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

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Dyne Enjyre
CS Link
TIME:
Post-Arc 3 — July 15th, 2022
SCENE:
Hoodwinked
LOCATION:
The Suede Bee, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Dyne, Passeri, Rohen
Hoodwinked

Dyne held a graceful smile that welcomed gracefully. None of her inner thoughts showed.

As a former potential heiress, the inner working of a corporation was not a mystified knowledge to her eyes. One look on her opponent reflected clothes that reflected better the lost souls spending dimes at a gas station's slot machine than a lavish establishment. She thought, musedly, of the old Serpent King and his words of boast: the Serpent's head is in New Oasis, but an Orochi had many heads. Foreign drug trade was a hidden cash flow for Sable Serpents, a lifeline that kept the seemingly reckless beast full of vitality.

"Why, I have a few friends from the North with similar working arrangement." Was she meeting a Serpent in the Tiger's territory? Her gaze beamed amusement at Rohen.

"My sign told me that I would have luck with money this week and really, I haven't been disappointed." She peeked at her cards and sighed. "I suppose today is the last day, as was foretold. Call."

Her hand was not bad, but it was simply not bad. The lucky charm was to stay her little secret. After all, it would not do good for the casinos to know she won because of a suspected Potential, no? The boldness to make decisions was her strength; her escape to New Oasis and subsequent arrangements had been a product of taking the initiative, after all.

"I hope you don't spend anything you can't win, darling." She addressed the suspected Serpent. "Luck is a fickle lady."


DYNE NOTES​
— —POST RECAP: Dyne lost her amazing winning streak and gave up on turning a profit on the poker game. She decided to chat up the stranger to spend some time. Soon, it will the time to cut her losses and leave the establishment.

— —WEARING: white thigh-high dress, white jacket, golden necklace, gold earrings, beige watch and purse to match



The One Eyed Bandit The One Eyed Bandit @CasualTea
 
Lloyd Sorvocah
CS Link
TIME:
Post- Outbreak: 2022, July 21st
SCENE:
Reparations
LOCATION:
Broken Bridge, North/East District
PARTICIPANTS:
Bash, Shen, Kisara, Kanna, Sang-cheol, Celestine, Sabrina, Peyton, Raphael, Ruriko, Lloyd, Jesper [Guardian], Sylvaine
Reparations
To Lloyd, the Serpent before him called Raph was just an irritant. His words trying to goat him or any other Dragon into a response that would escalate the situation. However, it was more like listening to a chihuahua bark. It is just annoying and unnecessary noise. Even what he said was more similar to a little brother trying to be a smartass. All in all, this Raph person was little more than a nuisance. That being said, Lloyd really does want to hit him, crush him, obliterate him. A free hit is even offered.

"What are you waiting for? Crush him! He is literally inviting you to!" the voice in his head said.
"Have you not at all been paying attention?" Lloyd responded in thought, "We cannot instigate a fight. That is exactly why this worm is trying to goat me to do it."
"Bah! He is right, though. You really are boring," the voice taunted.

Then Lloyd's ears were attentive to Shen's words, his offer to the Serpents who came her demanding reparation for what was done to one of their labs. Shen offers for them to leave here in peace and that they can remain in the North District. But one sentence echoed in his head. 'We will not hunt you.' What was this insanity? Aren't the Azure Dragons the ones who should be eradicating this scum from New Oasis? This was heresy! Even - or especially - the voice in his head is raging.

No. This could not be allowed to happen. This deal, despite coming from his King, could not be allowed to be maintained. Without hunting Serpents, they can never be eradicated from the face of the world. The deal must fall, and it seems to do that, it is to instigate a fight afterall. Luckily, there seems to be filth right in front of him rearing to go. But preferably, it is he who will throw the first punch.

With absolute hate and scorn he says, "As much as I do want to hit you, just like I do every Serpent, I will not. At least, not now, considering the situation. You are not important enough to break orders for. You are but a fly, buzzing around people's heads to annoy them, and you are just as insignificant. I may not kill you today, but I am certain one day I will. And when I do, I will leave you in an unrecognizable pile of smashed flesh and bones in the middle of the street. Yet one of the most beautiful things would that no will bat an eye, no one will stop me, and when I am done, you will be shoved into the nearest ditch left to rot because no one would ever miss the pathetic little miscreant you are."
 
celestine renee cadieux
CS Link
SCENE:
reparations
LOCATION:
ruined bridge, north/east district
TIME:
post-outbreak, july 21st, 2022
PARTICIPANTS:
bash, shen, kisara, kanna, sang-cheol, celestine, sabrina, peyton, raphael, ruriko, lloyd, jesper [guardian], sylvaine
Reparations
Celestine felt somewhat useless standing around watching this unfold, but being unable to recall why she was there to begin with made getting involved difficult. So, rather than make a mess of things, she continued to observe. Sure, it was boring, but Celeste was there to support them and help should things get dicey (which she hoped would not happen).

Shen then said something to Bash that she probably would have heard had her attention not shifted when she heard Raph antagonizing one of the dragons- Some guy she didn't recognize.

Moving to stand behind Raph, she stared down at the stranger as her fellow serpent started egging the man on to hit him, "Raph, I do not think that is a good idea. We are not here-" Her tone was firm and gentle, but she cut herself off when the dragon started his rambling.

Celestine blinked at the stranger, one hand raising to cover her mouth and hide the smile that had begun to form. Had she just walked into a theater? This dramatic of a speech felt like something one would see in a play.

By the time the dragon had finished spewing his nonsense, Celeste's shoulders were shaking slightly as she tried to hold back her laughter. She tried to cough in an attempt to cover it up, but the giggles escaped despite her best efforts, "My, what a lovely performance," She cleared her throat, composing herself, "You are mistaken, however. He may be a pathetic little miscreant, but that is part of his charm- and I would miss him."

A pointless interaction, perhaps, but it was surprisingly good entertainment.
 
Last edited:
Inigo Han
CS Link
SCENE:
Not Thinking Twice
LOCATION:
Nighttime, Streets of Central District
PARTICIPANTS:
Camilla, Inigo
Not Thinking Twice

“It’s…” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. What was it, exactly? What could he tell her? That he was born into a world of strife and survival of the fittest? His parents being part of the largest syndicate in Seol, and he having to be raised in such an environment. Him having to fight his way through hurdles and hurdles of everything against him, trying to distance himself from his family’s legacy. The fact that he was here, now, away from them, in the cesspit known as New Oasis was proof enough of that. “You have to be tough in New Oasis,” he finally managed. All that brutish strength and killing instinct did not come from his training as an officer of the law, no, they came from his struggles as his own man. As a paragon of the law, as a shield of the weak, and a sword at the throats of those who would pervert justice.

He stared at the inky black darkness of the coffee in front of him. He wasn’t here to talk about his past. He was here to make sure the lady got back safe, and trauma dumping on her would probably not be an ideal part of it. “Ballet, huh?” he echoed. “And you say you cook? Maybe we could exchange recipes sometime.” He picked up the cup, and downed the entire thing in one go. It burned a little, but he had never been the type to savour his drinks. “I’m guessing work’s been taking up too much time for you to get back into ballet, then?” He was struggling here to make any small talk worth it, and yet he wanted to stay here. That was his responsibility, after all. For the weak, the defenseless, the hurt. She was recovering from her ordeal quick, so he must be doing something right.



Roda the Red Roda the Red
 
MUGEN
SCENE:
The Hard Way
TIME:
Post-Arc 3, Timeskip 1 | June 4, 2022 | Daytime
LOCATION:
NOPD, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Hiachi, Mugen
THE HARD WAY
He stood still. The world stood still with him. He'd made it so.

When his companion returned, he looked at her through his peripheral vision, eyes peeled on the horizon, seeking his next foe. Seeking a worthy foe.

No such thing presented itself. No such thing existed.

"Mm..." Glancing at her arms full of paper, he hummed a low solitary note.

He turned his eyes away from her.

As his hand descended upon her head. There was no time to move. No time to flee. No time to cry out. The cracked, ruined bodies that littered the ground around them made no protest.

Death's hand.











He patted the top of her scalp.

Once.

Twice.

Gently. Like one might a small child.

Then he spoke. He still didn't look at her.

" よくできました。"
( You did well. )​


Without delay, he started off back where he came from. Only turning slightly, he spoke again over his shoulder.

" 行くぞ 。"
( Let's go. )​


 
VULKEN BECKMAN
CS Link
SCENE:
Operation Burning Heartthrob
LOCATION:
South District
TIME:
Pre-Arc 1, August 10th 2021
PARTICIPANTS:
Charlie, Vulken
CURRENT STAGE:
0
Operation Burning Heartthrob

As Charlie described his perfect girl, taking frequent pauses to lap at the drink he’d received, Vulken’s eyes scanned the dance floor that had presented itself in the bar as the DJ picked up the pace with the music. His criteria changed with every word that came out of his junior’s mouth, filtering women in and out of his vision based on what he heard.

He took a sip of his own drink. They were really starting to rack up, but the toll they took on his mind and body were minimal. If anything, he was just a bit… sillier than usual. That was typically how things went when he started knocking them back with friends. Still, just to be safe, he requested a beer after he had finished what remained in his glass. Nothing wrong with a break between rounds, right?

Finally, at the mention of Charlie’s fondness for brighter hair colors, the maestro’s optics landed on the perfect choice. A young woman with blue oceans for eyes and flowing, golden locks had seemingly become the star of the dance floor in a matter of seconds. It was quickly made apparent by her modest garb and the air of timidity in her zestful swaying that she likely didn’t get out much– just like his little friend to his side.

Vulken nudged Charlie with his elbow, hoping he wasn’t down for the count at the discovery of the highlight find of their night, and pointed straight at the woman who had taken the spotlight. Cheering ensued from other dancers, but no man seemed bold enough to make a move for her. Vulken could see it now– these two sweet lovebirds growing old together. Naturally, he’d be invited to the wedding for setting them up. Then the kids would start popping out, he’d become uncle Vulken…

“Like her?”

With a wave of his hand, two shot glasses glided along the grooves of the bar, coming to a halt directly in front of them. Tequila, this time. He set his beer down and lifted one of the shots up to propose a good luck toast.

“She seems like a good one, eh? Who knows, maybe she’ll even be down ‘ta shoot the shit about Keisteryhme.”

He laughed at his own joke, patting Charlie’s shoulder in hopes of helping him get in the mood. He could instantly tell– as long as the kid acted like himself, he’d definitely pass tonight’s mission with flying colors.

“Go get ‘er, tiger. Shit, or should it be, ‘Go get ‘er, Phoenix?’ Heh.”

Little did the two know, they weren’t the only ones who had eyes on this woman of the hour.

Roda the Red Roda the Red

[art by gxxberkit]
 
𝑵𝒂𝒐𝒎𝒊 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐
CS Link
SCENE:
They Tell You Not To Mix Chemicals Because You Can Make Mustard Gas, But Nobody Tells You How Mixing People Makes Something More Deadly
LOCATION:
North District Rental
TIME:
May 6th, 2022 || Post-Outbreak
PARTICIPANTS:
Tak
They Tell You Not To Mix Chemicals Because You Can Make Mustard Gas, But Nobody Tells You How Mixing People Makes Something More Deadly
As they stepped outside, Naomi welcomed the fresh air. Well, about as fresh as one could get in the Northern District. She took in deep, gulping breaths, not aware until this moment just how stuffy it was inside. Tak listed off items from the menu, although Naomi had no idea what those words meant. Murgh Kari was spicy? What on Earth was Laal Maas? It wasn't until this moment that Naomi realized just how little she knew about curry. And she liked to think herself cultured about food!

She turned back to Tak, determined to ask him more thorough questions, but stopped short. It was a picture that Naomi had never seen before--Tak looking up at the stars, quiet and lost in contemplation. Her jaw dropped a little bit, but she made no noise, afraid to draw him from this sacred moment. He almost looked like a painting--an image in her mind aided along by the drugs. The lighting of the streetlights shining on his face, the house dark in the background. The beautiful stars shining down on both of them. Naomi just found herself staring at him, sucked in by the moment.

He came out of his reverie, and made eye contact with her. Naomi flinched, certain the moment was lost and he was going to yell at her for staring. But instead, he averted his eyes. What? What was happening? Was there a hidden deepness to Tak that Naomi had never realized? She just needed to ask him about curry to find it? Naomi's head tilted as she looked at Tak, still too afraid to speak and ruin the moment. Rogan Josh he said next. Who was that? But as Tak made eye contact again with Naomi, she realized the moment was lost. The farway, contemplative look had left his eyes, instead replaced by his usual deadpan.

Oh, it was a curry? Made with love? Naomi's own expression softened, her normally sharp features losing their edge. Was he thinking about some fond memory of eating that man-named food? Sometimes, she could forget that Tak was a person with feelings and energy besides chaos. He was normally so rambunctious, hell five minutes ago he thought she was going to cut a man's fingers off for some pita bread. Seeing behind that veil for just a moment--Naomi couldn't even begin to describe how meaningful that was to her. Tears threatened at her eyes and her throat closed up.

She turned away from Tak. She didn't need him to make fun of her for crying. She wasn't sober! Emotions were like a whirlwind, so much stronger! "Love, huh?" she managed to get out, her tone almost normal. "I'll order us two, then." She flipped her hair back over her shoulder, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her sweater. She peered at the menu, trying her best to read the number through the grunge. She seemed to succeed, her phone connecting to the restaurant. "Hi!~ I'd like to make an order for two Rogan Joshes? Oh, I'm supposed to tell you that one of them is for Tak! Yeah, could we have them delivered? Yeah, the address is 8618 Garfield Avenue in the Northern District. Do you take card payments? Mmkay awesome my card number is 4000000000001000," she rattled the number off from memory. "Thank you so much! I'm told it's really good so I'm looking forward to it!" Naomi beamed as she hung up the call.

She turned back to Tak, the smile still on her face. "Mmkay, it'll be a little while before it gets here. What do you want to do in the meantime?"


POST NOTES​
((ooc: still struggling but I'm trying))
((Outfit: grey dress and sweater))
((Tonight))



thebigfella thebigfella
 
HITOSHI YAMAKAWA
CS Link
SCENE:
LYRICAL MISERY
TIME:
Pre-Arc 3; Nov 11, 2021
LOCATION:
THE SERENITY - BAR AND EATERY, South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Hitoshi, Hiachi
LYRICAL MISERY
When Hiachi finished her song, the audience clapped to signal their approval of her efforts on stage; she had conquered her track of choice, which in turn had Hitoshi clapping enthusiastically while laughing as she returned to the bar. "Not your thing? Really?" the disheveled man commented in jest, "From what I saw that was definitely your thing! You can sing!" Hitoshi slammed down another G&T before wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his dirtied suit jacket. "I do wanna groove to something else but I've been thinking on what exactly..." he then mused aloud.

"Why not something peppy? Your last one was pretty sad." the bartender then commented, not taking his eyes off the glass he was cleaning.

"Ah, I know! Something peppy!" Hitoshi then said as if it were his own thought, completely ignoring the human being nearby. "That'll get the crowd going..." he then said, preparing to get up. However, he stopped himself when he realized that the Hiachi had only just gotten back to her seat and decided on an alternative ploy. "Hey, wanna do a duet? We'll absolutely kill it!"


miki miki
 
HITOSHI YAMAKAWA
CS Link
SCENE:
Two People Hungover is a Hangover But Three People Hangover Is A Crowd. The Point Is, Everything That Is Bad Is Better With More People To Suffer With You
TIME:
January 8, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3
LOCATION:
South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Hitoshi, Tak
Two People Hungover is a Hangover But Three People Hangover Is A Crowd. The Point Is, Everything That Is Bad Is Better With More People To Suffer With You
Hitoshi spared a glance of annoyance to his conjoined companion when he tried to spin the pants tearing into something positive. It was look that clearly signified 'You owe me.' as the duo crab walked their way through the spectacle of their current existence. And when it came to directions, Hitoshi also came at a complete blank; last night was one of many that had been wiped from existence to his knowledge. For all he knew, it was all a fantasy that had come to reality - one that involved being stuck to another man's rear.

Fortunately, fate had other ideas in store as a figure from their collective haze emerged to speak with them. And better yet, he knew of their situation.

Hitoshi let out a sigh of relief as Tak interrogated the man for any available information.

"Aliens!? I thought that stuff was only on the History Channel at 3 am!" Hitoshi said with concern, though he was largely ignored as they finally got their place of interest.

Faced with the entrance to The Loophole, Hitoshi scowled as Tak made his comments: "Hey! This is Phoenix real estate, and I won't have you shit-talking that! Especially since we're ass-to-ass!" the elder Phoenix spoke before shaking his head. "But then again... I don't ever remember being here."

In fact, he couldn't recall ANY information on this place's existence. Was this really a Phoenix hideout? Was he really that out of the loop on these things? Hard to say, especially given that their current condition came out of here. His eyes then widened as he realized a possibility: "Oh fuck, did we piss off a higher up in here? Is THAT why we're like this?"

The panic quickly subsided as Hitoshi's delusions calmed him down: Impossible, sire. Thou art the loveliest person to be around.





thebigfella thebigfella
 
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
Hitoshi backed away as Hector agreed on the preliminary idea, before the Queen went back to addressing the crowd. Hitoshi listened with crossed arms as Hector spoke of bringing the organization back to its former glory. To regain what had been lost. To be on top once again. Hitoshi had unfortunately been inebriated and broken for that period, and so never truly grasped the extend of the Phoenixes' power at their height. But he also knew to be realistic, as he remained silent while some others cheered on the rhetoric.

He knew Hector meant well, and was earnest about rebuilding the foundations for a new golden age. But... when Empires fall, they usually never come back anywhere close to where they had once been. Hitoshi wasn't by any means a history expert, but he read enough on popular subject to recognize the pattern. Empires rise and fall. One that disappears has another to take its place. Of course, Hitoshi wasn't against the sentiment as the other one was.

Maddening cackles filled the air as Pei, a figure that Hitoshi knew less about than many other Phoenixes. And what he did know... he frankly didn't like. And now here he was openly mocking Hector and striding off with arrogance. Hitoshi scowled behind the man's back, before changing his mind to something else. He'd rather not dwell on a sour note like that.

Instead, he approached Milo - who he spotted moments after - and approached with a wave of his hand. "Hey Milo, what's up?"


Interacting: Milo ( Elenion Aura Elenion Aura )
 
ALICE
CS Link
SCENE:
Two Can Cross the Threshold
LOCATION:
Central District
PARTICIPANTS:
Alice, Charlie
Two Can Cross the Threshold
The scuffle behind did not escape the ears of Mr. Hat and his companions. Especially as poor Dormouse never realized the sheer strength of her opponent, flopping like a ragdoll against the wall. "Sounds like 'quiet' didn't take," Lady Cheshire remarked. She looked at the man. "I've seen that kid in the mall. He's the one who took out Knave."

"But this time, he's only one guy," Janay said, ever so confident. With Alice's wrist still tight in hand, they entered a much wider area: The Rabbit Hole, the official base of their ragtag gang. Courtesy of Charmy Devlin, the snake-eyed Tiger who saw potential use in the White Rabbits before her untimely demise, she provided one of many bunkers constructed by the filthy rich of the Tigers. Though it was never finished and the only actual room was a designated construction zone, it was better than the hobo camp from days past. Janay let go of Alice to ring a nearby bell, booming across the entire base.

Flood lights flickered on, illuminating the whole subterranean system. Scaffolding throughout the room, dozens of meters high, shook with dirt and dust as the plastic bunny ears of their masks rose from their burrows. Excavators and bulldozers, long devoid of fuel or battery, faced similar activity as people inside scurried out like mice. Past them was a massive, dark tunnel, from which a gentle breeze came through.
At that moment, Alice ran.

"Alice!" Janay called after. "Damn it... You aren't thinking straight! You're blinded by fear! I won't let him hurt you!"

She just reached the door when Charlie burst out, crashing and clutching onto him with adrenaline. Behind her, he'd see dozens upon dozens of uniform gangsters descending around Janay and Cheshire.

"The White Rabbits are under attack!" he shouted. "If you value your home, take care of the blue-haired intruder! Leave the girl alone."

Ever since the earthquakes and Outbreak, many were left displaced. Many with no other option to turn to for survival. This showed as many hesitantly marched toward the two with blades or flimsy, useless guns, shaking with nerves.

"Charlie..." Alice breathed, pale as a sheet. A countenance that quickly filled with vibrant red. "Why did you come here?!" she cried, feeling water well up in her eye. "This was my problem! My responsibility! Don't you have people to murder for your gang? You shouldn't have followed me..." Alice threw useless hits against Charlie, burying her face in his chest as her tone and volume lessened to stifled sobs.

Behind them, a dizzy Dormouse clutched her bleeding skull. Through gritted teeth, she made one last act to seal the intruder's fate. She opened a hole in the hallway ceiling, and rubble buried their other way out. The flood lights aimed at the two, and they were surrounded.

"My dear Alice is confused," emerging to the front of the gang was Janay, hands up as if he was the one compromising. "Please. It sounds like we both just want what's best for Alice. All I ever wanted to do was get her out of this hellish place. Surrender, and maybe we can look past this... altercation."

Alice knew he wasn't lying. That this was indeed Janay, her old, kindly caretaker. She knew he was intent on keeping his promise so long ago. But... as much as it pained her to admit, things had changed. Lifting herself away from Charlie, face puffy and sniffling, she uttered, "I don't want to go..."

Roda the Red Roda the Red
 
AKAMOZU JUN
CS Link
SCENE:
Next Aisle Down
LOCATION:
8th Street Plaza, South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Pei ( thebigfella thebigfella )
Next Aisle Down

With outstretched arms Jun caught the massive contraption Pei had stashed away in...who knows where, stumbling back a few steps as the unexpected weight of the machine nearly toppled him over.
Frankly, he wasn't sure why anyone would need a rocket launcher for shopping, or how and why everything was going to be free in a few minutes, but...he simply chalked it as one of Pei's 'Pei-isms.'
He could only watch in awe as the spiky-haired maniac stood atop his trusty shopping cart, point his rocket launcher down at the floor, and take off into the skies, in a deafening boom of acrid gunsmoke, and thunderous laughter.
Many other shoppers in the store were similarly transfixed, several nearly snapping their own necks to watch in terror as he sailed across the store.
Classic Pei.
The sight gave Jun a brief spark of inspiration, shifting to nestle the missile silo precariously atop his shoulder, as his hands hastily fish his phone out from out of his pocket, opening up the familiar DeadTube™ Streaming app.
After another tap of his finger, the device in his hand became a black mirror, reflecting himself and his surroundings, and broadcasting his image across the interwebs.
"Hey guys! It's ya boy, SingingMachine03, comin' at you live with a surprise guerilla stream at the 8th Street Plaza mall! It is absolutely wild out here today, but that's not gonna stop me and the crew-crew from getting our shop on!"
With an excited grin, Jun waved into the little, black box in his hand.
"This stream's brought to you by the good folks over at Marcy's Department Store...Oh! And that hit new mobile game that gave me a sponsorship the other day; Raid: Sha--"
Click
A small, subtle sound, almost indistinguishable among the surrounding background noise, but it's effects were far more visceral, and far more immediate.
"--AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"

The four cylinders resting atop Jun's shoulder released a horrible hiss, as they fired their payload out all at once, sailing out of the mouth of the department store, and out into the mall.
The world around him suddenly became a blur, the sudden shift in momentum causing him to lose his grip on his phone, and the launcher.
Unlike Pei, instead of flying gracefully through the air, Jun was launched straight forward, barreling straight forward, like a possessed locomotive gone mad.
Jun could only try to shift his weight from side to side, in an attempt to avoid the oncoming obstacles, screams of terror drowned out by the resonating ringing in his ears, until his ride came to a sudden, abrupt halt, as his cart suddenly tipped forwards, catapulting him helplessly out into the air.

Jun blinked.
Once, twice. Waiting for his soul to catch up with the rest of him, now that the world around him seemed to have stopped moving.
From he could figure, he was currently upside down, and from what he could see, he was currently surrounded by clothes.
After a bit of thrashing around, he was able to right himself, and following the artificial light shining above him, he managed to clamber his way up, and burrow out of the clothing pile, like a rabbit peeking it's head out of the snow.
To his side, he spotted a sign that had been dislodged by his landing, emblazoned with the word 'RETURNS' in big, bold letters, and to his other side, a mirror, revealing that in his shuffling, he'd managed to get a hat lodged atop his head.
It was white, with a green bill, emblazoned with a picture of a large freshwater bass.
In black letters, were a choice selection of sentences:
'Women Hate Me.
Fish Fear Me.
Men Turn Their Eyes Away From Me As I Walk.
No Beast Dare Makes A Sound In My Presence.
I Am Alone On This Barren Earth.'
Truly, this hat was made for him, and it was nothing short of fate for him to find it at the bottom of this pile.
Donning the hat atop his head with pride, Jun stepped out from the pile of clothing, taking a moment to take measure of his surroundings.
Judging from the number of sweat pants, denim jackets, and ironic T-Shirts, he had to be in the Men's Section...
Which meant he won the contest!
"Peeeeiii~! Jun called out.
"You here~!? I won the contest!"
 
Elise Cutter
SCENE:
Telephone Line
TIME:
July 20th, 2022
LOCATION:
North District
PARTICIPANTS:
Passeri, Dagger
Telephone Line
She was distracted by something, that much was clear from the Princess’s expression and sudden muteness. She might have found something important in those files. Elise, herself, had refused to tell Jules anything about her findings when she first came across the information of those monsters, too. If she didn’t feel like telling her about it, then she didn’t have to. She didn’t pry any further.

When the Princess did speak up, it was a request. It seemed innocuous and simple enough. It was odd, to her, that the Princess would forget something as vital as her phone in the car, though. For someone who didn’t need her phone to do anything at all, Elise was the type of person to be forgiven if she had forgotten it. But someone like the Princess? Maybe this whole thing was shaking her up a little more than she had been led to believe.

“Right,” she nodded, and set off for the vehicle. A shadow in her mind nagged at her, telling her that she should have followed the Princess anyway. The phone wasn’t vital. But she couldn’t say no to a request from her. She wasn’t the type to do that. That was all she had been, all she had trained for, to say ‘yes, sir’ to every command that was given.

She opened the car door, and checked the seat. Nothing. The floor was also empty, and so was the dashboard. It couldn’t be in the glovebox, could it? Did she forget to bring the phone entirely? Or maybe she forgot that it was in her pocket in the first place. It wasn’t like her to be so scatter-brained. Maybe this thing really was bad for her health–

A crash from upstairs sent her shooting upright, her hand already brushing against the metal in her holster. Raised voices. No. She didn’t–

Elise started running. The lift remained at the fourth floor. Too slow. She veered away from the lift, barreled through the door to the stairwell, and started to climb.

Each step seemed slower than the last, each flight seemed to go on forever, every moment seemed to her, an eternity. How could she have been that stupid to leave her alone like that? What if she was hurt again? WHat if she lost her, like all those people she lost again? Another repeat of history. Another failure. Another scar on her back.

Fifteen seconds felt like fifteen years, enough time for her mind to race, her heart to pump violently, her teeth to grit and her lips to curl into a violent snarl. She raced through the floor, the numbers on the apartments a blur in her eye. 1, 2, 3, 4…. There. The one with the door ajar.

A darting shadow in the early creases of light that peeked into the room flooded into the entranceway, sweeping the shotgun’s barrel sideways. A negligent discharge sent the buckshot into the plaster of the wall beside them, blowing out a chunk from the surface. Ignoring the ringing in her ears, she shifted her hand, and, gripping the pump of the gun, pulled it and the man towards her, her handgun already positioned at where his liver would be.

She bared her fangs with a snarl. She could have pulled the trigger here and now, but the Princess had already instructed her to spill no blood. That didn’t mean she didn’t need to have some insurance. She thumbed the safety, and placed her finger on the edge of the guard. She glanced across the rest of the room. A woman stood in the corner, cowering from both of them. She looked…familiar. She seemed to recognise something about her.

It couldn’t be…



 
SHERIDAN VALE
CS Link
SCENE:
The Idol’s Mask
TIME:
Post-Outbreak, July 31, 2022
LOCATION:
Vernwood Park, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Sheridan, Melody, Passeri, Vander
THE IDOL’S MASK
Fate moves forward, and the gears that govern the events of this world begin to turn. Hah! Sometimes I wax poetic for the most mundane of things, when all I need to say is that the line for the fanmeet has started moving. The notes of Passeri’s song, aptly titled “Idol,” floated over to the cafe from the speakers blaring at the venue. On the surface, the catchy beats and lively melody, pierced periodically with the shrill screams of die-hard fans, get the blood pumping. But a closer listen to the lyrics and the bridge reveals a delicious irony fit for any operatic tragedy. Am I reading too much into it? Perhaps. All the same, it makes me smile a little bit more.

I’m not in any hurry to go just yet, unlike the little one hopping around Melody’s seat, excitement clear and bright on her wide-eyed face. I didn’t know what I expected; did I want her to be made out of jam like her mother? How did she even come to be? While I can keep mulling over the biology and mechanics of her conception, I can confidently say that both mother and child have no business living in the North. Perhaps it’s a good thing that I got them this one day of blissful reprieve from the cruel play called life. Maybe someday I can give them more than peace so fleeting.

“No need for thanks, Melody. Your smiles are reward enough for me,” I say with a smile of my own. I glance down at Cassidy, a ticking time bomb of excitement just itching to see her beloved idol in the flesh. If we wait any longer, she might explode. After taking one last sip of the mediocre tea, I set the cup down on the table and I ask, “Shall we get going, then?”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Chaos rises the closer we get to the fanmeet. You can see the manic energy rippling through the line of fans with each step we take. I see one or two people faint out of sheer ecstasy, only for men in suits to carry them to the nearby paramedics, while other fans quickly seize on their vacated spots in the line without so much as a hint of concern. At the entrance, we show our tickets to the bespectacled young lady holding a tablet with a scanner, and she lets us through without a second glance. Not surprisingly, we are not the strangest people she’d seen today. A grown man wearing a gold half-mask in broad daylight is nothing compared to a woman in gray sweatpants and a purple hoodie wearing what looks like Passeri Park’s face printed on a cardboard mask.

A mask on a mask. Hmm. How quaint.

We take our places at the end of the line, Melody and Cassidy first at my urging. It’s only fair that both of them get to enjoy their time with Passeri before I do. My smile widens, and I find myself tapping to the beat of “Idol.” I wonder what expression she will have when she sees my gift.

Tags: The One Eyed Bandit The One Eyed Bandit Faker Faker miki miki
 
Deirest
SCENE:
The Shadow Over Stein Street
TIME:
June 26th, 2022
LOCATION:
Suspiciously Located Manor, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Mugen, Deirest
The Shadow Over Stein Street
Ringing. Her ears were ringing. Blinded by the pyroclastic flash of her victim's Potential, Deirest tottered for a moment, blind and deaf in the dark.

But only a moment.

The clumsy patter of her disoriented footsteps were cut of by a sudden, furious stomp. The bare sizzle of flesh filled Deirest's nostrils, and a flare of orange then ignited in her eyes. A moment ago, she'd been a predator. Calculated, to a degree, in the pursuit of her prey, but that had been blown away alongside the rest of her sense the moment that what should have been her frightened, submissive quarry had dared to fight back.

The rotted wood of the abandoned home creaked beneath her weight. The victim was swift, as all prey were, but even has her ears rang she could still hear him. His panicked footfalls. The stink of his insolence. And the dark. She knew the dark. This place was her churning stomach, and she'd already dragged her into its mouth.

She moved. A thunder of dense, purposed footsteps overwhelmed those further in the dark. In old walls like these, sound carried far. Through the floors, through the walls, through the ceilings, and so the fury of her coming reverberated through the house whole. Every angle, every entrance, and then upon him. Two eyes, and the stench of unwashed breath.

She pounced from one of countless doorways. Fingernails, gnarled and jagged like claws dug into the boy's flesh, and unseen blood splattered across the old, wooden floor. It was a glancing blow, to his fortune, as she her tackle flew wide and sent her tumbling past him. A wet, frustrated snarl came next, followed by words spoken on hot, heavy breaths.

"Get. Out."

As if she hadn't been the one to drag him in here.

And then she lunged for his throat.

 
Last edited:
Leaf W. Natali
Scene:
Broken Fingers Hold Blood Money
Location:
West District
Time:
July 1st, 2022 || (Post-Arc 3)
Participants:
Leaf(s), Red, Pei, Callista
Broken Fingers Hold Blood Money

Kyle Keith. His friends called him Kye.

He was checking the script, flipping pages on his mental notebook.

A kind, honest, handsome man of humble origins, didn’t come from the shine and sparkle of the high-decorum. Hair red as flame, a gentle smile and tired eyes that looked sorely overworked from his days tending to the animal shelter. Hard-working, thoughtful— passe, an absolute cliché. A story that made you feel warm on the inside, something out of a fairy tale. Something, too, that many people would eat up easy with fake smiles and glass-eyed looks of sympathy.

A plebian taking the hand of a royal. Now turned philanthrope, breaking boundaries. Future Mr. Reinhart was sure the perfect husband.

No, he didn’t get to pick the name for himself. That was 20’s doing, manufacturing the fake records before he could even do so much as get a complaint in.

All things he could play, act out. Nothing that made him too sick to his stomach. Not nauseous enough to have him drop the ball mid-game, at least. Kyle’s gentle, kind eyes, however, those were a completely different story.

Leaf couldn’t do those.

Right now, Kyle Keith was standing with a square jaw chirring enamels together, a deep frown bundling his eyebrows as he looked on at the entrance. Seething, biting his tongue. Like he were begrudgingly counting up those steps one by the one. Languid. Listless. Unwilling. A man sentenced to the gallows, followed by the ticking, looming set of clocks that bethronged him on his final hours. Dramatic, maybe, but that’s how he felt.

When they arrived, stepped foot out of the limo, the night’s chill felt like sandpaper scraping against the walls of his throat. He could’ve been more awake, admittedly, he could’ve. His eyes could’ve been more focused, his step less of a wobble— he could’ve caught one or two more hours of sleep before this. But for now, as hastily prepared as he was, his half-asleep self would do.

Leaf trusted Pei, even if his sponsor had wildly differing opinions of the impish man. At least he knew that there was a method to his manic whims. It’d be a cinch, the whole thing, if the blonde-head maid had planned things through. Maybe if he told himself that a couple dozen times more, he’d really start believing it.

“Hey, Leaf,” — He harrumphed, muttered something under his breath as his eyes tore off from the grand staircase. He cracked his half-lidded sleepless eyes an inch wider, turned to 20’ with a tilt of the chin.

“Because it’s fun, of course!”

Speak of the devil — “I think this guy’s off his meds. Who the fuck is he talking to?” — Leaf sighed, yanking himself by the shoulder and out of Pei’s line of sight — “Ignore him… Just don’t get too close to whatever he’s doing.”

As he was about to turn to the other two, he felt something pulling at his arm, foreign heat wrapping at his sides and making him flinch, stutter — “H…Hey?” — Deep, cutting crimson orbs met Leaf’s gaze the moment he looked over his shoulder at the regal figure holding him. He returned the stare with his own intensity. Bi-colored dark and red looked on at Callista, narrowed in on the eye contact. Frowning for the slightest second as the corners of his mouth twitched and twisted to a toothy, warm smile. As if pulling stitched lips apart, or unlocking unused muscle in his face.

“Bet he wouldn’t mind.” — He’d done exactly as she’d asked, fixed his face, wore something lighter. He took her hand in his as they walked, a large, idiotic smile on his face as the happy family mounted the steps.

“It isn’t my aloof demeanor you should be worrying about, Reinhart,” — His free hand adjusted the tie coiling around his neck, trailed up to slick his red mane back. His tone didn’t match the airy feeling in his step — “This isn’t the worse role I’ve played so far. Not yet.”

“Try not to get too into it— our charade, I mean. I hear you’re the impulsive kind.” — Not like he wasn’t used to them by then — “Hope it isn’t much of a tall order for my gorgeous wife to keep her head in the game.”

“Isn’t that right my brilliant, gifted daughter?” — He stitched the words up through a wavering smile, eyes squinted shut, spat them out like they tasted horrible. Leaf’s face dropped the moment they were past the keen eyes of the guards, scowling, pulling at his knotted tie as if it were an anxious tic — “We can really sell this shit so long as we try make to make it as disgusting as possible.”

The bustling, chatter of the crowd immediately made him wince and reel back into his façade. Kyle Keith, he had to remind himself — “As disgusting as them, I guess.” — He was already feeling dizzy just being in their overbearing presence.

He listened to Pei, still fidgeting with the square-patterns in his red tie. Leaf grunted out, nodded— his own sign of approval — “Reckon we split up,” — He gestured a hand to the fine-dressed butler working up a slouch, and the skinny maid with the drug-fiend look in her eye — “Maid and butler team. You two’ve probably got some toys to share around with eachother…you still got more cameras, no?”

“Got more than just cameras, young master~!” — He twirled in place, shot the redhead a thumbs-up with a toothy, reassuring smile blooming on his face. He was half-expecting sparkles and stars to fly out of him.

Leaf bit back a sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets — “Yeah, yeah...gadgets and trinkets. Stick close to Pei, then.”

“We should go find ourselves a table, dear,” — He huffed, groaning as that fake smile took over his face again, like it were an evil spirit possessing him — “I’m sure you’re just as excited as I am to chat it up with the guests, hm?”

Whatever tipped toward them, stirred the muddy waters, would make a visible ripple for them to follow. No matter how gentle or minimal, anything that made a move would be hard not to notice. The best thing they could do was throw a line and wait.

...
...
...
...
...
...
...


“Aye listen, man, hypothetically,” — 2020 started towards Pei, hypothetically — “Let’s say I got you a blow-up doll, and y’put one of those little stamps of yours on ‘em.” — He took a long, tentative pause, raising his eyebrows at him. Gave him enough time to split into groups of two and discuss what he’d told him — “Ya’ following me? You see the vision? You smell what ‘m cooking? Let me know, dude. We could make some B-B-BANK together, bro— I’m just sayin’”

The problem with Pei choosing to play the role of maid, was that he would have to be stuck with their head butler by proxy. Which wouldn’t have been much of a problem, be it not for the fact that their butler was a shameless freak.




Wxnter Wxnter thebigfella thebigfella miki miki
 
Last edited:
CAMILA GASPARI
CS Link
SCENE:
Not Thinking Twice
TIME:
Post-Arc 3, July 6 2022
LOCATION:
Nighttime, Streets of Central District
PARTICIPANTS:
Camila, Inigo
Not Thinking Twice

Camila let her chin sink deeper into the cradle made by her interlocked fingers, her elbows slowly sliding to the sides, covering more surface of the table. She listened to the man with pleasure, taking a deeper liking to his smooth voice and cool demeanor, a lovely contrast to the extreme aggression he showed previously...Not like she disliked that part of him, though.

"That much is true, alright, it's hard to even feel like you can keep your guard down even for a moment, can't even imagine how NPs must feel." Empathy wasn't exactly her strongest suit, a little too much of it was like begging to get backstabbed among the ranks of the tigers, all it took was to trust the wrong person to a little too long. "Yeah, I've been trying to relegate most of my direct work to other people, nowadays I'm more of a manager than anything else, so I think I might be able to wiggle a few extra hours for myself every week." Her expression by now had shifted into something teetering the line of neutral and bittersweet. However, her coy smile returned shortly after. "Would love to share some recipes, though."

Time bent and warped for the pair, the cogs of the clockwork advancing at a seemingly accelerated rate as the two lost themselves in conversation. It was a refreshing experience for both, to cut through the repitition of everyday and simply speak your mind to who was essentially little more than a stranger. The topics were mundane and unremarkable in nature, but that was all they needed to be.

______________________

Yellow lights forced Camila's face to flinch, her eyes all too used to the dim lighting of the cafe. She looked through the large glass window, easily able to recognize the vehicle that had just parked in front.

"Oh, looks like my ride's here." Her voiced lacked its previous enthusiasm, her body reluctantly stepping out of her seat. "Shall we head out, then?" She asked Inigo, hoisting her purse's strap over her shoulder.

The fun had to end at least, but she still had one last trick under her sleeve.


simj26 simj26
 
CHARLIE HUGHES
CS Link
SCENE:
Two Can Cross the Threshold
TIME:
Post-Outbreak, Late July 2022
LOCATION:
Central District
PARTICIPANTS:
Charlie, Alice
Two Can Cross the Threshold
Charlie's brutish entrance to the grand room was met with an assault to his sense. First was the luminescense from the flood lights, one of his eyes closing in reaction as he flinched, his vision previously used to dim underground lighting. Then there was Alice's approach, her lithe frame holding onto him with vehemence.

The Rookie smiled, for a moment. His beloved, unrequited as it might be, finally within his arm's reach, after excrutiating months of uncertainty. However, a flickering flame of happiness cannot last long amidst a sea of strife. He raised his gaze, noticing the many masked individuals approaching the pair, the man with the hat's command simply confirming what was their alread obvious intent. But it was Alice's remark that made him suffer the most, a shadow looming over his visage after the reminder of his sin, by the last person he wished to hear it from, no less.

"...Forgive me, Alice" He responded, his arms leisurely reaching for her. Not for an embrace, nay, he was undeserving, his hands gently placed atop her shoulders. "There's so much I've been wanting to tell you." He looked straight into her glossy sky-tinted eye, wishing he had the luxury of offering her his handkerchief to wipe her sorrows. "But if you don't want to go with them...Then that's all I care about right now."

The boy raised his chin, a stubborn stare meeting the implacable leader. "I'm sorry, sir, but you're wrong. You only want what you think is best for her, even though she's not interested. But I..."

He leaned over to the girl, a hand gently but suddenly grasping behind her knees. Her light body leaving the dusty underground floor, held in his arms.


Chalice.png

"I just want to help you live the way you want." His words now directly spoken to Alice, his voice recovering its warmth and tenderness from that day, almost a year ago. 'What's best for Alice' was for neither of the two men to decide.

Charlie's knees bent and contracted before launching the pair up in the air, skipping over the bulk of bodies getting in the way. His landing was heavy, with the ground shaking beneath his feet. They had reached all the way to the entrance of the dark tunnel, the breeze caressing the man's cheeks giving his theory more confidence. "There's gotta be an exit on the other side."

Without a moment of hesitation, he rushed into the maw of darkness, praying for a glimmer of light waiting for them at the end.


AriAriAbabwa AriAriAbabwa
 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
The Idol Fanclub Trials (Pre-Arc 2)
LOCATION:
Highreach, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Shishido Takakazu, Passeri Park ( The One Eyed Bandit The One Eyed Bandit )
The Idol Fanclub Trials

Darkness overcame the scene; not even shadows could make themselves known in the impenetrable blackness. A short-lived breath of pause, a moment to contemplate, before realization hit.

A spotlight clicked on, and underneath it was the expression of a lost man. He sat at the bar stool, a half-empty glass in front of him, and stared into it aimlessly, his yellow pompadour hanging downward limply as he watched the water drip down the glass.

“Ah, so it’s like that, huh?" Manyard spoke hollowly, reaching a hand to grab the glass and chug the rest down, slamming it against the counter as his posture slouched. He sat there in a long pause before realizing what was happening; tears began streaming down his cheeks, a hand reaching up to his face to weakly cover his expression.

“I’m such a failure. I don’t know the first thing about hosting a game show…” Camelo lamented, his body quaking with his choked sobs as he let his head sink, “How can I even go on!?”

Uninterested in the whole display, Tak’s lifeless gaze slid onto the set, blinking at Camelo with bags under his eyes and an expression lacking its usual artistic definition as he watched on, “It’s not that serious, really. Please stop,” he spoke in dry desperation.

Back in reality, Manyard was cackling in the stands, holding onto his gut as he laughed so hard that tears were streaming from his eyes, his teeth growing into razors, pointing and gawking as wheezes left his chest, “That’s what you get! You're a terrible host, idiot!” Manyard shouted out in between his belly, laughing.

His insults were enough to pull Camelo out of his rut, the blonde immediately looking toward his brown-haired rival with a sneer and veins of anger popping around his head as he turned to look at him, “What’d you say!?”

And in the next second, Camelo had pounced into the stands, the pair becoming nothing but a ball of dust, limbs, and shouting as they rabid at each other.

Meanwhile, the captain kept his eyes closed in contemplation, his always stoic arm crossed as he listened to Passeri’s words with intent. His eyes opened after a moment, and he gave an understanding nod.

“I suppose putting in our newest member with no assistance may be unfair. Some extra assistance would be beneficial. I have no issue with those additions,” he agreed before turning to look at the disaster that was Manyard and Camelo with a stern glare.

“Camelo! Manyard Focus!” He roared, and immediately, the pair separated; Camelo’s hair had somehow turned backward, and Maynard’s glasses had stuck out of his ears as they both saluted on impulse.

“Yes, sir!”

The next instant, Camelo was back on stage, question card in hand, as the sound effects began to play. He held the bright pink card between his fingers as he looked at both players with a contemplative frown.

Tak leaned closely over the button, an understanding of how the situation was going to go as he smirked, “All I need to do is use those two things to tie the game up, then I might actually stand a chance,” Tak theorized, not moving his eyes away from the button.

“Question 3,” Camelo introduced, as all focus went to the screen above him.

Q3: What was Iroi’s second outfit when she was with the Dokidoki Heartstoppers?

A: Purple
B: Pink
C: Green
D: Red

With a fierce slam of his palm, the buzzer went off, Camelo’s hand reaching out promptly to point toward their underdog, “Tak!”

With a snap of his fingers, Tak took advantage of the chance, letting his desires be known clearly, “I’ll ask the audience!” He shouted, rocking himself on top of the console to the point it would almost seem like he’d break it.

The audience in question blinked at him, not matching the energy on stage at all. Hapori had gone back to having his eyes closed, the man in the back row was still sleeping soundly, and the only one who seemed to be paying attention was Manyard.“It’s pink, isn’t it?” Manyard pitifully answered as if the question was way too obvious.

Tak crossed his arms in feigned contemplation, rocking his head side to side, “Pink, hmm? Yeah, that’s what I was thinkin’ too," he lied before giving a definitive answer, “I’ll go with A!”

“That’s correct. Onto the next question,” Camelo uncaringly tossed the card over his shoulder with a look of pure disinterest, as if now the whole fun was taken out of it that Tak was having fun with it himself, a fact that Tak quickly realized as he shouted from his position, “Oi!? Where’s my confetti and congratulations!? You guy’s just fuckin’ hate me or something!? Oi!” he bitched and moaned. Still, ultimately, it was ignored as the following question came up on display with Camelo’s following announcement.

“Question 4!”

Q4: Which Iroi merchandise has the highest market value secondhand?

A: Original Edition: Petal Gallery Release Shirt
B: Limited Edition Stargazer Poppin’ Stars Candy
C: Dokidoki Disco Poster
D: None of the above

Once again, Tak’s fist slammed down on the button, and without even waiting for Camelo to acknowledge him this time, he demanded: “I want a phone call!” Without even being given the go-ahead, he pulled his phone out, scrolling through it for a few minutes before finding who he was looking for and tapping a button, the dial tone playing for a long moment.

A ringtone rang through the silence. It was clearly one of Passeri’s songs compressed into a speaker. Everyone looked around at each other in a moment of wondering who it was before Camelo finally patted his pocket.

He pulled out his phone and placed it against his ear, and a familiar voice came through immediately.

“What’s the answer?” Tak asked, looking Camelo in the eyes as he talked to him on the phone. Camelo gave him a deadpan look as a small drip of sweat formed on his temple. “It’s A,” he weakly replied. And without much of a “thank you,” Tak hung back up, putting his phone away and plainly staring forward.

“It’s A.”

“Yeah. That’s right.”

Once again, a hollow wind, empty of emotion, filtered through the environment as everyone struggled to muster any distinct emotion about what had just happened.

Except Tak. The man had pumped his fist up in the air in victory, a grin on his face as he looked towards Gill. “Looks like we’re tied up now, Baldie!” Tak declared, pointing towards the hair-deficient man. "I’m about to show you what a superfan really is!”

Gill looked back at him. Though he didn’t say anything, his thoughts were clearly audible as he looked at him with weary confusion about how he could talk in such a way: “You didn’t even get any of the answers right on your own…”


“Alright, you three! It’s time for your final question!” Camelo’s announcement brought everyone’s focus back into the game as he held the final card, turned to look at the contestants, and put on an innocent smile.

“This one is worth 5 points, by the way.”

“HUHHHHHHHHH!?” Tak instantaneously combusted at Camelo’s statement, his hand reaching out to grab the man by the pompadour, wringing it between his fingers as his gritted teeth and protruding veins went along with bloodshot eyes that spoke clearly of the anger bubbling beneath the surface, the corner of his lips twitching as he said, “Then this means the other four questions didn’t even matter? What the fuck are you playin’ at, huh!? Do you just like wastin’ people's time?!”

Camelo only gave a carefree look in response, a finger in his nose as he faced the enraged Tak, “Eh? I thought it would be nice to get you all warmed up before putting it in sudden death. Really ups the stakes, right?” He remarked, looking away from Tak as if it was an off-handed statement.

Tak clicked his teeth before letting Camelo go and placing his hands on the side of his console. A determined expression came to his face as he growled, “Fine then! No way I’m gonna lose, damnit! Whatever the question is, I’m gonna get it right!”

With that display of energy, Camelo brought the card up to his face, putting back on his serious face as the final question music began to play.

“Final question,” he introduced, as the words came across the screen with his announcement.

Q: During the final show of the Lucidity tour, what panties were Iroi theorized to be worn by fans?

A: Polka dots.
B: Stripes
C. Lacey
D. Plain

The buzzer went off.

“Tak!”

Tak’s handheld was on top of the buzzer, unmoving. His eyes were the depth of voids as he stared lifelessly forward, his body visibly radiating negative energy, swirling black and purple as his brows knitted tightly together.

There was no way he could answer this question.

There’s no way he WOULD answer this question.

Everything coming so far had all been for naught, just to be stopped at the last hurdle by this? That thought rocked him to his core, his fists clenched, his body curling on itself as his muscles tightened.

Time was running out; he could feel the seconds ticking by.

He couldn’t let it end here.

…

And then an idea went through his head, one that made his head rise with realization, his mouth agape in shock at the depth of his newfound understanding.

“A trick question!?”

Yes, that had to be the answer. Tak’s eyes sunk behind the shadows of his hair, and he breathed deeply.

"I can’t…answer.”

“Pardon?” Camelo leaned in closer, his ear enlarging as he tried to hear Tak’s whispered response.

“There’s no way I can answer this!” Tak shouted, the sudden volume increase causing Camelo’s eardrum to come out the other ear as he stumbled back.

Tak raised a fist in front of his face, eyes full of focus as he spoke, “As a fan, I can’t! To go along with such a terrible question, invading my idol's personal space and info just to satisfy what!? Curiosity! How can I call myself a fan worth any respect if I can’t give any respect to the person whose music moves me so much!”

“You should be ashamed,” Tak continued a slam onto the console as he leaned forward like it was a podium, “There’s no right answer! To make a choice is to betray my love for Iroi! I won’t allow iiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!”

Tak’s speech resonated through the room, his voice and words so well-structured it would almost seem like it wasn’t for the fact he was an utter blackspot of any emotions towards Passeri.

For a long moment, no one said anything, just staring and gawking, as Tak looked sternly, confident of his answer.

*LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER*

“Eh?” Tak blinked, dumbfounded.

It was only a second before the next answer buzzer went off, and everyone’s attention changed in unison.

“Random homeless guy!” Camelo gestured towards the old man who had been busy eating his jerky this whole time. He was still chewing loudly when he answered.

“Stripes.”

“THAT’S CORRECT!”

Off went the confetti and sparklers, the bombastic music of victory, as the man stood there, uncaring as he continued to chew mindlessly on his jerky. His console flashed and strobbed with lights of congratulations.

“T-This can’t be…” Tak stuttered, his knees crumbled, and he fell to the ground, his head dropping as he felt despair overtake him, the bright lights above casting the deepest shadows.

“It’s over…”






A shadow cast above him; his eyes slowly opened to see a silhouette, and his blurred vision cleared to see him.

“Captain…” he weakly let out, his head dropping once more as his eyes clenched tightly as if fighting back tears, thinking of all the good food he would no longer be able to eat. “I failed.”

“Stand up, brother.” Hapori offered the man a hand; Tak’s head slowly rose back upward, looking at the man with a glistening vision. A smile was on the captain’s face.

“That answer you gave spoke from the heart. No fake could ever say something like that. That spoke leagues more than any quiz ever will. You have won this stage.”

Tak looked up in amazement, his jaw hanging open in disbelief before acceptance brought him to grab Hapori’s hand and let him lift him back to his feet. Now that he was no longer blinded by the lights above, he caught a glimpse of Camelo.

The blonde had numerous bumps on his head, was beaten unconscious as a drool came out from his mouth, and was missing a few teeth; Hapori’s judgment had been rough and swift. Manyard poked him with a stick like he was roadkill.

“Thank you, Captain,” Tak shook the man’s hand. The craziness was finally starting to rub off on him without him realizing it, and as both men shared a smile of mutual respect, they finally ended their handshake, Hapori stepping back as he put back on his stoic frown.

“I must prepare for the final challenge. This will be the hardest of them all, so take a moment to rest,” was all the insight he gave before walking off, motioning the rest of the members to follow him as they stepped off the stage, the homeless man coming along too.

Leaving only Passeri, the unconscious Camelo, and the guy sleeping in the back row.

Tak breathed a sigh of relief like years of stress had been lifted off his shoulders. He didn’t say anything for a moment before finally looking up. “Oi, bubble-gum hair,” Tak began, turning to look at Passeri.

What was going to leave his lips? A thank you? Appreciation for her stepping in to keep him from being wholly trampled at trivia.

“Were you really wearing lace panties during a show?” He asked, deadpan.

Ah, typical.

 
LAZLO SHEPHERD
CS Link
SCENE:
The Only Difference Between Cream and Custard Filling Is One Is Better Than The Other
LOCATION:
Unfortunate Donut Shop, West District
PARTICIPANTS:
Lazlo, Tak
The Only Difference Between Cream and Custard Filling Is One Is Better Than The Other
“Hey, if you don’t want my money I’ll take-” Lazlo started to protest, holding his hand out for the money to be returned, but quickly retracted it back to his side. “Ah, it doesn’t matter. Keep it.”

Lazlo stayed silent as Tak awoke, having accepted his fate already. In his head, he’d already decided he’d deploy the tricks that have served him so well in the world of work. The tricks that let him live the lazy lifestyle he did. It didn’t take him long to start buckling under the pressure though- specifically, the pressure of the too-small apron on his round body. He didn’t know who it was for, considering Lou was no waif either. The design was of a bikini-clad body, but the illusion of a curvaceous woman was lost as the fabric stretched to its limits around him. He couldn’t even laugh at Tak’s girly apron. He’d have loved to, but found it was painful.

“I don’t think I’ll last 10 donuts.” Lazlo wheezed, trying to look around at all the equipment. Fortunately, he started to feel a lot better, seeing Tak struggle. For a few moments, he stood alongside Lou, shouting encouragement from his cosy position.

“You got this, buddy!”

“Thought someone so body-conscious would be stronger?”

“A fatty like me on my donut diet would be done by now.”

It was at that point Lazlo felt a pair of eyes burning through him. He glanced up, facing Lou. Lou growled. Lazlo gulped.

”That’s just the butter. 1750. Pounds. Of. Sugar.”

Lazlo didn’t expect this would be the way he died, but as he thought about it, it was fair enough. At least there’d only be 2 guys watching, and likely only 1 would exit the bakery at the end of the day. The mountain of sugar wasn’t getting to the mixer by itself, so Lazlo prepared to do what he needed to do.

He didn’t make it near the ladder.

It was already a miserable display, but a horrifying sound threw Lazlo off his game. The sound of sugar escaping a bag. A ripped bag. He tried to look back at it, and in doing so, ended up flat on his back in an evergrowing mass of sugar.

“I give up.”
 
MILO NAGISA
CS Link
SCENE:
Back in the Game
TIME:
Post-Arc 3, Timeskip 1 | July 5th
LOCATION:
Boustan
PARTICIPANTS:
Hitoshi, Charlie, Milo
BACK IN THE GAME
Milo touched down on the platform amidst a column of rising air pressure. The great inkbird swooping low before rising again like a shadow. Feet pounding the pavement, he dove for the swiftly closing portal. Sneakers skidding to a halt against concrete. He was too late. His grasp found only the strange doll, which Elizabeth had thrown free just as the inky gate snapped shut. Crouching down to steady himself, his arms cradled the strange effigy. His eyes staring off into blank space. The space where Elizabeth had disappeared into. Again. His mouth forming a snarl.

Not again..!

Only after the dust had settled, falling in a thin layer over the suddenly silent platform, did Milo's attention turn to his fellow Phoenixes. Expression dropping, he hurried over to Charlie and Hitoshi's side. Eyes flitting frantically from one face to the other, then to the wounds on Hitoshi's torso, Milo struggled for words. Eventually he spoked in a strangled whisper.

"We gotta get moving." To bring Hitoshi to see a Doctor. To find out where they had taken Elizabeth. Milo would've been lying if he claimed not to hold preference for one option over the other. Though, in the absence of any concrete leads as to where they might've taken his charge, the young man settled for seeing his fellow Phoenix to get his injuries tended to.

 
Areith Rozárie
CS Link
SCENE:
Above Abyss, Under Heaven
LOCATION:
Unknown Waters
TIME:
June 6th, 2022|| Post-Arc 3
PARTICIPANTS:
Areith, The Pope Vorifengrous Vorifengrous
Above Abyss, Under Heaven

Shimmers swept across the ocean's waves, glossing the moving water like a polished sheen. The stars danced across the sky's reflection while the moon rocked two and fro. Shifting tides interlocked, moving in the same push or slamming together in their pulls, splashing sea spray into the air, letting the aroma of salt seep through the atmosphere.

Clarity allowed one to gaze through and see the realm below. The stars were joined by the glitter of sparkling rocks, the mineral deposits reflecting off the moonlight, and colorful corals lined the sea floor. Silhouettes of fish soared through the sea, moving along with the turbulent waters they were accustomed to, the shifting motion of the ocean leaving them undisturbed as they swam through. They continued to flutter across the water, the swinging of their tails pushing them forward until they disappeared underneath a mass of wood and metal.

A hull, dried salts left faded white tarnish across the muddy-colored wood. Last of luster or freshness made up the planks that put the foundations together, color bleached by the sun, and spots of mold and mildew denoted the wood as old, almost rotting. Misshapen patterns of different species and colors are brought together to form its base. No windows decorated the sides as the perspective moved upwards, the lower decks left to the unknown as the focus gravitated towards the main deck.

Sails fluttered overhead, and tall masts reaching the sky held them in place with ropes bound through brass grommets. Long strips of old cloth, stained and dirtied with swabs of mud and rust, pushed along with the wind, bending and pulling at the fibers as the speed of the changing atmosphere pulled the ship along.

Figures lined the deck like spirits haunting a ghost ship. They stood in the dark of night, draped in black hoods. They came in different sizes and builds, but their faces stayed hidden within the shadows of their cowls.

Some stared aimlessly into the sea, others conversed amongst themselves, and the occasional few stared high into the sky as if waiting for a sign. They took part in a pilgrimage, and the promise of greener pastures and fulfilling a duty had given many of them elation that was sobered by feelings of fear and apprehension towards the unknown. The less spiritual who did not understand that all of this was His plan.

"We're beginning to grow low on food," a voice came through the unknown realm of one's hood. Through the darkness, they stared at a few of their fellow covenant members as they stood together near the back of the deck. His hand raised, and gnarled, spindly fingers of gray slipped out. Inhuman, double-jointed fingers creaked like rickety bones as he pointed to a nearby stack of barrels. "What will we do when we run out?"

"We won't," another cloak responded her arms at her side. One horn, twisted and curved, poked through the shadows of her hood, reaching upwards, covered in unknown markings, "Sister has assured us that we are getting close."

"C-Close to where?" A question arose from the final hooded figure of the trio, his back crooked like an old dying tree, voice shaky and uneven like they could topple from weakness at any moment, "She has been saying that for days; who knows if this land she talks about could take us weeks or m-m-months."

"We will get there exactly when He plans us to," the man of twisted fingers responded, his palm opening, beckoning his fellow cloak to once again accept His plan. "We shall act to ensure our survival, but we are left to His will. Our sister will ensure that we can complete his plan. We will reach the Holy Land."

The Holy Land, the world rang through their hearts and eardrums. It was what Areith had promised, a place where the cataclysm would next undoubtedly strike, where the most survivors would be found in the number of HPs that make up the population, and the hope that many could be saved. The place where humanity's fate would be decided.

Their heads turned to look towards the bow, and upon it, they stared at the gigantic figure standing there. Her hands clasped together in prayer, her head dipped in acknowledgment as she stood there in silence, eyes closed. She wore the habit of a nun, and a tattoo of a rosary was planted on her forehead.

Her eyes opened slowly, red crimson shimmering in the night as they stared forward off into the horizon. She watched the unmoving skyline as she awaited the signs of the approaching city.

Areith's hands fell to her side, and with the clicks of the heels of her boots, she turned to the rest of her covenant, embracing them with wide-open arms as she smiled.

"Rejoice, all of you!" she exclaimed, raising her hands to caress the skies above in her hug.

"For our time has almost arrived!"

She could feel it.

Energies through her body, His guiding warmth told her that something was about to change.


 
Shishido Takakazu
CS Link
SCENE:
They Tell You Not To Mix Chemicals Because You Can Make Mustard Gas, But Nobody Tells You How Mixing People Makes Something More Deadly
LOCATION:
North District
DATE:
July 18th, 2022 | | Post-Outbreak
PARTICIPANTS:
Nao tityanya tityanya , Takakazu
They Tell You Not To Mix Chemicals Because You Can Make Mustard Gas, But Nobody Tells You How Mixing People Makes Something More Deadly

Any nuance or depth coming from Tak’s eyes or voice disappeared almost on cue, his face flattened to deadpan so quickly his features went smooth, nearly too much as his features went incredibly simplistic. He watched Nao’s phone call from the sidelines, hands in his pockets, audibly blinking as a sweatdrop went down the side of his head, seeing how quick the phone call was.

“Oi, oi… wasn’t that a bit too efficient?” Tak commented flatly, a slight downward curl in his lips as he slouched in response to Nao’s quickness, even remembering her card numbers off the top of his head, “Did you used to work at a call center or something? An avid user of TV shopping channels?”

He gawked as if she had displayed some superhuman ability, looking at her as if her head was backward. Though his bewilderment naturally faded as the event passed, Nao’s question of what they would do until the food got here made Tak rub the back of his neck, a slight tilt of his head, “What? Think we’re gonna play patty cake or tag? Like we’re trying to get one last game in before mom calls us into dinner?” He prodded her question with a half-hearted joke and sighed before his hand fell back to his side, “Not that it matters; we won’t really have time to do anything.”

His reasoning behind that statement was only mysterious for a moment before a nod of his head towards the side shifted the perspective, following along with his motion to pan to the side, revealing a man on a bike, a set of spiky white hair was kept underneath a red helmet, an eyepatch covering his left eye, rolled up sleeves of a button up and a brown apron hung around his neck. On the back of his bike was a box attached, painted bright orange with the color chipping off around the corners, a sliding door installed on it with the name “Zeyar Curry” spray painted across it.

Tak mentioned towards the man deadpan, “He’s already here,” he spoke flatly.

“Yo,” their new guest introduced himself curtly, giving Nao a raise of his hand and a small smile before his head turned to look at Tak with a sly smirk, “Man, you know you’re a real asshole, roach. Havin’ me ride through the North at night? You tryin’ to get me killed? I'm lucky no junkies tried to rob me.” he lightheartedly chastised, leaning off his handles to swing a leg over and place himself on the ground, bending down to put the bike stand into place.

“Huh? Don’t sound like a pussy,” Tak responded with a sneer, sticking a pinkie in his nose as he glared at the man with apparent familiarity, “You got here fine, didn’t ya?”

“Yeah, that’s because I’m a professional. You wouldn’t know what that’s like,” the banter continued with the white-haired man’s response as he pushed himself back straight, leaning back onto his bike lightly as relaxed in the face of Tak’s harshness, clearly used to dealing with his behavior.

“Peh,” Tak spat in response, turning his head to the side as he pointed over his shoulder towards Nao, “I bet you only came because you thought a hot chick was on the other end,” a statement which earned a chuckle from the delivery man as he placed a cigarette into his mouth, grabbing a lighter from his pocket and lighting the end of it alight, “If a girl was calling and she was saying with you, I wasn’t expecting much, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I was surprised to see you with a fox like that,” he commented with a slight glance toward Nao, letting the smoke flow out of his mouth as he stepped off the bike, "Though that other girl you brought that other time was cute too," he added on, walking back around towards the box on the back, “I can always trust you to bring good company, keeps the job from gettin’ boring, at least.”

Tak clicked his teeth in response, not having any rebuttal from what was essentially a compliment, glaring at the back of the man’s head as he slid the box open, "You need to get your eyes checked if you thought she was cute," was the only rebuttal he could give as he tapped his shoe against the ground.

When he pulled out their orders, they weren’t what you would expect, the usual plastic containers and brown bags. Instead, upon a red tray were two ornate brass bowls, handles on each side and patterns of ripples on the outside. Each had a matching pair of utensils. The bowls are steamed with orange curry, joined by layers of rice going up the opposite side of the bowl.

“Here ya go, your old favorite, ya roach.” He offered, and Tak didn’t hesitate to take his bowl into his hands, grabbing his utensils as he took a minute to savor the smell. His eyes went spacey for a moment, and a smile barely crept across his face as he stared into the bowl. Before he took a step back, he plopped himself onto the nearby cement steps, letting the bowl sit in his lap.

“I bet you still don’t make it as good as your pops, Arkar,” Tak commented, grabbing his spoon and flipping it between his fingers, consciously keeping himself from taking the first bite until Nao got hers.

Arkar simply grinned at Tak’s response, “Sure, that’s not just your nostalgia talking?” He ironically asked, but he knew Tak was right. There was no topping his old man, but at least he could offer the second best.

He presented the tray towards Nao with a step forward, “Go ahead, gotta make sure you get your first bite soon. That’s the most important one.”





 
Last edited:
Eisyu Ito (NPC)
CS Link
SCENE:
WYTTTTLBYUFTIFOYIACP
LOCATION:
East District | Hibachi Bar
DATE:
June 19th, 2022 | Evening
PARTICIPANTS:
Eisyu (NPC), Tak
When You Take The Time to Look Back, You’ll Usually Forget That In Front of You Is a Cheese Platter

Shock, horror. The darker consequences of dread. There are few things that can shake a father, this father, and yet he felt his life slip through the cracks the second he heard “They took her.”

Anger, resentment. The shadows on his face hardened. He set the meat packages on the counter and dug the stubs of his nails into his palms. Towards nobody but himself.

He remained a portrait of a man, fracturing.

“Who?” He dashed out from behind the counter and grabbed the young man by the shoulders. “Who took her? Where did they take her? Why did they take her? How did they take her?”

Eisyu never wanted for anything; he had no use for desperation. He let life flow and crash by without sparing it an ounce of his thoughts. He could do so because he thought he had everything he needed. He was lucky like that. Eisyu thought of his misfortunes as paths to his destiny.

But this wasn’t just a minor loss. This was losing everything he had. It didn’t matter if this was a stepping stone towards his true fate. He would rip the path from the earth if following it meant losing his lost daughter forever.

Eisyu’s eyes were shot open wide as he stared down the young man with a sturdy gaze. Unfaltering. Desperate.

thebigfella thebigfella



Hiachi Ito
CS Link
SCENE:
WYTTTTLBYUFTIFOYIACP
LOCATION:
East District
DATE:
June 19th, 2022 | Evening
PARTICIPANTS:
Hiachi, Tak
When You Take The Time to Look Back, You’ll Usually Forget That In Front of You Is a Cheese Platter

Hiachi’s head fell to the side as she looked at the shadows with her horizontal-side view. Her shoulder shifted off of the leather seat as she dug through her pocket for her phone, tossed it to the driver, and laid back down.

She didn’t care.

That’s right, I don’t care. There are worse fates than this. I have lived through worse. Going back inside is the worst fate.

The street lights reflected on the roof of the car in square shapes, sweeping across before slipping into slivers of nothing.

I needed a break, anyway.

She felt calmer. More resigned. Even though, arguably, she shouldn’t have been. This was still… bad, she supposed. But this wouldn’t be like the last times.

Even if they try to kill me, they can not kill me.

I will kill them first.

Utter silence. No struggle, no resistance. Just Hiachi, Hiachi and the gun secured at her hip. Twiddling her thumbs and lying down in the backseat like she was a bored child on a road trip.

thebigfella thebigfella

 
MILO NAGISA
CS Link
SCENE:
The Guy Who Wrote “Art Is In The Eye Of The Beholder” Probably Did It On The Toilet
TIME:
May 3rd, 2022 || Pre-Arc 3
LOCATION:
South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Tak, Milo
THE GUY WHO WROTE “ART IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER” PROBABLY DID IT ON THE TOILET

In the bathroom, Milo stared at himself in the mirror. His eyebrows pinched. His hands gripping the basin of polished marble. The steady drip of water from the faucet tuned with the slow, rhythmic thump of the heart in his chest. His inverted self gazed back at him. Each of them searching for meaning amongst the forest of contradictory facts...

There was one fact in particular that rose before him like a mountain. One which scattered every other data point Milo had spent painstaking months to gather to the four winds. He peered up at it, dwarfed as he was by virtue of its very existence. Its peak disappearing into the clouds above. Insurmountable.

For all that Milo thought he knew or didn’t know, one thing was crystal clear to him now, after the day’s toils. Barker was not an HP.

This fact—this very fact which Milo had set out to disprove as step one of validating his suspicions—which underpinned all of his plans and theories to date, Milo now knew to be true. No. Having observed him up close for hours, after administering sly tests here and there in the hopes of getting the man to reveal his true nature, there was now no longer any doubt in his mind that Barker was an ordinary man. Talented, but ordinary.

The basin groaned as his grip involuntarily tightened. Their eye contact remained unblinking and unbroken. Milo’s mind raced down its one track, arriving swiftly at what felt now to him like an inevitable conclusion.

If Barker wasn’t an HP, he couldn’t have siphoned the talent of the artists whose style he had ostensibly incorporated over the years. If Barker wasn’t an HP, then he could not be guilty of the crimes which Milo had sought to accuse him of. If Barker wasn’t an HP, he was innocent.

All of this begged the question… What was he still doing here?

Could it be that he was here for his own reasons, under the guise of uncovering a grand conspiracy? Could it be that he was so unwittingly selfish? Did he really know so little of himself?

Could it really be so simple?

Milo waited for his doppelgänger’s reply that never came.

The answer, like his reflection, was staring him in the face.

He shut the faucet and padded back down the hall, entering the boys’ dormitory just as Tak stormed by him. Milo watched for a breathless moment as the belligerent man trundled down the wrong hall—if he was trying to get to the bathroom, that is (and from what little Milo knew of Tak already, he imagined precious few other destinations for that bone-headed gorilla).

"Bathroom’s this way!" He called out after a pause, as his mind weighed whether it was petty enough to let the man meander around the mansion cluelessly.

Perhaps he’d done it out of courtesy to Barker, or as an apology for his apprehension. Who knows where, or in what, Tak might relieve himself if he wandered too far and too long without finding a proper receptacle.

Whatever the reason, Milo thought no more on it. Ducking his head out of the hall before Tak had the chance to double back. He politely sidled his way down the row of beds until he arrived at his own. His clothes for tomorrow laid out on the foot of it, neatly folded. He scooped them up in his arms before gently depositing them on the flat of the night table. Before he peeled back twin layers of comforter and top sheet, careful to disturb as little of the bed’s snug make as he could.

The sight of it, soft and inviting, made his eyes heavy. Sleep was what he needed. A reprieve. A chance to reset. To pivot. To make the most of the tatters of his scheme. Tomorrow’s problem. For now, all he had to do was unwind himself and drift gently into oblivion.

“...I want in.”

The older man’s voice shook him to wakefulness. On instinct, Milo’s mind landed first on the worst case scenario. His eyes flicked to the night stand drawer where he’d stashed his sketchpad and pencil. Sidling around until he was on the opposite side of the bed, where the pad was in closer to his grasp, Milo listened as the man went on. What turned out to be an unnecessary precaution.

The ‘Truth’ was it? Milo smiled and shook his head. This was partly the reason he’d been so reticent to engage with Kassaki. Even then, the old man was wilier, and more perceptive, than Milo had deigned to give him credit for.

But, even so…

"I was wrong." He said by way of reply, surprised to find that the admission didn’t fill him with shame.

"Sometimes, things simply are as they..."

A peculiar something caught his eye.

Barker’s Wretched Heart hung on the adjacent wall carved into a long ornate woodblock canvas ringed in gold and obsidian.

This was not peculiar. Barker was an artist. It would behoove him to hang pieces, especially pieces of his own hand, in his home. Conceited? Maybe. But not out of the ordinary.

What was out of the ordinary was the fact that it was this piece. Wretched Heart was the second of a series of paintings that were always displayed together. Only when viewed in concert, was the true meaning of their sole existences revealed. Only together were they whole. And yet, here it was. A ‘middle’ unmoored from its ‘beginning’ and ‘ending’.

Milo stepped in for a closer look. It was surely an oversight. But Milo had a hard time imagining Barker making such a blunder himself, with his own work. Likely the guest rooms were furnished by members of his staff, who may not have known the significance of this piece. Then, there was the fact that it appeared to have been hung only recently. The art had not yet ‘settled’ into its new locales.

"… Are."

Compounding irregularities compelled him to act.

He stopped paying attention to Kassaki, taking hold of one end of Wretched Heart with both hands. Handling it gingerly, the artist gently prized the piece off the wall, revealing what lay behind.

Milo was called to recollect a memory of one summer at his parents’ posh beachside villa home. A whole season had passed with the house laying empty. By the time Milo and his parents arrived for their annual sabbatical, a family of rats had made a nest of it.

He remembered his father peeling the wall back, revealing a network of paths and hovels.

A warped mirror, a parallel world. Beneath and alongside their own.

His eyes spied claw marks. A yawning cavern. Built into the bones of the structure itself. He peered inside the body cavity of Barker’s mansion, squinting through the darkness to try and catch sight of something. Anything.

It was then that a new, contradictory thought struck his mind like lightning.

What if Barker possessed stolen power and was an NP?

What then?

What then?

Then the lights went out.

Then they heard the scream.


Outside of the boys’ chambers, the hazy glow of a high powered torch-light flooded the hall, casting Tak in a halo of fluorescent light.

From behind the drawn fog light which he held in both hands, Milo called out to his fellow art— man…

”Are you alright?! We heard a scream."












 
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