Fantasy The Last Judgement

[Lakyr]

James
BasiliskVeranda

Looking up he saw Rhys limping away hurriedly and a look of mild annoyance with a fragment of confusion on Nik's face. James wasn't really sure what was going on and just sat there waiting. Hearing Nik's statement and short laugh was nice, lightened his mood a bit more. "And that's all I need." a statement not fully truthful because he also needed a good night's sleep. The disinfection again was accompanied by pain, but it was much more bearable than what had happened a few minutes earlier. After that Nik did a good job patching James up, considering the scarce supplies he had to hand.

James stood up, turned towards Nik and said, "Thanks." He wasn't just thanking him for the help right now, but for the talk, the smiles, the cigarettes ... for being a friend. And already after that short of a time, this simple word wasn't enough but all he could give at the moment. Before they walked out the locker room James went to get his stuff. He picked up his machete and put it back into the makeshift sheath on his backpack, before taking that over one shoulder. Walking out he threw a last look back into the room left like a wreck. Please. Never. Again. He knew that wish wasn't about to come true, but one could still hope, right?

Coming back towards the lobby they were greeted with the horrific stench of a burning body but through that, he could also smell the scent of freshly made food. The camp was set and people were slowly coming to rest. "Man, I'm glad to call you my friend. I hope you know that. But, please, for the love of rock and roll, learn to read the room," James attention shifted towards his always grinning friend, a little confused. "Sorry, I'm tired as fuck and everything hurts, been flung across the room by some ghost bitch and had to fight a whole pack of hellhounds earlier."

 

[Epiphany]

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[/div][div class=statusText]Location: The Monmouth County Sheriff’s Office and Police Academy, Lobby
Tags: Lekiel Hell0NHighWater Anise Lakyr Kaas CupAndCough [/div][/div][div class=title]Emma Treadstone[/div][div class=text]With the bodies disposed of outside, Emma finished with a prayer for their souls before she buttoned her winter coat back up and shuffled towards the lobby of the Sheriff's Office. It was a cool, crisp day, the kind she once remembered enjoying and Emma took a moment to revel in the sharp contrast between warm coat and cold skin. It was easy to feel alone on this nearly-emptied Earth. And yet she wasn't, anymore. In part because of the miraculous sense of the divine that lay within her, a faint but steady pulse that beat like her heart, a beat that grew easier to hear over time. But also because of her new companions, maybe new friends. Lack of time and deadly situations had prevented her from getting to know most of them but that would likely change if the group wintered here.

It'd be nice to know people again. To learn names, remember habits and hobbies. To have something more than memory and the miraculous to keep her company as he wandered the world in search of purpose.

By the time she reached the doors to the Sheriff's Office, Emma was in a good mood despite the grim duty she'd just performed. Opening the barriers, she stepped in feeling cautiously hopeful for what came next. Even if the grim Salvadore bore watching. She had time on her hands, and power enough. If he proved dangerous, she could deal with him. And if there was salvation enough for him, she could deal with that too.

Then the needs of the moment interrupted.

Kaas
For passing through the doors was Adisa. The man she'd healed the other night, the one thought left and abandoned in the aftermath of that insane night. Here he was, a long distance away and still he'd found them again. With no obvious means of transportation here. How'd he manage it? Had he managed it alone?

Had Hell claimed him?

Emma rushed up and caught him by the arm, likely drawing a hissing reaction from the coiled snake with the witch doctor. But it told her what she needed to know. There was a sense of darkness that lay beneath the man's skin, but it lacked the feverish burning heat of Hell. Drawn from similar pools perhaps but not from similar natures. At least not yet. If this man was a Demon in disguise, it wasn't a Demon she'd ever seen. Emma gave Adisa an apologetic smile and gently squeezed his arm in what was hopefully a reassuring manner. "Glad to see you on your feet again. Welcome back."

CupAndCough
As she opened the door fully for him, she spotted Salvadore on his way out. With...a still smoldering corpse. What? Had she missed one? And why was it on fire?

Emma gave the older man a curious look. But didn't stop to ask questions for, in looking at him, she saw beyond him. Saw Rhys and James back, both wounded. And Reverie. Reverie unconscious.

Hell0NHighWater Anise Lakyr Lekiel
She didn't realize she'd broken into a run until she found herself immediately in front of the two men with the unconscious girl in their arms. "What happened to her?" Emma demanded and it wasn't until the words left her mouth that she realized how much her fear and worry showed. Realized how much fear and worry she actually felt. Damn. They'd only just met, same as anyone. She couldn't afford to be distracted by feelings, inappropriate feelings for the brunette. Not when their whole setup here was still in peril. Not when the health of others hung on the line.

Emma took the girl from a young man's arms, a young man she didn't know. And when her hand brushed against his, the redhead immediately frowned and looked into his eyes. "Sit down. You're next. Assuming..." Emma looked up at Rhys, who was still yelling orders and smiled. Then she glanced over at James, sized up his injuries and said "Okay, you two can wait. Don't know how much energy I'm going to have left for the first go-around, so serious cases up front. Now, hold her and don't move," Emma finished, turning back to Jayden once more.

Then she bowed her head and whispered, "Lord God Almighty, if it's your will, save this girl. I don't know how she made it this far on her own but, now that she's found us, give us more time with her. Heal her and restore her."

A moment later, white light welled out of her fingertips, like liquid sun bubbling up from a deep spring. And as her hands caressed the sides of Reverie's face, the light suffused the other woman's frame. For any watching the display, there's a sense of immense calm and a certain weight to the air, the way a crowd falls silent and stops at the sight of something spectacular but felt rather than seen. A minute later, Emma breathed and the motion of her back rising and falling was the first indicator that she hadn't been this whole time. The scratch at Reverie's neck was erased and her unconsciousness had more of the look of slumber than coma now.

And somewhere in the other woman's dreams, the lingering image of Emma's face smiled at her, pervading those dreams with a sense of gentleness, comfort and warm arms around her.

BasiliskVeranda
Spotting the nearby Nik, Emma said "Find her somewhere to rest. She needs sleep and warmth. Make sure she-" and the redhead's words rolled to a stop at the sight of the pink sunglasses on his face. Her mouth went through several other syllables but it's unlikely they're what she'd been saying before noticing, and they're inaudible either way. Finally, she shut her mouth, gave herself a slight shake and said "-Not bothered by anyone."

She stared for another long moment, thought about saying something and ultimately decided against it.

Anise
Instead, she turned to Jayden and gave him her friendliest smile. "I saw you at the store earlier but didn't get a chance to say hello. I'm Emma. Emma Treadstone. And something tells me you've been unwell for a while but you've been faking it for the sake of pulling your weight with the group, am I right?" She shook her head, causing thin strands of crimson hair to dance about her face. "Well, congratulations. You've pulled your weight. You're tough. Now you're going to sit there and take my hand."

Bundled up in her winter coat, Emma lifted one hand and once more light haloed her fingertips. This time, it was less the bright beam of a torch and more the wavering flickers of candles in a dark room. And if Jayden took her hand, once more Emma closed her eyes, murmured another prayer as her Blessed power went to work on the damage done to his body.
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[BasiliskVeranda]

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[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”[/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]



NIKLAS LIAM VOSS

[div class=speakeasy]LOCATION:xxxx HQ Foyer

OOC:xxxx gawddddddddd
TAGS:xxxx Lakyr
BGM:xxxxDAVID BOWIE / QUEEN - UNDER PRESSURE



[/div]
[/div][div class=speaks] Nik was being an asshole again. With the way Emma was staring at him, losing her breath mid-sentence, to his friend that was more or less hobbling beside him, and he—relatively unharmed in all this—he was being...an asshole.

"Sorry, I'm tired as fuck and everything hurts, been flung across the room by some ghost bitch and had to fight a whole pack of hellhounds earlier." That cut like a knife. Nik's mouth drew itself into a thin line across his face, and behind those glasses emotions flashed before his eyes. Ones that no one could see. The great thing about sunglasses was that wearing them meant, in many cases, that your expressive eyes were hidden behind a mask. And he was glad for that mask right now.

"Shit. Sorry." Nik was looking for the words to say right now, and tucked his hand into his pocket to curl his fingers around his favorite lighter as he walked with his young friend. Should he tell him what was going on? That there was a reason he was being such a shit and trying to grab some semblance of joy before his own world caved in? No, that was selfish. He was trying to curb his selfishness. Yet everything he was doing, and really had done, until now, had been...selfish.

They walked closer to the main group and Nik stood near James still, mulling something over in his mind. There was food here. The camp was set up nicely. They had done...such a good job.

Smoke billowed out from his nose and he said nothing for a few moments, then stopped James with a gentle hand, trying his best not to lay any sort of touch that might hurt him. Their fast friendship had been a blur between the pair, remarkable, in how much it fit with the past glory he had had before this time of hell on earth. History repeated itself, and this was his history, repeating itself.

Except it would not be Diana to face hellish fire and flame, and not the child within her. It would be Nik this time, he felt. But not his skin, but the soul within. He'd be cracked open like an egg, and the yolk sputtered out in the sink, to be flushed down with a torrent of boiling water. Regardless of what Rhys had told him, he didn't have a lot of faith in being 'saved'. It's not that he didn't trust the man, it's that he didn't trust the Divine. Whatever God lived on high had deemed him unworthy of being saved.

And maybe he was. Unworthy of that.

"Hey, so. I'm...I'm sorry. And, hey...well," Nik made a frustrated noise with his mouth and plucked the cigarette from between his lips. Between two lithe fingers it sat, smoke in the air, hanging heavy like the heart that was beating a bit too hard in his chest. Emotions, they were complicated. The hand that had been fiddling with the lighter in his pocket drew up, and in his palm was that same lighter. Bedazzled, obnoxious, covered in glitter, green, and cloying. Like him. Annoying, amusing...

But worth something, maybe. This...was worth something to him.

"Here, uh. Well, ...Olive made it for me. She's g—was. Well. It's...important. Please don't lose it," his usual snark and catty demeanor were replaced, with something stumbling and encumbered. He took James' hand and placed it in his warm palm, and stepped back, looking at his friend from behind the mask of those glasses. Bright, fun, exuberant, irreverent...a mask. He then pressed the cigarette to his lips. Fuck.

"I'm...God, I'm such an asshole."

Then, he broke, for just a moment, less than a few seconds. His mouth flickered in a grimace, a half-turned, frown, partially a smile, not at all happy, a crack.

It was like a crack down his entire frame, like a microsecond of a fault line bursting open. But if he kept up the heat rising in his face, the welling behind his eyes, it'd be him making it about...himself again. Frustrated, mad at himself, he composed himself almost as swiftly as the look displayed. It was gone in such a brief flicker, the matte dayglow fluorescent light that he gave off, in waves of joy, came back full-force.

This was some final slip, he thought. A shred, a piece, a brief, brief piece of respite before whatever he felt creeping in his bones, to sit, like ink, and stain. Stain everything. Paint it all black and blue, and red, and burnt, and nothing.

"Let's eat, huh?" he said with a painted on smile. But he was convincing, very convincing. He could lie his way out of a paper bag. He hoped his friend would not, actually, think more on what he had just given him. He hoped that his friend would not, actually, think on the small display he just showed in the sharpest cutting half-turned frown.

Because he wasn't quite sure he'd be able to keep up the pink and the smile and the warm and the chatter, and all the things that made him, well, him.

Nik flicked ash onto the ground and stared off at the others. As if looking at the distance between them, that he knew would grow.

[/div][/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]“The man who has a conscience suffers whilst acknowledging his sin. That is his punishment.”[/div][/div]

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[Paarthurnax]

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[div class=picbox][div class=locbox]Location:
Tags: None
Mentions: [/div][div class=name]Luíza[/div]

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[div class=hidescrollcontent][div class=contentbox]
As the frigid water dripped down the nape of Luiza’s neck, all she could think about was the events that had unfolded that day. Despite escaping without a scratch, the encounter had ripped open wounds in her mind she didn’t even know existed. There had always been lesions there, but none so prominent she couldn’t forget. Even the ever-constant voice in her head couldn’t distract her from the turmoil that now seeped into her brain.
The man the Bell witch had portrayed had been the first of many people that Luiza had killed before they turned. Vision swimming, Luiza felt her stomach churn.
“What the fu-“ The words cut short before she finished them as she fell to her knees, water cascading over her, vivid recollection flooding every one of her senses.
She was walking, the sun shining, streets crowded with people. As she walked past others, she gave them pleasant smiles and courteous nods. Making her way to a nearby tavern, Luiza flung open the door, marching in and taking her familiar spot at the bar.
The bartender gave her a hearty smile, pulling a glass from the shelf and looking pointedly at her.
“The usual?” He asked, blue eyes bright.
Luiza nodded, and he set a now-full glass in front of her.
“On the house.”
Sipping at her cocktail, Luiza surveyed the bar, lazily listening in on various conversations before she got up and left, a small tip left at the bar where she’d been sitting. Wandering back outside, she’d been on her way home until she’d heard a bloodcurdling scream echoing from the alleyway near a mini-mart. Extremely worried, she’d gone to investigate.
The alley was as alleyways tended to be in the city – dark, dirty and reeking of garbage and feces. Despite the stench though, Luiza continued, finding herself turning a corner directly into a homeless woman. Presumably, she’d been the one screaming. Initially, nothing seemed off. She was dressed in dirty baggy clothing, her grey-streaked hair frizzy and matted. Nearby, what Luiza assumed was her shopping cart was flipped over, contents strewn across the alleyway. This is what she’d been screaming about.
As Luiza started to open her mouth and ask if she’d like help picking her belongings back up, the woman started to scream again, frantically ripping off her clothes. As layers came off the hair on Luiza’s arms rose. The woman was drenched in blood, a huge chunk of her flesh having been ripped from her neck as dark blood dripped down her shirt.
She began to collapse, and Luiza rushed to catch her. Before she could get there though, something hit her.
The pain was like nothing she’d ever experienced. If she were to describe it, she’d perhaps compare it to getting hit by a semi-truck going 100 miles per hour. Feeling like every bone in her body had been shattered, she gasped for air, tumbling to the ground and trying to locate her assailant. There was no time to react, though, before fire bloomed from her chest, and her vision went black. Just like the homeless woman, she too was going to die. Bracing herself for the final blow, instead she heard nothing, just a keening noise as something fled.
She wasn’t sure how long she laid curled up on the ground feeling the life drain from her veins. With every passing moment she was getting weaker. I didn’t expect to die today.
“Help….” She called weakly, “Please, anyone.”
What seemed like hours passed as Luiza called over and over for help.
Footsteps approached.
“Shit.” A voice muttered. She felt rough hands wrench her from her position on the cold pavement to her knees. I’m going to die. The pain grew exponentially, feeling like a monster was tearing at her chest where the flames of pain now licked higher and hotter. More than anything, she wanted it to end. Sobbing, she opened her eyes but for a moment.
A young huntress held her by the shoulders, a calm, impassive look on her face. Her wallet tumbled from her pockets as she dug through them, pushing them towards the huntress. Tell my family I love them. Not looking away, the huntress swiped the wallet from the pavement, dropping it into one of her pockets before Luiza felt cold metal against her temple, and as the gunshot rang, her world went black.
Thank you.
Luiza rapidly became aware of her own shrill scream in the shower as she came back into consciousness, coughing up water as she tried to regain a grip on reality. She’d just seen her first mortal kill through his eyes. Luiza now lay exposed on the shower floor, lips blue, body rigid, trembling ever so slightly. Slowly, with one hand, she reached up to shut off the water, breathing heavily. Luiza’s whole body felt weak, and even now she could feel echoes of the man’s pain pounding through her.
In a way, though, she was grateful. His last thoughts resonated within her. Perhaps she’d done the right thing. Never mind the fact she’d never bothered to contact his family, that she’d tossed his wallet in the trash after pulling out the cash and spending it on booze. The prophet Luiza was disgusted with her former self. Another pulse of pain, and Luiza clutched her chest.
“Fuck you.” She said to no one in particular. Maybe directed towards the vengeful god that had given her this awful curse. Thinking about her past though, Luiza wasn’t sure if it was a curse or perhaps punishment for her sins. Whatever it was, she wasn’t about to praise the lord and beg for her old life back. Besides, sometimes she welcomed the humanity that becoming a prophet had given her. Shakily getting to her feet, Luiza donned a pair of old grey sweatpants she’d found laying around and some graphic tee she’d stuffed into her backpack, letting her dark hair drip water down her back. It would dry. Shuffling into the makeshift camp the others had set up, Luiza avoided eye contact as she crept along the edges of the establishment, caring not for what the others were up to. She had other things on her mind. She’d definitely need a blanket with the chills the water had given her but wasn’t about to get up and ask for one, but at this point wasn't sure if she could form a coherent sentence. Sitting against a wall, Luiza tilted her head back, closing her eyes and clenching her teeth as the phantom pain continued. Nothing hurt more than the single sharp pain that kept pushing against her temple though. Though no one was around, Luiza blindly raised a hand, then a middle finger.
One hell of a salute.
“Mhm.”
Did all prophets feel like this after a vision?
[/div][/div]

 

[Lakyr]

James
BasiliskVeranda Chise_Robin_ CupAndCough

"Shit. Sorry."
"No, it's okay. You helped." It hasn't been James ambition to make Nik feel bad or sorry, so he brushed it off and shook his head. A few seconds later he nodded towards Emma as she said she'd take care of Reverie first, he'd be mostly fine in a couple of days anyway. Looking back towards Nik he had an interesting sight, the blonde was struggling to find words with his lighter in one of his hands.

"Here, uh. Well, ...Olive made it for me. She's g—was. Well. It's...important. Please don't lose it,"
The character of his friends' voice was different than usual, laden with emotions which emphasized his words meaning, especially the name he said and the pleading in the end. Olive ... someone to ask about another day perhaps. James looked at the lighter placed in his hand, green and glittery, a little weird and very charmful in its own way, much like Nik with his pink sunglasses and almost permanent smile. "I won't." With that he closed his hand around it tightly and put it into one of his pockets, touching another object he'd almost forgotten, even though he felt like it was of importance. He made a mental note to ask one of their witches what the black crystal-like stone was later. He looked back up to Nik, who had taken a step back, and smiled. James wanted to thank him again, knowing that this present probably meant a lot, but his smoking friend raised his voice earlier. "I'm...God, I'm such an asshole." Now James didn't know what to say, looked Nik into the eyes and noticed a small shift in his expression before the man had painted a bright smile across his face again.

"Let's eat, huh?"
James chuckled and shook his head. "Goddamnit, come here you big bad asshole." With a big fat smile on his face and still chuckling he stepped towards his friend and wrapped his one good arm around him. It was a bit of an awkward hug with his other arm being in a makeshift towel sling but he didn't care, neither did he care about the short sting of pain in his bad shoulder. "Fuck, I'm glad to call you my friend too," he said in a low voice, only audible to Nik and everyone close by. As he felt like his eyes would start to water after a few moments, he detached himself from his friend again, still smiling. Just as he wanted to agree that eating was a great idea Emma asked something of Nik. "Seems like you got something to do real quick before you can eat." James turned around and looked over his shoulder, "I'll already start, you can come and join me as soon as you found her a place to rest." With that James walked off, to get some food.

It turned out someone had made stew, and it smelled delicious as he had noticed earlier. He helped himself to a bowl turned around and heard Alaska's comment about how good the stew was. So that girl from the small military group that had just casually parked next to them had cooked this. Walking by he briefly thanked the girl for the food with a small but honest smile. Then he walked towards Alaska since she was one of the few persons he felt like he knew in this group. He hadn't really talked to anyone but Nik, Alaska, a bit to Rhys and briefly to Jaemin and Emma. "Hey, what do you think about my towel sling? Fashionable, right?" he said as he sat down next to her. "You already found time to take a shower, how's the water?" And with that, he started eating his stew slowly. He appreciated the warm meal, it was a welcome change to him.

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

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[/div][div class=statusText] Location: Lobby > Locker Room
Tags: Alaska Chise_Robin_ | Em Epiphany
Mentioned: Luiza | Blondie | Rev
BGM: Losing Hold
[/div][/div][div class=title]Rhys Contiello[/div][div class=text]
Something flashed beneath the surface of his irritated expression, pausing mid-step as his gaze flickered towards Alaska. He wasn't sure what to say to that, at least not without incriminating himself. His brows knitted together, now glaring down at his boots as if they were the reason for this unfortunate realization. He huffed in exasperation before moving his gaze up once more, blue met chocolate brown and for a long second he didn't say a single thing.

"It's only because I feel as if I'm dealing with children sometimes."

He tried to crack a smile, to lessen the blow of that retort but it turned out to be more of a grimace than anything else. Nearly thirty, it wasn't like Rhys --at least in his mind-- was old enough to be donning the 'Mom' moniker. But the end of the world seemed to age people in ways far beyond their years.
He turned from the younger woman, expression a bit more pensive than what it had been before. "What happened to her?"
His azure gaze flicked toward where Jaemin was carefully laying Reverie down in the redhead's arms. He watched for a moment, enraptured with the healing glow that emanated from her fingertips. Subconsciously, he flexed his own fingers wishing that he could reach for that same power...wished that he had the ability to cure the ales of others.
Wishing was a waste of time.
His fingers fell lax at his side and he strode closer catching the tail end of the prayer whispered from blessed lips. She looked more angelic than he could ever be.
There was a silence to his soul just then, a chill that crept into his blood and brought with it that empty abyss.

"There was a Bell Witch in the locker room, Rev kicked its ugly ass straight back to hell."
He offered the explanation with a bit of a muted twitch to his lips. Rhys didn't wait for much of a response after, making a mental note of the softness to Emma's gaze before leaving her to it. His hands slipped into the pockets of his jeans, heading back in the direction of the locker room. Now that the chaos out front seemed to die down he could find some time to take care of the wound on his shoulder. The constrictive feeling of the cloth tied around his leg reminded him of aegean irises and a smolder that left him breathless. His shook his head, as if trying to dispel the image that had conjured in his mind, and continued walking. The pain that zipped up his knee was a welcome distraction and he preferred to concentrate on that than the mess inside his mind. How he was keeping his composure at this point, he wasn't exactly sure. Perhaps it had been a side effect of being blessed that gave him the ability to hold back those floodgates that were already bursting at the seems.

There hadn't been much time to process. To think. Ever since that Hell Gate had opened in New York he had been on the run constantly, helping whomever he could in the chaos. Rhys stopped walking, hovering in the hallway with his palm pressed against the wall for support.
He dry heaved.
Muscles in his neck constricting as the action of throwing up was never consummated. He remained there until the gagging stopped and then he straightened, coughing into the back of his arm as if that would help the feeling ease itself away.

He turned into the locker rooms, hearing the sound of running water and assuming that one of the girls was taking advantage of the working showers. He couldn't really see Ezra in here willingly. Then again, that guy was full of surprises. Rhys limped over towards one of the locked lockers that hadn't been rifled through. Pulling out his gun, he bashed the lock until it popped off and hit the tile with a loud clink. He returned the pistol to it's holster and opened the locker not really expecting much.

A grey workout shirt, looked to be about his size.
Some...red....gym shorts? Rhys picked them up with a quizzical look, thinking that they were female clothes for a moment...but no. They were mens. Just...shorter than he felt comfortable wearing. Rhys shoved the shorts back in and pulled the shirt out, taking a second to poke around the top shelf.

Eye contact solution. Swim goggles. A blue towel.

He pulled at the towel and almost swore as something started to roll out. His hand shot out reflexively, barely grabbing the bottle of whiskey before it crashed to the floor.
The amber liquid sloshed in the bottle, already more than half empty but at least it would be a good disinfectant. He moved to another locked locker, popping the constraints off though this time he paused in the middle, swearing that he heard what sounded like a scream. He half turned, looking towards the shower area. Nothing but the sound of running water greeted him. Then a hissed curse. It sounded like Luiza, but if she was cussing and making noises out of aggravation more than pain he assumed she was alright. Rhys went back to his locker.

He pulled out a pair of navy blue sweatpants that looked a little too big but...he'd deal. He pocked the travel sized shampoo bottle as well, not really caring that it was some kind of women's lavender hair product. If it did the job, he couldn't care less what it was labeled. Then his eyes caught the rectangular cartage under a sports bra. The pull towards that tiny little box was far too powerful for him to deny. Maybe he was weak. Or maybe his life had just been one shit show after another that he didn't care. He craved that burn in his lungs. He remembered the calm it brought, the edge it soothed, and the peace of mind it gave him while focusing on a particularly tough case.

It was his love, his comfort, his companion and consistency. Then she made him quit.

Rhys picked up the box without hesitation. He pulled out a milky white stick and placed it between his lips. The sensation was natural, almost like riding a bike, and he fumbled almost frantically for a lighter. "Fuck."
Annoyance crept into his features and he removed the tiny piece of heaven looking a little defeated. He twirled the cigarette between his fingers, mentally debating on going to ask Nik for a light.

The thought of the blond caused a frown to pull at his lips.
He stuffed the cigarette back into its cardboard cage, then set the box over by the stack of clean clothes and the bottle of whiskey.
Rhys pulled the sweatshirt off with a hiss, looking at the angry red wound on his shoulder. It would need stitches. The Axeman had gotten him fairly good.
He was quick to remove his boots and socks, welcoming the feeling of the chilled ceramic floor. Almost just as quickly, he discarded the rest of his clothes. Rhys went to the far shower and turned the faucet. The pipes moaned like a horror movie ghost before spitting out a dribble of cold water. Then that dribble became a constant stream.

Rhys stepped into the shower, bracing his muscles for the onset of a frozen attack.

His mind was in shreds; his arms braced against the wall as those floodgates finally opened. He turned the dial, old and metallic, in the vain hope for warmer water only to be met with none. The thousands of drops darkened his hair and trickled down his back. His eyes fell closed over and over, each time showing him the images he would rather forget; they were like photographs that he didn't want to keep. His mother came to mind (thanks to the bell-witch-bitch) and his father, their disapproval, their reluctance, and their ultimatum that was nothing but a sore spot at this point in his life. They were just as gone as the rest. He could let them go.
He clenched his jaw, the water flowing down his face as if masking tears.

He let out a ragged breath, leaning his head against the wall.
His shoulder sung in octaves of pain.

He didn't know how long he was in there, just breathing and thinking, but by the state of the wrinkles on his fingers it had probably been long enough. Rhys shut the water off with a final sigh, grabbing the towel he found earlier and wrapping it around his waist. He ran a hand over his head, fingers dragging past the finely cropped hairs that seemed to be getting longer with each passing day. He would have cut it. But he couldn't really find a reason to. Monica was the one who liked his hair short. It had never been for survival purposes, but perhaps it had helped on occasion.

The stubble that ran across his jawline was another issue. That would have to go. He would have loved to have a beard, but unlike some people he couldn't pull it off. Rhys pulled the sweats on in place of the towel, moving over towards one of the sinks as he grabbed his knife off the only not so broken bench. He kept the towel draped over his good shoulder, ignoring the way the air stung against his open wound. He played around with the idea of stitching it up himself...but that would be messy. He had never been very good at it.

He ran the blade under cold water, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. Rhys didn't understand why he had lived...why he hadn't been punished for the crimes he had committed, why instead he had been given this blessing he didn't deserve. He wasn't a good man. He didn't know why the others couldn't see that as plainly as he could.
He was no better than the monsters he put behind bars.

Rhys brought the blade to his jaw and started shaving with a kind of concentration that was equally unnerving as it was practiced.
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[Silent Mimic]

Lilina Ovelia
​

The girl seemed to be deep in thought as she ate her share of stew. The stew was quite fine, 'It could have used a bit more salt but it's fine. At least I have something to eat,' she thought to herself as she finished the stew. She let her hair down and her hair bands inside her bag. Her long and silky black hair almost touched the ground. She wondered if there was a water source inside the building so that she could change her outfit. She noticed that her 'special pouch' was starting to smell but this did not bother her. She explored the station to find a locker room and what seems to be a man that is currently using one of the stalls. She just ignored the man and went to another stall that was far from the stall the man was using. She saw a towel laying on one of the benches, she decided to obtain it and use it as she was entering the stall. She figured that the water may be cold, so she grabbed an 'object' in her 'special pouch', it's liquid was enough to stick to the metal to draw a sigil on. She drew one on the shower head, hoping that it will not be removed by the water. She started to get undressed, removing her red dress and black stockings to reveal her pale complexion. Her black lace bra and panty duo were revealed, they were not that bloodied but the panty had slight stains of blood from her periods. She put all her clothes at the bench and proceeded to wrap the towel around her.
Lily started to turn on the water and bathed in it. She had some soap, in which she started to apply and rub all over her body. Her hair was shining from the water. The water was slightly producing steam but the heat did not affect her. She did not feel any burns due to her rare genetic condition where she couldn't feel pain called CIPA. She began thinking on the horrible crimes that she had done when she was younger, all the murders and all the sleepless nights inside the chamber. She wondered where the witch was now but she continued to bathe in the water, hoping that she will be cleansed of her sins against humanity. She began to sing a song in a low voice that she would always remember in random times.

Hi, do you mind hearing what’s on my mind?
Only thinking of a song, please don’t laugh along
Sea train riding away along
With my tears, they’re gone, they’re gone

If you leave, lemme breathe, take it, all that you see
And I’m going on my own, you can’t stop me no!
Laugh even cry, with an SOS
And I, and you, and I

Home on a train as the tears fade away
And I dive into a sky of waves​

 

[BasiliskVeranda]

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[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”[/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]



NIKLAS LIAM VOSS

[div class=speakeasy]LOCATION:xxxx HQ Foyer

OOC:xxxx I'm not awake, this is too long, my bad.
TAGS:xxxx Lakyr Bros 4 life, Epiphany Always knows what to do, Sleeping Bad-ass Lekiel Sister Stateswoman, Chise_Robin_ Not his actual name Anise
BGM:xxxxSUNFLOWER BEAN - EASIER SAID



[/div]
[/div][div class=speaks] James had promised not to lose the important gift Nik had just given him. It was the most valuable thing on his person, save a stained and peeled away photograph he hadn't dared to even let his eyes rest upon for the past two years. That reminder was tucked in his back pocket, small, a little square, the corners peeling up and warbled from a fire, from age, from wear and tear. It would eventually fade, and perhaps after enough time—had he even any real amount of time left on this wretched earth—maybe it'd crumble into dust.

Nik nodded, and was about to pull away to enact Emma's request, that he hadn't...quite heard. He knew it had come from her lips, but the sting of what he was feeling was unbearable. A misstep. Another selfish mistake. Another chance at some kind of redemption. Another bit of care he'd have to scrape from his exhausted ribs. Reverie deserved as much, and much more than that, he felt.

She had saved all of them in a glory he didn't quite understand. For as afflicted as he was, and for all the magic that had flittered about the world like a butterfly's blue-edged wing—even before the world had broken around itself like a cracked, rotten egg—he had been insulated. As though time for him and his friends was stuck within a lovely little pocket of the past. Old tunes, old ways of living, old interests. Holding onto a simpler time.

Whatever magic his old love had swimming her veins, she had kept it to herself. Maybe she had liked being a little mystery. Maybe she hadn't wanted any of them to experience the now, but instead, live in the blissful ignorance afforded to them as artists and creatives, of artisans and comedians, as a family. So that they may be dreamers of the magic they made, not the magic that made manifest. Maybe she had been protecting them...all along.

"Goddamnit, come here you big bad asshole." James took the moment to wrap his arm around the blond in a hug, despite the way it pained him. Nik wasn't quite expecting that, and it made Nik swallow hard, deep into the throat and chest. He took that hug, and nestled into it, much like perhaps a child would. Far more vulnerable, far weaker, and far more tender than he displayed for all the rest.

"Fuck, I'm glad to call you my friend too,"
"...thank you," was all he could offer in this embrace. But his face beamed a smile in knowing that he held James in confidence. More than that, that he had someone he could care for like a brother. A real brother, he felt. In closeness he held probably a few moments longer than necessary, and parted that embrace. If he had stayed any longer, closer to the young man who had created such a schism in his usually crass, sarcastic, violently joyful disposition, he'd probably actually break in half. And that wasn't quite a good look on him, to be plain.

"Seems like you got something to do real quick before you can eat." Nik shuffled back and realized that James was correct, Emma had asked him to find Reverie a place she could rest, something warm and comfortable, a place tender to her, and soft. Away from the others, but not in any way able to be compromised in danger. He thought that'd perhaps be a miracle in and of itself, but he'd do his best.

"Yeah. Only the best for our heroine, right?" None of this held any sarcasm, just reverence. Nik dumped his backpack where he stood and made his way to the sleeping woman who had given all of herself to make sure the rest of them weren't eviscerated by that repugnant wraith, that ghastly ghoul, that witch-bitch I'm uncultured from the bowels of hell.

He scoped out the area, the eyes behind his glasses flickering over the landscape. He saw Alaska approach and gave her a small smile. She had found some comforts of the time before, and she deserved them. All of them deserved them. He wished he could turn back time, had he that power. To give them a day where they didn't feel pain, a day where they were unafraid of the horrors that hell had wrought. A time before all this.

He wasn't quite sure how he'd find something in all this, to be plain, that Reverie could nestle within and rest. But as his form scrawled across the area, keen eyes searching, hands flicking open doors and peering into them, he found a small storage closet. Someone had made it into a little nest, something night-shift workers did, or janitors, to recover when the nights were long. He knew as much, as Henry had worked night shifts often. That had probably contributed to his doofy nature, as he had always been criminally lacking in sleep.

Inside the small room, Nik rifled through the things there, and had found another treasure. He seemed to have a knack for finding the little glimmers of joy littered across their journeys, like a treasure seeker. Attracted to them, knowing them when he saw them, the value in them apparent to him. Creature comforts, but more than that, things that helped the soul. He needed something like that right about now, but he shirked that idea off. There wasn't anything like that in this world, a free pass from the Asshole on High, covered in white garments or something or other.

The most spiritual men, as the strongest, find their happiness where others would find their destruction. This...was new. This quote shot through his head like a lightning bolt, something he had read once, in a book by Nietzsche. Called, aptly, the Antichrist. Nik held the stone in his hand, and ignored the phrase. He was clearly losing his mind, or...this was how it all started.

It was a small stone, a cut of Larimar, beautiful and shaped with a groove. A worry stone, he knew them well. Diana in her new-age, new-wave hippie-dippie exploits had kept them around. Not anxious herself, she had given them out in gift baskets, even deigning to make her own, as she was an artist. An artist of form, unlike him, she had sculpted. He was the painter, she the creator of things material, in flecks and folds. Mostly human statues, many of him, many of herself, in supine standings in perfect marble. Glittered in amethyst and digs of obsidian too, they were unique, molded by immense pressure, specialized tools, and crafted from plaster castings. Those had been fun to help with.

Vaseline on the skin, then white slip and water, the bandaging of plaster applied directly. It was a...nice courting ritual. They had been lucky to even get a few done, let alone enough for shows. Distracted by each other, always, in lips and teeth and souls and I love you's.

Larimar worry stone in his pocket, Nik found a pillow of all things, a bit worn, but soft still. Downy maybe, in the fibers. He found no blankets, but he did find a cot. Low to the ground, something he could lift. Nik eked out the small cot adjacent their camp, dragging it well within eyeshot, but curled in an enclave of a partial structure. This was the best he could do. Who knew what dangers could befall them? In order for Reverie not to be bothered, it'd have been better to keep her by herself, but being alone could spell disaster.

Especially for someone who couldn't fight back right now.

Nik rushed back to his backpack and pulled out a larger towel, somewhat musty. His face flattened into muted annoyance. If he had still had his coat this wouldn't be so difficult. He let a sigh escape from his lips, and realized he'd need to do some more exploring, dropping the towel near his bag. With his knives at his sides, he made another trek, winding around areas they had explored but perhaps without as keen an eye.

Nik rummaged, as this was somehow his new skillset and perhaps new job—rummaging—and found a soft coat. It must have been worn by a fashionable person, because he recognized the brand name on the tag. And it had been hidden quite well...a rarity in the time before, and now, a verifiable swath of pure currency.

Diana would've killed for this coat...or Percival. Definitely, definitely Percy.

Winding back, he set up the low-to-the-ground cot as best he could, and situated the pillow and coat. That was absolutely the best he could do at the moment. She'd sleep and rest a lot better than the lot of them, he felt, at least.

...in the labyrinth, in hardness against themselves and others, in experiments... He ignored this pinging in his brain.

"Alright, let's set her down here. That's...the best I can do. But at least when she wakes up, she'll have a gorgeous new coat," he said to Jaemin and Emma, referencing the cot with a swift motion of his arm. It was fur-lined in russet reds, and unlike the sadomasochistic novel he knew all too well, she'd be a tender sort of Venus in Furs. He quirked a smile, and gathered Reverie away from who was tending to her. His arms burned, and not unpleasantly. The cuts a dull, ached reminder that he was still alive, and still human.

He looked down at her, his mouth painted into a flat line. They had never really gotten a chance to talk at length, just in the heat of that battle. He'd have to remedy that. If he had time...of course.

"...She looks like a painting," he said to no one in particular, placing her down with as much gentleness he had in his body. Not unlike when Olivia used to pass out at his place, and he'd have to carry her to the spare bedroom. She had been a much shorter, smaller thing than Reverie. More fragile, he felt, with very, very thin limbs. Anxiety could whittle you down, as it had his little pink light, until she felt calmer, until she had her family of friends. Then she grew strong, grew powerful, grew confident. Still, she had kept a worry stone made by Diana, just in case.

Their joy is self-conquest: asceticism becomes in them nature, need, and instinct. He ignored this too.

He stepped back, and crossed his arms, to gaze at Reverie. He'd have liked to have painted this scene. But he was all out of pigments and canvas...no brushes. What a shame. Surrounded in red furs, a bit battered but still beautiful, not for physicality—that was apparent from her form, her bone structure—but from the soul that lived within her.

Difficult tasks are a privilege to them; to play with burdens that crush others, a recreation. Ignore.

Nik let out a sigh, and rounded to start getting himself some stew. He was at the border of exhaustion and his second wind, he probably stunk, especially now that his new shirt was doppled in the blood of other people. He'd need a shower before the night was over. He didn't know if he'd get one.

Knowledge–a form of asceticism. Push aside.

"Thanks for making this," he said to whoever had been the one to make their meal for the night. He wasn't quite sure, having spaced on much of what had been going on around him. He took his bowl and a spoon and started to eat while standing. He was absolutely starving, having upchucked the meal earlier in the day because of the chain reaction Haruka had caused. Not that he blamed her at all, not in the least bit. Ungracefully, he ate, he needed this meal. He was weak, and he was tired.

They are the most venerable kind of man: that does not preclude their being the most cheerful and the kindliest. Deny.

It tasted like heaven.

[/div][/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]“The man who has a conscience suffers whilst acknowledging his sin. That is his punishment.”[/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[Chise_Robin_]

Alaska​

mentions: well.....everyone? i guess?
tags: Lakyr Hell0NHighWater Gravitational Force BasiliskVeranda
location: campsite and stew

The little things​

Velska's frown, Darius's eyes fixed with concern on his sister, the stunned grateful look on James's face as he received the badazzled green lighter which seemed to mean the world to Nik.
James's ability to lighten up every mood.

Nik's half smile as he let go of the item, as if he'd just left a piece of his soul in the young Hunter's hands, the pain that was hidden beneath that smile, as if he was trying to hold on to a long lost memory.

Emma's genuine fear for Reverie who almost gave her life to save their asses.

Grigori's fatherhood, not only to his children but the whole group, the way he and Emma commanded the camp. Stella's childishness, her immortal young soul, Ezra's mischief, Luci's innocence.

Kaeden's fear of being judged, his dismissal of his own pain in order to help Reverie, Luiza's strength, the way she held herself even after the most painful vision, Adisa's enigmatic personality, his warnings, his fire, and Rhys's leadership, his determination to keep those people alive, his resolve.



Alaska's eyes wandered from one to the other, mentally appreciating them, feeling so grateful to have each and everyone of them at that moment.
"Hey, what do you think about my towel sling? Fashionable, right?" James's voice came, cutting her silent meditations. She responded with a full smile, putting both hands around the stew bowl as she made some room for him to sit. " oh it's very fashionable! Latest design! Gucci would pay millions for it" She joked happily, shuddering as he asked about the water "It was...... refreshing to say the least. Cold showers and snow make a good combination, don't you think?" Alaska pulled the edges of the blanket tighter around her body locking her eyes on the closed window. The storm outside continued it's fury, sounds of the blowing wind coming faintly through closed doors.

It used to be fun....running in the snow, chasing cats, making snow angels, and the smell of freshly made hot chocolate and home baked cake. Smells and memories and and emotions. She smiled despite herself, feeling happy, for the first time in years. It all started in an abandoned airport, she didn't know where to go,nor what to do, going inside, following a demon, thinking it was the demon who haunted her dreams, she was wrong, and she got stuck with a bunch of strangers.......She was grateful to have been stuck with them.

Alaska discarded the head towl, hung it on a near by chair while still seated. Her hair now slightly damp smelled of baby shampoo and reached up to her upper back.

"Thanks for making this," Nik's voice came from above, she tilted her head upwards to see him digging into the stew, an empty look on his face. He looked lost..lost within his own head. Alaska reached for the ankle of his pants and tugged slightly trying to shake him out of his thoughts. ''why don't you sit with us?'' her voice came faint , a faint smile on her lips as she motioned with her other arm to the space next to her and James. Almost everyone of them came with their own heavy baggage. And even though Nik was one of the ones to cheer everyone up and make a joke out of every situation.. Even though Rhys pretended to be the mentally strongest person in the world...even though James shrugged his pain away, they too sometimes broke.

 

[CupAndCough]

[div class=wrapper][div class=box][div class="boxBg boxBgLarge"][/div][div class="boxBg boxBgTall"][/div][div class="boxBg boxBgMedium"][/div][div class=boxInner][div class=statusBox][div class=characterPortrait]

[/div][div class=statusText]
Location:
Police HQ Foyer
Tags:
Mentions:

Companions:
Darius (Following Grigori)
Velska (Inside)

[div class=magical]

STAT SCREEN

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[/div]
[/div][/div][div class=title]SALVADORE GRIGORI[/div][div class=text]

Frigid maelstrom winds attempted to slice through the battle-hardened flesh of the antideist. His eyes locked open as vision, of his own making, wrestled and locked his near-permanent state of alert. Memories of old dead filled him with corroded festerings of settle feelings. Nostalgia is a word perhaps beyond his ken, but for this scene he was stuck verily within the thoughts of a life long dead...

Siberia. Winter months, He had forgotten the year long ago--however it was of little importance. The smell of wet iron, it's taste. The stench of open entrails and bowels, and the weight of returning them to the corpse once called their home. His team was long dead, their corpses--dead things that had no ken. Had no consciousness. They still called in some strange insubstantial wails which beat their souls against the oppressive Siberian winds. These corpses. These dead, dead things...Once Grigori bore apathy for them, or perhaps now to these mimics of flesh and saccharine lies, he bore antipathy. Hate for the dead.

Where do the dead things go? Where do they receive their punishment for being but only lies to the spirit that left it? Grigori learned, he was not satisfied..

With these new winds that ripped open the shallow snow-laden graves he dug so long ago, it reminded him of how long that passed. Of his resolve. Snapping his eyes towards the revenant bodies, with such a pull of voracious memories he saw them. He saw Velska's mother. He say their agony in lands governed by bestial fallen angels and disgusting demons. Unpunished by man, it was his own kin. Tormented by demon things. Dead things in exchange of demon wretches.

The memories fade. Never forgotten, always clawing back. Grigori would enjoy the old harrowing past tomorrow. The thousands of dead the other. The hundred men and women tortured, they would not see freedom.

The wails would continue.

---​

Returning from the venture outside Grigori watched as the group enjoyed the calm. For even if they knew or not, the smell of blood cloyed against his nostrils, further into the station laid something. What? He would not care to guess. Revenants however signed something much more powerful lurking in the depths. Something deserving to be killed. Stepping over debris and fallen structures he marched towards the locker room. How long has it been since he enjoyed a shower, a true shower? Perhaps it will be scarce. The imposing brawn of a man rubbed his shoulders...how unfortunate it would be if it were not.

As the man's combat boots crushed dust and paper beneath a heel--a peculiar sight arose. Red hair. Fair face. Witch.

WANTED: EMMA TREADSTONE


3 counts of first degree murder, 121 counts of felony murder, 12 counts of first degree arson

TERRORIST, ARONIST, MURDERER.

​

Grigori let forth a small, "Hmph!" as he snatched the worn poster. The bodies that woman laid to rest perhaps would worry any normal man, but for Grigori--who's gaze shot forth from the corner of his eye, his body aburptly alert, peered at Ms. Treadstone.

Somewhere in his minds laid machinations and plots, this woman was a demon in times of men--but now? What uses she could favor for the militant survivor, Salvadore Grigori?
[ Epiphany ]

___​

Velska's pale face became flushed with red. Her forward demeanor of aggression slowly chipped away as the sight of respite born of her food and quiet times. Velska would never admit to total strangers, but she was joyous.

She snorted as Alaska chided Ezra, perhaps much to her surprise the male she sat next to (forcibly) was older than her. Perhaps it was youth or genetics, but she looked to the boy as if he was no older than her brother, Darius. She somewhat laughed, and became fidgety as the kind older woman assailed her with a compliment.

"T-thanks.", Velska muttered as the toll of such sincerity passed through her frigidness. She had much to learn in stalwart emotional resistence from her father, but a childish embarassment overcame her.
She looked to Ezra, "Whether I mean it or not, I have to say it: I'm sorry. My father scolded me enough on it--Actions take precedent over words. I don't have to be kind, but I will understsnd despite your....Affliction....you are still Man, my father taught us that we aren't ineffable dead or alone. Through our flesh, through collective will, we can kill demons. Bring back our world. Keep an idiot God in his Heaven, a wretch of a Devil in Hell--And keep Man back to his Earth. Kindness or not. You are human, and slay vermin. It is good enough for me to realize your worth.". Her honest word was spoken, much less she could do. Grigori would not have minded it this way, perhaps preferred it. It wasn't a profound apology, but it was an olive branch of anything.

As she settled the proclaiming of her food being delicious was somewhat appreciative--warming--however she knew she had to sleep, returning tp a bed mat and falling into slumber.
[ Chise_Robin_ , Gravitational Force ]

___​

Darius watched as his younger sister became a group favorite. Shebwas abrasive, guarded, and naturally shy--however there was so much good in her. Compassionate and kind when needed, loyal and unwavering to her morals. Able to fight with tears in her eyes and not sob in a corner. He lived a life a child soldier, his sister was a survivalist. She fought because she wished to continue. To continue living with Grigori and him. To enjoy the moments handed to her. He loved his sister, the pale ball of annoyance and father-mimicry she was and all.

Darius watched as more ate, it was a bit different for him to view this world with the eyes of his father. Men and Women werr alive and well, all that really mattered to him, all that possibly did matter to humanity.

He watched as Luiza came round the bend, she was intimidating, it reminded him of the soldier types he met on the Air Force Base. However something about her reminded him of his father. An unease, a sense of knowing what was unright with the world. She was a woman who needed some warm stew more than anything.
He grabbrd a bowl and filled it with a hefty amount of gruel, sure to capture the hearty bits. The young adult sauntered over to the woman, a middle finger salute.

"You know I've seen Air Force, Marine, and hell even African warlords salute--but I have never see that one., Darius was a different type of charismatic that what his father specialized in, he was earnest and friendly. A kind face among the dead., "You should eat. You might not know it, but I read your face like a book--says something along the lines of 'Fuck Everything'. My Dad, The Major, he's like you. The...look."

From his arm he lifted towards her a bowl of stew. An oasis among the dead. A hand in comradery, an olive branch.

He looked at her with a smirk. He was a tall young man, Mosin-Nagant strapped to his back, his dark complexion was a mix of Caucasian and African. A slight twinge in his accent denoted a worldly origin, but the English he fluently spoke showed a keen tongue and long time with the language. Darius looked to Luiza, shaking the bowl a tiny bit. A joking tantalizing gesture....

[ Paarthurnax ]

___​

Grigori entered the shower room, his coat under his arm. A white dress shirt showed. His form was that of a brawny and imposing sight, muscle and fat clearly measured and accounted for maximum survivalist intentions. He hadn't garned much in the lieu of fat, but it was like looking at a modern interpretation of Hercules. Brawny, Imposing. Power.

He ignored Rhys for the moment as he undressed. Removing his shirt, revealing a story onto itself..

His skin was an inked tapestry of holy symbols, occultic circles and seals, crosses, the holy triumvirate. And sprawled inbetween these symbols were writings. Arabic, Russian, Latin, Greek, Jewish, And even some strange forgotten scripts. However for this memorial of worship etched in skin was not alone.

Wounds, Scars, Flagellations, Stab marks, Bullet impacts. Some rended the symbols into blasphemous defiance and heretical revocations. If there was a god roaming Earth, they would find no hope with him. Marks of war, of conflict, of the viciousness of murderers and violators. Magical impacts long since healed.

But ever so below his neck was a symbol, a hunter's mark--clearly a representation, however it held a dire symbol. A gouge mark, self inflicted. A memento of a battle long past.

Grigori laid his clothes out, wrapping a towel around his underwear, "Good evening Mr. Contiello, Your strike team fared rather well. No one died." He spoke, his voice was different. A warming dark. Not the cold before it. It was a respectful and almost congratulatory voice. A fatherly and kind one. It sought to deviate Rhys attention away from himself, and towards the speaker. Grigori stood at the adjacent mirror and sink, scanning hus scar and eyes. Adjusting the burly neck. Checking for beard growth. His eyed had already caught the wound from Axeman, but he could not justify what tore the flesh from the man.

"I would not be sure I would have survived that it seems. Given your... diverse company.", Grigori's warming dark flowed, "Tell me, what kind of horror did you see here?".

[ Hell0NHighWater ]
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[Kaas]

[class=Notes] //So this is an older code that I tried to fix up to look nicer// //Forward slashes are comments // //and do no show up in the final design,// //these are to help you find everything easily// //and explain some code as well // //These comments must be with in a class or script tags// // in order to be hidden, from what I know. // //Long URls are images// //# followed by letter and numbers are Hex codes// //or color codes// //this code does not show breaks unless is shows the
code. // // when typing responses to rps, be aware that when you press ente// // it will not show that you did. you'll have to use the
tags// [/class]

[class=Notes] //The background image// [/class]

[class=Notes] //the image in the cirlce and the border// [/class]
[class=Notes] //Below is the purple box and the content meant for tags// [/class]

BGM: Electro Swing
Located: Police HQ
Mentioned: Hell0NHighWater

code by AgWordSmith

[class=Notes] //the transparent with background and the border and below is the text// [/class]
Epiphany Making his way Inside, Adisa dropped the ripped and torn coat he had been wearing to keep the slicing cold slightly at bay to the floor in dramatic fashion. He pulled out his cane and Masego eagerly curled around his master's neck. Around the man's waist hung the head of a vampire, who's head was perfectly preserved by the wintery cold. The Witch Doctor looked around the Police HQ and pursed his lips. This would never do, such a dreary place as it is. He needs to spruce things up. He was caught off guard by the ginger who grabbed at his arm. He could feel her fear his lips curled into a smile as he realized what she was feeling for. "Oh, don't worry yourself. Can you feel them too? The friends I've made through the years? Wish they would leave me alone sometimes." He mused with a howling laugh afterward.
"You guys really need to figure out how to make a place feel like home." The Prophet chuckled as he planted his staff in the ground with a soft tap. As he drew his hand back it stood tall and unwavering. The man removed a pair of wrappings around his hands and rubbed them together as if he warming them up. As he rubbed, sparks began to fly out and off of his hands Gradually they picked up speed in how many were being made until it looked like the man was grinding metal between his palms. With a swift motion, he let them loose and each of his hands lit up like sparklers for kids. He laughed and chuckled as Masego slithered down onto the floor and hissed merrily. The entire station darkened for a little too long for comfort, the sparks stopped flying from Adisa's hands. But he only giggled to himself with a beaming smile. "It's showtime ladies and gentleman!"
The room shot to life as fireworks burst from out of Adisa's sleeves. Each one was made of neon colours, each a work of art. They wormed through the headquarters and burst in varying spots. The room lit up with a dark purple light, illuminating everything with black light. The Witch Doctor's mask shone a brilliant lime green and Masego was decorated in fantastic patterns of African design. The snake seemed to slither and jump around in a comical sense as the fireworks burst. When each of the entertaining explosives burst, a skeletal figure corresponding with the fireworks colour burst out. They were dressed in a variety of suits, dress shirts, cocktail dresses, and all manners of swing era fashion. A Brilliant orange one strode before Adisa with a band of skeletons behind him. The two tipped hats and without a word, the band began to play away. The ceiling lit up like the night sky with all varieties of stars visible from above. Adisa's familiar laugh filled the foyer as they scene grew ever more colourful. A skeleton took to the main desk and began to make drinks for the patrons, both living and dead. Streaks of colour danced and curled around the group of survivors no matter where they were. A few skeletons in chefs hats opened the doors from the closet and made their way to the food. They shook their heads and immediatebly began to adjust the ingredients they had into something spectacular.
The witch doctor threw his hat onto his cane and couldn't help but dance to the music. His movements were surprisingly fluid, strong, and graceful for his age. He reached out his hands and ribbons of light flew out and wrapped around the various survivors near him and drew them into the dance floor where they began to be swept up by the company of skeletons that now filled the building. Adisa chuckled and laughed along until he felt something. Something... Pure. Something to help those in need. His face changed and he picked up his snake, cane, and hat and set off to find it.
Lakyr It didn't take him long to find James in the lobby and he smiled when he found him. He tipped his hat and bowed. "Adisa Imamu, James I presume? I think you've got something, and I've got one too." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny Warding of Affliction and smiled at James. "Do you know what this is? It's a Ward of sorts. Helps clean out the bad juju from Afflicted like Nik. Keeps them from being lost. Where'd you pick up yours?" He asked while raising his brow and waiting for the boys story.

 

[Paarthurnax]

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[div class=picbox][div class=locbox]Location:

Tags: None

Mentions: CupAndCough [/div][div class=name]Luíza[/div]



[/div]

[div class=hidescrollcontent][div class=contentbox]
As the pain faded, only the phantom touch of a gun to her temple resided, a mere reminder of the action she’d done years ago. Luiza hoped this wasn’t permanent. Uncurling herself as the tremors reverberating across her body subsided, she let out a long sigh. With it came an unexpected release of tension, thick cords of muscle relaxing as she sunk into the wall.
"You know I've seen Air Force, Marine, and hell even African warlords salute--but I have never seen that one. You should eat. You might not know it, but I read your face like a book--says something along the lines of 'Fuck Everything'. My Dad, The Major, he's like you. The...look."
Luiza almost jumped at the sound of a young man’s voice, looking up at him with enigmatic russet eyes. First impressions were a bitch. Was she really that transparent? Transparency had never been her thing, but then again Luiza's face was always indicative of apathy. The brief thought of standing up crossed her mind before the tapping against her skull reminded her she should probably stay sitting. Adjusting herself so she sat criss-crossed, Luiza hesitated briefly before accepting the bowl of soup, giving Darius an appreciative nod before slurping some of the hot broth hungrily. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d eaten. After quickly downing much of the broth, she sat the bowl beside her, the heat of the broth licking at the cold that had seeped into her core.
“It’s the kind of salute I gave monsters before I severed their heads from their bodies.” Luiza cracked a slight smile. “I don’t believe I’ve met your dad yet but things have been a shit show since I turned up in New Jersey. Honestly I'm not sure I know half the people here.”
Was a shit show long before that, the voice chimed in. Looking into the young man’s eyes she decided that replying to the voice was a way to alienate herself even more from the “average person”. Plucking a chunk of potato from the bowl of stew, Luiza munched it with a contemplative look on her face before sticking out a hand.
“I’m Luiza. Thanks for the soup.” And then a real, genuine smile. Something she hadn’t done in what felt like eons, and it felt good. It was as if a release of all the pent-up negative emotions that had been roiling in her soul. She’d always thought it was bullshit when someone told her that if she smiled a bit more, she’d be happier. But after smiling for the first time in forever, Luiza now wondered if those thoughts had a grain of truth. It wasn’t like the new Luiza to be pleasant or happy. She’d been a dark spot of hatred, self-loathing and angst from the moment she’d become a prophet.
Perhaps there was hope for her yet.
[/div][/div]

 

[JustAki]

Haruka
​

Silly arguments. Haruka hated that. Haruka winced with every word that came out from the mouth of the two.
'Man...this shouldn't have gone worse if I step in' She thought, looking at the two as they were being scolded by Grigori.

"Hello..." Haruka said, eyes closed and hands rubbing her nape. Laughing nervously, Haruka opened her eyes, revealing a pair of sharp eyes. "I really like the stew you made" she said to the girl sitting next to the man with yellow eyes. 'Such wonderful eyes, Those eyes. The same eyes like everyone but different in every way.
Hard yet soft. Insane yet sane '

"The names Haruka and you two are?" She said, smiling brightly as she sat down across them. Haruka then grabbed her bowl of stew and started to eat it. "So good..." she said, smiling sadly at the bowl of stew. 'it's been a long time since I ate cooked meals.'


"She's nine years younger than you! Can you please be mature about this?"
A beautiful woman with chestnut brown hair and light brown eyes said. "Hmm" Haruka hummed, agreeing with what the woman said and continued to eat her food. Sip, sip, sip. Haruka continued to eat it until it was gone.

So peaceful ​

 

[Lakyr]

James
BasiliskVeranda Chise_Robin_ Kaas

Alaska's joked remarks made him laugh short but merrily. Thinking about the freezing winds and snow outside and a cold shower made him appreciate his meal even more and he lingered on the warm and cozy feeling it gave him. "It's the best combination, but I think I'll wait for it until tomorrow, now that Nik has just patched me up this nicely." With that, he focused on eating for a moment and grew quiet. In his thoughts, he relived the short past time with this group of people. The things all of them have already gone through. He knew it had left him tired and hurt, and it showed, even though he did his best not to and to stay cheerful, but the others had to be exhausted too. "Hey, uh, how do-" the rest of his sentence got lost as he looked towards Alaska and noticed the change in her appearance, "Oh, you cut your hair?" His face quickly changed from surprised into a genuine smile again. "Looks great."

James found himself lost looking at her with a smile on his face for a few more moments before he remembered what he wanted to ask her previously. "So, what I wanted to ask, how do you feel after all that has happened. It's been a lot since we were at the airport." Maybe there was a vague tone of concern his voice, but mostly he sounded interested and tired. He continued eating in the time she could take to respond and was mildly upset as he already finished his bowl. Shouldn't have eaten so greedily. James stood up as Alaska asked Nik to join them and gave his words of agreement, "Yeah, join us Nik. I'll just go get another bowl, it's quite good."

After only a few steps James' eyes locked onto the recently back from the dead, giggling witch doctor. "It's showtime ladies and gentleman!" With the man's words, the police station's grim lobby turned into the stage for a magical light show. Startled he took a step back, taking in the enormous change in scenery, the bright colors and the all in all astonishing visuals in front of him. James backed up a few more steps now watching a skeletal band playing music and Adisa starting to dance. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this situation and stood outside the event a little bit, watching it with interested and not just a hint of awe.

"Adisa Imamu, James I presume? I think you've got something, and I've got one too."
He barely noticed the man before he already stood in front of James and started talking. His own hand immediately reached into his pocket for the weird stone, he closed his hand around it tightly and felt Nik's lighter in there too, which cast a faint smile onto his face. Questions shot into James' head, when did he hear my name, how does he know about it, and of course how did he survive and find us again, but that last question has already been in his mind since he first saw the witch doctor again. He wanted to raise his voice and ask, but Adisa had gotten him by surprise and continued talking quickly. A warding that helps the afflicted? James' eyes shot over towards Nik, who wasn't close enough to hear the conversation in the current bustle. "How do you know ... A warding, how does it work?" he didn't give Adisa the time to answer, realizing that the man had asked a question first, "Well, it ... I killed a hellhound. Its heart crumbled away in my hand and that ... warding ... was left." He looked up into Adisa's eyes, waiting for him to speak again.

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

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[/div][div class=statusText] Location: Locker Room
Tags: Grigs CupAndCough
Mentioned: The Crew
BGM: Hurt
[/div][/div][div class=title]Rhys Contiello[/div][div class=text]
Black stubble rained onto the white porcelain. Each stroke of the blade against his skin made the speckles more dense and some tumbled to the linoleum. Normally he wasn't good with knives --Monica used to put guards on the kitchen knives because he would cut himself so often-- but the lack of a razor had caused him to improvise. After two years of almost hacking his own skin off, he had gotten comfortable enough to use the hunting knife to shave. He still nicked himself, but at least it was better than the uncomfortable feeling of a patchy beard on his face.

"Good evening Mr. Contiello, Your strike team fared rather well. No one died."

The blade slipped against his jaw, blood pebbling against his sun-kissed skin. Rhys wiped it away with his thumb, turning to look at the man who had addressed him so formally. A normally imposing man, Grigs was even more intimidating without a shirt. Azure orbs tracked over the scars and tattoos dispassionately before resuming his haphazard act of shaving. He watched the older man move out of the corner of his eye, the mirror before him was cracked and dirty but it was clear enough to see out of. He methodically rinsed the blade under the frigid water that sputtered from the facet.

"Strike team? They aren't soldiers, Grigori. They're just civilians in a survival situation."

The detective turned his head towards the prophet, lips pressed into a thin line. He had known men like Grigori from before, confident, methodical, and far too observant for their own good. They had made good cops, even better detectives, and in the case of the man beside him, soldiers. But that wasn't the world they were living in anymore. The game had changed. Rules that mattered then no longer mattered now. That didn't mean that he was going to start treating everyone in the group as a subordinate. They were still human, still capable of emotions and error and durability. But those people, although warriors in their own right, they were not trained like Grigori or Rhys. This wasteland had been their teacher instead of some instructor at boot camp or a police academy.

He picked up the knife again and set the edge against his skin. He moved slow, his hand as steady as he could possibly make it.
"I would not be sure I would have survived that it seems. Given your... diverse company." Rhys snorted, a low sound from the back of his throat. He could hear the insult weaved in with honeyed words and a baritone voice. People used to lie to him for a living. He had gotten so used to looking past the pleasantries that even now he found sugar-coating things difficult. Nicholas, his partner, had always been better at words than he was. Even in the worse situations that sonnova bitch could settle a dispute with a few smooth phrases. Rhys had envied him for it. Nick had always said it came with experience and a cool head, both of which Rhys lacked. As a rookie he was a very 'shoot first, ask questions later' type. It lead to many arguments and a huge learning curve. But they had been a damn good team.

Rhys felt himself slow, thoughts dragging off towards the darker recesses of his mind. Wondering what it would have been like if Nick hadn't taken the stand that day...if only he hadn't shown. Rhys swallowed the lump in his throat, his own eyes reflecting those blasted emotions back at him.
"Tell me, what kind of horror did you see here?"

The knife clattered to the floor. Blood welled up across his palm where the sharpened edge had slipped through his hand. Crimson dotted the porcelain and dripped against the tile. A dark red against white. Copper scented the air and Rhys did his best to ignore the wet sensation as he let his hand go limp at his side.
He couldn't feel the pain.
His good hand gripped the edge of the sink so hard his fingers turned white. Azure orbs darkening as they glared into the mirror.
It was an innocent question. Curious. Or at least that's what Grigori presented it as.

It would be a sweltering day in heaven before he spilled his guts out to Salvadore Grigori.

He was seventeen at the time. Hopelessly in love, and every bit the fool. Growing up in the upper-class had it's difficulties, his parents were never home and he spent most of his time with his Grandfather. He had brought him home one weekend for a family dinner, hoping to introduce his boyfriend to his family. It...hadn't gone as he had expected. His parents cast him out, stripped him of his inheritance, and told him that once he had cured himself of his 'satanic' urges he would be allowed back into the family.

His boyfriend broke up with him two weeks later.
They weren't pleasant memories. Rhys hadn't thought much on them in a long time, preferring to bury the pain than face what it had done to him.
But now it was like digging a knife back into a wound that never healed properly. The Bell Witch had resurfaced things he didn't want to dwell on...
Now he had this uber-soldier asking him questions about it like he were asking someone what they thought of the weather.

Rhys remained quiet, staring at the floor as his blood splattered against it.

Hopefully, the message was clear.

God, he needed a cigarette.

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[CupAndCough]

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[/div][div class=statusText]
Location:
Police HQ Foyer
Tags:
Mentions:

Companions:
Darius (Following Grigori)
Velska (Inside)

[div class=magical]

STAT SCREEN

「 S T R 」
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「 D E X 」
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「 C O N 」
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「 I N T 」
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「 W I L L 」
◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈
「 A G L」
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「 C H R 」
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[/div]
[/div][/div][div class=title]SALVADORE GRIGORI[/div][div class=text]

Darius reeled back from the strong, the peerless, eye that glanced toward him in response. They were new, a different color than he was used to, that twinge of crimson among the rich browns. For a moment his charismatic collapsed into a slight blushing of his ears. Grigori would have strung him up by his toes for such an amazingly obvious reaction. Weak, verily so. As she accepted the bowl a slight pocket of air was held in his lungs -- almost as if lost for air. He however noticed her jump ever so slightly, on edge? Maybe. Lost in thought? Perhaps. It reminded him of how his father received visions and his ruminations upon them. Such contemplation.
"Heh, yeah--You give off a much more capable vibe than most around here..", he stammered his charisma not entirely gone, but now painted with a hue of flustered young adult. "Well you can meet me.." Darius patted his chest jokingly. Her smile, oh god that smile felt like it shot a bullet through his defenses. If his lungs felt out, this defintely hit the spinal cord. He could barely feel much in the way of his legs.

Despite the girl being way to damn pretty for her own good, Darius continued trying to ease the overall mood, "Darius Grigori, just call me Darius.". He had a puffed up his chest to clown an arrogant look of himself. Taking the joke out of the immense tension the groups had.

"My dad though? He's protective, especially in here--new people and all. He's a good man, believe me. He may not look like boy scout, but he is willing to protect everyone, be believes in humanity's ability to reclaim our home..." The young man dwelled on the deep sense of admiration for the father who protected him so, the sense of love was strong. However he clearly was trying to ease the tension, it seemed as if he hated the sense of unwellness that hosted itself between them.

He smiled back at her, Darius was often seen as the warmth within his group. It was apparent even here as a not-so-deliberate curvature of his lips eminated some kind of hearth. Of comradery. Of care.

He began to nervously chuckle, despite that the muscle memory for direct eye contact has so powerful over his flustered state he never broke it. He talked to people. Not at them, to them.

"Luiza..", he said trying to commit the name to memory, "It's a pretty name. I'll remember it, I meet lots of folks. Lots of name heard, gotta feeling I should remember yours. Haha! Sorry, didn't think that sounded so dorky aloud! Enjoy the meal, Luiza--Night..". He spoke. Half pondering. Jovial and amicable to a fault. Then in a strange moment of cheer and festivity Adisa's light show arrived, dazzling and such a spectacular array of lights. Like fireworks, fate was really cruel to a young man. 18 years old and not a single real partner, and here he comes getting flustered at some girl, no not some girl, THE only girl that was named Luiza that mattered in this moment. Young hearts are peculiar little things. The young man had left, breath slowly coming back, legs now his own again, and a name committed to memory. He signed off, a salute--a joking one, lacking the single middle finger.

Darius retired to sleep, blanket over his lap and holding his sister's head upon lap. Mosin-Nagant at ready.

[ Paarthurnax ]

___​

Sanguine red. The smell of it on the air. But a drop and it drew him. With those dark eyes he peered at the soul beside him, a dot of blood leaking from his body. Such a small reaction, subtle movements wrote richer novels than most authors who dared pick up a pen. Was he truly fearless? Fear was no fair-weathered friend within these times, it allowed for untold of movements and actions. Fear nestled in the hearts of men. Every. Single. One. African Warlords. Bloodthirsty Witches. Murderers. Terrorists. Assassins. Soldiers.

All had fear, for if one were to remove it...what would be the value in a life?

From the scanning of scars so passionless to the retort of: "They are civilians in a survival situation." Grigori's demeanor. His presence felt as if he was pawing at the young man's existence. A panther, darker than ebon-night in the cover of dark, strolled into the showers. Playing with whatever caught it's eye.
Rhys's reactions were palpable, easily displayed to a creature such as Salvadore Grigori. The dark aura, warmth of cold, seemed to invoke no difference in reaction to the younger male however. Distrust. Dividing. Deeming Grigori something of a dangerous and powerful enemy. Half truth, who knows? Perhaps even Rhys could see into the future?
The constant mistakes with the edge humored the cult leader. Not often does he find amusement so far from rallying disciples, but within this moment...it was nostalgic from days of old. Days when he was in enemy lines, as if speaking to a rebel leader. Acting stalwart and powerful, perhaps even was, but so susceptible to such ease of words.
The threat seen within these walls did genuinely interest him, nonetheless the trickle of trauma gushed a bit harder than blood a razor's wound....

"Civilians? Rather odd choice of words. The way I see it.... " Grigori walked to his folder clothes, taking forth a combat knife. Grigori held it such familiarity, such comfort. It was as there was ko discernible difference between him and blade. Returning to the mirror he began to cleanly finesse and shave his sheer jaw. Clean, sharp, effortless

It was as if he had no fear in the razor sharp blade to skin. Casual and impassionate. Almost mockingly so.

"Once this world ended it became two sets of humans. Those who wished to survive in the hellscape and could not, praying for release.." Grigori grandly finished his trim, "And those who wanted it back. Wanted them gone. Survival was a fact, not a goal." Grigori held his knife by the blade, and with a flick of skilled wrist, it pierced through metal lockers behind the soldier. "They want Revenge. Civilians don't exist anymore, survivors or reclaimers--not a side, these are the standards of our lives now".

As he watched Rhys walk away, his back didplaying no desire to speak--To which Grigori had no care for--an inquiry shot forth.

"Tell me, did you not find it strange that despite the lock on the door both a group of vermin (referring to revenants), a beast that needs constant sustaining,, and a foul witch gained access, how do you suppose they were let in a facility where you need identification to enter?" Grigori questioned the ex-detective, his whole body now shifted. Arms crossed with almost an inquisitor's judgment, eyes directly upon the man.

"Simply put...Detective, who do you think let them in?"....The air grew stale, vacant, unnerving...

[ Hell0NHighWater ]


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[/class] [class=whut] background: #fff;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #fff; text-align: center; width:28%; margin: 0 auto; float:left; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #140033; text-align: center; font-size:10px; background: #fafafa; padding:30px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #fff;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”[/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]



NIKLAS LIAM VOSS

[div class=speakeasy]LOCATION:xxxx HQ Foyer

OOC:xxxx chillin, eatin the soups.
TAGS:xxxxThe State Nik calls Home | Chise_Robin_ Brother From Another Mother Lakyr
BGM:xxxxSHERYL CROW - ALL I WANNA DO



[/div]
[/div][div class=speaks] ''Why don't you sit with us?''
"Yeah, join us Nik. I'll just go get another bowl, it's quite good."
There came a tug on his pants, and he followed that tug down to sit, unceremoniously and ungracefully, yet somehow without spilling a drop of his stew. Nik had the skill of tempo, was fleet of foot, and able to run and weave faster than the lot of them. For reasons that had nothing to do with the end of the world, and everything to do with protecting himself in less than great neighborhoods sprawled out in New York Proper. With the added onslaught of demonic prowess, the skill had only become more finely honed, and with the additional threat of death at every corner, it became an art.

When he used it correctly, of course.

Instead of plopping down like an obnoxious little shit, unwilling to let go of both his food and cigarette.

Nik took the cigarette that was still dimly glowing, stuck between his two fingers, and ashed it out on the bottom of his shoe. He managed that much, then brought the bowl of soup back firmly in his grasp, and started huffing down more of the delicious food he had been given. It was a real meal, a home cooked meal.

Out on the streets, wandering from encampment to encampment, sleeping in dark cellars or holed up in claustrophobic attics, he didn't have many ingredients to make great meals. Nik had never really stuck along long enough to find what he needed. Other travelers he had met up with, he had promptly left, as most of them were far worse than any of the demons and evil beasts that stalked this land. He dealt those ones swift, delicious justice—the ones with sticky fingers and hungry mouths. Indiscriminate with their sins, and yet somehow he was the one cursed by hell.

Talk about a celestial kick in the nuts.

There was one food he was particularly good at making: omelettes. Henry had loved them, and when they were in college the moron would just plain forget to eat sometimes, though he had been blazed most days and most nights. Stuck staring at a holographic display, sports or some other inane entertainment, forgetting to eat.

The majority of men prefer delusion to truth. It soothes. It is easy to grasp. He tried to ignore this one, but it was a buzzing in the back of his mind like a locust, needling away up his spine.

As they had been roommates, Nik made him meals like some kind of dutiful househusband. They'd sit not unlike he was now sitting beside Alaska and James. They'd watch some beautiful thing on the display, not unlike Adisa was giving them now. Bright lights, something fanciful. Nik enjoyed the show but he did worry about what it would attract.

That worry fettered away when he cast his gaze to his home state, and looked at her face. The little laugh lines there, her face painted in the thrumming lights illuminating her into more artistry.

He hadn't missed the conversations between his two allies. He had just been staring out into space, thinking about time, distance, how long he had left here, where the others were going, and all assortments of existential quandaries racing through his blood at ten million miles per second.

But he certainly hadn't missed James' comment about her hair. He hadn't missed the look. Nik took his sunglasses off and hooked them on the neckline of his newly found, newly destroyed baby-blue shirt. He quirked a strong brow and his eyes met Alaska's own, as James stepped away to get more stew.

"He's a good look on you," he said behind his spoon, licking it clean with a clever glint in his eye, his smile yet again razor sharp. Nik hadn't misspoke, he had said exactly what he wanted to say, and was smiling about it, his grin was infectious. But a bit off this time around, as the incessant prattling of some old book he had taken a shining to was a distraction. He would've loved it if it had petered away like his little watercolored apparition, but that didn't seem to be happening.

Above all, it fits more snugly than the truth into a universe of false appearances—of complex and irrational phenomena, defectively grasped.

"Gotta' find some joy in all this hell," He licked his spoon again and seemed to be thinking as he ate, gazing at the others, watching people speak. His dark blue gaze turned back to Alaska and he smiled, something warm, something gentle and reassuring, something familial and earnest.

The most common sort of lie is that by which a man deceives himself: the deception of others is a relatively rare offense.

Nik wanted to tell her. He wanted to let the words spill from his throat like a jugular gouge flooding out across his skin, the words flowing free like his million-eyed blood, but he couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it. Not to her, not to the young man he had befriended. He had told their fearless leader, surely. That oddly easily flustered Detective that the blond was drawn to like a moth to a holy flame.

But that was because he had to know. He...Nik looked at Alaska's face again and then back at his bowl of stew. He didn't need to take away a moment like this.

When the centre of gravity of life is placed, not in life itself, but in “the beyond”—in nothingness—then one has taken away its centre of gravity altogether.

Having trouble finding his words, which was a rare trait for the blond to possess, he simply leaned closer to his favorite state and let her speak, if she wanted to. If she had asked him something, he'd reply. If she wanted to talk, or just sit and eat, or anything of the sort, he'd be here. To keep his trap shut for the first time in forever, and just let someone else leave their souls a little lighter for having sat beside him.

He could do this for her, and would do this for her, until he couldn't any longer.

[/div][/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]“The man who has a conscience suffers whilst acknowledging his sin. That is his punishment.”[/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[Chise_Robin_]

Alaska​

tags: Lakyr BasiliskVeranda
location: campsite and small talk and blushing

Her smile never left her lips as she touched her hair lightly. She thanked James genuinely telling him that it felt better this way. The hunter's question came a bit surprising, she shrugged in response: ''I'm ok......i guess...I just feel grateful for all of these crazy people you know?'' her eyes shown with happiness.

Nik now sat beside her, the same empty look on his face, digging nto the stew. She took another sip....tomatoes, splendid taste. ''He's a good look on you'' the tomato got stuck in her throat, fighting to swollow it, heat rose to her cheeks. ''huh'' then a cough ''ahm....uhhh..ummm it's not like that!'' Alaska pouted trying to hide a smile as she stared at her spoon silently. It wasn't like that between her and James.. at least not yet. She never felt comfortable going in a relationship. To all of her guy friends, she was the go to advice girl, not the girlfriend, and she was kinda used to it..She smiled at the thought of James, sneaking a look to the hunter who was now talking with their resident witch doctor as the room danced with lights.

Honey colored eyes now turned to the older afflicted, who now leaned closer to her, looking exhausted...not just physically exhausted. A soft smile played on her lips as she guided her fingures through his blond hair: ''My brother had the same hair color'' She trailed off, trying to break the silence. She was happy, and remembering Alexander now, bringing him back from the dead felt like a good idea somehow: '' He was a great cook! too protective of the people he love.....Always got the sexy boyfriends'' She chuckled at the thought '' You remind me of him'' rolling her eyes at the word she went on: ''It's wierd...Missing a dead person, you know?....You're certain of their permenant absence, yet some fucked up part of you still searches for them at every corner.'' her smile now turned bitter. She remembered the thing he said about dead fiances, and didn't want to open his already fresh wounds should he not want to.

The lights danced around them, reminding her of the importance of being cheerful, she watched the neon colors happily stating out of nowhere that she wanted to paint her hair a mix of pink and turquois

 

[Lekiel]

Moje Swiatło - My Light

Location: Somewhere in the station.| Interacting with: A Fur Coat | Mentions: Epiphany Anise And whoever else is nearby | Current Do: Hair tied in ponytail, Black zipper anorak over White tank top, Jeans, Black Converse.

❖ ❖​

"Vhere are you goink?"

She opened her eyes to the sound of childlike inquisitiveness. The land was a brilliant white as it seemed more oft to be every cycle of the season. Flakes of soft down, pure and untainted, drifted lazily to add to the powdery drifts that crunched beneath the sole of her fur boots. She looked to the muted grey skies, and then to the surrounding spindly clutches of trees, protruding from the land like the skeletal grasp of some long-buried giant. She had been born in a land of eternal winter, had lived there for nearly a decade of her life only to return to the primeval forests of which her line had been sworn custodians. The Galloway woodlands while old, did not bear with it the same weight of history that was the result of roots that clung to ancient hallowed ground. But it was still untouched. Pristine. And it reminded her of the home that she had willingly given up.

"Mama! Vhere are you goink?" The small voice sounded again, a tinge of exasperation creeping in its lilted inflections. She looked down to the diminutive figure by her side, to the intense gaze of hazel hues and finely sculptured planes dotted with freckles stained pink from the cold. It was like looking in a mirror through time back at herself. The beginnings of a frown creased the child's forehead at her continued vow of silence followed by a slight puffing of cheeks. She smiled, but her reflection did not mirror her.

"I am not goink anyvhere moje swiatło, vwat are you talkink about?" She let out a silvery peel of amusement, dismissing her daughter. But the child only looked all the more confused.

"I heard you mama! Last night vwen you vere talkink with pap-" The child's eyes suddenly went wide, and she covered her mouth with her tiny hands in an exaggerated motion of having realized she'd said something she shouldn't have.

"Last night?! Zat is past your bedtime Anielica! I have told you many times, sleep is important. Remember how you vere always fallink sik?" Her voice took on a stern edge, but her anger was feigned. She could never be truly angry, never to her. The girl cast her eyes to the snowy ground, biting on her lower lip from the chastise.

"I-I'm not sik anymore..." Relief flooded her heart to hear her daughter say that, even now. It was surreal, she had been so lost. It made the sacrifice worth it. Or was it?. "I saw it again mama... zat's why I couldn't sleep." Her heart stopped. Again?

"But you tol' me its jast in my head, so I told it to go away, and then, and then I voke up so I was tursty and zhen I head Papa..-" She was rambling on, seemingly oblivious to the impact her earlier declaration had made on her mother. She crouched down and fussed with the girl's winter coat, brushing at her fringe and smoothening her hair.

"Zat's okay... You can stop now Anielica-"

"Vwai vos Papa shouting? You said you must go somevhere, and zhen Pap-" Her lips drew a thin line, and the young girl ever perceptive, immediately stopped her tattle.

"I'm not goink anyvhere..." She reiterated, reaching to gently hold her daughter's chin so she could look into her own eyes. It was a poignant moment, one that she'd never fully realize the depth of which it stuck to Reverie's consciousness. "Besides... if I'm goink somevhere, you're comink with me!" She offered a gleaming smile and leaned forward to press their foreheads together. They were close now, the wispy puffs of their breath in the subzero air mixing in a cloud of vapor. She'd give anything for her.

"Promise?" The young brunette reached out a stubby finger in a feigned attempt to poke her eye. She closed her eyelids as she often did in their little mother-daughter play acting. Then she gently took her daughter's hands in her own.

"I prom-" She didn't finish her oath. The look of sheer terror on her daughter's face was like a cold knife in her nape. Hazel eyes stared wide even as her small frame stiffened and she began quivering uncontrollably. Then her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she was met with sightless whites. Panic welled up from within, threatening to constrict her throat.

"ANIELICA!" She embraced her daughter, and even through the thick layers of clothing, it was like hugging a chunk of ice. "ANIELICA VAKE UP!" A warm golden light began to envelop the two as she began the whisperings of an incantation, but it faltered as she suddenly felt a presence behind her. She picked her daughter up in her arms and whirled around in one swift motion, protective motherly instinct in overdrive. Woe to those that came in between a mother and her child!

She saw the flaming locks. The pale alabaster skin and sapphire eyes. A stranger. Her heart was thudding in her chest, senses extended to probe at the sudden appearance of the unwelcome intruder.

"Who are you!? Vhat do you wa-?"

Reignite.

The woman smiled. And then she felt a spark within. A rekindled flame that pushed back against the growing void. The whites of the surrounding land grew harsher. Brighter. She had to squint against the glare.

Wake up... Wake up...... Wake up...

She was staring at a cloudless grey sky. She blinked. Eyelids heavy, lashes tangled as if she'd been crying. She blinked again. It slowly came into focus. No, not the sky. A drab grey ceiling. Where was she? What was she doing? She heard voices. They echoed in the recesses of her returning consciousness, hollow, like whispers down a deserted hallway. She was covered with something warm and heavy. She tried moving her limbs. She couldn't feel them. It was confusing. She could barely tell what position she was in. Then she felt a crackle of electricity up her arms, as the jolt washed the numbness away to be replaced by prickling sensation. She felt terribly tired. And hungry. But it was a hunger unlike any other. As if all her bowels had been taken out of her belly leaving a cold empty void. She shifted her head. It was hard. Her neck was so stiff she was afraid moving it might snap her vertebrae. But she managed it. She was lying in a cot of sorts, a vermillion fur coat covered her. A permeating smell of burnt meat and something that made her stomach rumble. Silhouettes of people to her side. Her vision swam.

Disorientation.

Then it all came back to her. The locker room. The attack. The Bell Witch. She had been tossed around like a ragdoll. She felt the cuts on her face, though she didn't realize the wounds had closed. She was... there was a golden light. She'd done something. She remembered the awestruck wonder. Then... she glanced back to her supine position.

NO! She didn't need this! Someone had saved her. Why hadn't they just left her to be!? She didn't want to owe anyone anything. The darkness had welcomed her. She couldn't accept this! It would start all over again. She would drain all of them dry, and leave their dried up husks to rot. It was Desmond all over again. People were meant to be selfish. To look after their own personal gain! How else would anyone survive?! They were fools for wasting themselves on her. It all came to her at once, clouding her mind. Overwhelming her.

Reverie began to struggle. She had to leave them. It was her fault it had come this far. Kicking against the swathes of fabric, she staggered unsteadily to her feet, though before she could even take a step, her legs buckled. She flung out a weakened arm, catching herself against a wall but her arm too buckled and she collapsed to her knees, head bumping against the hard stone. Dizziness rocked her vision and she shut her eyes, breathing in ragged gasps. She heard more voices, louder this time. Her throat was arid. As if she had not a drop of water in years.

She opened her eyes again, vision watery. She tried to speak, to call out, but no sound came out.

OOC: I suppose I better write something before I lag too far behind! Sorry if the writing's kinda disjointed, I just tried to stitch together random messy bits of thought.

code by Ri.a

 

[BasiliskVeranda]

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[/class] [class=whut] background: #fff;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #fff; text-align: center; width:28%; margin: 0 auto; float:left; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #140033; text-align: center; font-size:10px; background: #fafafa; padding:30px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:65%; background: #fff;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”[/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]



NIKLAS LIAM VOSS

[div class=speakeasy]LOCATION:xxxx HQ Foyer

OOC:xxxx chillin, eatin the soups.
TAGS:xxxxThe State Nik calls Home | Chise_Robin_
BGM:xxxxTHE WALLFLOWERS - ONE HEADLIGHT



[/div]
[/div][div class=speaks] Alaska choked on her words, and then promptly choked on her food when Nik had thrown out his little quip about James and her. He was very good at slinking small phrases into the creased spaces of life. Whether it be diving a piece of hot white metal in between a fault line, to bring someone's whole world crashing down, or just sliding a smear of gold pocked slip in a vase that needed a bit of love. The words got the job done.

He had grown that skill, along with the fleetness of foot, and artistry of the blade, for protection. But it could also soothe, cajole, rile and place a bit of embarrassment, in the best possible ways, of course. He liked using his talents for that instead. Not to hurt, but to warm, in jaunts of laughter or the embarrassed flood of color over his home state's face.

''ahm....uhhh..ummm it's not like that!''
"Maybe not," But you're painted in that truth, he didn't say the words, but with a grin. Nik smirked behind his spoon as Alaska stared at her's. This warmed him. To know that he'd get a bit of this glimmer and glow, something like a primrose yellow cast between the two of them, against the dark blue around them. He needed that glow, so he could stay together, until it was time to pull apart like spun silk, fraying as he peeled away. So that his darkened hands wouldn't rifle through bodies like they had through the lockers.

Because he could feel it, he craved it, he hated it, and it hurt like a lush, well-wanted bruise. Right in the back of his skull, like a black flame turned liquid, prickling at the cracks in his soul.

Then he found her fingers in his hair and his smile spread, the doppling of black against his soul shuttering, because she was being so very kind and affectionate. Nik was a very warm sort to the people he cared about. Between the familial tenderness between James and Alaska, he had gotten more warmth and primrose glimmers of affection in the past day than in the entirety of the past two years. The Witch in Queens was a short-lived sort, and it wasn't...like this. Not this platonic care, that was such a rare, rare thing to have.

He wanted to keep it to himself, and for forever.

'My brother had the same hair color''
"Alexander...right?" Nik hadn't forgotten, he had kept the name tucked away. The blond put his bowl down on the ground before him, and raised his arm to wrap it around Alaska's shoulder, holding her gently. As if they were just two childhood friends sharing a dark night with warm food, staring off at the scenery, speaking about the past like second-nature, reliving old memories.
"He was a great cook! Too protective of the people he loved.....Always got the sexy boyfriends.'' Nik erupted into a short cackle at her last sentence, his grin hurting his cheeks.
"Well, I can't cook anything but omelettes really...and, yeah. I'd bust heads for everyone here," Nik said from a bemused mouth, his grin never shifting, even though his spine prickled with tiny currents. Like black-light, halogenic ball bearings, trying to cripple the soul that held fast. The soul that Alaska was pinning down, in the pinks of her cheeks, her words, her familialty, her closeness, in the yellow tones of some new bright friendship that felt old, and good, and important.

"He seemed like a great guy. Probably luckier in love than me, though," Nik said, dragging his teeth over his lower lip as he thought on that very distinct fact, mind mulling across their group to think on one particular Detective that was—actually—pricklier than a cactus, to throw back an old joke his way, by way of absent-minded rumination.

''It's wierd...Missing a dead person, you know?....You're certain of their permenant absense, yet some fucked up part of you still searches for them at every corner.''
"They're like a wound. Some...certain people. Well," Nik hesitated for a moment, and removed his arm from Alaska's shoulder to pick up his cigarette from the ground. He fumbled through his backpack, which he had since dragged a bit closer, and found his new lighter. Not half as impressive, or nearly one thousandth as important, but it'd do.

He lit the cigarette up, drew up his knees so that he rested his elbows on them, and smoked. It was quiet, yet still the golden light across his face danced, as he tried to think about how to articulate...anything.

"You had a brother. Family....I...had a fiance. Diana...gorgeous brunette, more obnoxious than me. Kid on the way, and a whole troupe of friends ready to help raise her. I try very hard not to let it wear me down, even if it colors everything, like a wash of ink." He paused and put his cigarette between his lips to sup the smoke free, it rolled through his lungs, he held it, then exhaled. The cigarette's embers brought oranges and crimson-fired yellows to lick at his features, as the light was not so bright as to dull the cacophony of colors that cancer stick created.

"You remind me of her, sometimes. The kindness. But, also...there was. Well, a littler one. Olive. Sounds fuckin' stupid, but she was like a sister..."

He couldn't talk about this anymore, and so he didn't, and instead chose to let the spoke spiral into the air as he smiled. A brave, brave mask, that.

"Look at me, babbling on like a fuckin' moron. Say, tell me more about your past. Mine can't possibly be that interesting, it's all a bunch of trauma wrapped in glitter set to some insane Billy Idol tracks," he said with a smirk.

[/div][/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]“The man who has a conscience suffers whilst acknowledging his sin. That is his punishment.”[/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[Paarthurnax]

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[div class=picbox][div class=locbox]Location:

Tags: None

Mentions: CupAndCough [/div][div class=name]Luíza[/div]



[/div]

[div class=hidescrollcontent][div class=contentbox]
Luíza had to stifle a laugh as Darius introduced himself, lips drawn into a thin line as she so very clearly tried to conceal her amusement. It wasn't that the young man was laughable, but more so that eliciting such a response from someone was a thought that had been foreign to her.
Darius Grigori.
Looking at him, with his chest rediculously puffed out, Luíza couldn't help but let out a chirp of laughter. She scrutinized him with curious eyes, arching an eyebrow as she did so. Darius was not so similar to the stony-faced killers Luíza had once spent the majority of her time with. As he spoke about his father, Darius's words were the lesser of Luiza's interest, her dark eyes instead focused on his lips as he spoke. He had a peculiar accent, and furrowing her brow, Luíza tried to pinpoint where such a unique manner of speech originated from. Finding no answer within the recesses of her brain, Luíza found herself staring blankly at the young man before she shook herself out of the stupor she'd put herself in.
Way to go champ, you're really putting on a confident front, the snarky voice in her head chimed in. It was a constant annoyance, and from the moment Darius had walked up it had been trying to offer her less-than-helpful advice in the most obnoxious way possible.
"I can appreciate that. I'm not exactly a 'sunshine and rainbows' kind of person anyway... Perhaps he and I might get along." Luíza nodded entirely too enthusiastically, likely destroying any semblance of respect for herself. Moments of silence hung in the air before Darius smiled again warming the space between them. Luíza would kill for a smile like that.
Would she?
While charismatic in her "Golden Days", she hadn't vied for a glow that could light up a room. In fact she'd been quite indifferent to the effects her presence brought to others, but now Luíza felt herself wishing to have such a pull on people. For but a moment, a brief twinge of jealousy shot through her, a sour look flickering on her face. The thought was forgotten quickly as Darius chuckled nervously, pulling another unanticipated smile to Luiza's lips. Such pleasant emotions were unfamiliar to the young woman, their presence perhaps an unexpected perk or prophetism or maybe just a result of Luiza's first genuine interaction with another human being since isolating herself.
"Luiza... It's a pretty name. I'll remember it, I meet lots of folks. Lots of name heard, gotta feeling I should remember yours. Haha! Sorry, didn't think that sounded so dorky aloud! Enjoy the meal, Luiza--Night..."
When Darius repeated her name, heat rose to Luíza's cheeks, the voice chastising her again for her transparency. Awkward had never really been her thing, but then again since losing the only thing she loved, Luíza had been broody and distant. It was no wonder her ability to bullshit her way though life had waned.
"I'll remember your name too." As if she could forget. Even now the voice in her head taunted her with his name. As he gave her a salute not quite her own, dark eyes trailed the young man, to where he lay, filled with longing and curiosity. Darius was definitely someone Luíza wanted to be around. If not for the camaraderie of friendship, then for the warm glow of acceptance and infectious happiness he'd given her.
The only thing was that to be accepted, she had the quell the voice in her head.
Tearing her gaze from him, Luíza let the heavy drag of weariness pull her to a makeshift bed that no one had claimed, curling up beneath a pathetic excuse of a blanket. It was threadbare, with more holes than fabric but it would do, and Luíza bemusedly drew parallels with the blanket to her own life.
Blankets and existential crisis, she thought, what a mess I am.
Eyes fluttering shut, Luíza slumbered.
[/div][/div]

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

[div class=wrapper][div class=box][div class="boxBg boxBgLarge"][/div][div class="boxBg boxBgTall"][/div][div class="boxBg boxBgMedium"][/div][div class=boxInner][div class=statusBox][div class=characterPortrait]

[/div][div class=statusText] Location: Locker Room > Lobby > Outside
Tags: Grigs CupAndCough | Blondie BasiliskVeranda
Mentioned: The Crew
BGM: Who you talkin' to man
[/div][/div][div class=title]Rhys Contiello[/div][div class=text]
White knuckles from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent, his hunched form exuded an animosity that was like acid - burning, slicing, potent. When he turned at last to face the elder man there was no trace of tears, no trace of the melancholy that had haunted him, not in his eyes or in track marks on his reddening face. His eyes were narrowed, rigid, cold, hard. In that moment he was already so far away that he couldn't have seen reason even if it hit him smack in the face.

He wanted to be left alone.
There was no part of this conversation that he wanted to partake in.
Rhys watched as the ex-soldier flung his knife clear into the lockers were it lodged deep into the metal with a sickening shhhhink.

It was like a vexing of the soul, the feeling that coursed through him was not human, it was twisted and distorted but it was something strong. It burned cold, a glacier fire lacing his veins and creeping up his spine, his tattoos flickered between a luminescent white and their original onyx. All he could feel in that moment was desire; desire to put his fist right through this man's face. He was intoxicated with emotion, something that had not happened in such a long time that it took him by storm. He had had no intention of ever feeling this way again, the acidity of it was residing in his stomach waiting to be spat out the mouth in foul and vulgar words. By some miracle he held his tongue, not really listening to the words being spoken at him.

The blood dripping down his palm felt cool to the touch and the pain that came with it was enough of a focal point to keep him from lashing out.

"Simply put...Detective, who do you think let them in?"
"I think we're done here."

The sentence was more of a struggle than it should have been. Rhys needed to remove himself from the situation before he did something stupid. Turning from the sink, he didn't even bother to pick up his knife as he headed out of the locker room--bare foot and bare chested. Water still trickled down his body, a frigid reminder that he hadn't finished drying off completely. But he was beyond caring. At least the sweat pants that clung to his hips provided some sort of warmth. His feet made a slight squeaking sound as he marched into the main lobby. Blue eyes blazing in an ethereal light, almost like the holy fire that yielded to his command.

His eyes darted around the room before resting on what he was looking for. Without removing his gaze nor paying any sort of attention to the rest of the group, he stomped over to the blonde with only the barest hint of a limp. His jaw was still clenched, tattoos having their own type of light show as they flickered from black to white. He held out a bloodied hand, not even looking at the crimson as it dropped onto the top of his foot.

"Can I borrow your lighter?"
It was less of a question and more of a demand but he had the decency left to know not to snatch it without asking. He pulled the damaged pack of cigarettes out of the pockets of his sweats at the same time, fishing out two silky white sticks. He exchanged the box for the lighter, placing a cigarette between his lips. A tremor shot through his hand, one that he obviously couldn't hide as the cigarette ignited. The breath he drew in was like he hadn't breathed in years. Smoke blew from his nose with a practiced exhale and he handed the lighter back without another word.

The interaction only lasted a couple seconds before he was moving again. He headed out the main door, sucking on the fragile stick like it was the only thing keeping him from tipping over the edge. He headed out into the tundra, azure orbs staring up to the sky as the snow fell in a whirlwind of motion. It was a blizzard in its purest form and the detective walked into it without looking back. The door shut behind him with an echoing click and finally, finally, he could breathe.

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[Chise_Robin_]

Alaska​

tags: A real brother doesn't have to be related to you by blood BasiliskVeranda
location: campsite and small talk and blushing

His arm around her shoulder held so much affection, friendly, brotherly affection that she missed so much. She nuzzled closer. He smelled like sweat and blood despite his new shirt, he smelled alive. She chuckled when he mentioned his omelettes, nodding when he said that her brother seemed like a nice guy....He was....

The image of him possessed by the demon flashed by her memory like lightening, she shook it away almost immidiately shuddering slightly.

''"They're like a wound. Some...certain people. Well," his response to her empty response made her turn her eyes up, looking at him with a frown. He pulled away, brought his cigarette to his mouth and sat in such a position, as if he was trying to protect his heart from running away. Alaska sat up, folding her arms in her lap, eyes tracing the smoke.

''"You had a brother. Family....I...had a fiance. Diana...gorgeous brunette, more obnoxious than me. Kid on the way, and a whole troupe of friends ready to help raise her. I try very hard not to let it wear me down, even if it colors everything, like a wash of ink. You remind me of her, sometimes. The kindness. But, also...there was. Well, a littler one. Olive. Sounds fuckin' stupid, but she was like a sister..."
" She nodded slowly, trying not to lock eyes with him.

At certain times, when one gets really frightened, or when news come like a shock, their heart feels as if it had skipped a beat. That was exactly how Alaska felt when Nik mentioned his unborn child, she pictured a family of three, A woman with brown locks walking in front, followed by the blond who held the tiny hand of a little girl with auburn pig tales, holding a cone of ice cream and walking like a little pinguin in diapers and a yellow dress.

She didn't even know if they'd look like that, her imagination went away, and she could feel the burning in her eyes, his voice came again cutting the silence: ''"Look at me, babbling on like a fuckin' moron. Say, tell me more about your past. Mine can't possibly be that interesting, it's all a bunch of trauma wrapped in glitter set to some insane Billy Idol tracks," To that she laughed whole heartedly and stretched her arms above her head: ''Oh i had the best childhood ever!'' She started, ever so cheerful: '' ''Killing vampires right and left! and training, and drinking too much coffee!....Oh, speaking of coffee!'' Reaching for her bag she got the bottle of cold coffee she'd brewed in the grocery store and took a sip.

She appretiated all of this, talking felt good, and she felt like she trusted him. It's very rare to optain this kind of friendship in the apocalypse, to feel something so pure. Alaska smiled to herself, looking towards the witch doctor and the young hunter again, wondering what they talked about.

Wind from outside made her hug herself tightly, her eyes wandered to the door, she saw Rhys's back heading outside and looked at Nik inquisitively shrugging. She had known Rhys to be the quiet type, he seemed angry, but she didn't want to disturb his peace.

 

[BasiliskVeranda]

[class=biggie] width: 100%; max-width:1200px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; clear:both; font-size:12px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; background: #fff;
[/class] [class=whut] background: #fff;[/class] [class=handsomedevil] background: #fff; text-align: center; width:22%; margin: 0 auto; float:left; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speakeasy] letter-spacing: 3px; word-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: solid 10px #140033; text-align: center; font-size:10px; background: #fafafa; padding:30px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] padding:15px; text-align: left; float:right; width:70%; background: #fff;[/class]
[div class=whut]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]
“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”[/div]

[div class=handsomedevil]

NIKLAS LIAM VOSS

[div class=speakeasy]LOCATION:xxxx HQ Foyer

OOC:xxxx dooop beeep boop
TAGS:xxxxThe State Nik calls Home Chise_Robin_ | Reese's Pieces Hell0NHighWater
BGM:xxxxBEN LEE - FLOAT ON



[/div]
[/div][div class=speaks] Alaska had listened to his words spill forth like a quickening stream, and he could see the wheels turning in her head out of the corner of his deep blue gaze. His story had struck something in her, something he didn't want to dig around in too much right now. His bones were tired, his skin was tired. His soul was tired. Save it for another day, he thought. As if that day was guaranteed, when he knew it wasn't. Certainly not in his case, or in any of their's for that matter. But in this, he felt the ticking in his skull, and he knew that perhaps that other day was a wasted promise.

One he really, really couldn't keep.

'Oh i had the best childhood ever! Killing vampires right and left! and training, and drinking too much coffee!....Oh, speaking of coffee!'' Her responses, exuberant, light, and full of comedy, sent a smile whisking its way across his face. Nik relinquished himself to let his legs rest, almost sitting cross-legged but far, far less graceful than all that, and watched her drink her small few sips of heaven. His own heaven licked into the air, and over the side of his face, and he idled, about to ask her more specifically on all that business with the vampires and the training.

Just as two friends sharing some memories. Nik had been relatively cloistered from that type of life, and it fascinated him. But she, too, was a fascination. Maintaining her warmth and soft edges, despite being so powerful. It was a rare feat, and he knew it. People abandon humanity along the wayside when their lives become about surviving and not, well, truly living.

"Ala—"
"Can I borrow your lighter?" Nik's dark blue gaze traveled for the briefest of moments over their fearless leader's form, in rivers of white and black ink, spiraling up his pulse. A fraction of a nanosecond over the blood he had on him. Trailing on how dark his gaze was, how his hand shook when Nik gave him the lighter, struck up the flame, sucked in the nicotine and tar and little death, and then he was given his lighter back, and the man was gone.

Nik narrowed his eyes, and swung his head behind him to follow Rhys with his gaze as he exited the building. Then he swung his head back to where Rhys had just come from, and his look darkened in shades of ever more prominent confusion. Then followed annoyance, then concern, and again, confusion.

Their fearless leader could take care of himself, but that didn't mean his expression and continence hadn't run a shot of silver up the blond's spine. It was like a goddamn bolt of rage and tempered restraint in human form, turned up to eleven. Whatever had incited him had very nearly drawn something to the surface of that man, the white light in its holy glory—and not for a fucking rave party, that's for sure.

"...Reese's Pieces is going to freeze his nuts off," he said to Alaska, concern in his voice, but the curl of a smile playing on his face. The smoke kissed his features, and he managed to shuffle to the floor to lay on it, cigarette between his fingers, head propped up with his bag.

"What is it with you people and going into blizzards half nak—you know what? Nevermind." That was the end of his scrawl, he had halted it himself with a sound of mild irritation, a smile still quirking the edge of his mouth. Cigarette between his lips again, he inhaled, exhaled, and stared out from where Rhys had left.

He really was going to freeze to death if he stayed outside for too long. Nik made smoke rings, and counted the moments before he'd make a bolt to bring the bastard inside, and hoped that time wouldn't come, because if Rhys was pissed enough to be wearing that look, it was best to steer clear—he felt.

[/div][/div]
[div class=biggie]
[div class=speakeasy]“The man who has a conscience suffers whilst acknowledging his sin. That is his punishment.”[/div][/div]

[/div]

 

[GuavaJuiceXI]

Luci

He...Couldn't find the showers. Luci was pretty upset, just on the fact he couldn't find them by himself. He can't remember the last time he's used a shower. Even back at the monastery, they didn't have showers, they had a large tub room. He started to get frustrated. He wanted to ask someone, but he was getting flustered just thinking about asking someone. He was starting to get...nervous with this many woman walking around him. Of course he wasn't gynophobic, nor misogynistic, but.. sometimes..unfavorable memories pop up. Luci slumps up against a wall with his hand on his face. How did something as trivial as trying to find a shower dig up those horrible memories? He could...smell the flesh..his flesh burning. A single tear wells up in his eye