

Faces she'd never thought she'd see again.

Eyes, like the ones she saw in the mirror every morning, every night.

It'd never been said. Never once lovingly whispered in her ear, never once had it been a gleeful, giddy observation made by a teasing relative, but the fact yet remained. Passeri had always had her mother's eyes.

Red and blue, not identical but still the same. For a moment, they locked.

"You..." Passeri's voice was low. Seething.

"*Shit...!" Her mother tried to press the door shut.

And then it exploded into a hail of splinters. A body flew wide across the room, crashing into the filthy couch just beyond the entrance. It groaned, still alive, as Passeri stomped across the threshold. The body shouted again, and then there were more noises from within the apartment. Someone else clattered out into the living room, a long, gleaming shotgun held trembling in his hands, and pointed directly at her head.

"E-easy there..." A man's voice. Just like how she remembered it. No, not quite. She'd never heard him this scared before. A single, pained chuckle escaped Passeri's throat. It felt good. "Let's talk this out, okay...?"

His finger was tight on the trigger.

 
Callista Reinhart
CS Link
Scene:
Bitter Aftertaste
Time:
Post-Arc 3 - June 7, 2022
Location:
The Cerulean Orchid
Participants:
Callista, Eric
Bitter Aftertaste
Callista glanced at his choice of drink, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “I hope you’re well at handling your liquor, Tyler. Here’s to it!” Her words chimed with a playful challenge as they both raised their glasses in unison, effortlessly downing their drinks. The blend of coffee and alcohol left a lingering taste on her taste buds, prompting a satisfied lick of her lips.

Turning towards Gregory, Callista arched an eyebrow at his observation. "Do I? I suppose it’s easier to pay attention to the barista when your drinking companions are few and far between," she retorted with a wry grin, her posture shifting to fully engage him. “And if you were truly so uncool, I wouldn't be gracing you with my delightful company, now would I?" Her joke carried a hint of amusement as she leaned in, her tone conspiratorial.

"But truthfully, I'm just hoping to loosen you up enough that you won't be able to refuse a dance with me." With a mischievous glint in her eye, Callista signaled for another round, ensuring their glasses remained full as the bartender slid two more towards them. She had granted the barista free rein, instructing him to surprise them with his concoctions.

Before them sat two enticing cocktails: a mesmerizing blue martini and a tempting raspberry margarita. Their vivid shades of blue and red were a feast for the eyes. Given her affinity for the color red, the raspberry margarita was an obvious choice. Callista delicately lifted the glass, swirling its contents thoughtfully.

"Shall we play a round of truth or drink?" Her grin was playful yet inviting. "If we stumble upon a question we can't answer, a hearty sip is in order. I'll even be generous and let you lead," she said, her gaze fixed on Gregory. "Well? Ask me anything," Callista dared, her eyes twinkling mischievously.


Roda the Red Roda the Red
 
Last edited:
RYUTARO HASHIMOTO
CS Link
SCENE:
Call to Arms
LOCATION:
Ryutaro's Rooftop Garden, Imperial Gardens Condominiums, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Ryutaro, Camila
Call to Arms
Ryu measured Camila's reaction to his request, his expression only shifting slightly as to indicate any sort of immediate response. He realized that it made her uncomfortable, but the fact that she was still willing to go through with it meant that she was willing to take his side regardless of the situation. The question at hand now was price extracted from her contacts. This in particular was uncertain waters, as it seemed that her grip on them wasn't as controlling as he initially thought. That would dictate their response to this whole plan, which in turn meant that the Queen had to measure his expectations.

And so he did: "I won't force them to fight, if that's what worries you." Ryu spoke, "But currently I am stacking the deck in my favour. And that means I want to ensure a victory to be as decisive as it can be." He then let out a sigh, "Use your contacts for reconnaissance. I want them to keep tabs on Markus and his activities until time is ready. I want to know his weaknesses, where he is most vulnerable. Exploit gaps in his armour where I can push buttons." The Queen then shifted to look back towards the bonsai he had been dutifully tending to before Camila's arrival and looked it over again.

"They don't have to be up front about it. As discreet as possible would be preferable. That way they're out of harms way and can do the job." Ryu spoke before turning to Camila again, "And tell them there's a paycheck for it too so as to sweeten the deal. Are these agreeable terms?"


Roda the Red Roda the Red
 
RYUTARO HASHIMOTO
CS Link
SCENE:
Alliance of Apex Convenience
LOCATION:
Brother's Krimm Restaurant, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Ryutaro, Lorette
Alliance of Apex Convenience
"Well, I'd imagine Markus' retaliation would be swift in all manner of ways." Ryu commented, "Maybe he kills you. Maybe he strips you of your assets. Though, that outcome would imply that I can lose. Given how he has squandered many avenues of goodwill among his own... well..." The Tiger Queen took another sip of his wine, imagining that the flavour was that of victory upon his buds. "A chance is still a chance. We all take risks in business. Make investments with dangerous consequences should things go awry. I've made peace with the possibility of failure for what it would do to me."

A white lie, considering he had fretted over such an outcome many nights over. All his work and schemes, decades of progress and building, would be decided on a single day's worth of action. He would be a fool to not have his reservations, even as his advantages grow ever wider over the King. He then turned his gaze back to Lorette, his eyes now having taken a shade of brilliant purple. "But I will not lose. For fate favours those who have the will to take the reins into their own hands. And power..."

Lorette would see an arm draped in shadows, its silhouette inhuman in nature and form hidden from mortal eyes, then fix Ryu's tie gently. It then faded as quickly as it had materialized, leaving the air as still as it had been before. "Power deserves to be in the hands of those who truly understand its meaning."


Ramjammer Ramjammer
 
HITOSHI YAMAKAWA
CS Link
SCENE:
Back in the Game
TIME:
Post Arc-3; July 5
LOCATION:
Boustan [A metropolis about a four hour drive from New Oasis]
PARTICIPANTS:
Hitoshi, Charlie, Milo
BACK IN THE GAME
Hitoshi looked down in shock as blood continued to ooze out of the stab he had been given, before quickly gritting his teeth and grabbing his trusty bat by the hilt. He slammed it down onto the man's head with a crack before going repeating it again and again. With each strike the man visibly faded from consciousness, though tried his best to continue hurting the elder Phoenix as he twisted the bone that was in Hitoshi's body to further exacerbate the damage. "FUCKING. GO. TO. SLEEP!" Hitoshi yelled in between hitting the man, before letting out a glorious war cry that resulted in a final crack onto the man's forehead.

The goon collapsed his head back onto the ground and went limp at last, releasing his natural weapon from Hitoshi's body. But this caused a pool of blood to quickly ooze out, leaving Hitoshi to grip at it in a vain effort to keep pressure on it. His vision doubled, and he could feel darkness begin to creep in at the edges of his vision. "Hooo fuck... shit..." Hitoshi grumbled as he stood up, stumbling in place. His hands were slick with his own blood as he turned to where Charlie was before. The blue-haired rookie had dealt with his assailant, but remained separated from Hitoshi. This left the elder Phoenix scrambling to find a way to reunite with his ally, even in his deteriorating condition. But it was then that he felt a hand on his shoulder from behind.

"You've got a part to play in this." the same voice that had menaced Milo spoke.


LOUIS
CS Link
SCENE:
Back in the Game
TIME:
Post Arc-3; July 5
LOCATION:
Boustan [A metropolis about a four hour drive from New Oasis]
PARTICIPANTS:
Hitoshi, Charlie, Milo
BACK IN THE GAME
Charlie's density allowed him to easily smash through the thick windows of his tram car, rolling onto the ground of the one in front before dashing towards the one where he saw Elizabeth and her kidnappers were in. He smashed through that window with ease, but was met without any fighting as they were on the far end of the tram opposite to him. Instead, they looked ready to fight but otherwise remained in position. Elizabeth looked on with worry, as the boy was outnumbered significantly here but also because of what had changed in the moment.

A man with an eyepatch stood near the front of the ground, gripping Hitoshi by the neck as he continued to bleed out below him. He gave Charlie a careless smile: "I 'spose you're part of the rescue team." he spoke, his voice as smooth as it had been before. "Name's Louis, and I got a job to do. So I'm gonna give you a choice. Either your friend, or the girl. And ya don't got a lot of time... my pal got him real good."

He looked down to the pool of blood that now formed under Hitoshi as he remained kneeling next to the man. Weakly, he moved his head up and shook his head. Forget about me. Hitoshi wordlessly said with regret, blaming himself for all this. A small black orb materialized a few feet in front of Charlie, while another formed itself right behind him; it wasn't meant to be hidden, as if to display just the situation that he was in. Elizabeth herself trembled where she stood, and her gaze darted between Hitoshi and Charlie. Her eyes conveyed all the fear that she could muster.

"I... I don't want him to die because of me." she managed to get out.

Louis turned his head back to her for a moment before chuckling. "Hear that, boy?"


Roda the Red Roda the Red
 
CHARLIE HUGHES
CS Link
SCENE:
To Live in the Shadows
TIME:
Afternoon, Pre-Arc 1, June 11th 2020
LOCATION:
Nameless Warehouse, South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Charlie, Helva
To Live in the Shadows
Charlie's chin rested atop the webbing between his thumb and index finger, his head bobbing up and down repeatedly as he listened to the woman, nodding along with each piece of valuable intel. "Mental strength, huh? I think I get it." He better did, as so far it was mostly brute strength that's saved his neck so far. "It's a relief to hear that then, not having to dread the sound of my landlord approaching would be a nice change of pace." Even though it wasn't his entire motivation, being financially sound was a luxury he had given up on three years ago now, it really made opened up a new perspective for him, as even if his household was dreary and loveless, he was still a very fortunate child to have grown up with the riches he had.

"That Upyr guy sure sounds wild then, I hope we get to meet again, though...And you too, of course!" He stepped forward, coming right in front of the shorter girl, he snatched her limp hand, shaking and squeezing it tenderly. "I know it was part of your job, but thanks for all the help! You're really nice." For a moment, moonlight reflected against the kindest of smiles.

"I'm good to go by myself though, It's gonna be a bit awkward to walk around shirtless, but I'll be fine, I feel energized again!" He broke the handhold, taking steps backwards towards the warehouse's door. "Thank you for for everything again, goodbye!"

Middling light seeped through the hangar as the low creaking signaled the opening of the door, the boy disappearing behind him. His mood and hopes revitalized with a hopefuly brighter future within shadows.

_______

*Achoo!*

It was in the middle of his return home that the cool night breeze started to get to him.




Peckinou Peckinou
 
HITOSHI YAMAKAWA
CS Link
SCENE:
New Phoenix Golden Age
TIME:
July 20, 2022 || Post Outbreak
LOCATION:
Phoenix HQ, South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Bolt, Hector, Helva, Hitoshi, Milo, Musai, Pei, YY
NEW PHOENIX GOLDEN AGE
"Oh y'know, same old." Hitoshi replied when Hector got up to speak to him, "I've uh... I've been trying to get myself back fully. Maybe I won't have all my stardust back but hey, I'm tryin'. Been practicing in the dojo... been going out on jobs. Came back from Boustan earlier this month with Milo and Charlie, had us a job up there from a big shot corpo client..." Hitoshi mulled on a brief moment of silence as he tried to remember what was next on his agenda while waving to Milo, who was also in the room. "Milo's a good kid, y'know?"

The elder Phoenix then snapped his fingers as a lightbulb lit up in his head. "Ah! I'm dealing with a problem tomorrow, buncha thieving's been happening around town. I'll get that done real quick so business can get back to normal." he then continued, before realizing he had completely skipped over Hector's second question during his ramblings. This made Hitoshi chuckle and rub the back of his own head.

"Date and time? Sure! I'll let you know." Hitoshi then replied to the boss with his usual pearly grin. "I do got some ideas I wanna run by you for the rookies. Make myself useful, you know?"


Interacting with: Hector ( WhiskeyMarten WhiskeyMarten )

Doctor Llamabean Doctor Llamabean Elenion Aura Elenion Aura thebigfella thebigfella Peckinou Peckinou gxxberkit gxxberkit Kameron Esters- Kameron Esters-
 
RYOJI KUROTSUCHI
SCENE:
Futility Smells of Rot, Feebleness Tastes of Bile
TIME:
July 21st, 2022 | | Post-Outbreak
LOCATION:
Underground Arena, South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Mugen, Kisara, Pei
FUTILITY SMELLS OF ROT, FEEBLENESS TASTES OF BILE
“15….14….thirt—”

He cut off the man's head with one stroke of his blade.

"Tch." Annoyance pricked across the veins of his forehead. He lofted his sword, flat-end parallel to the fighter ring below, until it was eye-to-unseeing-eye level. Glaring at the slackjawed man's slowly deflating visage balanced atop his blade, he twisted his wrist and let the gore slough to the floor in a heap with the rest of him. It landed with a wet, smacking plop!

In the meantime, the tide of those who had chosen to escape the ultimatum reached the door to the vault. They tripped over themselves in their haste to flee—their desperate desire to continue living their hollow, meaningless lives—but couldn't help but get in their own way. The way that frightened, frantic mobs often do. Whether the shadow orchestrator of this chaotic scene had possessed the foresight to bar the exits in anticipation of such a mass exodus, or the sheer weight of the tidal wave of bodies funneling towards that sole portal had left the door inoperable, was immaterial. To the pooling flow of mindless flesh that crashed against each other, the exit was inaccessible either way.

Some—especially the haughty few who remained in their seats—had already taken notice. The counting had stopped. Slowly, an awareness spread through the crowd of mewlers. Some of them turned to look, craning their necks to see over the throng of the crowd what had become of that dire tolling.

What they saw was a man with an ugly, blistering scar running lengthwise along the horizon of his face, bathed in the artificial glow of the fluorescents overhead. They saw the sword, dripping red, syrupy blood into a pool at his feet. They saw the quickly cooling body; it sagged, caving in on itself, a marionette with cut strings.

Somebody screamed.

The door flew open. The crowd rushed it, only to be thrown back by an as yet unseen presence outside. A man cracked his head open on the cement floor. A cadre of fifteen dark figures filed inside, shoving people from their path, their forms blotting out the light of lightning flashes from the world beyond. Thunder rumbled overhead as the door slammed shut once more. Nobody escaped.

From a look, he could see he had their attention now. The way they looked at him was irritating as it was varied. Some saw a monster. Some a savior. Neither was wrong. Neither was right. More like, under new management.

Chatter. He hated it. People voicing their thoughts, their ideas. Blissfully, willfully ignorant of the fact that opinions were a privilege.

He flicked the blood from his blade with one hand. With the other, he grabbed the microphone, wrenching it from the dead man's rigor mortis grip hard enough to break all the cadaver's fingers.

"Quiet," he snarled into the metal mesh receiver. The conversation died. That was better, he thought to himself as he gazed out at the crowd. Silent. Obedient.

They may yet learn their place.

"If you can fight, go stand against that far wall." He pointed with the tip of his sword toward the far wall.

"If you can't, go over there." He pointed to the wall opposite.

They were not presented with an option to flee.

Silence followed. Stillness. Uncertainty. His eyebrow twitched. There should be no uncertainty. He had been perfectly clear. They would learn. They must learn. There is an order. There is a plan.

"NOW." He shouted and started towards the crowd, nostrils flaring, sword pointed toward the nearest man's neck.

The peons spilled over themselves to follow his instructions. Ryoji smiled. That was more like it.

The figures fanned out—save a pair left to guard the exit. Some muscled the crowd to acquiesce to Ryoji's command. Others threw open doors and breached adjacent rooms, hunting for the filth in hiding, the filth that had called them here.

 
Last edited:
CAMILA GASPARI
CS Link
SCENE:
Call to Arms
TIME:
Post-Outbreak, July 23 2022
LOCATION:
Ryutaro's Rooftop Garden, Imperial Gardens Condominiums, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Camila, Ryutaro
Call to Arms
The tides had shifted, the waves Camila was sailing through calming and changing to her favor. What was once a dark storm that threatened the integrity of her ship and the safety of her crew mates, turned into a ray of sunlight that guided her to a land of opporunity. Not only did Ryutaro ask for something that sounded much more reasonable and risk-free for her and the others, but by the way he spoke about it, every bit of incentive was going to come directly from his own pocket. Such an offer, one would have to be either too stupid, or have too much common sense to refuse.

"Well, Queen, sounds like we have a deal." She stepped forward, her tail wiggling excitedly. An impish smile crept up to her visage, an old habit from whenever she managed to have things her way, one that she believed to have buried long ago, ever since she decided to change her ways among the Gang. "When the time finally comes that you have to get your hands dirty, I'll make sure to have as many others backing you up as I can, don't expect me to be there, though, I'm just a delicate flower, my value is somewhere else." Despite her following snickering, Camila was being completely honest about it, she could be told to help with robbing a bank, sure. But a bloody battlefield of superpowered humans ready to kill her at a moment's notice? Absolutely not.

Her mind already raced, thinking of the different people that could be up to the task of surveilling Markus. Hiachi, Missy and Dante all sounded like good options, and not even if she was being bribed would she even entertain the idea of hiring Tak to such a task. That man would just end up lighting the King's car on fire and clogging his toilet all within the same hour, somehow.

"Say...Do you have any free time right no?" She added, her tone back to a more neutral one. "If you wanna keep testing my skills, perhaps I could make you a meal? I like to think that I can manage things and people as well as I cook, and I can show you the latter just fine, you're in for a surprise." It may have been little more than glorified bootlicking, having baited the Queen himself like that, she'd be hard pressed not to. After all, it was the exact same way she'd manage to survive in the Albino Tigers to this day.




joshuadim joshuadim
 
RYUTARO HASHIMOTO
CS Link
SCENE:
Call to Arms
LOCATION:
Ryutaro's Rooftop Garden, Imperial Gardens Condominiums, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Ryutaro, Camila
Call to Arms
There it was, the hook to bring another into the fold as Camila eagerly accepted the terms laid before her. A small price to pay in the grand scheme of things, which made Ryu all the more pleased as a faint smile curled upwards from the edges of his lips. He didn't expect her to fight, but he would hold her to her word on bringing even more people onto his front. The more bodies he had the better to dwarf what little Markus had. For when the tempest came, it had to be in overwhelming force.

As for now, he still had time to prepare and get things ready. More still needed to be done in preparation for what was to come. One could never be too prepared for a fight, especially when the stakes were so high as they were. It was then that he noticed a branch that he had missed on his bonsai, and so he stood up and picked up his shears to tend to it once again as Camila made her proposition for cooking.

Snipping off a few withering leaves, he looking back to Camila and laughed softly: "Thanks, but I've already eaten well for today."

= SCENE END = ​


Roda the Red Roda the Red
 
Vander "V" Black
CS Link
SCENE:
Post-Outbreak: The Idol’s Mask [July 31, 2022]
LOCATION:
Vernwood Park, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Melody Tucker, Passeri Park, Sheridan Vale
The Idol’s Mask
First day on the job and Vander already felt the displeasure crawling itself into the back of his mind. Bare minimum he thought there would be an opportunity to stretch his legs a little, following around the oh-so famous Passeri Park. Instead, he was stuck here at this fan meet for the next few hours standing at attention near the popstar of the hour and scanning for any would-be threats.

If only this place was not so noisy. The streets of New Oasis were quieter than this.

Tugging at the neck of his suit, Vander made sure not to let himself slip up and unsheathe a talon from his finger. Not only would that ruin these hundred dollar gloves over his hands, but the several hundred dollar suit Our☆Dream Entertainment thought to have him wear as uniform. They even made him tie his hair back and wear a pair of glasses to complete that professional look. At least the suit was breathable. Expensive clothing almost always is with that kind of a price tag. Still, the fact he had to see a tailor and get all his measurements done must have meant the agency desperately wanted their image to be as squeaky clean as possible again after Park's previous fiasco.

Oh yes. He was caught up on all of that as part of the briefing. Other than keeping occasional tabs on the Tigers, Vander could have cared less if they fell apart due to outside aggressors or cannibalized themselves after all was said and done. So Ms. Park's little hospital stay made its way to him, but he paid little mind to it at first.

With all the time Vander would be spending from now on by the pop star's side, not only would he need to be more aware of her situation, but maybe there was also good reason he needed to be cleaned up if Park somehow dragged him into her spotlight. A silent shudder wracked his body at the thought. Closest he wanted to be in the spotlight was whenever he would need to enact

She was, for all intents and purposes, just another paycheck. A large one that would go a long way, but a paycheck nonetheless. A rather boring paycheck at the moment.

Is it terrible that I almost want something to happen?

Shaking his head carefully of such thoughts, that part of him instead turns its focus to wondering if he should find a chair and a few snacks to make these next hours more bearable. Something to keep the rest of his body and mind preoccupied while trying to focus on the task at hand. He was coiled muscle and raw strength ready to burst, and instead he was just . . . babysitting. A part of him jokingly wondered if this was better or worse than his previous work for the Tigers.

So, instead he reached into a suit pocket and pulled out a coin for just this occasion. The rest just came natural to him. The coin flew from one hand to the other, one trick after the next. All without thinking as Vander expanded his senses, stretching them out across the nearby area.

And waited.
Participants: YumenoTsukishiro YumenoTsukishiro miki miki The One Eyed Bandit The One Eyed Bandit
Interactions: N/A
Mentions: The One Eyed Bandit The One Eyed Bandit
 
Last edited:
Hiyma
CS Link
SCENE:
To live in the shadows
LOCATION:
Warehouse, South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Hiyma, Libla, Charlie Roda the Red Roda the Red
To live in the shadows

Hiyma listened as Charlie mentioned hinted at his financial situation information that she was going to add to his profile about him later, even if he failed the trials she would consider having a month of his rent paid off for his time. He did after all seem like a good kid and Helva liked to have a good relationship with people that flunked their trials, she wasn't sure if the boy would pass or not but it wouldn't hurt to safeguard him from a few worries if he didn't pass. Though she honestly didn't expect for the boy to look forward to meeting Upyr again and looked at him questioningly as a result but soon looked away from him when he opted to thank her for helping him taking her by surprise as he opted to shake her hand.

She turned her attention back to him for a moment, before pouting a little before saying "Yeah, sure, no problem, i'm just doing my job and you seemed pretty nice as well." he was pretty cute she had to admit and once he said that he was good to go out on his own and relinquished her hand Hiyma waved him off. "Alright then, try not to pass out on your way there, if you're lucky we might see each other again." with that said she went back to her office to update her profile on him now leaving him alone though as long as he was in the warehouse she would know his movements and if he was ok or not due to the cameras that were present on the ceiling hidden by the darkness and their covers. But once he finally left he would truly be on his own again and Hiyma wouldn't be able to keep tabs on his movements anymore.
---------------------------------------------
It wouldn't be until a two weeks later than a text would arrive on Charlies phone detailing that there was a suitcase outside of his residency that wouldn't open until the time of 5:55pm and that the tools, equipment and details of his next task would be within it and that he would have 12 hours to complete it. The message was brief and straight to the point, the phone Helva used was one that she only used for Trialees and it wasn't one of her main phones as she wanted to keep herself somewhat anonymous. There would be no reply back unless something went wrong, but it was clear that once 6:00 hit his next part of the trial would begin as the suitcase would unlock itself and give him access to a tracking device and details telling him to capture the person that the tracker leads him to and bring them to the warehouse they held their last trial at. There weren't any details on who the person was or if they had any affiliation to the Phoenixes that was left to Charlies own speculations but there wasn't any rules stated it was clear she just wanted the job done, the only thing of note that was close to a rule was the note telling him to try not to kill them. "Try" a word saying that they didn't want them dead but would bee fine with it if they did end up killing them something that would give any outside the impression that they weren't a Pheonix.


Distance away Libla was enjoying playing a game of Soccer with a few people she knew, it was a friendly game one that was about half way done, she wore a necklace which had a tracking device in it. Of course she knew that Helva had briefed her on the game she was to be playing at around 6:00 PM still she wasn't all that worried, trialees that made it to this stage gave her free time and her chance to have her own fun. Even with the sun out she was athletic luckily the sun wasn't at it's peak so she could see decently well, still though her Shadow powers were not at their strongest, but as time goes on and the sun goes to rest her shadow powers will only get stronger. But of course she had no use for her Shadow powers at the moment, as she was simply enjoying a small game of soccer with a few boys she met, being afforded the opportunity to play Left Wing she quickly became noted as a good player among the team she played with and became a bit popular still though with 6:00 now approaching she knew that it was only a matter of time before whatever Trialee came after her, she wasn't told what they looked like so she would just have to be on guard. Still though she was a bit excited with the prospect of being hunted down, to her it was nothing but a simple game one that would be fun for her with a slight chance of being deadly depending on what type of Trialee was going after her.
[/justi
 
Last edited:
ASHLEY HART & CALLISTA REINHART
SCENE:
We Who Remain
Time:
Arc 3 — May 31st, 2022
LOCATION:
South district, Phoenix HQ; Shady's Clinic, first floor
PARTICIPANTS:
Ashley, Callista, Bandy, Boltius, Faelan, Gideon, Jericho, Milo, Raquel
WE WHO REMAIN
Amidst the sea of blood and heartbreak, there stood a living, breathing example of every injury the human body could and should never sustain. Ashley’s left arm had been charred beyond recognition, blackened down to the elbow with only bits of exposed bone and blanched skin hinting at what used to be. Several more burns were scattered throughout his body, marking his face, chest, and neck like painful love bites from a passionate inferno. The most prominent was the still stinging, red-hot brand that claimed the scarred space from his waist to his broken ribs.

Puncture wounds were just as numerous and concerning as the leftover gifts from Boltius and the officer with dyed hair. Ashley's cheeks, sides, and stomach had all been run through by blades sharper and sturdier than diamond, adding to the collection of holes that lined his ears. Because of how much skin had been shaven away, a good deal of his black and blue bruises had been forcefully removed.

The inside was no prettier than the outside. Several of his bones had been crushed, and he was sure there was some internal bleeding. After taking so much blunt force from the baseball bat bastard and the car crash, his organs felt like they'd been squished by a vise. The concussion was doing him no favors either. Blood still leaked from his head, leaving his hair more red than usual as his raven locks soaked up the drying color.

It was no surprise he had ended up this bad. It felt like he fought damn near everyone back in that building. Hell, he even fought the building itself when he brought it down. His current state was the result of all of that. And yet, through it all, he was still standing, carrying an unconscious Phoenix he managed to dig out of the rubble of what used to be Upper Central.

Several of the Shady's staff members tried to force him to get treatment or at least sit down after they’d taken the unconscious Phoenix into their care, but much to Callista's annoyance, all attempts were met with his stubborn refusal. Ashley's Potential had hit its limit long ago, and the vestiges of the monstrous strength he received in exchange for its equivalent in pain were gone. The only things keeping him standing were adrenaline and a singular purpose.

"Where the fuck is Blitz?" That's all anyone heard from him as he waved off care and questioned anyone who wasn't too fucked up. Of course, the others were also in his thoughts, but people were more likely to take notice of the Ace. If he could find Bolt, he'd hopefully find everyone else with him.  Unfortunately, that was proving to be difficult with all the chaos.

Restless, he kept searching and asking around, only stopping to help with moving the injured and other tasks. His mind and heart were both racing, not likely to calm until he set eyes on the friends he'd been separated from. At the very least, he was lucky to have one of them still with him.

"Shit. Any luck, Princess?" Frustrated with the lack of progress, he turned to Callista, hoping that maybe she'd seen or heard something useful. But alas, the damsel was unwilling to cooperate.

"Plenty," she snapped. "In fact, it's the only reason you're still alive."

Callista's frustrations had been building up with every refusal of his to receive urgent medical care, and she could no longer stand still and watch him wave off another healthcare staff. Before Ashley could run off to aid another wounded Phoenix, Callista grabbed his hand, doing her best to ignore the rough texture of his burnt flesh and the way it made her skin crawl. "Enough! You look worse than everybody here," said Callista through gritted teeth. Her crimson eyes seemed to burn brighter with the intensity of her gaze, and she drew closer until their faces were only inches apart.


"What will you do after finding Blitz? You can't help him when you're--" Callista looked him up and down, finding herself at a loss for words. Up this close, Ashley's injuries looked even more alarming. Her lips quivered slightly as she looked deep into his tired eyes, and it dawned on her that she was afraid. ‘How many more times do I have to watch you get hurt this badly? What if you aren’t so lucky next time?’ Callista swallowed the questions, a deep sigh escaping her lips.

"You look like a corpse. Do you think Boltius would be happy to see you like this? He'd only blame himself for the state you’re in." She grabbed Ashley's other hand, pleading with him for the last time; but the better part of her knew she was only wasting her breath. Ashley had always been stubborn and selfless. "Just sit down and have a doctor examine you."

With his attention forcibly drawn in by Callista's touch, Ashley stopped in place, motionless since the first time they arrived. The faint sting that accompanied her grasp was an early sign that his nerves were slowly being repaired, something he hadn't been looking forward to. However, it didn't show on his face, discomfort of that level unable to make him flinch after everything else he'd put his body through.

His emotions had yet to calm, but the chaos in his head began to clear somewhat. There had been a fire consuming his ability to think straight, but the quickly spreading flames began to shrink, slowing down along with the rise and fall of his chest. There was still a sense of urgency that couldn't be shaken, but it had been slightly reined in for the moment.

"...Can't do that." He'd been pushing himself this entire time, but he was firm in both voice and body as the words slipped through his busted lips. He looked down at her, meeting her crimson eyes with his own unwavering gaze that sparked with dull flashes of red. Callista had anticipated his response, yet she couldn’t quell the pang of disappointment that welled up within her chest, her expression a mask of crestfallen resignation.

"I know I look fucked up right now, but it ain't that bad. Potential is doin' its thing." Ashley tilted his head, giving her a clearer view of the smaller wounds scattered along his neck. Her gaze followed the trail of injuries, confirming his words as the minor cuts and bruises gradually started to fade, albeit slowly. However, that did little to address the severity of numerous major wounds that still appeared distressingly fresh.

"Been through worse. You should know." Callista once had a front row seat to him pulling through with a gaping hole in his stomach, so she should've known better than most about how much punishment he could take. However, those recollections from the past didn’t make her worry any less. Releasing Ahley’s hands, Callista dropped her gaze to the floor and bit her lip, saying nothing as he continued, "I always bounce back..."

As he trailed off, speaking a truth that often brought him grief, he looked away from the blonde and focused on the surrounding Phoenixes. There were so many of them, all suffering from their own injuries. And like so many times before, he was still standing while others struggled to breathe. "But other folks don't."

Even though he was in bad shape, he at least had a safety net. No matter how much pain he was in or how fucked up he looked, his Potential was there to help keep him from kicking the bucket. Despite all the trouble it caused him in life, he could acknowledge it provided him a luxury others didn't have. He had no right to think about getting checked over while others were fighting for their lives. Hell, even if he felt like he was knocking on death's door, he'd rather other folks get aid first. It evened the odds for everybody.

"Soon as we know Blitz and the others are okay, I'll get looked at. Won't be able to settle down until then." He hoped that would be enough to get her to drop the subject for now. Finding Bolt and the others from the raid was the quickest way for both of them to get what they wanted. However, there was something else he purposefully chose not to acknowledge.

As much as he hated it, he knew she was probably right about Bolt being likely to blame himself if he showed up all beat to hell. The Ace had a bad habit of shouldering everything himself, and this would probably be no different. He was likely struggling with the result of the operation, so the last thing he needed was something else to feel guilty over. Ashley didn't want to make things worse for his friend. However, that wasn't enough to keep him from pressing on and trying to find the others as fast as possible.

He hated this feeling. He'd experienced it far too many times and for far too long. The feeling of not knowing whether someone he cared about was alive or dead. For every second spent idling by, someone could be bleeding out. Even worse, they could already be dead in a gutter while he walked around completely clueless. He didn't want to deal with thoughts and feelings that made his skin crawl and his blood feel like ice in his veins. Not for one second longer than he had to.

It was selfish of him, but he was a selfish person. He always had been. That's why he was putting his feelings first here, not wanting to think about anything other than finding his friends. Even though he could end up hating the result, he preferred hurting someone to not knowing if they were alive.

A palpable silence had settled between them. Callista, still avoiding Ashley’s gaze, finally retreated a step, granting him the space he seemed to need. It was as if an invisible wall had come between them. Callista could only clench her fists as she wrestled with the realization of her own indifference. She found herself unaffected by the plight of the faceless victims surrounding them, and she wondered how Ashley would perceive her if she confessed her singular focus on his well-being. Would he recoil at her apparent selfishness, despise her for her inability to extend her concern to all?

In that moment, the stark contrast between them became painfully apparent. Callista felt a stab in her chest, confronted by the thought that she could never be the kind of person Ashley deserved: someone with a compassionate and selfless nature.

“First floor… Room fifteen,” she murmured softly, her eyes meeting his with a distant expression. “You’ll find your friends there.” Without sparing another second, Callista turned on her heel and walked away, afraid that if she lingered a moment longer, Ashley would see her for who she truly was. A selfish and cruel woman.

For a fraction of a second, Ashley's foot went to step in Callista's direction, but whatever impulse he had to follow after her was quickly overwhelmed by the sense of urgency and restlessness her words forced back into his body. He quickly turned on his heels, dashing off as he called back to her, voice already sounding distant as the sound left his raw throat. "Thanks!"

He separated from Callista, but he came to the decision that he wouldn't let it be for long. She said his friends were in one of the many rooms, but his quickness to check on them didn't mean he'd forgotten about the one who had been with him so far. He'd be sure to make it back to her soon and keep his promise.

With how fast he raced through Shady's, it didn't seem like he and Callista would be apart for too long. Fueled by adrenaline, his injured legs carried him through the place at a frightening pace. Each step caused pain to surge through his body again and again, but the intense discomfort only made him faster, pushing him forward.

The room shouldn't have been far, but it felt like it was miles away. The seconds felt like minutes, each one spent reliving frighteningly similar memories. The first was his rush to the battlefield where he last saw his old gang. By the time he was able to make it back, the space was dishearteningly empty, nothing around except blood and bullet casings. Then there was the second scene that took place only a few short hours ago.

Despite all the trauma, both physical and emotional, he remembered it clearly. When Bolt ran in like a dumbass to give them a chance to escape, Ashley gave chase, not wanting his friend to make that sacrifice. Eerily reminiscent of the current moment, his legs felt heavy and time slowed to a painful degree. And then he ended up in a repeat of his first major regret. He wasn't fast enough. Hand stretched out, he watched as his friend fell through the earth, just out of reach.

With the end of that memory looping in his mind, he tore through the hotel until he finally reached the right room. There was a touch of fear and apprehension that tried to seize him. Background thoughts that his friends might not really be beyond the door, or that he was arriving just to see them succumb to their wounds. However, they failed to stop him.

Moving far too fast and using far too much force, he grabbed the knob and practically ripped the door apart as it opened, unaware of the crushed metal in his hand. He was too preoccupied with the three Phoenixes who entered his line of sight. Two standing, and one bright orange lump in the center.

Ashley's breaths were still deep, but they slowed as he stared at the trio. He should've been more surprised to see that Milo was there, but it hardly registered for him that the artist was never part of the operation. He was just focused on the fact that everyone in the room was alive.

Eyes glazing over with relief and exhaustion, Ashley felt the last burst of strength that carried him this far begin to leave his battered body as his gaze settled on Gideon and then Boltius. While his friend may have been injured, he was still breathing. He finally reached him.


As concern and consciousness began to leave him, he made it a point to stay standing. Even though he was sure he just lost all feelings in his legs, he didn't want to go down right away and cause concern. He'd sooner pass out standing up. Although, the only issue with staying awake was having no clue what to say at a time like this. When people were down, beaten, and lost.

"Sorry about your ride..." He forced the breathy words out, barely managing to get out a playful undertone. He wasn't sure how things would turn out after everything had gotten so fucked up, but he hoped it wouldn't end with him having to pay for the Denali.


Wxnter Wxnter Doctor Llamabean Doctor Llamabean Coyote Hart Coyote Hart Elenion Aura Elenion Aura angel doe angel doe
 
Last edited:
Gus Crews
CS Link
SCENE:
Broken Fingers Hold Blood Money
LOCATION:
West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Pei, Callista, Leaf, Red
Broken Fingers Hold Blood Money

It felt good. Every squeak of his expensive shoes, the clatter of his dangling chains around his neck, the shimmer of the rings around his fingers, the glistening gemstones. He wore luxury clothes that hugged his body in all the right places with a soft embrace. His hair was precisely curled and gelled.

He was a different man, refined, and now he defined his surroundings. The couch he sat in was not fitting; he deserved a throne; he had far surpassed the simple prospects of an office chair and its clogged wheels. Hunching over keyboards, eyes glazing over spreadsheets, and being demeaned by his overseers.

Instead of the green spots of cells on the sheet, he looked upon a briefcase filled with fresh bank notes, brimming at the seams with stacks of the big bills, he would used to be in charge of making sure they went to the right place, but now the right place was him, in his coffers.

It felt good. Real good.

Times changed, and he changed faster. He left behind his past, the unvalued present, to transform it into his deluxe future. The sleepless nights he feared retribution had disappeared as he moved to a gated community. As he hired bodyguards to defend his person, slowly, he realized he was no one would just be stamped out, like a bug in the night. He had connections, he knew people, former business partners he had to bow to now put their heads down in his presence.

Just like now, on the other side of the table. A man in glasses, his neatly combed hair, plain looking suit and tie. He bowed his head as he pushed the briefcase towards him. Nothing more than an effigy, a doll sent on behalf of higher powers. Soon he would rise above them, to the point he no longer had to deal with going through mediums, as if he was a spirit trying to convene with the living.

He picked up a stack of cash, repeatedly slapping its thick wad into his hand as he enjoyed the feeling of weight. He thought for a moment, pondered, before he looked away from the money back to the representative.

“Triple it.” He ordered, nonchalantly tossing what had to be thousands of dollars back into the suitcases, and promptly kicking the table away from him in disgust as he scowled.

The man on the other end obediently nodded. He was trained not to question, so he simply closed the case once more: “I understand. I will let them know you have a higher demand.” He stated plainly, a lack of tone from a lifeless puppet as he stood up.

The scenery of an empty office building, a pre-set up space for rent made for dirt business to use and leave just as quickly, was a constant rotation of tenants. Nothing suspicious would happen from the outset, but a step inside would find you in office buildings lined with faulty insurance scams, loan sharks, and other seedy types.

Though, this empty office was just used for a simple undisclosed meeting. He was the most devious of them all.

“My associates will be present at the upcoming party. The deal will take place then,” the representative stated as he picked up the briefcase and made his way towards the door. There was no response from the blonde. His hand calmly reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a notepad.

Pen and paper—that was all one needed. He realized that his old company relied too much on the digital craze when he was able to pluck what he needed with the right tools and knowledge. It was too easy to be traced, discovered, and taken.

His pen clicked, and began to write. It was safe in only two places, his brain and in his pocket, on a piece of paper. He wouldn’t let anyone see, he wouldn’t let anyone get close, and such, no one would grab his secrets. He was safe, he wouldn’t fall the same way that others had. He would forever stay upon the paper trail, where the path deviates when he so chooses.

His scribbling finished, and he closed his notepad, placing the pen and pad back into his pockets. He adjusted his collar, and he turned towards the door with a self-satisfied smile. Ascension was waiting for him, the corporate ladder was rejected for the elevator, the buttons needed to be pushed by the right people so he could get the floors, and he’d make sure they acted as his elevator operators. He would--

His head snapped around his shoulder, his eyes widened. A sharp till, a frigid tingle down his spine. A cold sweat, as if he was being watched. He looked towards the window, eyes scanning into the darkness of the night, the cityline in the distance illuminated by sparkles of lights.

He saw nothing, after all, he was 100 feet above ground level. No one could have been able to watch him from here, there weren’t any nearby adjacent buildings.

With a sigh of relief and a shake of his head, embarrassed that his paranoid tendencies still had a place in his head, he walked out of the room, the door closing behind him with a slam.


“Kikikikikikikiki!”

A devilish laugh came from the empty room, the beating of rings joined soon after. A silhouette rose from the shadows, hovering right outside the window. On its face, it wore a pair of goggles, the eyestalks extended far to peer right against the window, headphones placed over its non-existent ears. It wore a grin on its bright red face, cackling at its success.

“How was that!? Did you get it all!?” The demonic asked through the speakers, raising a wing to move the goggles up on its forehead as it looked towards the microphone in front of its face.

“Kekekekekek! Of course I did, I’m not a fuckin’ amateur!” Came from the other side of the connection. With his voice, the perspective switched abruptly. There Pei sat in a dark room, the only thing bringing light was the laptop in his lap, as he was hunched over it, fingers rapidly slamming down on the keyboard as he cackled. With a final click and the sound of a beeping notification, it seemed he got what he wanted, letting his back straighten as he still wore that enigmatic smile.

“So that’s where it is, huh? Kekekekekek! Now that’s interesting!” Pei exclaimed, pushing the laptop off his legs as he stood up, placing a hand on his earpiece, “Kiys! Hurry back here you piece of shit! We got work to do!” Pei exclaimed excitedly, walking into the darkness as his figure slowly disappeared into nothingness.

“I got some fuckheads who might be interested in playing along! KEKEKEKEKEKEKEK!”



???
CS Link
SCENE:
Broken Fingers Hold Blood Money
LOCATION:
West District
TIME:
July 1st, 2022 || (Post-Arc 3)
PARTICIPANTS:
Pei, Callista Wxnter Wxnter , Leaf Haze- Haze- , Red miki miki
Broken Fingers Hold Blood Money


Finely polished marble floors decorated the main room. Granite statues circled around the stone columns supporting the higher floors. Paintings from different artists, expressions, and centuries lined the walls. Chandeliers hung overhead, glistening diamonds that bathed everything in light.

Dresses flowed, fluttering and dancing, and drinks were poured, bubbling to the rim of the glass. The room was strewn with aristocrats, entrepreneurs, politicians, and nepo-babies. They all mingled together, surrounded by their wealth. Butlers and maids were scattered about through the fixtures, following the demands of their guests as they conformed to their requests.

Faces of public figures, notable names on the guest list. This was no small party, guards were hidden within the crowd, their attentive eyes scanning around the room at every moment as they stayed alert, nothing would get past them.

From the offset, it seemed like nothing grandiose; it was simply a simple party where the rich and powerful would mingle. But such simplicity was deceiving. There were whispers, and there was movement. Notes were slid across tables, passed under them, and given to each other in passing.

Those who spoke the right words to the butlers were led to a door that took them to one of the other rooms, where they would eventually return as if nothing had ever happened.

Something was going on beneath the surface, clear all together, in one place, where the waters could be muddied, the tracks could be hard to follow as they all compiled on one another in succession.

But, the depth of such a secret is still unable to grasp from the outside.

Grand doors separated the mansion’s interior from the outside. A garden and an orchard decorated the pathway leading up to the large steps that preceded the entrance. Doormen stood alert, opening the way for those who had the invite. Limousines and sports cars began to decorate the large lot that was placed nearby, as the valets made their way down the steps to greet the new arrivals.

The party was only growing bigger. And someone needed to help it crash and burn.

 
Nakazajo "ROCCHI" Chikage
CS Link
SCENE:
Ice Breakers
TIME:
Post-Arc 3 — June 25th, 2022
LOCATION:
Upper Central, CDPD HQ
PARTICIPANTS:
Chikage, Sebastian, Inigo, Justus, Eric, Tatsuo, Yelena, Kyoden
ICE BREAKERS
Eric’s greeting went without response but not without acknowledgement. Chikage noted it, side-eyed the detective, then directed his attention toward Sebastian waving him over. The prosecutor held a slice of pizza in hand, which Chikage scrutinized with a critical eye as he approached.

“Chikage-senpai, if you're not too busy, why don't you join us?” Sebastian suggested. “We're putting something embarrassing that's happened during work on our slip of paper. I can't help but be curious about what you'd put~”

“Embarrassing?” Chikage furrowed his brow. By the stretch of silence as he glared unblinkingly into the prosecutor’s eyes, one could gather that the word called to mind a memory or two worth scribbling. Following Yelena, after a moment of hesitation, Chikage jotted something down on a slip of paper and turned it in. A grunt of disapproval, or perhaps regret, occurred after and he decided to dismiss himself from the interaction, approaching the nearest of windows where he intended to mind his own in silence.

On the way, he was stopped by Justus Bradley, who signed something to him before bowing. By that particular gesture, he was able to narrow the message down, but still couldn’t translate. As a result, his eyes instinctively drifted toward Tatsuo, whom he knew to be practiced in the language, but by then Justus had moved on to Sebastian, so Chikage returned on course to the window and stood one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, looking out.

He heard the door to the break room open and saw Inigo’s reflection in the window without having to turn around. Recently, since the Phoenix raid on the precinct, Chikage had assigned the Sergeant to heavy amounts of paperwork as punishment for letting some Phoenixes escape, so the two were currently at odds. Chikage didn’t turn to greet Inigo but he could sense the tension and determine the cause of his abrupt cessation of greeting without looking: Chief Zaysteva.

He heard her tease him, the Ruthenian accent thick on her tongue, and contemplated the idea of stepping in. But there was no need. Tatsuo approached Yelena and Eric approached Inigo, a likely unintended two-man distraction that served to steer torero and bull away from the potential impending clash.

Yelena was his superior, he’d come to terms with that, but Chikage knew his crew better, and Sergeant Han wasn’t one to mess around with.

“Prosecutor Se put forth a lot of sentiment to arrange this today.” Chikage turned around to face the room. “It would be a disrespect not to participate.” He looked at Sergeant Han specifically, something in his eyes saying: If I’m participating, you are, too. A slight trace of mischief visible upon his countenance in the smallest form of a smirk.

“If you would rather, perhaps Detective Evensen would be willing to participate on your behalf. Given your closeness, I’m sure he knows more than the rest of us.”

Chikage might have been serious, sometimes a raging asshole, but he wasn't incapable of relaxing.
CHIKAGE/POST NOTES​
— —The majority of the front, right half of Chikage's body is badly scarred from burns, stopping halfway up his neck, covering his arm's entirety, ending at his shin. For this reason, he wears a black, leather glove always covering his right hand, and usually wears long-sleeved, concealing clothes. Reference (X)

— —What he's wearing: A tailored suit

— —POST RECAP: Chikage pokes at Inigo to participate in Sebastian's game.

 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 25 (members: 0, guests: 25)

Similar threads

Mark Bishop
Realistic or Modern The Walking Dead: The New Beginnings
rp thewalkingdead zombie
Replies
0
Views
24
Mark Bishop
Mark Bishop
Necromantic
Fantasy New Gods
gods open world sandbox
Replies
8
Views
286
EMIYAman
EMIYAman
o_rain_1
Realistic or Modern New girl inspired group roleplay (ocs)
discord discord required discord roleplay
Replies
0
Views
40
o_rain_1
o_rain_1
ShinyEve
Fantasy Fate of the Universe: Chosen Heroes!
Replies
18
Views
365
Yahhah
Yahhah
Morbuskid
Fantasy 1924: New Avion [Open] (IC)
1920s action drama
Replies
0
Views
87
Morbuskid
Morbuskid
Back
Top