Realistic or Modern New Oasis: Monochrome Dreams

[angel doe]

Alessia M. Trevisani

CS Link

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

vernon, alessia, arthur, dominic, cesare, marcello, toby, carlos

panic in paradise

Ah, there it was. Doll. She was used to hearing it from her mother, but hearing it from this man? Yikes.

Alessia cringed internally while she smiled at Cesare and rolled her eyes playfully, "Oh, you silly boy. As tempting as that sounds, I have a responsibility to be here~" She responded in Fusillian, reaching up and gently tapping him on the chin, "Perhaps another time, darling." With that, Alessia left Cesare to chat up Cadence, but not before slipping a card into the other woman's hand.

"Please, feel free to contact me at a later date. I would be delighted to set up a time to meet," She seemed genuine enough as she gently lifted Cadence's hand and pressed a soft kiss atop it, "It truly was lovely to meet you." Another voice cut in shortly after and the blonde's attention quickly shifted.

“I trust you two won't be bored out of your minds to add another to the conversation.”

Alessia's expression never wavered, a small smile remaining on her lips as she nodded, "You are welcome to join the conversation, Carlos." She had an image to maintain and if she started pushing people away now the gossip would surely spiral out of control.

She immediately regretted saying yes.

“How have you been enjoying yourself so far my queen?”

God, not this again. Alessia stiffened slightly, her eyebrow twitching as she held Carlos's gaze evenly, "You needn't refer to me as 'queen'. That is unnecessary," She stifled a sigh, however, not wanting to dwell on that too long, "I have been enjoying myself well enough, I suppose." Another pause, her expression thoughtful, "Perhaps calling someone over would be a good idea. Toby has expressed that he is rather parched."

Alessia turned to the boy with a smile, her hand still resting gently on his back, "Fret not, my dear, we will get you something to drink." It was a shame she had nothing to give him now; if only the table nearby had more than just wine.

Oh well~ That's what the waitstaff were for and they had been nothing if not accommodating since she arrived, so they were sure to bring that glass of water quickly.

WhiskeyMarten thebigfella The Regal Rper

 

[Coyote Hart]

NIKOLOZ "NIKA" METREVELI

CS Link

SCENE:

Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]

LOCATION:

Warehouse, North Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Helen, Yelizaveta, Jacques, Nika

UNION BORN UNDER STARLIGHT

As soon as Nika began to mingle with the others, he caught sight of a familiar, but vaguely unwanted face. The Ruthenian Grisha, who took on the role of an older brother for Nika. Even now, Nika felt the heat of the glare on Grisha's face. He returned Grisha's gaze with a sheepish and shy smile before deciding it was probably best to find someone else to bother.

Despite that, Nika found himself trailing behind Grisha, joining him and Helen at the tail end of their conversation as they split paths. Nika arrived just in time to hear Cleveland mention a man named Mack. The reported reclusiveness of the man hardly bothered Nika.

"Comrade Zharkov," Nika greeted Grisha, his eyes bright yet calm, betraying none of his true emotions behind a facade of pleasantry, "Shall I go give talking to this Mack fellow a try? I feel like I'm a pretty good conversationalist."

Nika adjusted the lollipop in his mouth, twisting it around so that the juices flowed. Honestly, Nika wasn't quite sure about his conversation skills. He knew he was diplomatic and an easy chatter, but Nika did wonder if part of his confidence was due to the micro-dose of cocaine that he was ingesting.

There was really only one way to figure that out. Nika crossed the factory to where Mack and his aide were hard at work. He spared a cursory look over at the magma flowing through the conveyers and the way that the workers scooped it out with only shovels. The workers had to move quickly, Nika realized, lest their shovels got too hot from the magma and deformed. It was a job that Nika was ill-suited for. He was mild-mannered and the slow and steady type, not the fervent sort. But for now, he had to pretend that he was suited for factory work.

"Good morning!" Nika said to Mack as he twiddled his fingers in mock shyness. A lie spilled forth from his lips, easy and confident on his tongue, "My supervisor sent me over here to help you out. It's my first week, and he wants me to figure out which job works for me. So... uhh... is there room for a third set of hands to help out here?"

Jumping directly into asking about the union seemed like a bad idea. It was better to make a first impression before jumping into the meat of things. But Nika didn't know what sort of first impression he made, and he felt a trickle of sweat run down his temple that was definitely not due to the heat of the conveyor line.
thebigfella Seraphine

 

[thebigfella]

Conrad Carter

SCENE:

Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]

LOCATION:

The Quarter, South Ward

INTERACTIONS:

The Metal Angel @kakemha River HTCOR Hari BriiAngelic

Hostile Takeover

Using his hand to massage his aching jaw, Conrad’s bloodshot eyes focused on Hari. He scrambled around, grabbed whatever he could, and tossed it his way.

With no indication, the temperature suddenly shifted around him, and his whole body was obscured in a plume of steam that swirled around him like a spiral; the tossed weapons burst into the clouds and disappeared behind the screen, silhouettes fading into the white. The steam began to move around the room, spreading around and basking the entire area within the unknown as features became hard to see within the fog, as even all light was absorbed within the miasma.

The steam was hot to the skin, but not enough to burn; compared to the attack earlier, this was nothing more than an act of utility. Footsteps echoed through the sudden silence of the thick mist. Black figures clamber back to their feet, their grunts of pain and heavy breathing.

“We’re not out of this yet, damnit…!” A pained curse from beside Hari as a man reached under his suit to grab a pistol; he pointed right in front of him, “Die, damnit!”

Gunshots rang out through the entire building, and immediately, the other members who had been able to bring themselves back to their feet rushed to the source of the nose, weaving through the smoke and bumping into tables, knocking glasses and bottles onto the ground.


“C’mon, let’s fuck this bastard up!” An aggressive roar came, and they recklessly ran into the unknown. A war cry from the rowdy yakuza then turned to the shouting of battle. Screams of pain, snapping bones, and the bangs of barrels blasting bullets. Movements through the obscurity, human shapes bent and fell to the ground as they overlapped and intertwined in the madness of an unseen battle.

“GYAAAAHH!” A cry of death as sharp metal sliced through flesh, the crumbling of a body against the counter of the bar, the toppling of a stool clattering against the ground.

“What the hell are you!?” Came another scream before the speaker’s voice was replaced with a gag and the sounds of bile and blood splattering across the ground.

Before Hari could understand what was happening, footsteps rushed behind him. An undistinguished figure within the fog rushed towards him, and then the feeling of intense heat washed upon him immediately as a hand reached; the steam moved through his meaty fingers as his arm burst through, his chubby features with a bloodthirsty grin following right behind as the gas was pushed out of the way from his massive body.

“I’ll disfigure that pretty face ‘o yours!” He shouted, fingers splaying wide as his meaty arm shot right towards him, claws prepared to grip around his skull and tighten on it until it all melted into mush between his fingers.

???

SCENE:

Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]

LOCATION:

The Quarter, South Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Choji luciferin Hikari @RoninN7

Hostile Takeover

“Huh!?”

The sound of footsteps immediately caused the woman to twist her body around. The shock led to the cigarette falling from her lips at her feet. A sharp look in her eyes followed as she immediately went defensive, dropping what she was holding.

She listened to Choji’s almost disturbingly transparent explanation with a blink, gradually relaxing her posture. For a moment, she stood dazed before a small chuckle began to escape her lips. Raising her hand to cover her mouth, she looked away.

“I-I’m sorry; it’s just that you’re so blatant with it that it caught me off guard! I wasn’t expecting that!” She explained between laughs, shaking her head as the giggles finally wore off, that steely glimmer returning to her eyes as she looked at Choji with renewed seriousness.

“It was enough to make me forget the situation for a moment.”

Her arms crossed each other, and she wasn’t about to turn down negotiations. But still, apprehension was evident in her frown.

“Why should I tell you anything? Another gang is taking over, so what?” She spat, her eyes turning to look out at the window, looking upon the empty night street, lampposts paving the way, bright signs and neon lights on each side of the street brightened the whole ward as far as the eye could see.

“I hate the Alleycats; I would do anything to see them all killed, slowly and painfully. I won’t let them get off the hook this time,” She said clearly and beautifully, crimson nails digging into her skin as her teeth gritted, painful memories causing her to stiffen. “...But, if you Guroko folks are going to just come in and do the same thing, then I’d rather have both of you go to hell. Your people are heartless criminals.”

She turned back to Choji, a scowl on her face as she placed a hand on her hip.

“I want nothing to do with you. I want this club to go down. No one else will suffer in this place. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Even if it kills me.”

 

[thebigfella]

SMITH

SCENE:

The Longest Dream

The Longest Dream

Smooth jazz makes the taste of tobacco on my tongue feel all the more like velvet. The only thing missing is a shot of Ramos Fizz. I sense the heat across my lips disappear as the cigarette leaves.

August 9th. 1942. It’s a day that couldn’t help but keep coming up. Every trail I followed led the paper back to that specific date. What was so important about it that it was where so many plotted the end and the beginning? Any old gumshoe could tell you there was something special about that day. Hearing about it second-hand was beginning to grow the picture. The first blood spilled is always the thinnest and starts to clot.

The story unraveled before me, information sung, almost beautiful enough to rival the birds chirping down in Dixie. Music was in my ears, and blank pieces were filled within my notebook.

I flipped a page, and then I paused. The page here had already been written, in the middle of other sheets, long forgotten. It was my handwriting, as sloppy as if it were sloshed, but the memory was clear and pristine.

“This was on the news,” I recalled, tapping the tip of my pen against the paper. I could remember the frenzy the press had, a field day would be an understatement, that incident built careers, and then sent those same careers into a watery grave.

The cushions groaned under me as I leaned forward. The music had stopped, and the sax had been plugged up, leaving me in this suspenseful silence that usually sat between me and the answers I wanted.

Sometimes, it was comforting. Other times, damning. Right now? It was enlightening.

“The explosion.”

???

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

The Survivors.

Panic in Paradise

Gloved hands held a bottle. The lights above cast a sheen across its polished glass, reflecting the young master's coy smile.

Fingers are hooked into the handle of a teacup, leaving the saucer to rise through the air. Ripples within the amber liquid bounced off the edge and merged at the center.

A man in a suit, his poofy hair drooping down over his face as he wore a relaxed grin, his glossy eyes looking towards the clock that was hung above the room, detailing the time.

9:59 PM.​

The second hand ticked. The echoing click reverberated off the walls, reflecting off the curved grooves of granite columns.

The bustle of the party continued; finished plates were picked up by bussers, alcohol was poured by sommeliers, and it swirled within fruits and splashed into tulips. Feet strewn across the ground covered every corner, walking past each other in a swarm as everything moved in unison.

The ticking continued. The voices grew louder, whispers behind orchestral jazz heightened to that of shouts. Unheard comments and murmured deals became too brazen to ignore.

Loudest of them all was the tapping of a foot. Anticipating, unease. Finely polished leather shoes rhythmically moved underneath the table. Rugged hands clasped together above, covered in calluses and scars, a large ring wrapped around one of his fingers. An expression hidden within shadow, eyes that glowed through the darkness, a sharpened grimace as he stared forward. His table, occupied by two men in suits and sunglasses by his side, leaned against the table. They spoke to each other casually, unaware. The disturbance within his microbiome, the quivering within the man’s ligaments.

The second hand clicked.

And he stood.

The sound and the detonation broke the barrier. The cloth of the tables fluttered upward, and the contents on top soared through the air. Immediately, eardrums ruptured. Torn to tatters. Before the ringing could even begin came the flames. The fire reached down, its tendrils stretching to consume those before a single brain wave had the chance to send a message. Their whole bodies were engulfed; the concussive force tore their muscles away from the bone, separated their skulls from their spines, snapped their necks, and removed their limbs; with heat did it burn what was already dead, spitting singed fingers and blackened tongues out among debris and smoke as discarded pieces of flesh and bone, among the rubble of jagged rocks and stone. Ammunition that pierced through eyes and cleaved through sternums, like bullets and cannons, left holes that squirted and gushed blood.

Before anyone could move or piece together what had happened came the smoke; it burst across the room, masking everything in the smoke screen. It was only then that anyone got the chance to do anything. Screams of terror and adrenaline made the dead man walk, running out of the epicenter without even realizing their viscera was spilling out across the floor.

People ran, others stumbled, and many fell. In the confusion, the madness, the constant ringing subdued everything underneath a layer of disorientation. The smell of burning flesh, the sight of guts and disfigured bodies.

Marcello Trevisani

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

INTERACTION:

Panic in Paradise

The ground shook as the foundations strained, and a statue toppled and came towards the earth, smashing tableware and corpses underneath it all the same, blood and wine mixed together into a pool of refuse. The roof cracked, tremors and fissures ran through them, dislodging pieces that began to rain like meteors.


Amongst it all, the young prodigy of the Trevisani stood still. His face was filled with shock, disgust, and all other negative emotions that he could muster. His head moved with his body as he looked at the carnage that surrounded them. What had happened? An explosion?

“Who could have done this?” He whispered, no one to hear, no one to answer. The bottle he held hung loosely between his fingers. And as he looked up when a large shadow covered his body, his eyes widened, and it dropped to the floor.

A large chunk of the floor above, carrying furniture and fixtures, piping, and wires, came to crush him. He didn’t have time.

…

But instead of a demise, there was light. Marcello's eyes blinked, and now that all that stood before him was rubble, it crashed around him like hail, avoiding him entirely as he stood unharmed.

A blur passed him, and he could only catch a glimpse in slow motion. A man whose rugged face he could never forget and notice even with only the shortest glance.

“Uncle Tito…?!”

Tito Trevisani

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

INTERACTION:

Alessia angel doe

Panic in Paradise

The man dodged and weaved through the rubble, shoved the people in shock out of the way, barreling past those running away from the chaos as he ran into the heart of it, one goal on his mind.

His teeth gritted, and a primal roar of desperation exited from his throat, loud enough to overcome the ringing of one’s ears.

“ALESSIAAAAAAAA!”

He needed to make sure his niece was okay.

And if she wasn't...?

 

[gxxberkit]

JULIE WAYNE

CS Link

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Calcis Barker Arvios , Reevan Vaz TheImmortalDeity

Panic In Paradise

But it was too late.

The invitation was discarded, wholeheartedly ripped to shreds just like the remains of people that were strewn across the room.

In a split second, the dance floor was submerged in rubble and flames. Viscera painted the walls and a high hum rang through ears. That, and the screaming that pierced through.

Instead of running, Julie stood, frozen and trembling, like she was struck with hypothermia. She coughed, and coughed again.

Her hand, soft to the touch and pale, paler than she was before, slowly turned so she could see her palm.

Julie was lucky. Standing there, amidst the uproar, she was mostly fine.

She was only missing a finger— her ring finger, to be exact. Taken out by a stray bit of shrapnel that had shot across the room and just sliced it clean off.

She was lucky.

But the ringing. The screaming. The uproar.

Goddamn it, it was so loud.

She was used to noise— but that noise was music. This? This was… She… She couldn’t focus in this. Who was it helping to scream? No one, that’s who.

No, this wasn’t good at all. She had to… who let this happen? She had to fix it. But she had to think first, and she couldn’t think in this. Not at all.

Yes, no, she was to fix this. Just as she did at the station, earlier this day. She just had to turn it off. Turn off the music. Just turn it off. Why wasn’t anyone turning it off?

Fine, she’ll do it herself!

Her hands sharply rose. They paused in the air, a conductor holding a rest.

And then, there was silence.

Mouths were open as if they were screaming, but no sound was to be made. By anyone. Anything.

Rubble that was pushed around didn’t knock, or crunch. The fire didn’t crackle or roar.

The music was off. The building, or at least the room, was on mute.

Everything except the ringing was silent.

Finally. She could think.

Her hands lowered and clasped each other. The silence held. Blood spilled onto her dark blue skirt, and stained her pallid fingers.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

Her eyes flickered between the men she was accompanied by, scanning over them to make sure they were alright.

However, her attention was immediately taken over by the carnage engulfing the building. Through the smoke covering her senses, she squinted.

…Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay.

What was she to do?

Well, what would the Trevisani do?

Get revenge?

How in the world is she supposed to help with that? No.

Save her skin?

No, no. Unless she were forcibly dragged, now is not the time for skimping out. Not even as the ceiling begged to bend in on itself.

She’s thinking too much. Too much time in her head.

Her hand rose to rest against the wolf beside her.

She looked to him, and then to Reevan, betraying a question, many questions, clearly on her face.

There was only so much time to act.

 

[angel doe]

Alessia M. Trevisani

CS Link

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

vernon, alessia, arthur, dominic, cesare, marcello, toby, carlos

panic in paradise

The unease hit Alessia before the actual explosion did. She couldn't quite place it, but something felt off and in that brief moment she simply chalked it up to the fact that she was at a party. She'd never been a fan of them, after all, so it wasn't surprising that after a while of socialization she was starting to feel anxious.

If only that had been the case.

Seconds later Alessia was hit with a forceful blast that sent her through the table behind her. She was unable to stop the cry of pain that left her as debris rained down on top of her. Something warm trickled down her face and by the metallic taste that hit her tongue, she could only assume it was blood. Was it her blood? She couldn't tell. Alessia used her hands to push herself into a sitting position, scanning the chaos around her.

"Cesare? Toby?" Alessia managed to cough out, trying to avoid inhaling too much smoke. She couldn't tell if any of the people who had been with her were still alive, her vision obscured somewhat by the smoke and dust. Shakily, she tried to get to her feet, only to yelp and stumble. One of her ankles was pinned beneath a massive piece of rubble, something that she could have easily moved on her own if she weren't so out of it. She could hardly see straight, her head was pounding, her ears were ringing; she could feel herself getting more dizzy as time passed. Maybe it had been her blood that she tasted.

“ALESSIAAAAAAAA!”

The distant voice of a man, a voice she recognized well- "UNCLE???" Alessia managed to yell in response, hoping he was closer than he sounded. She opened her mouth to yell for him again, relief flooding over her as she realized it was her Uncle Tito, but no sound came out. She froze, eyes widening at the immediate realization. Had Julie used her potential?

Alessia clenched her jaw, irritated. Save for the ringing in her ears, it was completely silent. In most cases, she wouldn't care, but this made finding people and getting help far more difficult. With the added difficulty of no sound, she couldn't sit around and do nothing. Besides, who was she to let a little concussion and disorientation get in the way of things?

Taking as deep of a breath as she dared, she held it for a moment and exhaled. If there had been any sound, the cracking of joints would have been heard as her limbs stretched, forcing the rubble off of her leg just enough that she could pull it out from underneath. A silent cry left Alessia as she finally got out from beneath it, the flesh of her ankle and part of her calf tearing in the process.

Rising shakily to her feet, Alessia took a moment to steady herself before looking around again. The smoke made it nearly impossible to see anything, but she could see enough to know that the explosion had been devastating. The floors, the walls- they were slick with blood, painted in viscera. Bodies were strewn about, very few of them still in one piece. The smell of burnt flesh singed her nostrils and she scrunched her nose up, disgusted.

Taking a step forward, she nearly fell again as her dress yanked her back, looking back and seeing it pinned under the same piece of rubble that had fallen on her leg. Alessia, already annoyed, cursed and grabbed her dress. She clenched the once beautiful silk, now filthy and covered in blood, in her hands and tore. What had been a floor-length gown now barely reached above her knees, but that allowed much more movement and that's all she needed right now.

Now Alessia just had to find and help any other survivors.

"Piece of cake..."

 

[WhiskeyMarten]

CESARE PARLATORE

CS Link

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Vernon, Alessia, Arthur, Dominic, Cesare, Marcello, Toby

PANIC IN PARADISE

“Another time then, doll.” Cesare’s tone made it clear he wouldn’t be forgetting about it anytime soon. As she raised a hand to his chin, he raised one to her side, though the contact was brief. “I know you’ve got your responsibilities.” As quickly as he stopped speaking, he dropped his arm and turned back to Cadence, whose question had already been answered.

“Security is one thing, but I can do whatever you need me to.” He grinned at the compliment, the lights above reflecting off his golden teeth. It seemed that he looked a little taller, a little stronger. “And I’m always happy to oblige a lady’s request, especially when they’re as gorgeous as you are.” He put an arm around her shoulder, glancing at Alessia to remind her once more that he hadn’t forgotten about her.

Before he could give any sort of tour to Cadence, the little shrimp piped up again, spilling a lot more than he expected. He didn’t know what made Toby suddenly so uninhibited, but it didn't do him any favours.

“Hey watch it, friend. You are very lucky that we’re in this room but don’t think you are invincible now. When we are outside, you can let me know if you still feel this way.”

That was the last word he got to speak. Before his mouth could shut, the room became engulfed in smoke and gore. With no opportunity to defend himself, he was thrown back first to the floor, the girl ripped away from his arm. Who the fuck did that? What is their fucking problem? He didn’t even do anything. It took him a moment to look up, expecting to see someone he had to take revenge on, and instead realising this wasn’t about him. This was about the whole gang.

He thought he was okay, maybe the wounds hadn’t set in yet. Adrenaline and all. His body did hurt, scratched up from being dragged against the floor, but he seemed a hell of a lot luckier than some others, until his hearing went, and things didn’t seem so fine. He knew his mouth was opening, but nothing seemed to come out. It was all gone.

“What the fuck?”

It was then he realised Cadence wasn’t with him anymore. He didn’t see her fall with him, but it all happened too fast. He scrambled to his feet, feeling the beating of his heart hasten. It was a blur, but turning around, he caught sight of her standing. She seemed unusually fine.

“Shit, are you okay?”

Oh fuck, Alessia. He wafted the smoke away from his face and hurried to what looked to be her through his obscured vision. He could feel the fabric of his shirt move, shredded from the blast, though some of it stuck to his back, damp with sweat and blood. He grabbed her by the shoulder looking down at her for injuries.

“You gotta get out of here, leave things to the boys.”

Of course, his instructions went unheard.

 

[Roda the Red]

VERNON FARNESE

CS Link

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Vanessa thebigfella

PANIC IN PARADISE

Admist joy, the clock hits the fated hour,

Force tearing through wood and stone.

Chaos unfurls as the place grows dire,

Bathed in flames that are not my own.

Subconsciously, Vernon's hand reached for his silver fork, the shining utensil dancing between his skilled fingers, spinning from pink to index, and vice versa. The man smiled, a low, joyous hum coming out of his closed mouth, inaudible to anyone but himself. "Of course I know about you, I must apologize for I'm terrible at remembering most faces." Well, when it came to ones he didn't fancy, at least. He leaned back against his chair, his toned back sinking into the firm cushioning.

"I appreciate the reminder, seriously! Sometimes when I close my eyes, I feel like I'm back in the old the days, when I was just a street kid fighting for centecimos at a time." He abruptly stopped the twirling of his fork, now holding it firmly in place with a three-finger pinch. "That said, please don't misunderstand, I may partake in my fair share of playing around, but..." He thrust his hand forward, the prongs of his tool piercing into his salad, lifting it up with half a cherry tomato and a spinach leaf skerewed through, both glistening from the thick, calorie-rich dressing. "Not even for a second would I forget what I'm here fore...So feel free to stay as watchful as you wish, I'll show you that there was no nepotism in the Don's choice."

He then went for a bite, his brief more serious and confident tone quickly dying out with a gleeful hum, taking pleasure on the simple, yet high quality flavors dancing in his mouth. "Now! Why don't we discuss abo-"

Those would be the last words of a stress-free Vernon that night. Next was a grand flash, a deafening boom and explosive force following immediately behind. Luckily for Vernon, and more importantly the fragile pair in his vicinity, the mighty detonation was a little too far for the kinetic energy to really affect them to any noticeable degree. Gripping tightly onto the table, the man slowly opened his eyes, strongly disoriented as a powerful ringing wormed into his eardrums. He grit his teeth, emerald pupils scanning his surroundings. I just a few moments, the luxurious room had shifted into something closer to the gates of a hellscape.

Vernon stood up in a swift, brusque motion. Strangely enough, the chair made no sound as it hit the ground, or anything around him, for that matter, maybe the blast was strong enough to leave him deaf for a moment?

Madame, are you alri- He was meant to speak, but while his lips moved, no sound came out whatsoever, no matter how much his ears rung, he should be able to at least feel his own voice. Yet there was none.

Brushing off the auditory confusion, he stepped over across the table, gentle hands helping the elderly woman up on her feet, relying mostly on what his eyes could tell him about her condition. He twisted his neck, observing what was the situation around him. It was nothing short of horrifying; Debris, flames and gore where the apt keywords. A glimpse of a familiar figure allowed him to connect the dots for the unnatural quiet; It was that famous radio host, Julie Wayne, and a weaver of sound.

With a bit more knowledge on the chaos, Vernon extended his free arm, reaching over the table. His hand grasped at the back of Kruger's shirt collar, the man having once again proceeded to cower in fear. He pulled with little grace, throwing the robust man and letting him drape over his shoulder, the silence also spared him from the unpleasant, high pitched squeal that the entrepeneur let out as he was taken against his will. For now, he needed to get both of them to safety, after that the man could focus on helping out the others in the area.

Getting on the move, Vernon couldn't help but think about a possible silver lining to this chaos. Sure, the tragedy had soured his mood, he wasn't a fan of seeing such carnage, after all. However, he might still get some rough fun out of it, should the perpetrators, whoever they might be, show their ugly mugs.

 

[SoupMan0512]

ARTHUR BURNWOOD

CS Link

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1 Scene [PANIC IN PARADISE]

LOCATION:

BALLROOM, WEST Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Marcello, Alessia

PANIC IN PARADISE

Burnwood had merely blinked his eyes once, and just like that… an entirely new atmosphere and landscape appeared before his curious gaze. He failed to catch any noise that was vaguely familiar; a foul tinnitus invaded both of his ear canals. Every nerve that existed in his body became wracked with an unbelievable pain, which he couldn’t describe in words alone. He was in complete agony, yet he restrained himself from letting out any kind of bloodcurdling scream. His mind remembered a ferocious light that was caught in the corner of his keen eye, and then… a blast of force that knocked him down on the ground. His eyesight contained an obnoxious blur, slowly fading away as it readjusted overtime. The once beautiful ballroom turned into an unrecognizable ruin, with multiple gaping cracks spanning across the floor. What exactly hit him? It must’ve been a piece of debris that shot from a distance, propelled by the large explosions.

He had survived worse.

His hand idly caressed the side of his face; his fingertips would lightly trail against his cheek. The sudden explosion lacerated his face, leaving behind a noticeable wound and left him mostly disfigured. Blood dripped from the horrible injury, splattering on the floor below. Fright hadn’t set in for the once charming fellow. It was like he had no concept of panic in the first place. His eyes narrowed, exhibiting annoyance through a simple frown of his destroyed features. He jabbed into his own lacerated wound on his face with his fingers, and dug deeply into the sticky, crimson-colored flesh that now began to protrude.

He began pulling the skin from his face; various squelching noises ensued. His visage daubed the gaping, cracked floor, discarded like an empty aluminum wrapper. What took over his entire expression was an opaque shadow; white oval circles appeared where his eyes would’ve been. He gradually lifted himself up from the ground, rising with an ominous aura that surrounded his environment. His formal wear was relatively clean for the most part. He strolled past the bodies that were on the floor; some were lucky and died instantaneously. However, there were others who writhed in intense pain. He didn’t pay them no mind. He solely put all of his focus on only one person.

“Hmf,” Burnwood quietly grunted. He observed his surroundings, noting that Marcello was unharmed from the blast. On his right hand, he held a fedora—the one that he had on earlier—that manifested out of thin air. He placed it on the top of his head, yet the shadowy mist that concealed his expression would still remain.

“Young master, you shan’t be here. We need to get you somewhere else more… appropriate.” Burnwood placed his bloodied hand on Marcello’s shoulder.

The shadow mist on his expression began to disappear slowly.

When Marcello turned around, he would see a ghoulish visage on Burnwood, as if he was some undead concoction. His decomposing eye began to slide out of his socket, clearly in terrible condition. He splayed an almost toothless yellow grin, followed by wheezing laughter.

“I noticed that Master Tito had passed us. I’m assuming Lady Alessia is in some sort of trouble, since he shouted her name like some loon after midnight.”

Burnwood hid his expression once more, concealed by the brim of his fedora.

“During times like these, families should stick together. I’ll go ahead and aid Master Tito in his search. I suggest you follow along, young master. However, I cannot blame you if you run out of here with your life still intact. It would be a shame if you died without giving me that special gift!”

Laughter echoed throughout the ruined ballroom, produced from the lungs of the one and only Burnwood. He began walking toward the direction where Tito Trevisani had gone, disappearing into the flames, as if he just became one with the fire.

 

[Stern LuLuLu]

Adol L. Crush

CS Link

SCENE:

Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [BITE BACK AND TEAR THROUGH]

LOCATION:

Place of the Battle, East Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Eiji, Mitsuki, Kygo, Jiàn, Carmen

Bite Back and Tear Throughh

While in the middle of enjoying himself, crushing the man’s skull. what his bare hands, he heard himself called out by the priest. The priest was telling him and Jiàn that he had done enough. Reluctant to do so he let the man go and simply toss him to the side.” Fine but this won’t always be the case. Also, since it seems like you and he were fighting first, I will let you take him out.” before walking off to the side to watch the show. Soon after the priest gave his speech to the man the priest gave his speech to the dying man before, setting him ablaze with his weird script Adol was still not sure how it worked but he wouldn't have to deal with that for a while. it was also interesting to watch the big guy give his last death rattle before he went out. He went to take a seat in the grass as he watched the man turn to ash.As he sat there he thought he’d make idol conversation. Looking over to Jiàn.”So I’m assuming things were pretty well wherever you were. What about you priest any more guys like this show up to greet you?” As he said that a new face showed up one that he was not familiar with. Adol stood up to confront the man. But then the guy suddenly got down in front of his common body, seemingly, mourning him.

Watching the man for his fallen comrade as if he wasn’t standing in front of his enemies at all Adol rethinks before attacking him. Then Jiàn spoke to saying that he shouldn’t leave before it’s too late. Looking at the poor sap an idea popped into his head.” She’s right, you know at least you’ll be able to tell the story. Not everybody is able to do that. So I suggest if you want to collect his spot what’s left of it to do so and leave.” Wanting to rest a little bit. “Hey priest, what type of drinks do you have in there? I’m feeling kinda thirsty right now.” As he walked over to him.

 

[Eteri]

CARMEN & MITSUKI

CS Link

SCENE:

Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [BITE BACK AND TEAR THROUGH]

LOCATION:

South Border, East Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Carmen, Mitsuki

BITE BACK AND TEAR THROUGH

The cockroach’s antenna twitched at the vibrations of the bullet resounding around the room, the initiator of shaking glass and another miniature landmark newly disfiguring the stone walls. Nevertheless, it hardly induced more than a passing glance from Carmen. Merely watching, the fluidity of the creature only matched her previous observations, though perhaps its method could also suggest a limit to what areas it could bend.

She pressed herself to the wall outside, sword at her side in preparation for a swing that could cleave through who - or whatever - attempted to pass her. The lack of an audio cue from Maestro prodded at a tangle of nerves within her, assuaged akin to the poultices only by her own presumed expertise at reading body language. The creature, with narrowed eyes and subtle changes of positioning, pointed to the infusion of a primal anger she had seen in others much too often when carrying out her hits. A useless rage, one that was best kept simmering, for to her, it had only made the creature easy to predict.

Further, it only confirmed her own theories. The creature had not only a modicum of intelligence but also emotions. Instinct-driven, instead of a marionette puppeteered by its creator. The similarities to her own potential were glaring to her with a few key differences, and most often shared traits were her favourite type of advantage to bend to her whims.

In between the seconds of anticipation and contemplation, her sight merged and phased, kaleidoscope-esque in their shared psychedelic quality. Shared glimpses, however brief, of other creatures scattered in the East Ward, featuring her own, the cockroach, and the fly near the top of the stairway designated sentry all merged in her vision. The fly itself was all harsh lines and perturbing bulges that compiled themselves into a list of abnormalities less for those with esoteric knowledge and instead a keen sense of intuition. It was clear how it was moulded by its creator’s haste and emptiness of its own life; designed to scope before being cast away for sleeker and more obscured versions of itself. Buzzing with unheard orders, it weaved through the heads of the supplicants and to the outside of the church. It stuck to the surface of the door, obvious in its bruised red shade before flying to the shadows cast by the roof in an attempt of stealth.

Its quick succession of movements froze, fading as fast as it had begun. In the wrecked room, the creature’s claws sharpened, obvious in the way it promised bloodshed. That was the first sign, one Carmen’s own eyes could see reflected in the dull, pasty light. She would not have enough time to wait for the second. Spinning on one foot, twisting her hip in one smooth practised motion to increase the force, she swung her sword vertically down a few inches in front of Mitsuki, anticipating an attack she could block and counter, or better yet, finish her prey in a single strike.

It was its voice, twisted and turned so that all the emphases landed on the wrong syllables, that announced its intention and the success of his admittedly uncertain plan. For a brief moment, as the eyes of the creature bypassed both their presences, he feared he had miscalculated the being. That there was no other thought in its mutated globe of a head than its predetermined goal. So it was almost a relief when the bloodlust seared itself into its gestures, the wooden structures crumbling under its fury.

The next note that followed almost slipped through his fingers. A wrong key that could have disrupted the rhythm of the next verse. Not a mistake he usually showcased during his performances and something he would have chewed himself out at any other time. However, some sacrifices had to be made to avoid stray flying pieces of shelves, and in the end he rather appreciated keeping his head where it belonged.

Gratefully, he slipped further behind the protection offered by Carmen. At times like this, he wished his Potential had more to offer to the table than subtle manipulation before derailing into something else entirely. But in the grand scheme of things, without it he wouldn't have achieved the freedom he currently possessed. A fact that left him with very little to really complain about.

Another breath, another sound. His finger danced across the harmonica. He had reached the point where he no longer had to think about how the next part should sound like. The sheet of music had taken root in his brain, and not even the surprise of the creature's apparent recognition of him could shake it. It was not a thought to be lost now. Not when the immediate danger was falling prey to sharpened claws vicious enough to pierce metal.

With a twist of his head, Mitsuki kept the nearest exit in the corner of his eye. A way out if all else failed and Erinyes decided that the risk far outweighed the benefit of staying.

 

[Haze-]

Jacques H. Fontaine

.

CS Link

SCENE:

Northern Star Arc I: Scene I [union born under starlight.]

LOCATION:

Warehouse, North Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Helen Damafaud Yelizaveta The One Eyed Bandit Sanya AnemoVictorious Grisha Seraphine

UNION BORN UNDER STARLIGHT.

He watched him where he stood, quietly, growing sullen and uneasy with him, trying to see through the smudge in the man’s glasses. Wondering, if they were scratched to high heaven from constant rubbings against the underside of his shirt, and if he was just too simple to notice it. Rudy paced about, in place, like it were a convulsive tic of his, crossing and re-crossing the same spot, almost restless.

A really nice guy, that man Rudy.

He kept talking. Even if the topic had him visibly on edge.

Jack smiled faintly at that. As if it were all just form to him, tacking through motions, slipping into the mask— a passable imitation of humanity—easy, readily, same way most folk switch and change into a second piece of clothing— “And I’ve got yours, Rudy. I’ll keep an’ eye out.”

“Aye! See ya’ around then!” — He returned the salute, one solemn fist lightly raised at his side while he held his lunchbox close to his chest. For a moment he stood there, hearing Rudy’s step rumbling in his ear like far-off lightning, and bassy, on-beat percussion as he mounted the steps. The more he drew away, the more his hands lowered, his light expression dropping, up to where he stood there with both hands hanging by his sides like a puppet without strings.

Too nice for his own good, that man Rudy.

He had been many places in his life. Been many people, known and forgotten many people and many places. He’d widowed and orphaned many, at someone else’s command. As he was programmed to, murder for hire, not a personal thing. Just efficient, because someone had to be. Because the Motherland needed someone to be willing, without questions—there was little else, little more than that to it, really. It was duty.

Somewhere along the line he’d tried to change, back when he moved to Oasis with Vivianne, he had tried. Learned how to trust, how to feel, how to forget. Not a loyal, Ruthenian hound but a man.

Now that she was gone, Jack couldn’t help but wonder if he was just falling back into old habit these days.

He looked down, sighed. Took straying hair between open fingers and raked them back into place, already slick with sweat built up from all the heat, quietly swiped a quick sleeve under a runny nose. He paused there when he felt his whole hand tic-ing, just against his face. Crossing, re-crossing. He didn’t know.

The moment he glanced down and saw a streak of red smeared against his white sleeve was when it hit him, right on the chest, a sharp, overpowering pain.

Something broke him into a coughing fit, one hand pressed against his mouth, throat and lungs felt like they were on fire. He clutched the railing at his side, wincing, taking back his breath. His ears ringed, the world became a blur, and when it cleared out, focused, he looked on at the palm of that same tic-ing, shaky hand dressed in red.

No, he didn’t have the time for old habit, or questioning if he was back to it. A couple months, maybe, a couple years later, he’d start feeling the hit from breathing in all the heat and smog of this same factory.

He didn’t have time at all.

It was best if he moved along, got things done quickly.

Jack muttered something under his breath, still reeling in, trying not to cough, wiping that bloodied hand on the inside of his pant’s pocket. He held his breath, grimacing, pushed off the wall. He moved through the frozen world with a knowing grace, one he came around to throughout the years, knew to which spot peripheral’s fell onto, how to avoid eyes, and which corner to round when he needed to un-pause to take a breath.

He went well. . . where the Star guided, throwing glances around at certain shapes he recognized in the darkness. Zharkov’s comet, a stand-out as usual, along with one of the rookies. He left him a crumpled note inside the palm of his hand, then another, simpler one left rattling inside his shirt in case he somehow missed the first — “Потише, товарищ. И уберите эту чертову птицу с неба. Я вижу ее отсюда.”

Helena, her outline plastered behind one of the walls. The only ‘message’ he left her was a faint knock on her wall as he passed her by.

And then there were the other two, perched on top of that lifeless office. He had a couple of stops planned, wanted to get everyone else’s side of things for himself if he could. If he was quick enough to get to them before they moved, that is.

A breathless intake sounded off right beside Yelizaveta. He was up there with her, elbows propped on the railing, looking down at the damned.

“Enjoying yourself?” — He gestured a chin at the desiccated, immortalized swallow in her hands, not even coming to question her about it. He knew how she was — “Not too much, I hope. What’s in the folder?”

He shot it straight to her, not looking to spend much time there anyways. Jack swiveled around to lean back on the railing instead, one feet tapping at the metal scaffolding. He looked off, head slightly thrown back, gazing at nowhere in particular — “And what about him? Trustworthy?”

 

[BriiAngelic]

Igarashi Hari

CS Link

SCENE MUSIC:

Unrestful

LOCATION:

The Quarter, South Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Angel, Hikari, Choji, Conrad, River

Hostile Takeover

The whole situation was beyond dangerous. Everyone was already heavily wounded and this fat fuck was blocking their exit by creating a wave of steam. It was hot, not burning but it didn’t mean that they’d be safe forever. The utilitarian use of fog didn’t make him forget that this was still a loaded gun aimed at them all. One misstep and they’d be cooked again.

So then why hadn’t he done so already?

He considered that this was some form of cat-and-mouse game. Perhaps Conrad wanted to watch them squirm and suffer before eventually letting them die in a cruel fashion where they thought they might gain the upper hand. Or perhaps he had restrictions on his power? If they could exhaust the man until he was of no harm they could come in close and slit his throat with little resistance.

Either way, if they wanted to keep this place working and not need to invest the hell out of it to get profit off it the steam needed to stop. The wooden structure would eventually have the moisture settle in and mold bloom along this place's walls. A final fuck you. Toddler mentality even.

“Don’t shoot aimlessly fools. If you’re surrounded by fog, allies, and a single enemy what do you think the likelihood you actually snipe him is?”

He would have snatched the gun out of the grunt’s hands before he could do something reckless if not for the fog getting in the way.

“You- You better hope you got lucky you moron. HOLD FIRING UNLESS YOU CAN FUCKING SEE. Grab your knives and BE ON GUARD.”

Something was in this fog making the snapping sounds and he wasn’t waiting to see what animalistic thing had been released into the fray under the cover of fog. He grabbed the nearest long instrument and used his power to increase his speed circling it above his head like a lasso trying to use the speed to funnel the smoke onto him.

“Your parlor tricks will only work for so long.”

thebigfella luciferin @RoninN7 @kakemha HTCOR TheRealAngeloftheStorm

 

[HTCOR]

River Johnson

CS Link

SCENE:

Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]

LOCATION:

The Quarter, South Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Conrad thebigfella , Hari BriiAngelic

Hostile Takeover

Steam- billowing out from the forges of which stone and skin burnt the same. Calculation of how long they had- a fire extinguisher was bound to be useless if one couldn't even identify the target. More likely to cause serious pain- however, a slug round intended to for tearing into a target? That wasn't a problem- and if it became a problem, then there was still material to patch the holes in it. "Hoped to not replace gray matter today. Forgot bleach for after."

Planting the canister to ensure the door stayed open- draining of this mist would be best. Whilst the barks of both lead and throat echoed throughout- identifying the warning to Guroko was taken in, measured, and archived as River kept an eye on anyone foolish enough to sprint quickly. Molten stone lit up the brief glimpse of a sprinting and screeching fool, but was it the gross misuse of materials noted earlier? Almost certainly. Yet actually drawing a bead was bound to be tough- and so she began her journey to the nearest fallen, humming a faint tune under her breath as to keep track of distance and time between the screeching figure and the boss.

Hopefully no one was too damaged- well, hopefully the enemy was. More supplies would be useful to fix those currently burnt. "Anyone with new holes- call out. If you need new holes, approach without a word. Helps either way."

 

[thebigfella]

Nishikawa

SCENE:

Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]

LOCATION:

South Border, East Ward

INTERACTIONS:

Kygo Shadow

Bite Back and Tear Through

The air fluttered through him, weaving and dancing through the cloth of his kimono, and the blood- and soot-stained robes threatened to pull off his body from the force. Though he fell to the ground, gravity brought him back to earth, his eyes directed towards the sky, the moon high above, the stars that peeked from behind the thick clouds.

For a moment, it felt like he was floating instead of falling; he flew endlessly. Time continued to tick forward, each second an audible click in his head as the world continued to rotate, its rotation pulling him in.

Slowly, did his pulse still. Blood stopped thrusting in his ears, and heat flowed out from his body. He felt weightless as he did lifeless as his arms splayed wide, accepting whatever waited for him.

Until, from behind the vision of his demonic mask, a speck caught his eye, a tiny blip in the distance that quickly grew into an approaching silhouette. His heart began to beat again, his fingers twitched, revived of life as his eyes shot open, and a crazed grin came across his face just as well.

For a time, he tried to act as if he was different from the cold-blooded killer, better than a maniac hydra. But, feeling his death tingling at his spine, cement approaching his back while jagged anger approached his front, stuck between rocks and a sharp place, he couldn’t help but find himself drawn into the absurdity of it all.

He had already known he had a chance to fall here, walking into a den of serpents and not inspecting to get injected with venom would have been a childish assumption. But, if this was how he was to go out--

“You crazy bastard…!” Nishikawa cursed out from under his breath, his hand stretched outward, and fingers clasped tight. From the ground, once again, magma bubbled, and in tandem with a glimmer coming crashing down, the ground burst open to blast a plume of molten rock and flames. It swallowed the katana, propulsing it into the air as it spun, the bandages around its chipped blade burning into ashes and smoke through the air as it left a trail back to the atmosphere.

Nishikawa quickly snapped his other hand outward, snatching it by its hilt between his fingers and gripping it tightly, embers flying across his body as the flaming blade fluttered its cinders; wordlessly, he shifted his position within the air and swung the blade backward in preparation to slice right through Kygo.

“Fine, let us finish this.”

Click, click, click. Nishikawa’s impeccable internal clock continued to move along as everything happened. And then, as soon as he and Kygo approached each other in the sky, the final buzzer rang in his mind.

Time was up.

Quickly the distance was gone between them, the forces of weight shifting along with their desire for one final clash. In a split second, both of them became a blur within the sky, a sparkle within the horizon caused by the flash of their blades that burned bright as a star before being swallowed within darkness by a black hole, leaving nothing.

Kygo flew past Nishikawa toward the approaching cityscape, its shattered and scorched ground. The samurai floated in the air, his katana hanging loosely.

Blood dripped from his chin under his mask, and a gout of blood spluttered through his nape, splattering through the night sky. Choked gurgles unheard within space as his body went limp, and his katana shattered into pieces.

His lifeless corpse spun through the air, falling like a meteorite right beside Kygo, as the earth came to beckon them both, but instead of staining the ground as a pile of unrecognizable flesh…

???

SCENE:

Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]

LOCATION:

South Border, East Ward

INTERACTIONS:

Eiji @simj26 Adol Stern LuLuLu Jiàn @AriAriAbabwa Kygo Shadow

Bite Back and Tear Through

The man stood undisturbed by the faces of Hydras, their threats on deaf ears as he took a moment to grieve his fallen comrades.

He stood there silently, counting the seconds, and then his head rose up into the air.

A splatter of blood dripped down onto his forehead, slowly dripping down his nose, thicker than rain. His sharp gaze suddenly appeared from behind his sunglasses.

“Looks like time is up.” He said dryly, and then he took a single step backward.

And around him, the world began to shift. The roads extended, branching off to newly formed alleys and side streets, houses lined blocks that didn’t formerly exist, and neighborhoods formed in the distance, spreading out into blocks.

A loud splash in the distance, a swell of water that flew high into the air. A community pool that had never been in the area before had formed a few streets away, capturing the crash of something in a cold, wet blanket rather than hard concrete.

From under the Hydra's feet, paths opened, walkways through the church spiraled and twisted, a beautiful garden rose around them, roses and thorns, daisies and poppies growing between them as a distance and cobblestone pathways began to separate them from inches to a whole yard, transforming a simple lawn to a field.

He raised his hand up in the air and waited until--

???

SCENE:

Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]

LOCATION:

South Border, East Ward

INTERACTIONS:

Carmen @soIstice Mitsuki Eteri

Bite Back and Tear Through

The vitriolic chant of the monstrosity began to froth from its putrid gums, its gums showing its discolored and pulsating veins underneath the thick layers of tissue that kept its massive teeth in place. Emotion overcame it, innate instinct drilled into it by creation, the hatred towards Mitsuki, the knowledge of his crimes, and the overwhelming desire for retribution.


Its body pulsated irregularly as if it was formed of many tiny vessels acting independently underneath its flesh, from its dangling appendages to bulging sets of eyes. Something was beginning to gestate, wanting to be born, to come free and act. Its body moved, its sharpened claws primed, prepared to rend and tear. It propelled its body forward, knocking away the shelves and other old furniture and decorations within its way, both of its claws reaching forward, prepared to tear Mitsuki in half.

But before it could end the maestro’s life, something sharper cut through the air in a flash. It struck in a blink, not giving the amorphous creature enough time to anticipate its bloodlust. Its massive hands flew through the air, detached from the body; streams of foul-smelling ichor burst from its nubs and leaked from the disembodied claws as they splattered against the ground.

The creature did not scream; it barely reacted except for swinging around the now limply dangling appendages. It swiveled, but the attack did not deter its desire to kill; its mouth opened, and that glimmer of the mysterious object it had acquired bubbled up from the back of its cut as its jaw extended, determined to tear off Mitsuki’s head from his neck.

But in the next instant, it froze. It stopped entirely, as more of its disgustingly thick blood-imitation stained and splattered the ground. Its murderous gaze left, and instead, it was something vacant. Lifelessly, it floated backward, whole body dangling, as if its strings had been reattached, a more dominant order taking over its psyche.

Its body slowly moved itself to the back wall. Without any of its anger, it had become nothing more than a purposeless tool. There was nowhere for its escape; it had been caught within its grasp with no chance to fight back.

Then, all of what was established was changed. A door, out of thin air, but like it had always been there, joined itself to the structure. A cellar door and its accompanying steps formed within a recess within the wall.

The creature did not hesitate, and immediately, its body slammed through the rusted metal frame, swinging it open. It shot into the open breeze, escaping from the basement. It weaved through the trees and bounced itself off the gates, flinging through the air until it had reached the front lawn, and with a burp, it launched what was in its mouth--

???

SCENE:

Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]

LOCATION:

South Border, East Ward

INTERACTIONS:

Eiji @simj26 Adol Stern LuLuLu Jiàn @AriAriAbabwa

Bite Back and Tear Through

It landed right into his hand.

A small bottle, a mysterious powder, attached to a chain of beads. Its cap was adorned in decorative metal of flowers and skulls, its mysterious contents so light that it moved around as the man dangled it between his fingers.

“Looks like they weren't lying.” The man remarked, as the shadowy monstrosity floated behind him, its body slumped and hung lifelessly in the air, “So this is Hydra's secret weapon.”

He clenched it tightly between his fingers.

His eyes glanced towards the Hydras, and a solemn breath left his nose. Okubo’s blood rested at his feet, and Nishikawa’s blood was beginning to dry on his face. None of his other brothers or sisters came to join him at his side.

He was the only survivor.

“Was this worth it?” He asked, not only himself but also the Hydras, not expecting an answer. His hand reached forward and grasped at the creature’s appendages like how one would hold a balloon.

And then, the floor left from under him, and in the air, both of them flew away from the destruction and creation that they had caused. The wind carried them towards the South, the mysterious man looking down at them as the distance grew.

Wanmiao

SCENE:

Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]

LOCATION:

South Border, East Ward

INTERACTIONS:

The Hydras

Bite Back and Tear Through

As he made his escape, there was a change immediately. A barrier had dropped. With the beating of hundreds of wings and the stomp of feet, they landed in mass upon the fractured ground. They landed upon roofs, peered out from alleys, and slammed through walls to enter the scene.

They screamed shouts of rage and arguments of frustration, quickly realizing it was already too late. Fists flew, and swords were swung as if attacking each other would give some answers or at least a sense of relief and accomplishment. The street erupted with conflict. While others looked to piece together what had happened, eyes trailing toward the sky, others were focused on each other's necks in rancorous conflict. In typical Hydra fashion, it was almost as if everything had gone back to normal.

There was only one figure who disturbed the madness. A half-limp half-hop as they came down the road, their tiny figure betrayed the glares and stares they received, people who restrained themselves from instincts of pouncing upon them, proving their worth.

A mask made of fur, floppy rabbit ears. Thorns barbed the face, blood, and dirt muddied the wrinkled material. Their hands were hidden underneath their floppy, oversized sleeves.

They stopped at once at the corpses of the yakuza, its body mangled and sliced, their dead hands still gripping at the necks of suffocated Hydras that they slaughtered with their last breath.

A gold lapel adorned his neck. The sleeve moved over it like a tube of a vacuum and pulled it right off him, letting the collar become unfurled. The Hydra slowly raised their hand to inspect the shimmering gold, a symbol engraved.

“The Higa Family, huhhhh...?~” She spoke plainly, the lapel disappearing into her sleeve as she turned towards the church, making her way towards it. With no face to look at, there was no way to know what the Headhunter was feeling.

“I do not care what happened here,” she quickly cleared the assumption out of the air as she limped closer. Gradually, the air grew more tense, and the killing intent throughout the figure became more pronounced as a shadow adorned their rabbit mask.

“I want to know if you are ready to return the favor? I’m a bit annoyed that I wasn’t able to have any fun.~”

 

[thebigfella]

Marcello Trevisani

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

INTERACTION:

Julie gxxberkit Arthur SoupMan0512

Panic in Paradise

Silence did not quell the madness. With screams unheard and cries muted, people found themselves clutching at their wounds and their throats, questioning what had robbed their voice. Only those fortunate enough in the know had the luxury to allow themselves to piece together what had happened to the sound.

In muteness, Marcello gained clarity. He supposed he had to thank his cousin-in-law for the second to breathe and piece together the situation. A gloved hand rubbed across his shoulder, feeling the fray of threads and the faintest warmth of blood. He had received a minor flesh wound, but it was of no matter.


His eyes glanced towards the table where the rest of his family had sat. It had been toppled over in the explosion and crushed by rubble. Through the smog, he could at least make out the familiar figures of his parents and his siblings. Compared to the aristocrats scrambling to hide or escape, running around with their heads cut off, his family kept calm and surveyed the surroundings just as he did. Unsurprisingly, despite their boorish behavior, they still were Trevisanis.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the situation: an unfamiliar black figure, an indistinct silhouette. Despite the change in appearance, there was still the same body language and cadence.

“Burnwood,” Marcello would have spoken, but with no words coming out, he saved his breath. Instead, he read the man’s lips from the corner of his eyes as he spoke, able to piece together his meaning from the featureless movements of his mouth from behind the obscuring fog.

He turned to face him, and with a blink, he suddenly became a walking undead; Marcello would have found the display amusing if it wasn’t for the circumstances, but some people couldn’t resist the chance to “show off,” no matter the situation.

Burnwood, the vulture, seemed to want to turn his attention to his uncle. Marcello pondered the thought. He would have warned him that it was unwise if he had the voice to do so, but instead, Marcello gave nothing but a slight nod; maybe if he was lucky, that charisma would keep him from getting his neck snapped, messing with his uncle in the current predicament.

He turned away from Burnwood, his hands at his sides. Among the madness, he was the only one walking with any feeling of calmness between the rubble and destruction. He had someone he needed to question about this situation, and if he wanted to do that, he would need to be able to speak once more.

It didn’t take him long, peering through smoke and smog, to locate the familiar figure. It had been a moment since he had seen Julie, not since Aunt Concettina’s wedding, but she was always one to stick out amongst the usual suits and dresses.

He would have called out to her if he could, but instead, Marcello simply approached behind her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and a slight nudge before he leaned forward to glance at her from the corner of his eye. She had become stained by blood, and the missing finger gushed crimson. Immediately, Marcello grasped her wrist. Out of concern, he examined the damage, his eyes sharpening and looking up towards his poor cousin.

Quickly, he grasped at his tie, tearing off the fabric into a strip and wrapping it around what was left of the stump. He looked at her as he did his best to slow the bleeding, moving his lips in the silence.

“Julie, we’re Trevisani, are we not?” He questioned, though it was rhetoric. While they might not be born of the same blood, to him, a bond under God was just as valid as one born. He motioned a gloved hand to the ensuing madness.

“Amongst us all, you are a voice the people will listen to. We need to get control of things,” he mouthed, finally finishing the knot. His hand let go to gently grasp her arm, tightening his grip as he bore into her eyes with assurance.

“You are not alone; our family will always sort everything out.”

Vanessa Iozzo

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

INTERACTIONS:

Vernon Roda the Red

Panic in Paradise

Vanessa’s old, wrinkled hands didn’t reject Vernon's help. The explosion's shock hadn’t harmed her, but it had caused her chair to topple over. As she stood up from the fall, the creak in her bones reminded her of her old age, but she was less worried about her own safety; her concern was focused on the surroundings.

Numerous questions floated through her head. What could have happened? How did it happen?

It shouldn’t have happened.

She struggled to keep her balance. Her aging features sharpened as her foggy eyes bore toward the source of the explosion as if something would come to her in the smoke. In an unladylike manner, she cursed, Fusilian swears, leaving her lips like a sailor as she gritted her teeth; luckily, no one could hear them.

Despite her frustration and demands for answers to how this event could have bypassed her potential, she had no choice but to put it behind her for the time being; there was something much more essential to handle.

Swiftly moving were men in suits; despite being bloodied and tattered, they moved their damaged bodies quick to reach Vanessa; they offered her their bodies as supports, which she quickly grasped onto to support her limping forward.

She glanced at Vernon. Instead of thanking him for his assistance, all he got was the mouthing of a scathing remark.

“Don’t forget your priorities. You lay down your life to protect Trevisani.”

While she didn’t outright tell him to “ditch” the businessman, the implications were heavy as she turned around and used her underlings to guide her into the smoke. She had to see the site of the explosion herself. Where had it happened, and how? Without those answers, they might have been in great danger.

Tito Trevisani

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

INTERACTION:

Alessia angel doe Cesare WhiskeyMarten Arthur SoupMan0512

Panic in Paradise

Everything going quiet didn’t slow the rampaging bull. It only caused him to see more red. The mindless brute wouldn’t have realized that the act was one of their own, even if he wasn’t losing his mind over the safety of his family. Boulders turned to pebbles underneath his fists, infernos blown out by a simple shout from his diaphragm.

A woman stuck underneath a column of granite, her lower body paralyzed and most likely never to ever recover, her nails had begun to leak blood from trying to pry herself out from underneath, staining the ground. Life faded from her eyes, her body going limp.

And then came Tito, grasping his hands. His fingers sunk into the stone like dough, and he lifted it up with just as much ease. The paralyzed woman took a breath, and as life funneled back into her, she was only able to catch a glance at his savior as he used the pillar as a weapon to bash through a collapsed wall, more debris of stone flying through the air.


Tito pushed through the cloud of shrapnel with only some tears in his suit; with more destructive power than the bomb that had just erupted, he cleared his way forward, and he breathed heavily as he wiped the dust off his face. He had still not found his niece, and every second worry was causing his body to bristle with more frustration.

It was only when his flesh began to tear at the jaw, scarring across his lips and spreading at his gums, a demonic glow in his eyes that threatened to burst into flames of their own, that his eyes finally pierced through the smoke to mark a figure, one that immediately caused him to burst into a sprint.


While his thundering footsteps couldn’t be heard, they could be felt. While the dangerous tremors might have been new to Cesare, the harsh footsteps of her brute of an uncle would have been all too familiar to Alessia as the massive man tore through the last smokescreen to finally lay his eyes on his niece.

“You’re okay…” he breathed a sigh of relief, though it couldn’t be heard; it was clearly on his face. He slumped in his reprieve momentarily before he bounded to pick Aleissa up like she still was a little girl, hoisting her high up in the air as a smile came across his grizzled features.

“I’m so glad you’re safe! I was so damn worried!” He shouted in the silence, “You mother woulda killed me!” He looked half-ready to cry before putting Alessia back down and looking toward Cesare. The gentle giant personality he exhibited disappeared in an instant, his hands folding over his chest.

“You protected my niece?” He mouthed, giving him a long stare. He didn’t say anything or provide any other recognition. He was just doing his job; there was nothing to praise.

Men didn’t work to get accolades or half-hearted appreciation. So instead, he only gave Cesare a slight raise of his head, a twist in the corner of his lip.

With that, he then turned to gesture towards the massive pathway he had opened in his search like another bomb had gone off, Tito-shaped holes, and other such destruction lined the way back towards the rest of the ballroom, away from the blast zone to the safer part of the building.

Tito made the first step, leading the way as he pushed crushed stone and bent metal out of the way to allow the others to move around quickly. While he was a bit more relaxed, his eyes were still on the lookout for his nephew, wanting to make sure both of them were safe.

Unlike his wonderful niece, Marcello was always a grumpy kid who always insisted on doing things himself. That runt could do good with a couple bonks on the head from some stone; it would fix that ego of his.

Abruptly, Tito stopped in his tracks. His gaze narrowed, his posture straightened, and his aggressive body language returned.

Standing before him was a man, his face obscured by his tipped fedora. He had no clue who he was or why he was standing in his way.

He only gave a straightforward order that could be understood whether it was silent.

“Move.”

​

 

[SoupMan0512]

ARTHUR BURNWOOD

CS Link

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1 Scene [PANIC IN PARADISE]

LOCATION:

BALLROOM, WEST Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Tito thebigfella Alessia angel doe Cesare WhiskeyMarten

PANIC IN PARADISE

Fire sprouted in every corner of the ballroom.

Burnwood tried to avoid the fire, not even his suit, which was made out of a special asbestos material, could prevent the burns on his poor skin. He felt a “sticky” sensation around his sleeves. Eugh. His skin was now blending into his shirt. What a pain. His face winced, but… instead of a frown to express his discontent, it was a crooked smile. Well, at least he was getting a cheap thrill out of this. It had been quite a while since he was in a situation where it made him feel like a rat trapped in its cage. Ever since the explosion, he began thinking about the culprit. Who had the marvelous idea of blowing up the ballroom!? The intrusive thought gnawed at him, like this fire gnawed at his person whenever he was in its reach. Sadly, he needed to prioritize something else at the moment.

“Tito Trevisani,” Burnwood silently enunciated through the movement of his almost nonexistent lips.

The large, robust Tito hadn’t been doing a good job at being discreet, even though their surroundings were robbed of its noise. He plowed through every massive wall of debris like it was nothing, turning it into a pile of insignificant dust. That display of sheer power was enough of a good incentive to get out of his way. Burnwood, however, wasn’t deterred. He carefully followed the trail of destroyed debris, as if he was an animal hunter tracking down his game. He bided his time, waiting for the right moment to make his presence. His target had an unfortunate ailment: rage. He doubted that his charisma was good enough to sway those strong emotions, especially when he was on a rampage to find his dear niece, Alessia.

One could view this hellish situation as a tragedy; Burnwood viewed it differently. An opportunity was created. He had a genuine reason to interact with an even more influential member of the Trevisani Familigia. This is what the creation of conflict does. It brings out the hidden emotions out of the people who are involved, showing their true colors. Without any conflict, actions cannot be made. Then, complacency begins to set in, starting forth a loop of stagnation. The bombing of the ballroom only quickened the process of his plans with the organization. He predicted that his figurative climbing of the ladder would’ve taken longer if this incident hadn’t happened. Thankfully, that might not be the case anymore.

His hand came in possession of a large bottle of alcohol; he swung the object back and forth in a careless manner. Eventually, the bottle of alcohol left his fingertips and flew backwards, rapidly spinning in the air. It shattered into a million pieces upon impact on the cracked floor, the liquid that was contained inside of the beverage was spilled everywhere. The liquid ignited into sparks of vicious flames, which immediately gathered right behind him. He trapped them all, even himself. The way that Tito Trevisani had made was now plagued with great walls of fire, making it impossible for any mere human to pass through. Burnwood was fully aware that for someone like Tito, it was just a mere obstacle and wouldn’t pose an actual danger. Nonetheless, he knew that nobody else would fare well against the fire, and even if they did, it could prove rather… unpleasant… to go through the blazing fire without protection.

Nobody would’ve known about his sick little stunt. Everything was muted. The scenario was perfect.

…

Burnwood stood before the menacing Tito, who was ready to turn him into an indistinguishable paste if he didn’t move out of his way. His white dotted eyes stared at the hulking old man; his shadowed expression bore almost no visible emotion. Finally, there was a response: he lifted his index finger, a typical gesture that said, “wait a second.” For human beings, beneficial actions carried a lot of weight. In spite of the treacherous personalities that the Trevisani family members would have, it was clear that the organization was very family-oriented and looked out for each other when they could. Emotions ran high, and in this instance, he had to appeal to him.

He stood aside and raised his arm halfway, directing their attention to the great wall of fire that accumulated over the exits that Tito had created. They were trapped; there was nowhere for them to escape. Fearlessly, the enigmatic man walked toward the fire, vigorously moving in a distinctive sequence. Within the blink of an eye, he procured a lavish red carpet, neatly rolled up, from under the sleeve of his white collar shirt. He unraveled the red carpet, and the sudden flapping of the cloth would create a strong gust of wind that separated the sea of flames apart. Obstructing debris was blown away in the process.

Gently, the red carpet fell neatly on the cracked floor, lining itself toward the exit—the man-made hole that Tito had created—for anyone who wanted to get out of this place.

Burnwood faced the hulking old man once more, and he immediately got on one of his knees on the cracked floor. Although somewhat hard to see, the corner of where his lips would’ve been had the shape of a light smile. His lips began to move, slowly enunciating his message to Tito.

“MARCELLO SENT ME.”

 

[thebigfella]

Conrad Carter

SCENE:

Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]

LOCATION:

The Quarter, South Ward

INTERACTIONS:

The Metal Angel @kakemha River HTCOR Hari BriiAngelic

Hostile Takeover

A whirlwind through the steam, air concave and twirled all into one singularity. Flowers with vases on some of the still-standing tables found themselves pulled from the water and tossed linens fluttered within the growing cyclone. Trash cans had debris pulled out from the interior and dragged through the air.

Anything loose and light enough was pulled into the atmosphere, the steam disappeared slowly, and sight returned as everything condensed upon Hari; what was before a smokescreen had become a spinning tornado capsulated upon the yakuza, the screeching of tables against the ground, and the sounds of bottles clattering as they began to be pulled into the rotation and swirling air.

Steam left through the door, kept open by River, while the rest was taken by Hari and kept tightly bound where it could no longer give the outnumbered Alleycats an advantage.

“Tch!” Conrad clicked his teeth, his hands bracing in front of him as his hair fluttered in the wind. His combover came undone to reveal the growing bald spot on the back of his head. He gritted his teeth, stumbling backward as he barely avoided being hit by a stray bottle flying through the air, his eyes covered behind his arms.

“Olya, do something about this, will ya!?” Conrad ordered the growing pain in the side of his face, which was starting to gnaw at him; he wasn’t about to approach Hari head-on again unless he planned on entering his critical state. He wanted a club to return to after all was said and done.

The coward turned and ran, scampering up the steps away from the battle as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. “The hell is Silk at?” he cursed under his breath. The pincer attack had fallen apart, but the serpent man should have returned by now.

Was something else going on outside?

“And didn’t I tell Olya to grab that fucker, Zeke?! Where’s he!?”

It seemed everything was falling apart between his fingers; frustration and worry made his breath heavy, and sweat began drifting down despite his resistance to insurmountable temperatures.

“I need to get my shit together,” Conrad declared as he huffed and puffed up the steps. Even if this club was destroyed, he could quickly get a new one as long as he still had all his papers together.

After all, they owed him. And he was sure he would ride that deal to the day it died.

???

SCENE:

Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]

LOCATION:

The Quarter, South Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

River HTCOR

Hostile Takeover

As the steam cleared, there was one figure who stood amongst mangled bodies. Cracked bones and blood, shattered skulls, and splatters of crimson across her features. A bulky woman dressed in a black suit, her imposing shape loomed above those she had already executed while everything was obscured.

The Guroko could only look on in horror, seeing so many of their own decimated so thoroughly. This woman was clearly a force to be reckoned with. Tension was in the air now she was visible. Many of them itched to try and prove themselves, but in the face of their current damage and Hari’s warning, they hesitated to take action.

“Damn,” one of the older yakuza cursed, his sunglasses slouched and cracked down his face, a hand clutched around his chin in apprehension, “These fuckin’ cats got some claws after all, huh?” He remarked before his eyes turned backward. They needed to do something, or this whole raid was about to be an embarrassing loss. He wouldn’t be able to face the boss like this.

His eyes scanned across who was left, and amongst the few still standing with minimal injuries, he recognized one face who had seemed to come out of this with, luckily, the least amount of injuries.

“Doc,” The older yakuza addressed River, stepping back to get closer to her as he stared at the enemy, his wrinkled brows tightening.

“Shit ain’t lookin’ good. I hate having someone like you in the fray, but the boys and I could use your help.” He spoke quietly, reaching up to adjust his broken sunglasses, looking at River through the shattered rims. Eyes spoke many words, and he spoke of many, all empty platitudes, almost as hollow as the eyes of the dead.

“You manipulate plants, don’t ya doc? Hate to say it, but I had a feelin’ things would go this way. So, I had a couple of my boys swallow a couple seeds. Cherry trees,” he explained with calmness, his almost disturbing level of foresight, before turning to point towards a few of the people on the ground, dispersed through the battlefield.

Undead? Unconscious? It was anyone’s guess, but the fact was, they could be used.

“If you can capture that bulky bitch in one of those trees, this battle is ours. All you need to do is the time it right,” he stated, giving River one last glance.

“I think you can do it.”

Regardless of her answer, the juggernaut of the Alleycats would begin to move, walking towards Hari through the whipping winds. A glass smashed against her head to no reaction and little to no effect; her hair tossed and turned as she got closer, debris flying around her head.

She stared at the cyclone only for a moment, and then a sharp glare within her animalistic eyes did she reach into the whirlwind of smoke; her fingers flexed, and her arm twisted, and with unnatural precision, she grasped Hari’s wrist amid its high-speed rotation, stopping the whirlwind in its tracks, as things began to fall to the ground as momentum stopped. The fog slowly began to dissipate into nothingness.

She wore a smile on her face, deceptively kind despite the situation. She was confident in not only her power but a precision that could rival his speed, and the woman seemed interested in seeing what else he could do.

The muscle of the Alleycats wasn’t someone to scoff at.

 

[angel doe]

Alessia M. Trevisani

CS Link

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

vernon, alessia, arthur, dominic, cesare, marcello, toby, carlos

panic in paradise

“You gotta get out of here, leave things to the boys.”

Although silenced, Alessia could still read Cesare's lips and had to fight back the annoyance that threatened to show in her expression. Just as she opened her mouth to respond, a series of tremors began. While that would likely cause most people to panic and wonder if perhaps there was another disaster on its way; Alessia knew better.

Alessia recognized those thundering footsteps and turned to see her Uncle Tito emerge from the smoke. A smile spread across her lips, eyes burning with unshed tears as he picked her up and hoisted her into the air. She couldn't stop the excited giggles that escaped her, and part of her was grateful that everything was muted. If it had just been Uncle Tito here, Alessia wouldn't have minded either way, but very few people outside of her close family and friends were worthy enough to hear her genuine laughter.

When Uncle put Alessia down, she took a moment to readjust what used to be her beautiful gown while Uncle Tito acknowledged Cesare. She tore a long piece of fabric from what little of the dress was left and wrapped it around her wounds. The last thing she wanted was to get dirt in an open wound- that would be absolutely disgusting.

Uncle Tito started to move shortly after his brief 'discussion' with Cesare and Alessia quickly followed, staying close to her Uncle. Her eyes darted around as she scanned the area, trying to be as vigilant as possible. The lack of sound made all of this a bit more nerve-wracking, but surely she could manage. Suddenly, Tito came to an abrupt halt- something Alessia didn't realize until it was too late.

"Fucking hell-" Alessia cursed as she slammed into the back of her Uncle. Looking up at him, she made a 'what are you doing' sort of gesture, visibly confused.

That was when Alessia saw the figure in front of them. Stepping up alongside Tito, her fingers morphed and sharpened into long black claws. With narrowed eyes and a look of disdain, she scanned the man up and down, scoffing. Gods, that fedora was ghastly.

What he did next just made Alessia roll her eyes. The man lifted his arms to gesture toward the wall of fire before them and then produced an expensive-looking red carpet, unfurling it and somehow separating the flames, leaving them with a clear exit.

Normally, Alessia wouldn't have batted an eye at something as silly as this, but then the stranger kneeled before her Uncle, a small smile on his lips. Ah, so that's what this was about; this man wanted something, or perhaps he was simply trying to get in her uncle's good graces. Alessia made sure to keep her expression emotionless, her sapphire eyes dark as she looked down at the man in the fedora. Maybe she was being petty; he had essentially saved them after all, but she really didn't care.

And Marcello sent him?
Yikes.

 

[luciferin]

CHOJI NAKAYA

- CS Link

SCENE:

Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]

LOCATION:

The Quarter, South Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

??? thebigfella

Hostile Takeover

Choji blinks, seemingly surprised by the whiplash between the woman’s laughter and her vitriol.

“Well,” he says, dropping onto the desk with a slight thump, “that certainly wasn’t what I expected to hear. I thought that someone who’d be lurking here would be profit-driven for sure.”

Sitting there, he maintains a slight smile despite the situation, albeit a touch apologetic now as he gestures to his surroundings. “While I imagine that you have every reason to be doing this, I can’t just let you ruin the place. Still, since I can sympathize a little about hating businesses, why don’t we come to a deal?”

“Guroko has its own resources, so while the higher-ups would prefer having all the documents here, I’m sure they’re not all necessary. Why don’t you take what you need—licenses aside—and tell me somewhere else I could be doing instead of waiting here? Dismantling whatever contingency plans your boss has in place, for example. I mean, you get to take the debt records and whatever contracts you think will undermine whatever you hate about this place, and I’ll make sure the Alleycats get what’s coming for them. How about it?”

Choji claps his hands together like it’s a done deal before one of his arms splits, unwinding into tendrils that begin to leaf open the drawers. “Of course, it’s more a bet at that point between whether or not what you’re looking for truly has the power to destroy this place, but I’ve got to trust my own family, don’t I?”

Besides, trust aside, the Guroko Association has to have ownership of the Quarter before it can worry about the business. Remembering the state of the other members before he left, Choji would much rather be helping to fight the actual battle rather than protecting the office. His family is more important than some paperwork, after all.

Though hearing the thud of steps thundering up the staircase, it sounds like the battle might be coming to him instead. All the better then. Maybe that’ll ruin the negotiations, but Choji’s never been all too good at negotiating anyway.

 

[Shadow]

Kygo Akainen

CS Link

SCENE:

Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]

LOCATION:

South Border, East Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

(Eiji, Mitsuki, Carmen, Adol, Jiàn)

Bite Back and Tear Through

Time collapsed around him, stringing actions together until the moments between them disappeared, became meaningless.
Thoughts would not form, instincts flared up and took hold as the range between him and the demon vanished in the instant after his fatalistic leap.

There was a flicker of primordial light to mark the return of one of the chipped blades to his enemy's outstretched hand, a twist of his own body to thwart the blow; Kygo's knife pulled across the cleaving katana to deflect it by the narrowest of margins, avoiding a repeat of his earlier mistake.
But then he was off-center from the pulse point: he could sense it, even as he reeled for a moment within the vastness surrounding them.
Feeling more than hearing where he needed to focus his next strike, Kygo leaned into the momentum of his parry and allowed it to fling him around, a pirouette that was almost artistic in their arc across the night sky.

Except for how it ended.

The path of his blade had finally driven into the source of his madness, had cleanly sliced through the space below the facade of the demon, severing flesh and releasing blood in a flash of triumph that subsumed itself, leaving darkness as the final image of the duel for both of them.

Kygo found himself back within the long march of seconds, ticking away, as suddenly as if he had just begun the dive over again, languishing in the fall.

The samurai was above him, suspended like an empty cloth on a breeze, weightless in the throes of death. His own body tethered him to the whims of physics, to the awkwardness of life trying to sustain itself.
But they hung for only a moment in contrast.

In reality, Kygo could not have been falling much faster than the blood that ran from the samurai's nape, was barely lower to the earth than the source of that stream.
Whatever the impact held for him, it would hold for both of them, joined in the thralls of their circumstances despite all else.

Facing up to the heavens, he would not know his fate until it hit him, a brutal transition from air to water that felt as if he had been slapped fully across the body with a cold slab of meat. When he sank into it though, a gradual warmth overtook him, and that was slightly less shocking, significantly less painful.
Slowly, it drew out a sense of familiarity through the warbling of tones as they traveled through liquid, the gentle splash of water echoing down to him.
It almost soothed him to the point of forgiving its original harshness, but this was not the moment for nostalgia.

Instead, he was forced to gather his bearings, staring up through the glass pane of water as it settled above him and the samurai's corpse, blood intermingling delicately and staining his vision. His gaze moved to his quarry, and finally his own pulse calmed, chest eased to give him another quiet moment, time to ponder, before the thirst for air would overwhelm him.
It was...satisfying to have encountered such a challenging foe, after the months he had spent hunting petty irritations. Yet he had no respect to pay the fallen samurai: for if this was a victory, then it could only be the sort that served as a declaration of all the future victories that now needed to be fought and won.

Nothing had been gained but a moment of stillness that must prove itself to be fleeting.

Kygo pressed upwards, gliding with practiced motions through the pool's depth to reach the surface.
He could feel that something was wrong the moment his head came above water and he gasped his first breath. The commotion of fighting came all too crisply into his ears, intensely abrasive so that it vibrated within his head and turned his stomach worse then the entire descent from the atmosphere had done.
He immediately ducked his head back under, wide eyes and blown out pupils searching the murky puddle for the precious lifeline.

It laid at the bottom of the pool, a dark outline contrasting only slightly against the shadowed depths, but desperation made it neon bright to his eyes.
Kygo dove and grasped it firmly in a hand that was shaking in spite of itself, then pushed off from the tiled bottom of the pool and readied himself to leave the liquid haven once more, pressed the muffs tightly back in their place.

He floated, just for a moment.
Legs kicking gently, hands safeguarded his ears, and only after the relief had embedded in his chest did he move to the edge and hoist himself up onto land.

The surrounding chaos hadn't just struck him when he lacked the muffs' protection though, as there was indeed a fully different sort of battle raging out in the East Ward now. He took it in for a moment, the chaotic antics of the Hydras, but something in his mind put reins on the idea of joining in the racket and steered it away, leaving him to step forward while he contemplated what he ought to do next.

SQUELCH.

Kygo's jaw clenched so suddenly that his teeth clicked and shot pain through his mouth, but he was frozen in motion, paralyzed by the wretched sound of his soaked socks contained within equally soaked shoes.
A dark expression overcame his face and grey eyes searched irritably for some option that wouldn't involve walking barefoot through a fucking battle field.

But he was left to stand there and stare down at the offending limbs when no alternative presented itself. The muscles in his jaw grew overworked as he realized the misery of his only two paths forward.
Placing his hands back over his ears, Kygo took a deep, steadying breath, and stepped forward again, carefully landing from toe to heel to minimize the sound, before repeating the motion.

Brows furrowed and eyes squinted as he fought with all his willpower to maintain some sort of composure, out onto the street, amongst the brawlers.
Though he tried to listen for any other sound that could guide his direction, it took overwhelming effort just to ignore the vivid slog of water shifting with each step beneath him, that wet squishing sound refusing to bypass his agonized ears.

Finally, he had no recourse except to hum while he walked, a deep vibration within his chest that eased the madness seeping into his mind.
Squelch, squelch....squelch...but it didn't resolve the growing urge to take out his frustration on one of the duelists nearby, to indulge in a fight with someone else instead of his own senses, at least.

"I want to know if you are ready to return the favor?"

The air left his lungs slowly and did not replenish as the bloodthirsty voice drifted above all else and seemed to speak directly to him.

Retribution?
Sure thing.

He stepped forward again, ceased humming, and focused all his strength on reaching the small gathering at the edge of the chaos. He was too distracted to pin down how many of them there were, but as long as they were Hydra and seeking more blood, that was probably the place to be.

Approaching the origin of the voice, Kygo found himself on the outskirts of a grove, unfamiliar greenery offering a slight sound-dampening quality that faintly eased the lines in his forehead and drew him to another standstill.

Everything felt a bit distant now.

This would do.
Kygo's legs folded beneath him and he sat on the newly minted grass, back pressed against a tree to rest his throbbing head. He took a deep, slow breath and fought for the patience to focus on the voices ahead of him instead of the commotion continuing to roil on the street behind.
After a moment, he also indulged the urge to rip an offending shoe from his foot, rang the water from one sock, then replaced it to fix the other.
It certainly wasn't a perfect solution, but hovering on the fringe of overstimulation was rubbing his nerves raw as it was; might as well take the relief where he could get it, while he waited to overhear what plan might be formed by his compatriots.

 

[WhiskeyMarten]

CESARE PARLATORE

CS Link

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Vernon, Alessia, Arthur, Dominic, Cesare, Marcello, Toby

PANIC IN PARADISE

The tremors unsteadied him. Aftershocks? No, that would be too simple. That wouldn’t have made Cesare’s blood run cold. As the hulking man barged through to them, he couldn’t help but freeze beside Alessia. He hadn’t done anything to anger the guy, at least nothing that sprung to mind. Getting too close to Alessia? It didn’t help that he couldn’t hear a thing, how was he gonna escape this one?

With no problems, of course. He was Cesare, after all.

He knew he was in no trouble, suppressing his glee as the uncle and niece embraced. He crossed his arms, matching Tito’s subtle acknowledgment with a nod as though to say ”Just doing my job.”

Taking his acknowledgment as approval, Cesare deemed it appropriate to tag along beside Alessia. A Trevisani’s duty to his family was never over, and he was more than happy to play bodyguard. He offered an arm out, bulging with new muscle growth, to Alessia if she needed something to hold, though he kept a pace behind Tito, just to be safe. The lack of any hearing continued to unsettle him, but it wasn’t worth burdening anyone with. It wasn’t going to slow him down, and if anything tried, he could still punch and kick, despite the continued bleeding cuts across his body.

Thankfully, he noticed Tito stop in time to not smush into the back of him. He peered around his body, eyeing the figure that spread the fire across their surroundings. Wisely, Cesare sensed this wasn’t his business. The smoke was painful to tolerate, and not even he was immune from smoke inhalation, so when the carpet was rolled he looked to Alessia, gesturing to the pathway. He would’ve taken initiative in aiding in her escape if not for her beast of an uncle. It was his call. Cesare looked to Tito, awaiting instructions. The situation seemed dire, but Cesare saw opportunities - either to save the damsel, or crush the skulls of whoever wanted to mess with the family. Both would be ideal.

 

[thebigfella]

Tito Trevisani

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

INTERACTION:

Alessia angel doe Cesare WhiskeyMarten Arthur SoupMan0512

Panic in Paradise

Tito Trevisani wasn’t a patient man. Toro, that is what everyone called him back in his youth. The title still hung on his scarred back in his maturity. He had bullheaded behavior and red-eyed rage. He would explode, kick, and punch instead of buck and gouge with bullets and knives as one would horns.

Walls of fire didn’t inhibit him, and someone standing in his way wouldn’t change him either. He had no time to wait, and a gesture asking for his patience was unfounded as he had already begun to move once more. A red carpet fell at his feet, and he stomped on it, muddying the fabric with the soot and debris underneath in the smooth tread of his shoes. He didn’t question the gesture; it was only natural, after all, the world would pave its way for him, or he would knock it over and use it as a bridge across the next gap. Suck-ups, bootlickers, they all attempted to hide underneath his overpowering shadow. Unfortunately for them, his broad back only had room to house a few.

Tito’s shadowed expression glanced down towards Burnwood. In the silence, there was no acknowledgment that he had read the man’s lips as the distance between him and the kneeling mafioso grew. Each thundering step grew closer, making the tension more palpable.

Time slowed, like molasses through a thin tube, as they crossed paths. The scornful frown on Tito’s face formed in a flash, even within this lagging time. As the flow returned to normal, the man’s giant hand had already reached down to pick Burnwood from his misshapen, amorphous collar.

His mouth opened in a shout, but no voice left his straining neck as his jagged teeth pronounced, his arm lifted upward like the weight of a full-grown man wasn’t in his grasp, propelling Burnwood up in the air like a catapult as he shot through the air, flying higher until he slammed through the ceiling, leaving a Burnwood sized hole in the already collapsing building.

Tito’s breath steamed from his nose, looking at his handiwork with a grimace as muffled grown, “That nephew of mine should know better than to send his toys to do his dirty work! That’s no way to treat your family!” Visible veins of annoyance grew in his forehead; he was getting in a worse mood as he stomped forward, his body language speaking of the fact he was more agitated.

However, they were finally out of the rubble. The disorganized state of the rest of the ballroom was only marginally better than the flames and sharp stones. People held their fallen friends in their hands, their silent cries, while other Trevisani tried to organize people as best they could without speech, an ongoing escorting effort to get as many guests out as possible.

But, amongst everything going on, something distinct was going on that would catch the attention of all three of them, Tito’s eyes narrowing at the sight.

DOMINIC SIMMONS & TOBY PATERSON

NPCS

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic In Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

INTERACTIONS:

Alessia angel doe , Cesare WhiskeyMarten

PANIC IN PARADISE

There he was, Toby Peterson. He knew coming to this party was a bad idea. His eyes were frenzied, and his pulse was beating so hard he could feel it underneath his skin. Despite his frantic thoughts, worries for Mr. Simmons and everyone else, and fear, he was kept from running around and screaming against his will.

Two men in suits had grasped him, kept his arms behind his back, and kneeled on the ground. Cold steel hung against the back of his neck. His hair had become a mess, going over his face as he breathed heavily, sweat dripping off his face.

He was remarkably unscathed, with only a few brushes with ashes and dust on his face and suit; incredibly lucky, that’s what he was.

At least, that’s what he thought. Until he had suddenly found himself being apprehended, silent shouts directed at him and threats unheard were declared with the pistols that he now was becoming very intimate.

Yet, compared to the feeling of cold steel, it was nothing compared to the woman's stare above him. Her pale eyes bore down at him, and her wrinkled features displayed someone calm and collected, but the rage bubbling beneath the surface was apparent from how her fingers clutched at each other behind her back.

As soon as Toby emerged from the rubble of the explosion, it wasn’t even seconds later that he suddenly found himself grabbed and forced to kneel. Yet, without communication, the situation was forced to hang in the air as he was held tight, his shoulders and elbows beginning to grow cramped.

Why him?

The answer wouldn’t be found in this realm of silence. But hints rested in the eyes of a woman filled with scorn. She didn’t direct her attention away from Toby until the feeling of heavy footsteps and the sudden straightening of her other subordinates did. She looked over as a massive shadow draped over her.

Tito Trevisani and he didn’t hesitate to ask the question, “Vanessa. You old sponge. What did you see?” His lips moved.

The old woman’s thin lips curled slightly downward in response to her delayed reaction, but now she was sure she had seen it. Her frail hand raised to point towards Toby.

“It was him. He did it.”

???

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]

LOCATION:

Ballroom, West Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Arthur SoupMan0512

Panic in Paradise

Burnwood was airborne. The cold night floated around him as he ascended towards the stars. The distant floors below, the shattered roof that billowed smoke, and the broad fields of flowers and trees were all contained behind the community gates. It all was distant to him now from his spot within the cosmos.

It was at that time that he could observe it all better than anyone. He could be aware, he could see, and he saw.

A whistle in the wind traveled, dancing across the fields until it stopped at an open window. A mansion was in the distance, separated only by manicured hedges and cobblestone pathways. Its curtains softly fluttered within the breeze, and as they moved, he could gleam it.

A silhouette stood at the window’s balcony, looking upon the explosion’s aftermath. Shadows of the dark room they stood in clung to their back. And for a moment, Burnwood and their eyes met; from yards away, they linked.

The silhouette disappeared from view as the windows closed behind it, just as gravity began to pull Burnwood back to Earth.

 

[The One Eyed Bandit]

Yelizaveta Vasiliev

CS Link

SCENE:

Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]

LOCATION:

Warehouse, North Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Helen, Jacques, Sanya

Union Born Under Strarlight

"Mm-hmm~ Quite. It is good, no? Learning like this." For her part, Yelizaveta seemed unperturbed. She'd known Fontaine long enough now that his traipses in and out of the world has lost their novelty, or at least, what there was left of it now gleamed less brilliantly the the beady, glass eye of the swallow in her palm.

"Is there no curiosity in you, Jack? And the girl and boy, too. Folder this, folder that... I suppose you could've shot it all into that son of yours, but them? Such young things, yet they're all business. What a sorry state of affairs..." A sorry frown on her brow, she leaned into the railing opposite Fontaine. "You see this?" The bird jangled soundlessly in her hand. "This is culture, ya? Keep your eyes open and you'll be paid in riches no matter where you go. You've your little one to enrich, no? Your mind is a bank for which the coffers never drain, Papa."

She spat the last word like it was a slur.

"But, yes... This Graham fellow... He is, how do you say...? Pathetic? A has-been who never was. A sad sight, really..." Homesick for a place that was never his own. In that moment, Yelizaveta understood something new. Homesickness. It was a good word for it. A sickness. "But dangerous? I think not. Men like him, they're too prideful for subterfuge. None with a peacock of an office like that are fond of hiding. Whatever intelligence he has he'll flaunt, not put towards plays in the dark." She'd found his types were common enough in this country. Would-be wise-men who'd speak so much of so little. It took one to know one, after all.

"The folder, though... A bit more of substance, there... Names, faces, a map. I only gave it a glance, myself. I hardly believe anyone of proper competence would be petitioning for our sort of help, hmm? But still- Some lead is better than none, I suppose. Orion, Mathews, Archer, Brown. Those are names to keep an ear out for." Which was one of his specialties, if she wasn't mistaken. "Do as you will. I will... Turn over a few tables, myself. This place- So sweaty, isn't it? A woman's touch. It should do wonders, I think..."

She pressed off of the railing. Her form backlit by the furnaces below, she more resembled a great, shadowed owl than she did a woman.

"See the girl if you'd like to browse... I'll be off, mmm?" Grated walkways, and then iron steps thudded beneath her boots as she sauntered off. The hot air of the upper floors left her, and then she was within the guts of the building. Back alley halls for storage and, she was sure, rats, too.

Spoiler: Tags

Interacted: Haze-
Relevant: AnemoVictorious thebigfella Damafaud Coyote Hart Seraphine

 

[SoupMan0512]

ARTHUR BURNWOOD

CS Link

SCENE:

Trevisani Arc 1 Scene [PANIC IN PARADISE]

LOCATION:

BALLROOM, WEST Ward

PARTICIPANTS:

Tito, Alessia, Cesare

PANIC IN PARADISE

Burnwood felt the force of gravity push back the nonexistent skin on his darkened expression, soaring through the air in a perfect line. He still hadn’t even registered that Tito Trevisani, in a fit of pure rage, had hurled his entire person like a playball. His white, oval-shaped eyes opened themselves; the intense breeze would brush past his face. Now, that is when he noticed something was definitely “off”. His feet were not even touching the ground, and he didn’t even have a sense of balance. His body swirled and twirled, until he crashed through a hard ceiling. Pain went throughout his body, agonizingly tortuous and strange. It was the equivalent of having someone hit your shin directly, but… multiple times worse. His eyesight was completely blurred, as if someone squirted eye drops in his eyes without his permission.

“I believe one of my shoes was left behind,” said a depressed Burnwood. He took the time to lift his leg, observing his foot that was missing a shoe. He was still rapidly propelling through the air; there was no sign of stopping. “Pitiful. I haven’t experienced such a failure since I put on that show for the royal family in Sredisa. Oh, but alas, I admire their tomato-throwing efforts.” He casually sighed. “Hrm, why are the powerful and influential so… demanding? So nostalgic.”

He wiggled all of his fingers; they’re still there, fully intact. Wait a minute. Burnwood couldn’t move one finger quite well. He took a quick look at that finger: he was greeted with a line of contorted, misshapen fingers on his right hand. He grimaced visibly. What a long night this has been. Fortunately, his left hand wasn’t injured too badly for him to perform a quick, priceless surgery on himself. He popped each finger back in, carefully bringing them back to their original shape. He grunted in pain, each time that he did. What else could he do? He was human, after all.

One wrong move, and he could cause an even greater injury. He didn’t mind that outcome very much. It was about time somebody else would perform surgery on him. He has been doing it on himself for the longest time. He wondered if that one doctor from Samara was still alive. That old doctor could cure any disease with a special concoction of medicine, and he could tell what ailment one had from a simple glance.

Burnwood halted the onslaught of thoughts that he had running inside of his mind. He noticed that his ascent to the night skies was gradual, slower in speed. He could see the lights below him; funnily enough, this wasn’t the only time he had the pleasure of seeing the scenery from below. His nonexistent eyes scouted the area that was visible within his sight, and he could see the building that he was thrown out from; smoke was billowing out from the broken windows. He was out of the danger zone, so-to-speak.

In the midst of all the chaos, Burnwood happened to notice a silhouette, calmly watching the incident transpire from the comfort of their balcony. They’ve made eye contact. Intrigue caught him like there was no tomorrow. “What in the world was happening over there?” He absentmindedly thought to himself. He was suspicious, naturally. It was like… a criminal fleeing from the crime scene! He had his fair share of those moments; nobody in their right mind would just idle around all ominously and leave suddenly when they saw a man mid-air. If he were that person, he would’ve stayed and watched to see that guy fall to his doom!

“Hm, I should probably sketch that place out before I could forget,” Burnwood muttered to himself. His body became weightless, gravity was beginning to take its course. He pulled a piece of paper out from the pocket of his vest, then began scribbling on it with a fountain pen that happened to be in his pocket. “Here and there, uh… maybe a bit wider on this side?” His mumblings were incoherent, which were comparable to that of a madman.

“Ah, yes. Perfect!”

His shout echoed before disappearing completely; his sketch was finished.

Burnwood looked around, seeing that he was closing in at death’s door. He began undressing himself, tying each article of clothing that he discarded and creating a loose parachute out of the material. His descent was quite slow; he really was that high up. Nevertheless, his rapid descent came to a halting stop. His whole body was still a disfigured black figure, but he now only wore a pair of boxers that had a pattern of hearts all over the cloth.

However, the wind was not his friend this time around. His entire person was carried away, changing his trajectory to a window that had tons of smoke billowing out from.

“I’m already getting a sense of deja vu from this!”

He crashed through the already broken window, breaking through the metal frame and entering back into the destroyed ballroom.