Doctor Llamabean
*winks at Markus*
scene...
it's free real estate
location...
West-side, Central, (Mach Sling Bowling Alley)
AUGUST
TAZMANIAN DEVIL
"TAZZ"
August is a social smoker. He never carries his own pack. Today, though--for the first time--the thought crossed his mind to buy one.
He'd been outbidded earlier this morning by an anonymous buyer for what would have been the fourth addition to his Alduron's Wrath figurine collection, of which he owns three out of the only twelve in existence so far. Well, the only twelve genuines, that is. There's a box under his bed of handcrafted fakes. Knock-offs. Wastes of time and money.
A lot of money.
Now, his only goal is to find this lucky bidder in hopes of convincing them to give up the figurine--but also to find out how many they're in possession of. A collector like himself would surely have more than one, especially one willing to throw down as much money for the one they did.
When he opens his eyes, he finds himself to be lying longways on a bench, facing the sky. His arm dangles for the sidewalk above an unlit, partially smoked cigarette, and he reckons it's his own.
"Must've fallen asleep..." he mumbles, not acknowledging that the sun was still out when last he blinked.
Thunder in the distance. No, it's his stomach.
August sits himself up with a grunt and a sigh, taking a moment to silently brood. The ever familiar agitation of wanting something he cannot have--a puzzle without its center piece--throbs in his temples. Or perhaps that's the headache of, yet again, too long a nap.
He yawns. Standing to his feet, he stretches for a long time, bending and twisting in a near involuntary display. Then, as the cigarette from the ground finds its way into his pocket, he sets off for a white Shelby Mustang gt500 with duel black racing stripes down the center, parked parallel to the curb.
Next stop, a little place called Mach Sling where he sometimes meets with a group of friends to discuss their individual collections.
"This cahd's a fake." August tosses the card, encased in a transparent plastic, across the round-top table, and it lands face-up beneath Chol's disbelieving eyes--a chubby man, red-nosed and balding from the forehead back. The sound of bowling balls clashing with pins shakes the air at varying intervals. Glass mugs clink against each other in a waitress's full hands. And Party Rock Anthem's LMFAO taints the outlet's speakers, inducing a collective headache amongst some of the more cultured guests.
"That- That's not true," Chol argues. Yet, deep down he trusts August's judgement, as he has for many years now.
August leans forward on his arms and cocks a questioning brow at his friend. A small scale sits between them.
Chol stumbles for words. "No- No, I spent..." A brief pause to let the dread seep in. "Oh my God, I spent fifteen grand on the whole set."
"Ooooh..." August sucks air through his teeth for an extensive period before finally stating, "Yeh, no, I sold tha real thing foh ten about eight yeahs ago, mate. Ya got ripped."
Gina steps up to the table just then--a tall brunette with thick glasses that make her eyes bulge like a chameleon's. "August, your bowl." And August slips from his stool with pity in his eyes, "Don't fret it, bud... Money comes 'n' goes. You could always scam anothah poor lad... Y'know... one loike yaself." He snorts, having been the victim of such cruelty himself many times.
This rubs Chol the wrong way, bringing him to slam his fists down on the table, causing it to rock. "How are you even so sure!"
He and August stare at each other, August's expression purely unpretentious when eventually he says, "Tha real cahds ah in glass casings and weigh about eight ounces each. 'At one's much lighta, and tha case is- well- plastic. So, unless someone took the toime to smash open each individual cahd and recase'em- I mean, come on, mate?" The Tiger's hands come up to shoulder height, palms toward the sky, and his lips pinch together, "Eighty cahds? Ya really think that's tha game, he'ah?" A click of the tongue, "Doubt it," before he's off to bowl his turn.
Gina places a hand on Chol's shoulder to try and cheer him up, but alas, to no avail. He's fifteen grand in the whole and sporting an embarrassing collection of cheap knock-offs, which he should have conferred with August in the first place before purchasing.
"Urgh- What kind of radicalistic collector do you gotta be to carry a damn scale around with you?!" asks Chol rhetorically as he buries his face in the table.
Meanwhile, August steps up to his lane, ball in hand, and cops a quick strike in the name of: "Skill, mate. Ah've got skill~" he hums with a smile. Behind him, Ormandy approaches. They share a high-five, then August moves to the ball-return to retrieve and polish his personal bowling ball. Black mixed with white and pink swirls; his initials 'AAA' engraved just beneath the thumb-hole.
That's when the Tiger finds himself slamming hard on his ass by an abrupt wave of green energy expanding throughout the building.
Dante.
Since August and his friends occupy a separate portion of the alley than that of the main entrance--the two partitions being connected by a wide archway--he missed out on the veteran's jaunty arrival behind all of the commotion that's already ongoing, less so now given what just happened.
His ball rolls away, off into a now scrambling and disoriented crowd of people rushing for the back exit. With a throbbing tailbone, he looks up to see Gina above him--she's holding the side of her face with one hand and offering him the other. He takes it and she pulls him to his feet.
"Are you okay?" she asks, receiving only a nod in response. August is too focused on trying to locate his fellow Tiger to pay her much mind. She tries again, more successful this time. "Hey? August, are you alright?"
He snaps to attention, "Hm? Yeh-yeh-yeh, we should prob'ly go? Whe's Chol?"
"Oh, he took off after being thrown from his stool... Said something about the mutants were here... or whatever. You know how he is toward people with Potentials."
"Yeh, well, sometimes tha chub's roight. C'mon, let's head out..."
On the count of Taio Cruz's Dynamite bouncing through the speakers now, the two of them begin walking toward the exit, passing by some other grumbling, agitated patrons. Then, upon making it outside, per his intentions all along, August snaps his fingers and turns back for the door, "Crap, I fo'got mah bag! You go ahead~ I'll catch up latah." He slowly squeezes back into the building, disappearing first by his lower half, "Tell Chol he's a pussy~"
"Wait- Can't we still-"
"See ya!" And he's gone.
Gina finishes, slumping defeatedly in the shoulders, "-hang out...?" Oh, the burden of unrequited love. That and falling for someone as dense as August.
Back inside, he finds his bag by the table where he and Chol had previously been discussing Chol's mistake, and inside the bag his mask. Nothing extravagant or flashy, but a simple black mask, along with a beanie to match, both of which he quickly dons before continuing his hunt for Dante.
When finally he spots him, he discovers, also, Queen Lucy and the rookie more rookie than himself, Vince.
Approaching Lucy instead of Dante, August raises a hand in waving and opens his mouth to speak. However, before he can mutter a thing, he drops hard to his hands and knees. A weight threatens his spine to snap, pushing him further down until he's flat on the ground and nearly unable to lift his head.
Just barely, he manages to pull off his beanie in hopes of catching the Queen's recognition. A silent cry for help.
>>> To The Next Post
He'd been outbidded earlier this morning by an anonymous buyer for what would have been the fourth addition to his Alduron's Wrath figurine collection, of which he owns three out of the only twelve in existence so far. Well, the only twelve genuines, that is. There's a box under his bed of handcrafted fakes. Knock-offs. Wastes of time and money.
A lot of money.
Now, his only goal is to find this lucky bidder in hopes of convincing them to give up the figurine--but also to find out how many they're in possession of. A collector like himself would surely have more than one, especially one willing to throw down as much money for the one they did.
When he opens his eyes, he finds himself to be lying longways on a bench, facing the sky. His arm dangles for the sidewalk above an unlit, partially smoked cigarette, and he reckons it's his own.
"Must've fallen asleep..." he mumbles, not acknowledging that the sun was still out when last he blinked.
Thunder in the distance. No, it's his stomach.
August sits himself up with a grunt and a sigh, taking a moment to silently brood. The ever familiar agitation of wanting something he cannot have--a puzzle without its center piece--throbs in his temples. Or perhaps that's the headache of, yet again, too long a nap.
He yawns. Standing to his feet, he stretches for a long time, bending and twisting in a near involuntary display. Then, as the cigarette from the ground finds its way into his pocket, he sets off for a white Shelby Mustang gt500 with duel black racing stripes down the center, parked parallel to the curb.
Next stop, a little place called Mach Sling where he sometimes meets with a group of friends to discuss their individual collections.
⚀ ⚀ ⚀ ⚀ ⚀
"This cahd's a fake." August tosses the card, encased in a transparent plastic, across the round-top table, and it lands face-up beneath Chol's disbelieving eyes--a chubby man, red-nosed and balding from the forehead back. The sound of bowling balls clashing with pins shakes the air at varying intervals. Glass mugs clink against each other in a waitress's full hands. And Party Rock Anthem's LMFAO taints the outlet's speakers, inducing a collective headache amongst some of the more cultured guests.
"That- That's not true," Chol argues. Yet, deep down he trusts August's judgement, as he has for many years now.
August leans forward on his arms and cocks a questioning brow at his friend. A small scale sits between them.
Chol stumbles for words. "No- No, I spent..." A brief pause to let the dread seep in. "Oh my God, I spent fifteen grand on the whole set."
"Ooooh..." August sucks air through his teeth for an extensive period before finally stating, "Yeh, no, I sold tha real thing foh ten about eight yeahs ago, mate. Ya got ripped."
Gina steps up to the table just then--a tall brunette with thick glasses that make her eyes bulge like a chameleon's. "August, your bowl." And August slips from his stool with pity in his eyes, "Don't fret it, bud... Money comes 'n' goes. You could always scam anothah poor lad... Y'know... one loike yaself." He snorts, having been the victim of such cruelty himself many times.
This rubs Chol the wrong way, bringing him to slam his fists down on the table, causing it to rock. "How are you even so sure!"
He and August stare at each other, August's expression purely unpretentious when eventually he says, "Tha real cahds ah in glass casings and weigh about eight ounces each. 'At one's much lighta, and tha case is- well- plastic. So, unless someone took the toime to smash open each individual cahd and recase'em- I mean, come on, mate?" The Tiger's hands come up to shoulder height, palms toward the sky, and his lips pinch together, "Eighty cahds? Ya really think that's tha game, he'ah?" A click of the tongue, "Doubt it," before he's off to bowl his turn.
Gina places a hand on Chol's shoulder to try and cheer him up, but alas, to no avail. He's fifteen grand in the whole and sporting an embarrassing collection of cheap knock-offs, which he should have conferred with August in the first place before purchasing.
"Urgh- What kind of radicalistic collector do you gotta be to carry a damn scale around with you?!" asks Chol rhetorically as he buries his face in the table.
Meanwhile, August steps up to his lane, ball in hand, and cops a quick strike in the name of: "Skill, mate. Ah've got skill~" he hums with a smile. Behind him, Ormandy approaches. They share a high-five, then August moves to the ball-return to retrieve and polish his personal bowling ball. Black mixed with white and pink swirls; his initials 'AAA' engraved just beneath the thumb-hole.
That's when the Tiger finds himself slamming hard on his ass by an abrupt wave of green energy expanding throughout the building.
Dante.
Since August and his friends occupy a separate portion of the alley than that of the main entrance--the two partitions being connected by a wide archway--he missed out on the veteran's jaunty arrival behind all of the commotion that's already ongoing, less so now given what just happened.
His ball rolls away, off into a now scrambling and disoriented crowd of people rushing for the back exit. With a throbbing tailbone, he looks up to see Gina above him--she's holding the side of her face with one hand and offering him the other. He takes it and she pulls him to his feet.
"Are you okay?" she asks, receiving only a nod in response. August is too focused on trying to locate his fellow Tiger to pay her much mind. She tries again, more successful this time. "Hey? August, are you alright?"
He snaps to attention, "Hm? Yeh-yeh-yeh, we should prob'ly go? Whe's Chol?"
"Oh, he took off after being thrown from his stool... Said something about the mutants were here... or whatever. You know how he is toward people with Potentials."
"Yeh, well, sometimes tha chub's roight. C'mon, let's head out..."
On the count of Taio Cruz's Dynamite bouncing through the speakers now, the two of them begin walking toward the exit, passing by some other grumbling, agitated patrons. Then, upon making it outside, per his intentions all along, August snaps his fingers and turns back for the door, "Crap, I fo'got mah bag! You go ahead~ I'll catch up latah." He slowly squeezes back into the building, disappearing first by his lower half, "Tell Chol he's a pussy~"
"Wait- Can't we still-"
"See ya!" And he's gone.
Gina finishes, slumping defeatedly in the shoulders, "-hang out...?" Oh, the burden of unrequited love. That and falling for someone as dense as August.
Back inside, he finds his bag by the table where he and Chol had previously been discussing Chol's mistake, and inside the bag his mask. Nothing extravagant or flashy, but a simple black mask, along with a beanie to match, both of which he quickly dons before continuing his hunt for Dante.
When finally he spots him, he discovers, also, Queen Lucy and the rookie more rookie than himself, Vince.
Approaching Lucy instead of Dante, August raises a hand in waving and opens his mouth to speak. However, before he can mutter a thing, he drops hard to his hands and knees. A weight threatens his spine to snap, pushing him further down until he's flat on the ground and nearly unable to lift his head.
Just barely, he manages to pull off his beanie in hopes of catching the Queen's recognition. A silent cry for help.
>>> To The Next Post
♡coded by uxie♡
Last edited:
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