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Realistic or Modern New Oasis: Monochrome Dreams

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ARTHUR BURNWOOD
CS Link
SCENE:
Trevisani Arc 1 Scene [PANIC IN PARADISE]
LOCATION:
BALLROOM, WEST Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Vernon, Alessia, Arthur, Dominic, Cesare, Marcello, Toby
PANIC IN PARADISE
Some members of the Trevisanis were not enthused to see Burnwood; he felt offended! … No, not at all. Quite the opposite. He was genuinely enthralled by their posh attitudes, treating themselves like they were royalty. Supposedly, he even needed permission to see them and speak toward their direction. That was pretty funny. He was just another commoner to them, trying to get their attention like some obsessed fan wanting an autograph. They all chastised him for the bombastic entrance that he made. He couldn’t do anything but take all the verbal abuse. Speaking back to your bosses was a huge mistake, which would have meant death. Although very faint, he exhibited a smile on his lips. He wouldn’t be surprised if the guards came and carried him out the door. “No hard feelings,” he internally thought. This was a social event, and it meant the familgia were more strict than usual.

Luckily, Marcello stopped anything from happening to him with a simple wave of his hand.

“Thank you so much, young master,” said Burnwood with a bowing gesture. Treat them like royalty, and have them eating out of the palm of your hand. In the corner of his eye, he saw him eyeing the bottle in his hand. It was apparent that he caught his curiosity with the item. He wasn’t surprised. This is what he excelled at the most. He was just glad that his golden touch wasn’t lost. His posture was straightened, and his focus was brought back to Marcello. “I am pleased to know that I am worth your time.”

Burnwood was ready to unveil the treasure that he obtained to Marcello, until… he heard the voice of an older man addressing him by his surname coming from behind. His mind dispersed everywhere, eyes blinking repeatedly. The small bottle spontaneously slipped out of his hand, flying up in the air in a certain direction. Terror flashed across his expression. His body quickly lunged at the small item while staying in the same spot, attempting to grab it with his hand and each time it would go in a different direction, as if his fingers were dipped in grease. He was JUST getting ready to make a presentation of the bottle with the mysterious liquid, with the words almost coming out of his mouth.

He caught the pesky bottle and quickly slipped it into his pocket. Immediately, he turned around—displaying a composed smile on his face—and was greeted by an old man with a gray beard, holding out his hand for a handshake. After seeing him, bewilderment started to set in his mind… at first. Did he know him? No, wait. There was something about this gentleman that seemed familiar. His charismatic smile, the gray beard, and his strong and coherent voice.

“Oh, my,” Burnwood remarked with a chuckle. While removing the fedora on his head and letting his hair breathe, he would finally accept the handshake without any hesitation. He recognized the old man. “Pardon my rudeness, Mr. Simmons. It is quite an honor to finally meet you in the flesh.”

Dominic Simmons.

Burnwood heard all about Dominic Simmons when he first set his foot in New Oasis. Simmons was a progressive, fighting for the common man, and especially those who were struck with the mysterious HP ailment. Someone fighting for HP rights and eliminating any prejudicatory laws against them. Now, that’s something he hadn’t heard before. Nevertheless, he hadn’t imagined someone like him to follow through with an invitation from the Trevisani Familgia, the most dangerous organization in the world. Obviously, the old man was here for a reason, and it might have to do with the mayoral elections that are right around the corner.

“I appreciate your compliment, Mr. Simmons.” Burnwood smiled with a brief nod of his head. “I just want to let you know that,” he paused for a moment, letting out a sigh, “I’ve been personally following your campaign, and I wish nothing more than absolute luck on your journey on becoming mayor of this fine city.”

He closed his eyes momentarily, maintaining the relaxed smile on his features.

“I’ve heard you’ve had some troublesome competitors,” Burnwood offhandedly commented. “However, a little competition never hurt anyone. Conflict brings the attention of many people to the problem, yes? I believe that I—...”

He stopped himself. His eyes narrowed and glistened, looking off to the side. Coming out of his lips, there was a light chuckle. “... No, I mean… WE can help you with your campaign. If you aren’t mayor, then I don’t believe New Oasis has much of a future. Progress will absolutely go down the drain.”

Burnwood leaned closer to the ecstatic candidate, with his hand placed lightly on his back. “We both know that isn’t something we want.”

While nobody was looking, he slipped a card in Dominic’s pocket. Blank card, numbers written on one side.



 
Last edited:
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
The aroma of smokestacks. Blazing coal and bubbling slag. With all of the time she'd spent sequestered away in the Ruthenian wilderness, it was still unfamiliar to her. These, the sight and smells and sounds of human progress. The sweaty, unblinking march into the West's new world. This, the red hot entropy. This, the roiling cultural decay.

Yelizaveta warmed her hands. Not that she needed to, not in a place like this. Beads of sweat dripped from her brow, just as it did all the others. The ones that furrowed and knitted in her direction. That cast deep, suspicious shadows over the faces that bore them. She paid them no heed, and wiped a set of dusty, cracked glasses clean. They were both forces of habit, though one was a bit more purposeful than the other. Between the stray bead of sweat and the odd plume of coal dust, her glasses were quick to dirty here.

It was quite the bother.

"The union..." She muttered breathlessly, her voice thick with the weariness of a night ill-spent. It wasn't much her pace, the politics of employers and employees, of community and capital, but there was still reason enough for her to be here. An empty afternoon, for example, and then there was that bright-eyed young thing that she'd mentioned the job too, as well. She'd never been much for responsibility, but if she had the time for it, she supposed that she may as well have taken a peek over her shoulder or two. She may have been the senior, but she'd already decided to take the others' leads. Her interests here were fanciful. She could see to them regardless of what fate befell this union.

"Hey." A soundless approach had brought her to the side of the worker she'd deemed the most noisy, and therefore the most in charge. She nodded forward, towards the networks of belts and hoppers that ferried scrap metal and raw iron into that molten womb of industry that served as this factory's core. This was what had fetched her curiosity the most. The beating heart of the new age.

"It's my first day. Tell me about that, would you? Do you have many accidents like that?" Her nametag read Trisha Crowley, and much more maliciously, the honorific before it read Inspector. "I'd like to get an understanding. Before I get to work. Understand?"

 
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 guy, he would not leave me alone. He was like a fly, a mosquito, real annoying.” Cesare looked down at the people listening to his story, towering over them. A few of them nodded along, changing their expressions to match the tone as his story progressed. They were dumb muscle, nothing going on in there, but by virtue of the family they grew up to serve, they got a seat at the event None of them were part of the main attraction by any means. There were some pretty faces seated opposite, surely influential in their ways, but nothing that was gonna change the city.

“So you know what I did to him? I beat him till you couldn’t recognize his face anymore.” He peppered each story he told with flickers of Fusillian, keeping his new pretty Oasis ladies guessing what the mysterious gangster could be talking about. “Eheh, I taught him a good lesson. He ain’t bothered me again after that. But his girl couldn’t get enough of me!”

Cesare stabbed a fork into his food as his lackeys’ laughter died down. He smiled at one of the women. “We’ll make sure nobody bothers you like that.”

As he spoke, the cacophony of glass and bullets drew the table’s attention. Cesare brought a hand to the gun at his side but didn’t draw it. The situation was clearly under control, and craning his head over, he grinned at the sight.

“Unlucky guy. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

His initial amusement left quickly when he realised the show was far from over, grin turning sour as he eyed his impressed friend’s faces at Arthur’s revelation. This guy interrupted him. He was far from impressed.

“Showoff.”

Cesare muttered as he returned to his food, recouping his spirits. He scanned the room for any notable faces, gauging their reactions to the whole thing. There were plenty of faces about that he was keen to get to know before the party was over, but one interaction caught his eye.

The Alessia Trevisani, with… some meek little man. Ha. What’s he trying to do? Cesare rose from his seat. He was amused again.

“Excuse me for a moment.” The men at the table flinched, preparing to join him. Not looking, he hissed at them in Fusillian. ”Stay put.” They obliged.

“Well.” Cesare sauntered over to the pair, patting Toby firmly on the back, showing his strength. “I don’t think I’ve seen your face before? You’re a New Oasis guy, are you?” He smiled at Alessia. ”You’re looking beautiful tonight. What’s with this guy?”
 
SANYA MOROZOVA
CS Link
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Helen, Yelizaveta, Jacques
UNION BORN UNDER STARLIGHT
A part of her regretted agreeing to this. Should the need arise to use it, her potential would be absolutely useless. Just being in this place made her feel awful - she was never one to enjoy the heat. But her own curiosity had won out, so here she would remain until her duty was finished.

Eyes and ears open, Sanya glanced around, trying to pinpoint what would make her look the most inconspicuous, but also allow her to get the most information. What sort of part would she have to play as Natalie Sawyer?

’This will be more bothersome than I assumed,’ she thought, a sigh escaping her. The stench of the factory made her wrinkle her nose, and drained any sort of motivation she had to get on with the job. But get on with the job she had to, and she inched ever so closer to someone who mentioned it being her first day. She recognized the voice, it was one of her comrades. If Yelizaveta deemed this a good start, it would likely be a good idea for her to listen in as well.

”It is also my first day,” she commented as she approached. “If you would be so kind as to extend your explanations to me as well, that would be great.”

Two inspectors would likely be split up in order to keep an eye on different parts of the line. It'd allow them to cover more ground, and it'd help them blend in a little more. It wasn't flawless, but at least having the role meant Sanya wouldn't be doing all the heavy lifting and working up even more of a sweat. The heat was already unbearable as it was, and there was no doubt that the workers she'd be inspecting would have it worse.
 
Jacques H. Fontaine.
.
CS Link
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc I: Scene I [union born under starlight.]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward.
PARTICIPANTS:
Helen, Yelizaveta, Sanya.
UNION BORN UNDER STARLIGHT.

The air shriveled with heat, shook with the cruel boom of prodigal industry.

He was stalling, playing God. Watching his time swirl in the bottle he’d shoved it tidy into.

One had to assume there was a reason to things; connection, purpose; something that linked the dots— you had to start off looking at those first. Clues, like a line of desiccated husks on a window sill. Because, if the fruit fly just stood still, took the time to look at the ones that came before it, it’d know not to throw itself at the invisible wall. That’s where he was starting now, looking at the hints.

It was all the more sobering when he forced the world to stand still, he could look at it proper that way.

So, he held his breath, stood dead still. His eyes were wandering the pitch-black, looking at the silhouettes fixed to their poses— low humming, growing louder, ticking at his ear with a pressure that wouldn’t let up from his chest.

There was a dichotomy that came alive when he looked at the workers. Something tangible, with this nasty aftertaste that made him reel back, glare at the factory with weary eyes.

Something warm, amiable and brotherly hung up on some of the workers. On others, it was cold, mechanical— Indifferent. Between forced labor and duty, men and women strutted on with their shackles pressed against their wrists, like they were dragging a ball on a chain. Some happy to earn their piece of bread, some just didn’t want to think about the weight on their shoulders. Consciousness, a lack of agency. Two things overlayed across the same grid; au fond, Venn’s diagram; one in the same, they both make the workers work.

Those feelings fueled the manpower of the warehouse at the end of the day.

But he wasn’t falling through these layers of man-made hell to look at the condemned in pity, not to admire the sweat upon their brow pseudo-intellectually either. He was just that, falling. A passer-by. In its own right, suppose there’s another moral dichotomy at play there.

Not that he cared to put much thought into that, he was busy falling by.

That cheerless malaise in the air was a clue in of itself, told him of why the demand for Northern Star product was decent here. Told him about how loud the voice of the union would be, then. Would be hard to cut those vocal cords quiet. He was tired just thinking about it, but it was his job. There wasn't an alternative, now, was there?

Capitalism was an absentminded beast; it just ate without measure.

The pressure finally let up from his chest, a breath gasped out. The world picked its colors again, the workers, the machinery, everything roared with motion— Jack sighed, simply. Moved like he was one of the many worker ants, picked up the pace.

If he wanted to pin-point the union, he had to take the position likely to have more discontent. Manual labor. That’s the only thing he was now, another cog in the industry. A tag on his chest read James Perreault, just another loader of the bunch. A name a little too on the nose, maybe— but he’d be surprised if anyone else there spoke Liberean.

Jack was on ‘break’ now, waiting for more cargo, leaning against a wall and airing the heat out his collar, chipping away at a plain sandwich while he pretended not to be eyeballing everyone. He was, of course, still looking for the hints. He’d been standing there for only a split two minutes, but he’d been winding down time over and over again to size up the warehouse. It’d been ten whole minutes for him.

He took another bite of his sandwich, then his eyes finally caught onto the first hint. A group of workers sequestered in a corner, whispering something. Not that he’d picked up on it himself, seemed like Liza and the rookie had done so just before himself, even after his ten minutes of search.

Jack smiled faintly at that prospect, took another bite.

Some rust on his gears, it seemed.

 
Conrad Carter
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
INTERACTIONS:
None
Hostile Takeover

Silk glanced outside of the square glass windows, making out the various shapes of figures and vehicles right at their doorstep, his serpentine eyes narrowed.

“They brought a whole army,” He mumbled, “Giving us a chance to run with a tail between our legs, huh?”

“Well, that’s not about to happen.”

Conrad stepped out of the back door, finally with some clothes on as he adjusted his belt, a sly smirk on his face as he looked out of the window himself, glancing toward Silk with a shake of his head.

“Nothin’ but thugs out there. They ain’t gonna do anything,” He remarked, stepping forward to lean over the railing that overlooked the rest of the club, peering at the oblivious clubbers down below, still dancing to the music and enjoying the show.

“So long as this place is full of civilians, they can’t just rush in here. If The Quarter turns into “the spot where a bunch of civvies was killed,” no one’s going to come here no matter what dimepiece you’re offering up.”

Straightening himself up, placing his hands in his pockets as he nodded his head side to side, “We’re inside, they’re outside. So long as it stays like this, they can’t come in and tear up the place, which is bad for business. They’re tryin’ to goad us to either come out or move out the bystanders so they don’t get hurt.”

The large man turned on his heel, a twisted grin across his pudgy face as he snickered.

“Unfortunately for them, I’m not gonna do either! I’ll use everyone here as a hostage before I give up my women, money, and liquor!”

Silk could only smirk at his boss’ selfish antics; it was that mindset that the Alleycats were founded on; scrounging for scraps wasn’t something one could do cleanly. He was just intent on keeping this place underneath their jurisdiction as he was.

“What’s the plan then?” Silk asked, his serpent tongue sliding out of his mouth; things were starting to get exciting.

“While they’re sitting on their asses, afraid to make the wrong move, we’re gonna take care of ’em before they can even blink. Shit will be simple,” He began, pointing a finger toward the more giant man, “You go ahead and use the roof, sneak around with that camouflage of yours, and then do something to get their attention on you. Make ’em think it’s a sneak attack.”

“Easy enough,” Silk responded, and from his shoes, he slowly began to fade away from existence, the floor and walls swallowing his palette as he seemed to no longer exist, but his voice could still be heard. His footsteps began to echo as he stepped away, the creaking of rusty fire escape doors as he went to the steps that lead to the roof.



With that, Conrad loomed down the party floor, “Olya.” He said, barely above a whisper.

A hand suddenly gripped the railing, and within moments, Olya flipped herself over, landing promptly in front of Conrad with a grin, “Hiya, boss! What can I do for ya?” She questioned, proudly putting her hands on his lips.

“Olya, my sentinel. Always as chipper as ever, I swear everyone could learn a thing from ya,” Conrad buttered the massive woman up before pointing over his shoulder towards the windows, “Mind being a doll and telling me how many we got out there?”

“Around 30 all together, sir. I already did a count!” She saluted like a soldier, a bright grin on her face, a grin which Conrad shared as he shook his head, “Shoulda known you would be ahead of the game. Alright, keep track of their movements, and go ahead and direct the boys as needed,” Conrad turned to steps, prepared to depart, before suddenly stopping.

“Oh yeah, and while you’re at it. Go wake up pretty boy. He’s probably busy sleeping in one of the “guest bedrooms,” getting over whatever high he’s on. Tell him it’s time to earn his keep,” he ordered before disappearing down the steps.

The shadows of the walls cast down upon him, and for a brief moment, something sparked. The sun on his shirt glowed as if it was on fire, bright enough to illuminate the whole staircase before it faded out just as quickly.

“Heh, if everything goes to plan, I’ll be able to give those damn Sanks a message they’ll never forget.”





Olya
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Hikari RoninN7 RoninN7
Hostile Takeover

Olya was left to herself on the upper balcony, closing her eyes as she allowed her senses to do the work. Streaks of color painted across an empty canvas, forming the shapes of bodies, giving personifications to sounds. It was almost as if within her mind was an artist, transcribing surroundings with a brush, strokes made using the toner that was her memory and the shades of her conceptualization.

But, something stuck out amongst the colors, a deep shade of black, a spot upon the artwork. Her eyes opened, and her gaze narrowed. She was a woman who fit in within the crowd, unassuming at first but with a gap within her knowledge. Unlike everyone else, she didn’t recall her having to go through her to enter. How did she get in?

She didn’t act; instead, she watched from above, paying attention to her actions and purpose here. Simply the wrong place at the wrong time? Or something more sinister?

Olya would pay close attention to her movements, and in one step, she wouldn’t hesitate to pounce.

But for now...she would have to wake up their sleeping crewmate. With a huff, she stepped away from the railing, disappearing behind a door into the backrooms.




Otose
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Angel kakemha kakemha , Choji luciferin luciferin
Hostile Takeover


“This is taking too damn long.”

A rowdy youngster complained out loud; he had already found himself comfy squatting on the ground as he had a but slung over his shoulder, a grimace of annoyance on his face as he stared at the front door in impatience. “What are we waitin’ for?! Let’s just go bashing heads!”

His shouting was joined in by the other rookies around him, clamoring in agreement with the restlessness they were feeling. The older yakuza only looked on at them with scowls or general disinterest.

“Damn kids,” one of the veterans cursed, snuffing out a cigarette underneath her heel as she spat on the ground, “Don’t even know how the business works yet want to be on the forefront. I need to pray for the future of the Association with these runts leading the “next generation.””

Her bitter words were silently agreed on with the other more experienced members, content to take the time in silence to enjoy some tobacco or have simple discussions, almost as if they were hanging out around a water cooler. They knew how to wait for orders and understood that everything came with time and patience. Business was first and orderly; you acted upon things when the time was right.

"𐌉𐌕 𐌋ꝊꝊ𐌊𐌔 𐌋𐌉𐌊𐌄 𐌄ᕓ𐌄𐌐𐌙Ꝋ𐌍𐌄 𐌉𐌔 𐋅𐌄𐌐𐌄."

And that time was now.

A disembodied voice caused heads to turn; the sound of a creaky, coarse imitation of human speech invaded everyone’s brains, passing through the ears to speak directly to their neurons. Inexperienced broke out in sweats, eyes dilated in fear, but those who had experienced it before knew there was nothing to fear.

A car door opened, and spindly legs stepped out, bent knees and disorganized stance like a puppet pulled by strings as its wooden joints creaked. Its body barely resembled that of a human; instead of flesh, there was bark, and where veins, there was grain.

Its pair of heads was filled with cracks that allowed one to peer into the black pulsing innards; it throbbed and quivered with life beneath its hard shell of wood, an unknown embodiment that made its home within the puppet. Its heads hung limp, with no eyes or mouths; they had nothing to contextualize information, but they could understand their surroundings clearly as they weaved through the yakuza who surrounded them. Some bowed their heads in respect, while others looked on in fear or understandable uncertainty; it was used to all sorts of reactions, unphased; it promptly took its place in the middle of the crowd, adjusting its tie.

"𐌔Ꝋ...𐌕𐋅𐌄𐌙 𐌔𐌕𐌉𐌋𐌋 𐌃𐌄𐌂𐌉𐌃𐌄 𐌕Ꝋ 𐋅𐌉𐌃𐌄 Ꮤ𐌉𐌕𐋅𐌉𐌍 𐌕𐋅𐌄 𐌒𐌵𐌀𐌐𐌕𐌄𐌐? 𐌉 𐌔𐋅Ꝋ𐌵𐌋𐌃𐌍'𐌕 𐌁𐌄 𐌔𐌵𐌐𐌓𐌐𐌉𐌔𐌄𐌃."

The puppet stood there in silence, analyzing the situation at hand; the ongoing party within the walls signified that no one acknowledged their presence, or more so, they had been recognized and then chosen to be ignored.

"𐌵𐌔𐌉𐌍Ᏽ 𐌂𐌉ᕓ𐌉𐌋𐌉𐌀𐌍𐌔 𐌕Ꝋ 𐌊𐌄𐌄𐌓 𐌵𐌔 Ꝋ𐌵𐌕. █████... 𐌕𐋅𐌄𐌙'𐌐𐌄 𐌃𐌄𐌔𐌓𐌄𐌐𐌀𐌕𐌄."

It turned to look amongst its numbers until it finally spotted who it was looking for, directing its psyche towards her. The Metal Angel.

"𐌙Ꝋ𐌵𐌐 𐌃𐌄𐌔𐌕𐌐𐌵𐌂𐌕𐌉ᕓ𐌄 𐌀𐌓𐌕𐌉𐌕𐌵𐌃𐌄 𐌔𐋅Ꝋ𐌵𐌋𐌃 𐌃Ꝋ Ꮤ𐌄𐌋𐌋 𐌄𐌍Ꝋ𐌵Ᏽ𐋅. 𐌔𐌕𐌉𐌐 𐌵𐌓 𐌔Ꝋ𐌌𐌄 𐌕𐌐Ꝋ𐌵𐌁𐌋𐌄, 𐌀 𐌋𐌉𐌕𐌕𐌋𐌄 𐌁𐌉𐌕 Ꝋ𐌅 𐌋Ꝋ𐌵𐌃 𐌍Ꝋ𐌉𐌔𐌄 Ꮤ𐌉𐌋𐌋 𐌂𐌀𐌵𐌔𐌄 𐌕𐋅𐌄𐌌 𐌀𐌋𐌋 𐌕Ꝋ 𐌔𐌂𐌀𐌌𐌓𐌄𐌐 𐌋𐌉𐌊𐌄 █████."

It was the time to send the signal.

 
RIVER JOHNSON
CS Link
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Currently None
Hostile Takeover

Tension between two groups was always inevitable. Sometimes the problem is that people think the others are fools. Sometimes, they're fools themselves. In this case, its definitely been someone's a fool. At least, that's how River's thought process ran. Doctoring fools and corpses, even if there was minor differences between the two, wasn't something she looked forwards to tonight, another night away from research. But work was work, and so River stood next to a Guroko car, doctor's bag bound to her side alongside a small baton. Priority of treatment order? The first fool to lose blood, as long as it was Guroko blood.

"Wonder why these Alleys thought they'd set up and let the chaos roll through, when the folks rolling in kept it smooth like the locals like."

With a shake of her head, she checked her tools again and again, making sure she had enough supplies for the unlucky fellows that got brought back to her. A swarm of suits and leather shoes, and here she was- dressed up in a formal suit once more, thankfully for healing over hurting this time. And so she sat back, looking at the group of people- trusting a rival gang not to trap their home against intruders? Well, they haven't capsized yet, so perhaps they had a few brain cells amongst them still.

 
JIÀN QIÁNG
CS Link
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [BITE BACK AND TEAR THROUGH]
LOCATION:
Place of the Battle, East Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
(Eiji, Mitsuki, Kygo, Adol, Carmen)
BITE BACK AND TEAR THROUGH
Jiàn knew he was coming. A suited man whose smoke neared its end, and whose lax complexion betrayed the blood stains he wore. There was little question to which side he belonged. What they wanted to know was his intent.

Perhaps he was wise and could understand his opponent. Logic could pull him away if he knew the stories that circulated and that Jiàn matched those descriptions. And so they kept collecting the tools for their plan. But the man's footsteps never retraced themselves. They came nearer and nearer. Up to the carcasses of his peers. To the garage that Jiàn took over.

He has chosen unwisely.

Unlike the rest of the attackers, he refrained from immediately attacking. Jiàn reflected the inaction, standing silently to him as he spoke about the car and other meanless things. They observed the man; he was well built and sturdy. There was no telling what his Potential could be; if one move could spell their certain doom because of it. But just maybe, he would learn that Jiàn had no interest in him. That at any moment, he could walk away and survive. For he was not Jiàn's real enemy.

They dropped the spool of steel cable, which crashed on the concrete pavement with a loud thud.

"I've stopped," they said. "You may go on your way."

Jiàn already mapped out their escape plan, should the man strike. Their gaze lingered on his limbs, watching for the slightest of movements and tenses. Everything depended on how each of them reacted.

thebigfella thebigfella
 
HIKARI KATAYAMA
CS Link
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Olga (indirectly), The Metal Angel (mentioned) kakemha kakemha
Hostile Takeover
Hikari moved through the crowd slowly, sticking close to the walls. Her connection to the shadows revealed a lot to her. There was a lot of indulgence and desire going on around her, which she knew was normal for a place like this. Hidden deep within the establishment, however, there was unease. It felt similar to what she detected outside from the Guroko members getting ready to seemingly cause mayhem. Somewhere in her mind, Hikari got the feeling that she was being watched from beyond the dance floor, but when she looked up, she couldn't seem to see anyone eyeing her.

Her pristine black suit, she realized, stuck out quite a bit among the wriggling mass of bodies around her. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone had noticed her. Thoughts of her close friend Takae flooded her mind. Part of her was worried that Takae might be involved in this raid, and another part of her was more worried about the safety of the people running this place if she was. Either way, Hikari found some comfort in knowing that she was here as well and they could watch each other's backs if it got too messy.

"Hey darling, you're a little lonely for such a pretty girl. Let's dance." A somewhat drunk young man approached Hikari rather boldly, wanting to dance with her.

She raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down and finding him not quite up to her standards. Still, she sort of respected how carefree he approached. Despite his bravery, Hikari was not interested in the slightest, but she figured she could use this opportunity to get deeper inside and possibly collect some useful information.

"Well, aren't you quite the charmer? I suppose I could use a dance." Hikari gave the young man a wink, to which he seemed to tense up, almost freezing in place.

"Oh, I... um..."

"Come on, now. Don't tell me you're getting all shy."

Hikari grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the front of the dance floor. The two swayed and moved through the crowd. She could tell he was excited but her mind was somewhere else. Her eyes found the balcony that overlooked the club and she narrowed her vision. If there was anyone who could provide useful information, they'd be up there. Her hips moved back and forth while her hands remained on her dance partner as she pulled him closer to the edge. It wasn't until they were just deep enough within the crowd that Hikari made her move. With a smile, she leaned in and spun the young man around. In an instant, her body sank into the shadows, vanishing completely and leaving her former dance partner twirling on his own.

Hikari emerged on the edge of the balcony, looking down at the dance floor for a moment. I need to play this safe. This'll be a good vantage point when everything goes to shit. With a deep breath, Hikari sunk back into the shadows, sliding in past the balcony and remaining in the darkness. She opted to remain completely still and obfuscated, becoming one with the shadow she slid into.
 
Carmen Romero
CS Link
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]
LOCATION:
Place of the Battle, East Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
(Eiji, Mitsuki, Kygo, Adol, Jiàn)
BITE BACK AND TEAR THROUGH
Carmen slinked out of sight of the main battle, into a corner untouched by the gluttonous destruction that now consumed her surroundings. Somewhere further away, where safety could be guaranteed was where she would have gone, but she couldn’t miss the main course now, could she? Even if someone decided to take their chances, her reflexes had always been sharper than her blade and her creations would make sure she was secure.

She felt the tingling awareness of her creations roaming the city, fixating on one fly at the flank of a swarm. Thousands of what she could best describe as mosaics filled her vision, a blurry street with colours blending into each other. A short-sighted, dismal view of the streets that would become her new hunting ground, but flies were hard to hit and expendable; their true worth in battles like these so she would make do.

The swarm had only made it to the outskirts of the battle, swerving around the inferno when she spotted an anomaly; something not consumed in the fight, and certainly not human. Unclear, in the limited vision, a black blur. Narrowing her eyes, she commanded the swarm to fly away. Still, a dull ache resounded in her chest, signalling the demise of those unfortunate enough to be exterminated by the creature. The luckier ones zipped away, the one she was using swirling around a streetlight tucked in the now few pockets of shadow with other small critters. Despite the unexpected setback, Carmen only sported a slight smile. How nice it was, that her victim had volunteered themselves, sparing the effort of searching the battlegrounds. She didn’t wager the thing was an actual member of the attackers, but she knew the worth of bait and now her curiosity was piqued. What was it doing?

The remaining insects regrouped to follow it at a distance, watching as the thing squirmed through the gates of the church. She took in the scene quickly, as best as she could do with a fly. Two men facing off - one of them being Padre perhaps. Either way, probably too busy to deal with the recent infestation of the church by the monster, though Carmen would willingly offer her services for free this time. The flies manoeuvred themselves to squeeze under the door, distanced apart from each other the moment they could. Now, what was it after going to a place like this?
 
REEVAN VAZ
CS Link
SCENE:
Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]
LOCATION:
Ballroom, West Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Calcis,Alessia,Vernon,Cesare,Simmons,Marcello,Arthur,Julie,etc
PANIC IN PARADISE

As the limousine pulled up to the Lindt's main gateway, a skittish chauffeur peaked their head from the driver's seat. At a breakneck pace, the driver rushed to the side of the vehicle, an unsteady grip white-knuckling the handle before popping it open. They tilted their head downward as they pulled the door away from the individuals in the back seat, allowing them to make their esteemed exit, not daring to look them in the eyes.

Of the six men who left the luxury car, only one exuded an air of overwhelming wealth. With a tall stature and an imposing posture befitting someone who enjoyed looking down on others, this affluent man was the infamous Reevan Luciano, a don within the Trevisani Famiglia. Today, however, he was playing the role of his acting counterpart, Mr. Vaz. A side of himself he showed to garner favor in the public's scrutinizing eyes.

Soon after their arrival, the entourage approached the main doors of the ballroom with purpose. Eyeing the goons stationed as guards, he flashed them a gentle smile. With a nod, they led him to where the heart of the party was taking place. Before entering the sea of silver-tongued devils and duplicitous schemers, Reevan sent a single message to one of his followers. A bodyguard much taller than the rest.

Stay outside. Make sure to escort Ms. Wayne once she arrives.

With that, he entered, prepared to seal many deals in the name of the Famiglia.

He dressed himself accordingly for the occasion. Having sported a brand-new white tuxedo, frilled with jet-black fur and a similarly dark tie that hung snug around his neck, he felt rather posh, if not slightly overheated by all the layering. His pristine fingers, lined with gems and other expensive trinkets, rose pedantically to adjust his long onyx hair, wishing to captivate wandering eyes with their luminous sheen. Had he not been pressed for time, he would've admired himself in the mirror for hours before arriving.

Temporarily pushing his staggeringly good looks to the side, his cunning eyes quickly scanned the crowd, and after obtaining enough information, he set his plan into motion. Without a word, the men around him went off in different directions, planning to shmooze whichever glitterati looked like an easy catch. As for himself, he had other plans. Right as he went to take a step toward the main floor, a husky voice called out from within a bustling crowd nearby.

"Mr. Vaz!" a portly gentleman said with an energetic wave. As the man broke past the masses, Reevan couldn't help but notice the wicked grin that spread across the newcomer's wide, creased mug. As if in response, information on them flowed into Reevan's mind like a cold glass of water on a summer evening. Scott Windham, a tycoon in the steel industry with a hand in manufacturing arms. Not bad.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Windham." As his velvety voice sauntered off his lips, Reevan took the time to examine his newly acquainted guest.

Their tuxedo jacket had become disheveled, most likely from one too many drinks, revealing a button-up that barely contained their protruding stomach. As their hand went to grab a handkerchief, dabbing the cloth on their flushed face, a dazzling glitter of diamond and gold reflected in Reevan's glasses. The man seemed to sit rather willingly in the lap of luxury. Something the mafioso knew all too well.

"Oh? I'm surprised you've heard of me! As for myself, I recently heard your collaboration with Ms. Wayne over the radio, and I must say-"

"Why don't we walk and talk? I'd love to hear your insights over a nice sip of wine," Reevan interrupted, motioning toward a table assorted with lavish foods and drinks waiting to be self-served. Once the man nodded in agreement, they made their way toward the catering, Reevan clocking in on some of the events that previously transpired before his arrival.

Across the room were the young master Marcello, Congressman Simmons, and their relatively new addition to the family, Arthur Burnwood. Reevan was already well-informed of the ostentatious shenanigans that transpired upon Burnwood's arrival. The derisive sneer that cracked past Reevan's charming complexion hinted as much.

Then, there was Alessia Trevisani, a lass he wanted little to do with. She appeared to be assailed by a rather fidgety young man on one side and a prickly Cesare on the other. He only hoped they wouldn't cause trouble for the rest of the Famiglia.

And finally, his gaze rested on Vernon, stashed away from the commotion with another gentleman. While he looked rather bored, Reevan supposed he could give the young man kudos for doing his job. More or less.

Eventually arriving at the dining table and pouring himself a glass, Reevan sloshed the contents gently before tipping the drink, alongside his attention, toward his newfound conversation partner.

"Well then, what did you wish to tell me, Mr. Windham?"

 
Last edited:
Calcis Barker
CS Link
SCENE:
Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]
LOCATION:
Ballroom, West Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Reevan Luciano (TheImmortalDeity), Julie Wayne, (gxxberkit)
Panic In Paradise
The night felt just like any other.

Calcis’ focus was absolute as he sat in front of his employer within the limousine, head turned marginally so as if to not stare at the man. But even in the dark, just at the cusp of where his gaze met the unseen, he could make out those periwinkle eyes that glimmered with otherworldly acumen, and those sexy fucking lips that could spell desire without so much as uttering a word. He could see them part for a split second only to exhume a subtle sigh as if to say that this concourse was nothing but a chore, and a waste of his talents.

As if to agree with the gesture, Calcis felt an even quieter sigh escape from his lungs.

He lost count of the streetlights that passed like ghosts in the night, thinking how the interior of the limousine remained dim, as if the tint from the windows forged them into a barrier for evil conquering. But, even then, he couldn’t escape the lament, the actuality that he would soon be surrounded by a crowd of people. Not because he thought of outsiders of the family affairs as boring creatures, like many of those wading in the higher classes — but because he felt like he could never disappear in them. To add to that, his build was a worthless trait for such an occasion, standing tall like a lighthouse for all to gawk at. And, perhaps to garner a few useless insulting glares.

"Hmmph," he breathed with aplomb as if to remind himself that it was nothing short of a well known experience. Calcis knew that it was those reactions that reinforced his resolve, and formed the core of his backbone. It was exactly what shaped him into who he was.

Then, the sound of motion begins to cease. The wheels slow to a halt, and the familiar muffle of the chauffeur’s door presents itself. This may as well have been the cue for the red drapes over the stage to begin to part, a reminder that he should ready himself — for the expected, the unexpected, and anything beyond that. Calcis’ eyes quickly dart to the outside as if to scout the surroundings, but he doesn’t detect anything overly suspicious. With a tug of his gloves whose dark complexion rivaled the shade at night, he exited the vehicle, rising with a level of grace that was expected from someone within the company of Reevan Luciano.

As the lot make their way through the highly refined building, Calcis’ lupine ears swivel and turn like radar dishes with the intent to catch what could be considered a peculiarity. But only hints of laughter and muted conversation reveal themselves to him. They grow louder and louder, until the entourage arrives just before the ballroom. And then, his topaz eyes show the subtlest loss of focus as a command rings into his mind.

“Stay outside. Make sure to escort Ms. Wayne once she arrives.”

His employers “Archive,” no mistake there. While the order was a surprise, it was definitely a welcome one. Had Reevan noticed his momentary resentment for the situation at hand? Or was it simply a strategic move for his goals? He thought it best to not ponder about it for too long, and instead eyed the pristine don of the Luciano family, alongside the five other men as they made headway even deeper into the estate. Once the overly refined doors glided open, the raucous festivity of business and wine floods the hallway. Calcis studies the room as the gates briefly open, revealing a type of hell adorned by glittering spoils of greed… or at least, depending on who you ask. It was a place so disassociated with the wellness of humanity, or perhaps, a place where humanity was attempting to play both the role of the snake and the Creator in the garden. Calcis loses sight of that porcelain tuxedo as it combines and estranges with the others, and the doors soon close after. The thought of where he was instantly eludes him. It was, after all, just another night.

He readjusts the gold framed aviator sunglasses that adorned the bridge of his snout, and tugs on the fur lined hood — a taupe variant in comparison to that of his own Potential — as if to make it look proper like. He continued preparing himself as if to make an impression on his employer's behalf, fastening his charred, ebony tie over his crimson undershirt. He pulls on the lapels as if to iron out the non-existent wrinkles on the black-obsidian fabric with strength alone. Then, he finally aimed his gaze to the floor, eyes shut and hidden behind the tint of the shades, waiting for the radio star’s arrival.

 
ROSAMIA VÉRANY
CS Link
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
N/A
Hostile Takeover

Two men outside of the Quarter bear the markings of the Alleycats. They are drunk, disoriented, and are trying to convince a woman to stay. For a little fun, of course, as these things go. Speech slurred, they promise a good time. Their hands stray, their eyes gleam with dark desire in the neon lights above. The woman only smiles, flashing skin and telling them that they can get some. For a price, of course. They are eager, alertness slipping away under the promise of a good time.

Then the first man’s neck erupts in a shower of crimson.

The woman opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Her feet take her a step back as the man gurgles, hands clutching his throat in a desperate attempt to seal the widening wound as he staggers from the sourceless blow. Hands come up to her mouth, horror burning in her eyes. It’s only when the lifeblood spatters her face that the woman bolts for it, a soundless scream on her lips as she races away from the scene.

His partner whirls around, stumbling as he tries to search for the culprit. The barrel of a pistol stabs into the air. He bellows into the empty night, a challenge to the dark.

The answer he is given is a wound to his neck that promptly silences him. The gun clatters to the pavement forgotten as the Alleycat feels his life slip through his fingers like so much sand, thick and heavy. Soon enough, both men are dead, lifeless gazes staring into the barely-visible blanket of stars.

Nearby, a window shudders. From its reflection, a writhing wound in the flesh of reality makes itself known. Gloved fingers peel its lips back. The sound of protest it makes is eerie, a note so high that it is discordant and wrong.

From the other side, a figure emerges.

The oni mask is fierce, as Sankai myth dictated. The horns slice into the night air first, followed by the crimson of its contours and the tusk of its teeth, bared into a dark grin.. Equally bloody red is the hair, tied back into a simple ponytail that trails behind it. The rest of the figure is clad in a suit, pristine and dark as its surroundings. Unsullied shoes are slick with blood as Rosamia leaves the mirrored world and into New Oasis once more.

Violence is not her forte. She deals in cards and chips and coin, not in bullets and blood. Rosamia prefers to be in her house, watching people risk it all for glorious victory or crushing defeat on games of chance. There is less risk involved, and significantly less of a headache when you turn a profit constantly for the Association and the Patriarch she bends the knee to.

But she has sworn an oath to the clan and Association, and thus Rosamia has put her services forward when they request it of her. At the very least, the request is easy. Secure the back end, and signal once it was clear. On the other hand…

Her knives are safely stowed away inside of her coat, free of blood. A submachine gun for a particularly troublesome time. And considering how defiant the Alleycats were, she wouldn’t put it past them to start a ruckus in their death throes.

Rosamia clicks her tongue. Troublesome folks indeed.



 
Last edited:
Kygo Akainen
CS Link
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]
LOCATION:
The Street of Battle, East Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
(Eiji, Mitsuki, Carmen, Adol, Jiàn)
Bite Back and Tear Through
His enemy stood before him, protected only by instincts and blades that hadn't saved his pride by much more than a millimeter.
Kygo's blade reached eagerly for the mask, pressing and hungering for the blood beneath the facade, but it was held back.

The flicker of annoyance in those vicious eyes was the only weakness the demon revealed, the beat skipped by his heart returning quickly to stoicism, and Kygo latched onto it: much as he reveled in causing that flinch, it seemed he would be able to rely on his enemy to keep his pulse stable. That alone would give Kygo what he needed to win, survive.

It wasn't arrogance, on his part or the demon's, just the cool certainty of knowing one's enemy.

What a relief, to experience something so familiar again.

A smile split his face, the one reserved for those who would soon be incapable of speaking of its feverish excitement, even as the demonic visage of his enemy gave itself distance from their encounter.

Kygo's hand squeezed around the handle of his knife, then eased, as the briefest assessment of his opponent signaled his disadvantage. He wouldn't be allowed to cut straight to the demon's throat, that much was frustratingly clear. So it would be a game of quick attacks, treating the battleground as his defense, the enemy's weapons as his only weakness.

The catastrophic mayhem rumbled under his consciousness, buzzed in his mind, argued against being ignored. But the unwavering pulse of the demon's heart was his lifeline, echoing a constant siren call for him to follow, in spite of the deafening screams and shattering of the earth continuing to rage around them.

He could focus. He could think.

Beneath his coat, a second blade joined with his hand, and he crouched down, animalistic in pose and expression, pausing only for a moment to find his first target on the demon's body before throwing himself toward it.

Each step tried to cut into his concentration, the impact sending reverberations up from his foot straight through into his head, so he made the most of each one, leaping more than running at the demon samurai, giving speed to his knives as they rushed to evade the lengths of the dual katanas.

A quiet whisper of defense was the last interruption in his mind before he collided with the demon once more.
 
???
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Helena Damafaud Damafaud
Union Born Under Starlight

“I’m not the only one hearing those sounds, right?”

“Still talking about that stuff? I tell ya, you sound like a loon every time you say it!”

The chatter of the workers in their tiny little corner. They held drinks in their hand, non-alcoholic, of course. A new soda pop had been making the rounds lately, “Fizzie,” a simple name for a simple drink, so the advertisers said.

The skittish man took a sip; his eyes were dressed in deep black bags, a nervous twitch, and shifty eyes from lack of sleep; you would think there were assassins constantly after him.

“Really? Screams in the walls at night? You know how ridiculous that sounds, Cleveland?” Another one of the workers responded to his insane ramblings with a shake of his head as he leaned against the nearby wall; he had his own name tag as well, Joshua.

“I’m telling you,” Cleveland retorted, barely able to hold back from shouting, lest they get attention drawn on them, “I hear it every day I’m on the night shift; its cries of agony.”

As it was so aptly written on his nametag, the third man, Clarence, chuckled at the situation, dusting off some soot from his pants as he bent down, “Calm down already, Chuck! Didn’t the Stars give you some of those relaxants to help you sleep? You’re probably just havin’ some nightmares because of those. I get ’em too sometimes.”

“They’re not nightmares; they’re real life!” Cleveland’s strained voice finally cracked above a whisper, leading some stray workers to eye them with a look of curiosity, others with a distaste for slackers.

Clarence, when he stood back up, adjusted his cap, the company logo clear on its bill as he smirked, “Guess it’s about time to get back to work, try to stay outta line of fire, you two. Literally,” the carefree man said, before raising his arm up to signal to another worker as he walked out of sight, “Hey! Hold up on that slag! Lemme help you with that mess!”

“I should get going as well…another day in hell,” Joshua was much less carefree on the matter, an everyday man who was less than ecstatic about his backbreaking labor; he could barely afford a break like this without having eyes on him. His head turned upwards, looking at the metal walkways that hung above their heads; foremen walked down the catwalks with clipboards in their hands as they peered down, clouds of smoke barely keeping them in sight.

Left to his own devices, Cleveland simply ran a hand across his mustached face, a deep look of contemplation over his half-lidded, barely awake eyes.

“Am I really going crazy?”

Maybe he was. But such an insane story was of no interest to the job of the Northern Star. If one wanted more clues, it would be logical to look elsewhere. There was no money to be found in useless information.



Mr. Graham
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Yelizaveta The One Eyed Bandit The One Eyed Bandit Sanya AnemoVictorious AnemoVictorious
Union Born Under Starlight

“The fuck are you doing!? Hurry up and scrape that shit up before it gets cold!”

Angered shouting boomed above the sounds of sizzling hot metal and clanging scrap. He had broken more of a sweat than the workers from straining his vocal cords, his fat jowls dripped with perspiration, and stains underneath his armpits that had come with the heavy work of carrying around a clipboard and barking off demands.

He had a flimsy cap that barely covered his balding scalp, warts had begun to form on the back of his neck, and liver spots weren’t far behind. His mouth was shaped weirdly, probably a disfigurement of years of fumes and unknown chemicals within his system, but despite it looking like his lower jaw was retreating into his neck, he could vocalize himself without much difficulty.

He clicked his teeth in annoyance at the incompetence of his employees. They’d become indignant since whispers of a dreaded “union” had floated around. The type of attitude people get when they think the status quo is about to be changed. He wished he could fire every single one of them; there were plenty of able-bodied, hard-working young men out there who’d die to get an honest job like this. But, in the combative production industry, a day without making a product could sink your company within seconds.

He pulled out a towel to wipe his face, patting it dry. But, as a pair of voices called out to him, he took his eyes away from the workers to turn around. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing; whoever they were, they weren’t supposed to be up here.

“If you’re new employees, you should be--” Words of beratement were probably about to leave his lips against the two women for wandering around like they had no sense instead of approaching a ground supervisor. But, as he looked closer at their nametags, his mouth stopped, and his look changed.

“Ah, Ms. Crowley and Ms. Sawyer, I was notified about you,” he immediately switched to a tone of respect, his greasy fingers stuffing his towel back into the waist of his work overalls. These women didn’t look Amestrian, that was for sure, but he wasn’t one to question such things. He was a subservient dog of the industry, so he did his duty.

“You should be meeting with Mr. Graham, inspectors. He’s supposed to be giving you a rundown of the “situation” and some information,” he explained, then pointed to his left. A small boxed office was placed in the corner on top of some thin metal steps, separated by doors and windows from the rest of the warehouse.

“Right in through that door is his office. Make sure you wipe your feet when you walk in. Just because you’re “hired help” doesn’t mean he will give you ladies any special treatment besides what you need to get the job done, got that?” He stated before putting his clipboard underneath his shoulder and returning to work.

“Hey! Don’t think I see you back there slacking off! You think you’re tired!? I’ve been here since last night! You ungrateful son of a bitch!”

And he was right back to screaming, slamming his clipboard against the railing.


…When Sanya and Yelizaveta entered the office, they immediately found themselves surrounded by “trophies,” not an athlete’s but the hunter’s prizes. Decapitated heads of bison, elephant tusks, stuffed corpses of small rodents, and waterfowls strapped and tied to hang lifelessly from the ceiling. His carpet was made from the corpse of one of the bears from their homeland; the desk on top of it had leg covers that looked like polished pieces made from antler horns. The only thing missing from this ensemble was guns, and the only reason they weren’t here was probably because it wasn’t company-allowed. Instead of gunpowder, the room smelt of cigarette smoke; whether that was better or not was up to them, but it beat the stench of sulfur and rust that made up the main foundry.

His clock clicked, and the hands moved, instead of numbers, there were various animal shapes that lined the outer rim, more appropriate as a set piece than telling time. A pen clicked and clicked in muscular fingers, covered with scars, as the tip of the pin hung loosely from the grip of fanged teeth.

“Ah, you’re finally here. Stars.” He lacked the thick accent that was familiar to them, but still, he had the touch of their frigid home; his speech had been polluted by the Amestrian tongue, a second-generational child, most likely, who hadn’t stepped foot in the place his parents had hailed from. Idolization of a time that was never his, explained his choice in decor.

“It’s a pleasure to have you. I trust that no one has been causing you trouble?” He attempted to speak in their vernacular; it wasn’t perfect, but it was decent enough to understand. Quickly, however, he dropped it, along with the pen in his hand, as he clasped his hands together.

“Let us continue our conversation in the native tongue, yes? Would be a problem if someone stepped in and heard us talking in such a way,” he explained, beckoning them to sit in the pair of luxurious chairs, the hide of moose draped over them, as its glossy eyes peered down at them from the backrest.

“Take a seat. And tell me, how much has Mr. Goldstien told you?”




???
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Jacques Haze- Haze-
Union Born Under Starlight


"Nice lookin’ meal you got there.”

Jacques found his break, joined by another worker. Who was he? Not much of a mystery with the nametags. Rudy was the guy’s name. He looked about the same age as Jacq, a pair of glasses on his chiseled features; dust and debris coated the lenses, but he had seemed used to them.

“You new round here, right fella? It ain’t lunchtime, but don’t worry! Ol’ Rudy ain’t no snitch.” He quickly assured Jacq with a spread of his hands and a shake of his head, a smile worming its way across his features. He had some uneven teeth, but maybe that added to his charm.

“Lemme guess, you came here to support the family, didn’t ya? Laid off at your last job, or maybe they just weren’t treatin’ ya right? Came to see if the “Northern Gold Rush” is really all it’s propped to be?” Rudy asked, taking his place beside Jacques as he leaned on a nearby wall. “Your wife made you that sandwich? What am I seein’ on there? Lettuce? Tomatoes? Is that a BLT, or are my eyes playin’ tricks on me?” He prodded sounding a bit jealous; meanwhile, his hands were busy digging into his own lunchbox he was holding onto this whole time, a trusty blue as he unlatched it, pulling out his own sandwich from within its paper prison, holding it between his hands before taking a bite.

“My missus has been makin’ me these things; it’s a banana and mayonnaise sandwich,” he spoke with his mouth full, waving his meal around as he talked, “Said it’s good for you cause it’s got fats, carbohydrates, and stuff you need for energy. I don’t got the heart to tell her I don’t like it,” he chuckled, coughing as he nearly choked on his mixture of bread, fruit, and egg oil.

“She’s been gettin’ the kids to eat ’em too. My daughter, the darling little girl, forces herself to swallow it down. Though my son is still a lil tyke, he doesn’t know any better; just mush around in some water, and he’ll shove it in his mouth.”

He sighed, looking up towards the ceiling as he rubbed his forehead.

“Gotta keep workin’ for ‘em…this job is the only thing that keeps the lights on. Makes sure my daughter is gettin’ her education.”

For a moment, he was silent before he turned to look at Jacq, letting a warm smile come back to his face.

“What about you? You got any kids of your own, or are you and the missus still tryin’?”

 
Last edited:
THE METAL ANGEL
CS Link
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Otose thebigfella thebigfella , Hikari RoninN7 RoninN7 (mentioned)
Hostile Takeover
The uneasy rowdiness that the younger Guroko's had was something explainable but Takae knew better. Even though she exactly fit in with their age range, she grew up in this environment. Being born into this life and climbing her way through the ranks in just around 2 years taught her what she needed to know about just how the Association ran their business.

Right at that moment, the air around everyone outside seemed to change. Seeing Otose make its way through their crowd, Takae promptly bowed in respect. After a few moments, she lifted her head. Just in time to look at it as it directed its psyche towards her.

Hearing its instructions for her, Takae nodded in response. It looks like she would be entrusted to make the opening move.

'This will be fun.' She thought to herself. She knew she couldn't cause too much damage, but no one said anything about no damage.

It was regulation for any place of business to have sprinklers installed. That's how chaos always starts.

She made her way through the crowd of Association members, ready to strike. Checking if her metal keychain was there, she felt at ease feeling it in her pocket. Takae reached the front door of the club and placed her black mask on. No one needed to know the Metal Angel was on the premises just yet.

With a slight push of the door, the music and lights spilled outside for just a moment before the door closed behind her. For a few moments, she scouted out the best place to sit and watch before jumping into the inevitable violence. She wished she could just slip into the shadows like her friend, Hikari. But unfortunately, she didn't have that potential at her disposal. Just for a fleeting thought, she wondered if Hikari was hidden in the shadows of this place.

Eventually, she settled for a secluded table and chair. A perfect vantage point. Underneath her mask, a small smirk appeared that no one could see. "Let's begin." The Metal Angel declared just under her breath as she made her move.

The metal sprinklers over everyone in the club break off. A shower of water comes down on everyone. Takae herself is soaked from head to toe but she didn't mind. Her signal was sent. Now it was time to wait for the right moment to strike.
 
Helena P. Letya
CS LINK
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc 1: Scene 1 [Union Born Under Starlight]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Jacques, Yelizaveta, Sanya, Helen
Union Born Under Starlight
Now see, when talk of spooks came up, three notion came to mind. Either Cleveland's off his rocker, some shady jazz goes down when the moon's high, or there's bona fide ghosts kicking after dark. Now, Helen's been through many walls and ground under and she hadn't seen a proper dead man alive. She believed a ghost when she seen one and she really didn't mind seeing one. Heck, if it ain't a ghost and there's some shady business, that might tie back to the whole union kerfuffle.

Sure, it's a stretch, but Helen P. Letya ain't your run-of-the-mill shamus. Her noggin's sharp, but there are two cats running the show inside. One's a bona fide detective, keen on intuition and sharp as a tack on objectives. The other feline's all about mysteries and cracking them wide open. Those two kitties wore the same coat, see, and Helen liked it that way. Better chasing something she believed relevant than knowingly tailing something off road, right? So, she's feeling like getting in on the action now.

Helen climbed out, taking where Joshua stood. She leaned against the wall, put on a mused look and called to the befuddled worker.

"Say, where'd you reckon those cries are from? Up there on the catwalks?"

Her crossed arms conveniently concealed her name tag. She wasn't keen on flashing her alias or that worker tag here. Best keep that wiggle room intact.

 
IMG_1174.jpeg
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, Jian, Carmen

Bite Back and Tear Through

The fighting continued to rage on with the invaders having the upper hand with their surprise party. Most of any Hydra that was not immediately taken out did whatever they could and wanted to get back at them after being woken up again. The long peace-filled sleep must have made them less than capable of fighting back as they would have before coming here. This is what went through his head as he passed by the bodies of his fellow hydras.

But that was all dashed aside while he smashed into the skull of the attackers. It was like starting an old engine again his body was getting back into it all he needed now was something to him truly moving. He would be enjoying this a lot more if it wasn't for one or several problems.

“I can almost feel it. But I should relax a bit. Unluckily for me just roaming around didn't pan out like I thought it would.”
Taking in all the carnage. Before taking a look at the group of civilians and wound Hydras slowly following behind him. Occasionally asking him if it is safe to come out. He never had any intentions of saving people even other Hydras. But once he saved one well body local they started helping others and some of Adol’s unconscious crew mates. Add to the fact that he is known as a good contractor and friendly to the locals around here. Then that number started to grow more and more. This was starting to annoy him.

Thinking of a way to put these guys somewhere else away from him. The priest came to mind he would make his way there to drop these clowns off and then enjoy himself more.

Going down another one of the once so peaceful streets with his impromptu entourage Adol scans his surroundings looking down one of the passing roads he notices two individuals doing so in a way that the people around don't. Not trying to get more members to his merry band. He spots Jià in a chat with a random guy
Adol only pauses for a brief moment before moving on. He figures she should be fine and continues to the church.

“I'm not a fan of escorting jobs especially for free.“

 
Last edited:
CHOJI NAKAYA
- CS Link
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
N/A
Hostile Takeover
The voice sends something terribly uncomfortable racing through Choji's skull. It's like an itch he can't quite reach, or—more viscerally—like he's reformed his head and left flies buzzing around inside. Still, he keeps smiling, even though it's tinged with discomfort, even as he lifts his hand to his temple in a silent massage.

All of the more experienced members look fine; he's sure it'll pass in due time.

For now, though, it's time to make preparations. The commander hasn't directed any instructions at him, so it seems like he'll be a part of the team that's ready outside, waiting to prey on whoever the infiltrators flush out. Or, are they trying to chase out the civilians so they can fight inside?

Choji's not quite sure, but he's ready either way. He's not the smartest, and he knows that, but he'll always be able to handle a fight.

His left hand pulses. Muscles swell, and ligaments split. Thin tendrils slip out of white bandages and sink into gaps between the pavement with a writhing motion reminiscent of a worm's. They burrow in deep, branching within the earth and nestling themselves within gaps in the concrete.

And that should be it, up until he's instructed to enter, whenever that is.
 
Okubo
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]
LOCATION:
South Border, East Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Eiji simj26 simj26
Bite Back and Tear Through


The brute pulled his foot out of the dirt, knocking away cracked cement from the pathway as he shook the dirt off his shoe. Despite his attack missing, that grin of his hadn’t gone anywhere, a glint in his eye as he turned towards the priest, a muscular hand reaching up to grasp at the side of his neck, rolling it around as it snapped in ten different places.

“No worthwhile warriors? Kehahahaha! Course there ain’t! We’re not here on a suicide mission!” Okubo bellowed, rubbing his sausage-like fingers through his chin as he glanced at the priest; for a moment, the man’s beast-like attraction to violence had stilled; as he looked at the priest in a moment of calm, the storm of flames still roared around them.

“Damn, this is a problem…” Okubo’s expression of appraisal slowly started to shift to confusion; the pupils left his eyes as his details became unrefined, almost chibi-like, as he tilted his head to the side.

“Aniki ordered me to cause a ruckus to keep you Hydras busy…but he’s always saying a man should never turn down a generous offer…” He mumbled aloud in thought, his hands reaching up to grasp the sides of his shiny, bald head, bouncing in between two realms of thought.

“What should I do then? Tea or trouble? Trouble or tea?” It was starting to make his head spin physically until he finally got dizzy. “Grrgh! I’m tired of all this thinking!” He abruptly shouted, his expression abruptly sharpening as veins protruded from his forehead, a grizzled grimace on his face as steam blew out of his nose.

“After I cause trouble, I’ll just have some tea!” He roared, and then his hands dug into the cracks within the soil, his meaty paws gripping the intertwined system of roots and rocks that hadn’t been burnt to ash from the erupting fires. His teeth gritted, and his arms went vascular as his muscles tensed; glows of light basked across his face as if he peeled more of the earth’s crust with his grip.

“GRRAAAAAUUUUH!” Okubo tore the earth from itself, soil and pebbles falling from the mass of ground he was lifting over his head, a burst of flaming rock blowing from the newly opened gap that had been waiting to billow from the mantle.

His feet dug into the dirt, the weight of his carry tripling his mass as he held the giant boulder overhead, breath thick enough to condense from his mouth as he sweated from the heat and exertion. His gaze narrowed upon the priest before him as he rocked his body forward to bring the mass of earth downward.

“Try not to get crushed! GAAAAAHAHAHA!”




???
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]
LOCATION:
South Border, East Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Carmen soIstice soIstice Mitsuki Eteri Eteri
Bite Back and Tear Through

The church swarmed with people, and the prayer room bubbled with life. Fathers held their wives and children close, crouched behind pews. Others gawked through the stained glass, watching the fires dancing through the distorting colors and holy shapes.

Tensions were high, and murmurs of confusion were rampant. Some hoped for the police, others demanded firefighters, while some screamed for the paramedics.

All of them prayed.

A shadow hung above them like the embodiment of the devil, it’s jagged teeth and twisted antenna that resembled horns, its bulging eyes grew, and spit dropped from the gaps of its teeth into the ground like rain. It drizzled onto the forehead of an unsuspecting woman, who used the sleeve of her dress to quickly wipe it off and look up in confusion. A leak from rain? Had God cast down a storm to put the fire out.

However, when she looked up, she saw nothing except the statue of the Holy Spirit looking down upon her from the ceiling, the bright lights above.

The creature had already moved, its amorphous body squeezed underneath the pews; it twirled itself up the old stone columns like a serpent to hide within the banisters, its massive claws letting it swing around as it used its spiked tendrils to hang itself upside down.

The eyes within its palms squelched open, and it joined its other pair in searching, looking around the church, until it spotted a doorway in the corner. Something spoke to it, screamed to it that within this sacred labyrinth, that’s where its goal could lie, and so, it dropped, landing onto the ground and squirming across the floor before any civilian could even get a chance to see it, and just like how it had entered the church, it crammed its boneless body right underneath the crack of the door.

A dimly illuminated staircase, the carpeted floor that led upwards and downwards, twisting and turning to unknown parts of the cathedral. The creature plopped out of the other side of the door, bouncing itself off the wall, and then bounded down the steps, its long arms propelling it like a tiger on the hunt as it descended the long staircase into the basement until it had finally reached a door, its head bashing into it, only for its sturdiness to make it bounce back.

Locked, that’s what it was. And then, with the grasp of a clawed grip that crushed the metal like it was made out of clay, the door was open. Cold air blew through the cracked entryway, beckoning the monster further in, and using a clawed finger to spread the door open just enough, it pried its way through, entering total darkness.

What was going on inside was a total mystery within the unseeable, the sounds of creaking wood and shattering glass, the clatter of hollow steel and cracked ceramics. Pilfering, searching, digging through whatever it could get its hand on, it was looking for something within the darkness. The question was, what?





Nishikawa
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]
LOCATION:
South Border, East Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Kygo Shadow Shadow
Bite Back and Tear Through

The sound of scraping metal and the clang of steel reverberated through the empty alleys.

Quick footwork across scorched earth, his kimono fluttered through the wind as slashes barely avoided his vitals. He felt himself moving backward, the surroundings blurring as he was left to twirl and dodge.

The eyes of a killer were trained on him, the bloodthirst of a hunter, and he was the prey. Guroko had prepared him for a lifestyle of brutality, but he had no expectations for the art of bloodshed. The mask of a demon didn’t do much to withhold the unease he felt as he parried and slashed; sweat was starting to grow across his brow, the stench of death mixed with the taste of soot.

Troublesome, that’s what it was. If he had come here for victory in combat, then this would be a different scenario. He wasn’t meant to keep up with speed like this; from the blunt chipped edges of his blades to the ground that bubbled underneath his feet, it was all meant to destroy.

Unfortunately for him, total annihilation was out of the picture. Controlled chaos, that’s what it was called, and so that’s what he enacted. He considered the damage minimal, even surrounded by flaming houses and burning foliage.

Every itch he had, the twitch of his fingers to use his potential to have the world cave underneath their feet and turn the surroundings into a hellscape, he instead remembered the clock. While reaching his jugular back before a knife could plunge into it, sending sliced hairs through the wind, he was still counting.

“4 more minutes.”

Time was on their side. So long as he made sure to keep his blood from spilling across the pavement.

A slash across his mask, chips of wood cracked and splintered, revealing a corner of his chin to the smoke-filled air; the first bit of blood spilled into the soil, dripping from the fresh cut upon his flesh.


“Nishikawa-san!”

The shout of his name barely registered within the sounds of battle; he could scarcely afford to fix his gaze behind his attacker’s shoulders as his sandals skidded across the ground.

Kygo could hear them, obnoxiously loud, with their shouting behind him as their drumming footsteps approached. Two Guroko thugs, an iron pipe in one hand and knuckle dusters in the other, their grizzled faces glaring at the killer as they charged toward him.

“We’ll take care of this!” The one with the iron pipe shouted, jumping high as he raised the pipe above his head while his cohort raised his knuckles in front of his face.

“Stop!” Nishikawa, the demon partially unmasked, tried to warn them how outmatched they were, nothing more than lambs to the slaughter.






???
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 [Bite Back and Tear Through]
LOCATION:
South Border, East Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Jiàn AriAriAbabwa AriAriAbabwa
Bite Back and Tear Through


For a pause, he didn’t move. Was it because he didn’t expect them to actually stop? A type of action that didn’t fit the bloodthirsty Hydras unless they planned on stabbing you in the back immediately after.

No, his eyes were confident; they gleaned past the darkness of his shades to look at Jiàn. Analyzing, considering. This went on for a long while. Longer than it had any right to be, this awkward silence. He didn’t move, he didn’t respond.

The clock was ticking.

And then, like a timer had gone off in his head, the perfect circumstances had been reached; a smirk finally went across his face, and casually, his hand reached up to rub the back of his neck, his posture relaxing at nearly the same time as he chuckled under his breath.

“Whew. Happy we could come to an agreement,” he breathed a sigh of relief; that same intimidation he wielded moments earlier had entirely disappeared. He was far too relaxed; was it cockiness or assuredness? Either way, any intention to make his threats had vacated as he let his arms drape to his side.

“I’m not really big on fighting anyway. I’m a humanist, too. World peace and all that,” he spoke with a dry cheer, raising his arm as some kind of proclamation despite the fires raging in the distance.

The fires clearly indicated that something was going on to anyone with a pair of eyes. Why was the East still so quiet? Being the border between the South and East, Guroko and Hydras, this era should be heavily guarded. It had been 6 minutes since the attack started; Hydras should have spilled out from the sewers, dropped from the roofs, and crashed through the windows 5 minutes ago.

Something was keeping this area “locked off,” reinforcements away.

…Maybe this is why such a man walked around Hydra’s territory so freely, without fear of a knife in his back.

He wore a casual smile on his face as he turned around, “Well, I’ll leave you to whatever you’re doing. We’ll be outta your hair in a sec. Not like we’re here to start a war or anything…” he continued to speak in contrast to their apparent assault, before suddenly pausing, and turning on his heel to look back at Jiàn.

“Oh yeah, I guess I should ask. I doubt you know more than anyone else, but…”

A hand came up to his chin, and his eyes narrowed; again came that sharpened gaze, the look of scrutiny that sought to read their body language.

“Do you know anything about the Chrysanths Plague?”


 
PADRE
CS Link
SCENE:
Hydras Arc 1: Scene 1 (Bite Back and Tear Through)
LOCATION:
Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Succour, East Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Mitsuki, Eiji
Bite Back and Tear Through
By comparison to the giant man, the flames themselves appeared to agree with the priest's being. Not a drop of sweat was present on his immaculate skin, and he was barely bothered by the stray flickers of their tongues towards him, welcoming him in their warm embrace.

In the midst of the other man's tirade, the priest tilted his head questioningly. He recognised a word that the bigger man had said, enough to reason that the man was of Wakoku descent. Speculations and assumptions swirled in the impenetrable eyes of the man of the cloth, things of which he would keep to himself for the time being. It was not wise to speak assumptions aloud, after all. Furthermore, he had no interest in the politics of New Oasis. What will be, will be, as ordained by God.

His face fell when the polite offer for tea did so as well. This was no ordinary man he was sharing words with. Perhaps a person of discipline and some mental acuity would have fallen for the soft offers and words, but this man was one of extraordinary stupidity- the feckless kind that could not think for himself, always burdened by the ‘orders’ of others. Useful, in certain aspects, but certainly not in this one.

He grimaced as the giant uprooted a mass of dirt from the ground beneath him. There was only one way to penetrate the wall of idiocy that shielded his mind. He had wished to keep the extent of his abilities hidden for just a bit longer, but this very event had forced his hand.

“In dying light of the night, eternal is the path that leads the villain from judgement,” he murmured under his breath, diving out of the way of the descending pillar of stone. The ground exploded, showering him with dirt and stray rocks as he recovered, scrambling to his feet, yet his incantation continued, unwavering. “O soul who hath trespassed upon this sacred grounds, I call thee to drown in the flames of hell.”

A strange prayer indeed for a priest, and a stranger answer yet from the very flames that he beckoned, as the fire stretched its scorching limbs forth, surrounding the giant man with a roaring ring of fire, stretching up to the skies above, burning, eating the very air that it trapped within itself, depriving the man of oxygen. The tree of ungodly fire died as quickly as it had sprouted.

“That is enough. I have shown you kindness and mercy, and you have spat upon it.” His speech, tone, mannerisms shifted with the tide of the sea of flames that now cast an obscuring shadow upon his very features. Glinting gold gleamed in place of his eyes, or perhaps it was a mere trick of the light. A voice of ancient regal air, far removed from the soft, accepting one that most were accustomed to, emanated forth from his obscured lips. “No longer will I tolerate your brutish presence upon consecrated soil. Harken to me now, for your mind is simple and small, and so I will offer your soul one last small act of generosity, bestowed by me: begone, or be ash scattered in the four winds.”


 
Last edited:
Conrad Carter
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
INTERACTIONS:
The Metal Angel kakemha kakemha Hikari RoninN7 RoninN7 Choji luciferin luciferin
Hostile Takeover

The shower started the show, instruments and their musicians doused with water, the music stopped, and the songstress no longer sang; instead, she screamed, the chill of cold water across her exposed skin.

The dancers jumped off the tables, and men huddled underneath their coats and swore as their fresh suits were soaked. Disarray had replaced the party; footsteps ran in every direction as the alcohol buzz was washed away with the cleansing sprinkles from the ceiling pipes.

Tables toppled, glass shattered across the floor, bottles tipped over and splashed their contents into linens before clattering across the ground and bouncing against the wall. Men in the midst of trying to schmooze a fine one instead were left clutching their hats to try and cover themselves from the droplets, while the women grasped at their shoulders to try and protect their entire bodies from being covered as they ran.

The front doors burst open, and the clubgoers scrambled outside, bumping and stumbling over and into each other; they didn’t even pay attention as Guroko thugs awaited their departure, standing still as the waves of bodies swarmed past them, keeping themselves calm amongst the madness, cigarettes still burned between fingers, as eyes glanced from underneath sunglasses, watching their soon to be customers escape.

When senses finally came to them, some took a chance to slow down. They wanted to question what had happened, but instead, they saw what would happen. The broad backs encased in the deepest black, shiny shoes that had begun walking towards the entrance.

“Let’s go,” One of them stated, tossing his cigarette to the ground as they strode in. Despite the words of a raid, this was anything but. The Alleycats were nothing but a group of wanna-be gangsters; they had no pull or real force. They would surrender or be made quick work of; that was all this was.

Bodies began to flood through the front door, leisurely, assuredly, and organized. Even the younger members had followed in the line, stepping in with ferocious looks on their faces as the last few people in the club room ran past them. They tapped their weapons against their shoulders, bats at the ready, sledgehammers prepared to crush skulls or foundations.

Water sprayed down upon the Guroko, soaking their hair and into their clothes, but they remained unphased.

“Alright, strays!” Show yourself, and we might let ya off easy with a couple broken legs!” A ferocious rookie taunted, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as his jagged teeth contorted into a grin, but as his eyes scanned the room, he found no Alleycat standing their ground. The main floor was empty, nothing but the remnants of the mad dash of the civilians and its relevant debris across the floor, a cloud of steam growing in the corner of the room, most likely just some hot water in the sprinkler system.

“Heh, looks like they ran with a tail between their legs,” another yakuza surmised a self-satisfied look on his face, believing the job was done. The thought resonated through most of the ranks.

Until they began to feel the heat. They felt like they were standing in front of the blazing sun. But by then, it was too late.

Eyes widened just in time as the steam from the corner suddenly expanded out, a flash of heat and the water from the sprinklers heated immediately into vapor; the burning mist encased them all, it went through their noses and climbed into their mouths, pierced through the first layers of their skin to reach the inner sections. Their nerves screamed in pain, and cries of agony left the lips of the Guroko as the steam burns traced the inside and outside of their bodies. They tried to escape, but the door slammed shut behind them, encasing them in their fogged coffin. They fell to the ground, unable to do anything but try and claw at their skin in some relief as steam began to fill the entire room, leaving only the upper levels safe from the intense heat.

From within the smog, steps walked between the crumbled Guroko, the strike force brought down entirely to its knees as he strode away from the door with a hand in his pocket while the other slurped loudly from the plastic cup in his hands, the beverage inside wasn’t cold anymore, unfortunately, but it was just as satisfying.

The steam cleared slowly and slightly, revealing the reddened bodies. The searing of their flesh left them groaning, clutching at their bodies as they couldn’t even move without their whole nervous system going into a frenzy.

“Demons, huh?” Conrad chided, placing a hand on his neck, “So much for that, you can’t even handle a little heat.”

In one fell swoop, the leader of the Alleycats had turned the sprinkler system against them to topple them all.

The raid had fallen.

Carter didn’t let his guard down yet, though; his head turned, and he looked around, eyeing for any strays that might be interested in taking their chance in striking down the leader while he was out in the open.






Silk Meyers
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
INTERACTIONS:
Rosamia TheRealAngeloftheStorm TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Hostile Takeover


An invisible figure hugged the wall, his breath still in his throat. He had seen it; he had heard the bloodied gurgles, the bodies crumpled to the floor. He was lucky none of the splatters had reached him because if they did, his position would have immediately been discovered.

From seemingly out of nowhere, a figure had emerged. The mask of a monster on their visage, hiding their face.

In his camouflage, Silk had frozen in place, his brows knitted together, and a nervous sweat formed around his neck.

Questions flooded his mind; it had stopped him from going towards the front of the building and distracting the Guroko, afraid of being caught; the seconds had ticked by. One wrong sound could have this mysterious figure on alert.

Where had they come from? That’s what Silk wondered; he started to observe that there was no portal, seemingly no way of transportation. Did they teleport? Or something else?

Within the realm of potential, anything was possible, and figuring it out just from seeing it firsthand wasn’t always that easy. His teeth grit against each other. He was sure of one thing.

This person was dangerous.

The sounds of screams caused his head to perk up, and he broke contact with the mysterious shooter, snapping towards the front of the building. He saw people flood out inside the Quarter, their guests running outside.
Had something happened inside? Chaos was erupting, and the Guroko were entering.

He no longer had the time to sit and wait; he needed to get over there and assess the situation.

And more importantly, he had to warn the others of this mysterious power.

“What is Olga doing?! Did they somehow already get through her?!”

Those worried thoughts carried his legs. He barely let himself breathe, intent on keeping himself invisible as he stepped.

And then, his foot bumped against a discarded bottle on the ground, kicking it sideways.

It was then he ran. The sounds of his invisible footsteps were no longer hidden as he stomped across the floor; there was no longer any worry about being heard. He just needed to escape before they figured out he was there.




Otose
SCENE:
Guroko Assoc. Arc 1: Scene 1 [Hostile Takeover]
LOCATION:
The Quarter, South Ward
INTERACTIONS:
None
Hostile Takeover

The wooden puppet stood surprisingly calmly despite everything that had transpired. It watched as steam flooded out the door's cracks along with the sounds of screams, vapor quickly acclimating to the atmosphere.

"𐌕𐋅𐌉𐌔 Ꮤ𐌉𐌋𐌋 𐌁𐌄 𐌀 𐌓𐌐Ꝋ𐌁𐌋𐌄𐌌."

The mannequin turned its head away from the carnage; its psych focus decided to invade another mind, a figure who only now had prominence as one of the few to not run headfirst into the building. A woman named River Johnson.

"𐌙Ꝋ𐌵. 𐌁𐌄 𐌂𐌀𐌐𐌄𐌅𐌵𐌋. 𐌉𐌅 𐌙Ꝋ𐌵 𐌅𐌀𐌋𐌋, 𐌕𐋅𐌄𐌍 𐌌𐌀𐌍𐌙 𐋅𐌄𐌐𐌄 Ꮤ𐌉𐌋𐌋 𐌃𐌉𐌄. 𐌉 𐌌𐌵𐌔𐌕 Ᏽ𐌄𐌕 𐌉𐌍 ████████ Ꮤ𐌉𐌕𐋅 ████ 𐌁𐌄𐌍𐌄𐌅𐌀𐌂𐌕Ꝋ𐌐𐌔."

With that, the puppet went silent; its body went limp as all life seemed to leave its body, besides enough energy to keep it from crumbling into the ground like a broken toy.

River was left with the duty to survive and heal. Could she accomplish both?

 
Last edited:
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
"That you are the man to speak with." Even amongst her fellow Stars, it was rare for Yelizaveta to employ her native tongue. They were far from their icy home, after all, what more was it than trouble to persist with speaking the language of that far-off land? Regardless though, her transition into their native tongue was smooth. Rust was for metal, not flesh, after all.

"Graham, was it?" As she took her seat, Yelizaveta's eyes wandered the man's office. Every so often there was a pause. A moment in which her eyes would fix themselves in contemplation of one of the man's countless trinkets. Her expression spoke little of what impression they afforded, aside from the slow, methodical weaving of some sort of unspoken judgment.

"Would you call yourself a man of trifles, Mr. Graham?" There was something interesting here. A man of business surrounded by trophies of frivolity. "You've quite a collection. Those tusks are from the Cafrian Plains, no? And that waterfowl the Xian rainforests? And these rodents from Dayang? Unless you're only a collector, you must be quite well-traveled... I'm a kindred spirit in that regard, you see. How long have you been on Amestrian soil now? Long enough for your roots to take, at least..."

Whatever point Yelizaveta was trying to make, if there even was one at all, seemed distant. She lounged within the luxury chair as a blob of what was half a woman and half a pile of wrinkled clothing, a far cry from the sort of manicured professional that would've usually been afforded such luxury upholstery.

"But for how vast all of this is... You must not value it much, hmm? Just as we arrived here today one of those cauldrons of yours scattered slag all over the floor. Doesn't the idea of a fire concern you? I feel it's every other week that I see a column of fat, black smoke reaching up into the sky... And then it's another factory in ruins. Do you have nowhere else to keep the things, or perhaps just nowhere where somebody else can gawk at them? I've never really seen the appeal in that sort of thing myself..." She adjusted her glasses, and her lackadaisical scrutiny came to a close. "But... Your Union, yes? We've been told of their presence... And I believe a pair of our comrades are inspecting the floor for them as we speak."

Helena and Jacques. They were upright sorts, or at least as upright as those of their ilk could be.

"Though, another question... Your people, do you invite them here often?" There were two sorts of trophies. The first was to be flaunted to the many, and the second to be admired by only one. A set of muddy green eyes inspected Mr. Graham, now. Yelizaveta wondered which of those it was that he took.

 
Jacques H. Fontaine
.
CS Link
SCENE:
Northern Star Arc I: Scene I [union born under starlight.]
LOCATION:
Warehouse, North Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Helen, Yelizaveta, Sanya
UNION BORN UNDER STARLIGHT.

He watched Rudy’s hands as if the man had gone and lugged a severed head out of his lunchbox, dangling it at him by the hair to show him the bloody mess. There was a Freudian slip there, he supposed. A genuine look of pity crossed him, and he couldn’t help but let the tongue loose — “Wouldn’t have the heart for it, either.”

Most of the expressions Jack had shown to Rudy had been amiable plays— he kept the face light and slacking on the first impressions, smiled a lot, chuckled a lot, just as he’d been taught. In this case, really, he didn’t know whether that big, press-agentry smile would get him places here. He was thinking that the man, and his shortness of straight tooth, would find it insulting at some point.

Jack watched him with weary eyes as he spoke, even if the feeling didn't fully bleed into his expression.

People wanted something out of you. At least in the dim-colored, featureless world he lived in, they did. He knew that. It was transactional, in some way, to someone else’s profit. That way of thinking could be applied to many things in life. The rain bears down, the trees outstretch their hands, pleading. The ground pulls, and the world spins to give way to night and day, spurned. Furless apes smear its surface, taint its soil, breathe smog onto the clouds.

Greedy, all of them.

Two nondescript workers kill time chatting the chat, one of them gets a favor, the other gets to slack off at the job for a day. So on, so forth. That’s how it works.

Things of the world are meant to connect through transaction, and that jointness was hard to escape. Thing is, Jack didn’t want to connect. Not here. In his line of work, the client— the Star, if we’re past the analogies— wanted it clean. Without a smear of clue, trace, indication. Without connection. For what he’s about, the possibility of someone like Rudy remembering his face just out of this exchange was a headache.

A headache he didn’t want to mull about yet, it’d end up showing on his expression if he did. Face light, slacking. Smiling a lot, chuckling a lot.

“Sure do; we got our baby boy Gianni a couple years back.” — ‘Popular Fusilian baby names’, something he’d read on the print a couple years back. Jack was messing with him. A hand went to his chest pocket, coming out with a picture of him and Jean.

He scoffed the moment he looked down at it, another Freudian slip. He could never smile like Jean did. He got that from his mother — “Annoying lil bugger, but I’m busting my back to try and get him somewhere decent. And gladly so; wouldn’t have it any other way so long as they’re happy at home.”

Jack gazed at the buckets of molten slag carted above them, sighed, head craned back to touch the wall as he watched them go. Wondering, mulling over. How would his Anne look like in those pictures with the two of them?

Connection. He hated it.

“Funny thing is, my lady’s been wantin’ a girl since the day I made her miss Perreault, but I think she’s made the kid love his mom more than his old man now with how much time they spend together.” — He chuckled — “Only time I ever felt truly jealous in my life.”

He snagged his breath back, took a measured bite before he ran his eyes back down at Rudy. That’s when he finally understood the transaction here, what Rudy naturally wanted from him. He pulled out his own lunchbox from behind him, like a magician’s reappearing act, still heavy with a second serving packed inside it — “Why don’t ya treat yourself, eh? No disrespect to the mistress, ‘course.”

He held it out for him, if he was to take up the offer right out of his hand.

“So, anyone ever been hit upside the head with that lava they got up there? I got off my last job looking for better workin’ condition, but, suppose that’s hard to ask from the North.”

He sighed, cooled the hot air out of his shirt with a hand — “Ends up sapping the life outta you, whenever an accident happens on the job. I’ve seen folk get their whole arm caught on one of those big machines one too many times already. Barely any safe working spaces nowadays. But, like you said, job’s a job. Gotta do it for the family.”

 
JULIE WAYNE
CS Link
SCENE:
Trevisani Arc 1: Scene 1 [Panic in Paradise]
LOCATION:
Ballroom, West Ward
PARTICIPANTS:
Calcis Barker Arvios Arvios
Panic In Paradise
Hmph.

She was late.

A grumpy expression set in on her face, a stark contrast from her otherwise soft features. A frown creased her forehead with a sigh. Her hands tightly gripped the strap to the bag that sat firmly in her lap, even despite the bumps and rattles of driving.

She should’ve arrived quite a bit earlier, but some people were whistlin’ dixie at the radio station, and she couldn’t be sure they’d actually do their job after she left. They might not have known how to press buttons to make the music go, but they sure did know how to press her buttons. She was set to leave before the night crew took over, but she stayed until they arrived because they knew how to do their god-damned jobs (excuse the language.)

On any other night, maybe she wouldn’t have felt so sore about it. But tonight was a night with and as Trevisani— another night to make good with her family.

Sigh.

But she was also here as Wayne. Julie Wayne— and that had meant she needed to keep appearances high and consorting with the Trevisani low. Minimizing her time spent with the family —her family, which she still hadn’t gotten used to despite the three years with the name— was best for her public image, which was incredibly important in a city such as New Oasis.

It was one thing to arrive at a Trevisani-hosted party —no one would fault a celebrity for going to a ball of this stature— but it was another entirely to be spotted talking to the hosts for an extended amount of time, you see. Gossip columnists spun words, whether true or false, just as spiders spun webs. Even when you so tightly held the press, there was always a printer out of your district.

And so, when the Lindt estate came into the doll’s view, her expression softened. A smile graced her face in seconds, a gentle tilt of the head accenting the change. People loitering outside could easily see in the car, and New Oasis’ sweetheart needed to be sweet, kind, and pleasant all the time.

She leaned over the driver's seat in front of her, gently patting her chauffeur’s shoulder. “Thank you, kind gentleman! Please expect a fine tip.” Her accent was strange, but not too heavy. Her words were detached, staccato. It was recognizable, but intelligible.

With a slight nod as a farewell, she let herself out of the car. She wasn’t brought in a limousine, no. She was supposed to be down-to-earth. A friendly, relatable voice on the radio. As such, she wore clothing much less flashy than expected of the guests arriving— but in all honesty, it just wasn’t her style regardless. Her cardigans were much more comfortable, her business casualwear much nicer than the jewels that adorned the people and objects about the estate.

Of course, she still looked nice. Anything less and it’d be a crime.

Short, quick steps guided her into and through the building, sparing a soft nod to anyone she’d passed on her way to the party. Her movement slowed, though, as she spotted fur from the corner of her eye. Her smile stretched wider across her face.

Mr. Vaz had already arrived, and had left his personal bodyguard just outside the ballroom. Calcis ‘Barker’.

She stepped up to the wolf in fox’s fur, tilting her wide-brimmed hat ever so slightly upwards to see past it. “Waiting for me?” She waved. “Amestrian is a very uncomfortable language,” she whispered in Fusillian with a short chuckle. Her hands clasped each other around the body of the purse. “But, surely, not as uncomfortable as you must be here!” She glanced towards the door leading inside before gesturing towards it with a nod of her head. “Shall we? You could stand to enjoy yourself! Guarding isn’t all doom and gloom; music plays for everyone that can hear.”

 
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