Announcements: Introducing INK, the Writer's Currency » RPG's New Design Team » Now Open: RPG Staff Applications » 10 Years of RPG: Share Your Story » Can't Send PMs? Need Your 10-Forum Posts NOW? » A (Friendly) Reminder to All Romance RPers. » The Newbie's Guide to RolePlayGateway: Read This First! »

Open
Please Scroll Past

Please Scroll Past

I'm a newbie so this is a little bit of experimental stuff. If this annoys you then I'm going to kill it when I get the hang of something... though it shouldn't annoy you if you ignore it. Ignore me...

692 readers have visited this universe since CabbageAngel created it.
Topics: characters, confusion, new, and original (Add Tags »)
Requires Approval: Yes

You can…

Introduction

Image
Image


Welcome to a world where zombies are no more than pesky rats. They invade your house, eat all the food, tear up your garden, turn your neighbours and pee everywhere. Zombies never used to be a problem in the small country town of Eastapple and it wasn't until lately that zombies became a frequent occurance. These zombies are not as bloodthirsty as you'd expect - it appears that all they are looking for is a good boogie with a side quest of world domination. Seriously.

They spend their time partying at night and slinking away during the day, chasing after the living to bite them, eating anything remotely edible and, well, they have the sex drive of rabbits. In small numbers, zombies can be easily dealt with, but, thanks to the local Warlock (who is also an alien) an outbreak occurred. Soon the children of Eastapple found themselves waking up to all adults in the town turned to partying, garden-destroying zombies and trapped behind a magical barrier.

Now, only a small number are left; the gardening club of Eastapple Junior High and the Exterminators from Eastapple Senior High School. The gardening club is primarily focused on keeping their food source, the school vegetable gardens, alive and some are so passionate they value their tomatoes over their own lives. The Exterminators are a group that are determined to wipe out the entire zombie population, despite there probably being a cure. But both groups share a similar goal ... to find that Warlock, kick his ass and end the "apocalypse" once and for all...

... and grow the most amazing vegetables in time for the Eastapple Produce Fair. Yes, even the Exterminators.

Image
You may have already noticed, but these zombies are based off the zombies from The Sims. Here's some more information about the zombies.

1. So, these zombies are going to be sensitive to sound just like any other.
2. They're also slow walkers, not these new fast zombies.
3. They dance whenever a radio is turned on near them.
4. They constantly hit on one another and can lust over people that aren't turned, so watch out.
5. They can be turned back, but only by the Warlock himself.
6. They don't like being ignored but will not attack you if you pretend to not notice them. They start to question their own existence if people do not notice them - yes, they are that stupid.
7. They have a soft spot for small children and may let you live if you're kawaii enough.

Image

I'm going to give each character an archetype to make sure that they don't end up too similar, which they often do. Just incorporate the trait/stereotype into your character - but you can be creative with it! Like, make them a complete failure of the stereotype they're supposed to be, or make it their persona/true personality. The characters should all be 12-15 for the gardening club and 15-18 for the Exterminators.

Image

Character 1: The hero/heroine. Also the leader. // OPEN

Character 2: The stoic. The younger sibling of the leader (can be younger than 12). // OPEN

Character 3: The angel. // OPEN

Character 4: The crazy. // OPEN

Character 5: The asshole. // OPEN

Character 6: The airhead. // OPEN

Image

Character 7: The badass. Also the leader. // OPEN

Character 8: The genius. // OPEN

Character 9: The sloth. // OPEN

Character 10: That one optimistic guy. // OPEN

Rules

1. I like having anime FCs. So, only anime FCs!
2. I'd like everyone to post between every 1-2 weeks, and if your can't, then tell us in the

View All »Available Characters

These characters are currently marked as available. Why don't you consider viewing their profiles and making a decision on whether or not you can roleplay them accurately?

Reviews

There haven't been any official reviews of this roleplay yet!

Add New »Show All »Characters

Character Portrait: Character draft - Abrigail Dawson A Type I patient at HOPE-01 - WIP(?)
Character Portrait: Haruna Uchido Well her name was gonna be Helena but everyone else is doing Japanese names :(
Character Portrait: A character I'd really like to make... ... Except don't have a personality and RP for her...
Character Portrait: Character Draft = Brier Rose "Oh never mind me, I'm just the girl who's been dead for the last million years. Not like I'd know anything." - Silly Brie, exaggerate much?
Character Portrait: TVC draft A draft for the roleplay The Vengeance Club I hope to make!
Character Portrait: TVC character skeleton heheheheheheheh
Character Portrait: Elias Grace//Cosmos "Um, I make space! No, it's not as stupid as it sounds... it's a lot more stupid and even more dangerous."
Character Portrait: Rasha Ramone "Before your prejudice takes hold, I'll have you know that not all of my race are nasty, backstabbing fiends that cannot be trusted... I just happen to be one of the many!"

View All »Available Characters

These poor, unfortunate souls were once a part of this great world, but have been abandoned. Why don't you consider viewing their profiles and making a decision on whether or not you can roleplay them accurately?


View All »Places in Please Scroll Past

Form Room

Form Room by CabbageAngel

AKA Main Lobby

Class

Class by CabbageAngel

LeArNiNg!!

The Game

The Game by CabbageAngel

You may view it as fiction and fabricated, but for us it's a reality! >:(

World 1

World 1 by CabbageAngel

MOD = Dr_Empen

World 2

World 2 by CabbageAngel

MOD = Syntax Error

Create New »View All »Groups

There are no groups in this roleplay!

View All »Arcs

Arcs are bundles of posts that you can organize on your own. They're useful for telling a story that might span long periods of time or space.

There are no arcs in this roleplay.

View All »Quests

There are no quests in this roleplay.

Events

Soon™.

Reply to this roleplay »Activity


Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image


Image

As Franklin bounced down the echoing halls of the castle, he knew from toe to tip that he was the luckiest person alive. A child from the streets of Eskye suddenly whipped up and cradled in the arms of the palace of princes? It felt as though he had seduced Lady Fate and made her his bedfellow - but he knew that wasn't it. No winning grin or flip of his hair had taken him from the bottom to so close to the top he could taste the power in the air, and it especially wasn't fate.

Yes, he was the luckiest person alive. Frankie grinned as he gave a friendly wave to the castle staff he passed by, that thought fresh in his mind. Who else had experienced the world like him? He was lucky to have survived Eskye, to have been small and bony enough to curl up into the tightest spaces, to be dirty enough to disguise his features from the preying eyes of Lords. He was lucky to have been desperate enough, lucky to not be snatched up like so many others and not be sold as a slave, or worse, as food. He was so lucky to have sailed away, to have experienced life on the sea, to have emptied his stomach over the edge and stared off into the endless blue ocean with a smile, patiently waiting for the day the sun would rise on land. And he was so, so, so incredibly lucky to have made it to the beautiful shores of Asmaria, the land the poor of Eskye held up as a fairytale.

But all that wasn't what made Franklin Gables so sure that he was the luckiest person alive. It wasn't that he had survived hell, nor that he had come from that to serve under a Princess, but because he had gone through it all not alone. You could get out of tragedies by the skin of your teeth again and again, but that wasn't lucky if you living just to survive. Franklin had succeeded in both surviving and in completing his life long goal; making sure his family got out too. That made him the luckiest and happiest anyone could ever be.

The young man stifled a yawn, blocking out the whispers of the castle staff behind him. They were all probably wondering what the peasant was doing indoors, after all, what he was wearing didn't particularly look the part of a butler, but nobody was moving to stop him observing the glass statue he had discovered. Admittedly, he was a little off track. He'd lost the maid who was supposed to take him to the throne room and now was wandering the halls following the trail of shiny things. This glass statue had him completely captivated. It was in the form of a woman, and as he traced its curves he wondered how in the world anybody could have made something that smooth and precise. Could I make something like this, someday? he thought to himself in amazement, before concluding hopefully, Well if I ended up here, I bet I could do anything, eventually.

"Young sir," a stoic female voice came from behind him. Frankie jumped away from feeling up the statue, his turquoise eyes almost as bright as his cheeks. An unearthly beautiful woman in a maid outfit stood behind him in shadows, her hands clasped together and golden irises almost practically glowing in the dark. So cool... "You're headed in the wrong direction."

Frankie put his hands up in a pretend surrender and laughed, "You caught me. Who gave away my hiding spot?" When the maid stared right through him without any change in expression, sweat prickled the back of his neck. ... and kinda creepy, too. Those eyes were really something, alright. He rubbed the sweat away, admitting sheepishly, "Yeah... yeah, I'm lost. I get distracted sometimes."

"Then follow me. And no getting distracted this time." He stood up straight and dutifully nodded his head. As they walked he stumbled behind her composed steps, feeling like he was being towed along like a pet. He'd probably pushed enough of her buttons to be treated like some pesky animal, at this point. His chin dipped down, hiding half of his pink face behind his ragged scarf as he glanced up at her. He discreetly observed the skillful way her pale blonde hair was twisted into a knot and how her bangs swayed slightly with each step when she turned her head to look at him, almost as though she could feel his eyes. He immediately averted them. Why did everyone who worked here have to be so inhumanly attractive?`He wasn't sure whether to consider it a blessing or a curse.

Soon the maid stood to the side, bowing her head. "They wait for you beyond these doors. Good luck." She eyed his worn out commoner clothes as she uttered those words. Frankie looked up the doors, his heart pounding in excitement. He didn't notice, but the maid could hear it, gripping the hem of her skirts as she tried to block it from mind.

"Hey." She looked up at him to see a hand thrust out in a gesture to shake. He tilted his head and grinned, "I'm Frankie. What's your name?"

"Is this really necessary?"

"Uhhh..." he stumbled over his own tongue before looking up at the ceiling, "Well, you're a maid, I'm the new butler, sooo... we're going to be working together, right?"

At that, the naive kid tugged a smile from the maid. Unfortunately it was a cold one. "You misunderstand. Our jobs are very different. We will have nothing to do with one another."

"Huh? What d'you mean -" When Frankie looked back to her, he found nothing but a blank space. "Miss? Miss!" He tossed himself around to find himself completely alone in the hallway. "Creepy... but kinda cool," he murmured. He slowly turned back to look at the doors, heartbeat growing faster once more.

To meet the royalty of a country as wonderful as Asmaria, he thought with a fist pressed against his chest, And to work under them? They're going to be the best bosses ever!

With that he charged through the doors, striding into the room with a natural bouncing joy in each step. Four young women were already in front of their chairs, but he didn't pay them too much attention just yet. He looked up at the regally composed man in the center throne before folding over into a deep bow, his knees locked and hands balled into fists by his sides.

"My name is Franklin Gables and I just wanted to say that your country is very beautiful and I am so happy to be here!" he blurted out to the royal family, not a single lie on his breath. He looked up from his bow at the princes then the princess for a moment longer, looking unsure of himself before breaking into a little grin. "I promise to serve to my full potential."

He gave them one last quick bow before taking his seat beside the girl with candy pink hair. He gave his fellow maids all a little wave and smile of acknowledgement, briefly wondering what the white haired prince was doing before the nervous looking violet eyed maid, when he focused on the pink haired girl's tapping. He glanced down at her jiggling foot, frowning slightly. Her expression was strong, but her body language betrayed her. She was probably just as nervous as the one who had caught the attention of a prince.

Tap, tap, tap, tap -

Tap, tika tika tap, tika tika tap, tikki-ki tap, tika tika, tikki-ki tap -

Franklin drummed his fingers on the side of his chair, making a more complex pattern in time to her tapping. He kept it quiet, attempting to make it so only his neighbor would hear. Maybe it was supposed to be comforting - music was how his family coped with trying times after all - or maybe it was just a habit. What could he say? He could never resist a beat.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image

Image


Image

Image



Franklin's heart stopped when the glass shattered, seemingly by itself. He let himself be led away by Maleah, never once tearing his eyes from the shards. How unnatural. The next thing he knew, he was holding hands with the Princess of Asmaria herself, being yanked in every which direction as she meandered out of the throne room. He gave a wave to the remaining company as they left, but his hand quickly dropped back to his side as he made accidental eye contact with Bishop.

"Princess! Do you need me to -" he yelped when she let out a cry of pain as they stepped outside, then shut his mouth as she jumped over to the grass. He looked at her questionably when she shoved him, then gazed after her running off into the courtyard. Ah, a race, right? He chuckled evilly and cracked his fingers before sprinting after her.

He slowed down, keeping himself at a short distance behind her, thinking to himself that he should let her win. That seemed like something a butler should do. The subconscious reasoning behind that was that he wanted to keep looking at her, and he couldn't do that in first place. She looked like some sort of fantastical being as she ran, and Franklin couldn't help but wonder in suspicion, How fast can she really run?

Maleah slowed to a stop and Frankie halted rather abruptly beside her. He folded his arms, nodding along as she talked about her secret. He couldn't hold back his happiness as she claimed she didn't care about what he did in his free time - so he did have some freedom, after all - but that smile all but dropped at what came next.

"I'm... yours?" Franklin murmured out of shock. He didn't mean for it to slip out so skeptically, or at all for that matter.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"Yes, mine," she confirmed as she let her knees collapse, taking her body to the grass. Her dress flared out around her as she perched on her newly grass stained feet. She could already hear the complaints form the woman that washed her clothes and the lecture on how she shouldn't sit in the grass in a white dress. "It'll make sense soon, I promise." Maleah assure him, even while a small sense of insecurity washed over her.


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"Right..." He nodded slowly, then recovered from his brief confusion by lifting his arms up into the shape of a W and letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Sure it will, Princess." He slumped down on the grass next to her, looking up at the night sky as he declared all too honestly, "S'long as I'm being paid, I'll be yours until you can't stand me!"


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Maleah watched him, smiling as he joined her and even happier that he wouldn't be lecturing her either. Around him, she didn't have to be so prim and proper and she could sit in a heap in the grass if she damn well pleased. "You still haven't promised me that the secret I'm about to tell you will stay between us," she spoke in a soft tone, her fingers moving from the grass to the hair on the back of his neck. She knew that she was invading his personal space, but she couldn't help herself. Maleah was an affectionate person and adored affection in return and sometimes she just like to touch things that looked soft

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Completely frozen in place upon physical contact, Franklin stammered out a reply. "Of course! Uh - I mean - yeah, w-what kind of a butler would I be if I didn't keep it?" He scooted away from the young woman slightly, giving her a sideways glance as he did so. He wanted to touch her hair, too. Instead, he furiously stared at his knees and thrust his hand towards her, his pinkie up in the air.


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Maleah watched him curiously, frowning as he moved away while her hand dropped to her lap. 'Please don't be afraid of me,' she thought, reaching out to take a hold of his pinkie with her own. Not yet letting go, she tugged his hand forward, right to her chest just below her throat, looking for his gaze. It wouldn't be until they made eye contact that she would speak again. "Franklin. My brothers and I... Well..." she paused, pulling in a nervous breath through dry lips."Well, we're vampires."


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


There was a moment of tense silence, when...

"I thought so," came Frankie's plainly said reply. He glanced at his hand which was unnervingly too close to her breasts. "Great. Is there any royalty that doesn't suck blood?" he mock-lamented, tossing his head away.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"Oh," came her flat response. Part of her felt relief, the other part was disappointed and she couldn't figure out why. At his next comment, she released his pinkie and pushed his hand away, meekly shrugging her shoulders."I don't know," she mumbled before quietly distracting herself with the hem of her dress.


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"I'm joking," he said in a hurry and shook the hand she had held. Vampires sure had some grip. He focused on his knees again, a somewhat awkward atmosphere settling over the two of them. He coughed. "Look, Princess, I'm sorry I'm not going..." Frankie murmured, then lamely waved his arms about like limp noodles, "Aaaaagh, oh noooo, vampire, but I like my blood." He looked at her, smiling and hoping he'd made her smile, too. "I'm just used to it. I'm surprised though!" He blurted out suddenly. "I never imagined I'd find vampires here and... well..." The young man nudged her with a reassuring grin, "Never thought I'd find a nice one."


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Relief flooded over her and her tense shoulders noticeably relaxed. Maleah's face brightened as he lightened the mood and a warm giggle filled her chest. The worry that she had felt about their relationship suddenly disappeared, joy filling her heart at the idea he wasn't afraid or disappointed in her. Throwing herself forward, the small girl wrapped her arms around his neck and practically put herself in his lap as she hugged him, perhaps a little too tightly. "You have no idea how happy it makes me that you're not scared of me!" Maleah paused for a moment and chewed on her bottom lip. "So... Can I? I don't hurt..." she asked, a sheepish look covering her features. "Please?" She added, batting her eyelashes.


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"Ack, Princess, I - I c-can't... breathe..." Frankie gasped, then rubbed his throat as her grip loosened. "I'm more scared I'll die from your affection than from your fangs..." The moment she asked him the inevitable question, the pace of his heart doubled. "Well, I... no?" Wait, wasn't obeying their employer's every demand part of the rules of working here? Why was she asking him as if he had a choice in the matter? And even if he did - curse her long lashes and puppy dog eyes! How was he supposed to say no to that?! There was some vampire magic afoot here, he just knew it!

"Agh, whatever! You're the first one to ever ask, let alone say please." He joked, then sighed and unraveled his shabby red scarf. "S'long as I'm being paid..." he reminded her, brushing the hair tickling his neck away to expose the goosebumps riddling his bared flesh.


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"Oops. Sorry!" Maleah quickly sat back on her heels, a light blush covering her cheeks. "I forget sometimes." Her hands balled up into little fists and she held them in front of her mouth, using them to hide her anxiously excited smile.

"No?" She repeated, her hands falling disappointed in her lap, her soft lips down turning in a small frown. She wasn't used to being turned down and had no experience in hiding her disappointment. The young vampire made no move to force herself on him, simply sitting beside him with a pout on her porcelain face. The way his heart raced in his chest was far too taunting and the girl began to get up to leave. She may not have been famished, but Maleah could have little control saying no when it came to blood. When he changed his mind, the excitement immediately returned to her and she clasped her hands together in front of her, attempting her best to patiently wait for him to remove his scarf.

Maleah easily and innocently climbed atop of him, sitting comfortably in his lap while her arms snaked around his shoulders. The vampire moved right in before he could change his mind, her nose brushing along his jaw to stop below his ear. It wasn't long before she allowed his scent to completely invade her head, her fingers lacing through his silky blonde locks at the back of his neck. It was too late to turn back now as she quickly and easily sunk her fangs into his flesh. Maleah used the gentle bite, the one where her mark would have to heal on its own. She was claiming him, putting it out there that if anything happens to Franklin, she would be the one to deal with it.


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


It felt like Franklin was drowning... in many different ways. As Maleah climbed on top, his hands switched between frisking the ground and hovering over her hips. He had no clue where it was appropriate to put them in this situation. Was anything appropriate about this situation? He sucked in a deep breath, cheeks comically puffed out in an attempt to make light out of this very intimate moment. Chills of this ran up his spine as she touched his hair and her nails trailed over his scalp. She opened her mouth and he tensed, face scrunching up.

"Ow!" He accidentally let slip. Then he started giggling. "Ah... ahaha! Why didn't you say it tic-" That was the moment that something in him began to stir. "-kled..."

He trailed off, his eyelids flickering shut and body beginning to quiver from pleasure. His heart was going into overdrive. A blush began to tint his cheeks until it reached the tips of his ears, dying them a glowing pink. Since when has being eaten alive not been excruciatingly painful?! What the heck is... this... One daring hand moved and stroked her hair after some hesitation. It was soft and light, like how a cloud looked like it was supposed to feel.

The euphoria finally sapped the strength keeping him upright and he flopped onto his back, his gaze blank and face painted red. "What have you done to me," he said bluntly, eyes staring right past her to the sky.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The taste of his blood on her tongue allowed her to close her eyes in complete bliss, carefully riding out his giggles until he calmed. Was there anything better than this? Her senses began to tune out everything besides the man she currently clung to. The grass against her knees, the cool breeze on her bare shoulders - none of it registered anymore. Instead, the only thing she felt was the way the heat radiated off of his cheeks, the way his heart thudded against her chest and echoed in her ears. His hair was so soft where her fingers laced with it, and his skin salty where her tongue prodded. She was slow in her feeding, suckling the lightest bit and allowing his heart to do most of the work. It was like breaking off the squares of a Hershey bar rather than taking a whole bite out of it.

The sensation of his hand in her hair caused her to fully relax herself against his torso, only to find herself a moment later with her fangs pulled from his skin with a soft yelp, and them laying flat on his back, her hands now splayed across his chest. She couldn't help but to let out a little giggle as her own blush lightly tinted her cheeks. "I told you I don't hurt," she murmured and pulled herself forward, her lips latching on to the puncture wounds to clean any of the blood that was still escaping. Maleah took the time to inspect her bite, smiling with satisfaction at the hickey and clean marks she left behind. "Your taste is wonderful. Thank you for sharing," she purred happily, even when the only thing she wanted to do was latch right back onto him again. Surely he was only feeling the affects of her venom, and not of blood loss. Maybe just a little more?

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"Thanks. And you're welcome," Franklin sighed, running his hand through his hair. His body was still slowly calming down from Maleah's strange poison. He felt embarrassingly sticky from the sweat. "So this is what my job's about, huh?" Actually, this is what my life's now about... forever... he corrected himself internally, very uncomfortable with that revelation, So I escaped the possibility of being in servitude to a vampire only to willingly be in servitude to a vampire. The luckiest person alive, huh? "Let's be clear on something. I'm not just good for a snack, you got that?" He scolded, waggling his finger in front of her nose. It sounded like a joke, but he was serious. This wasn't the line of work he had once seen himself falling into. There once was a very different plan.

The aromas of the cramped work space came back to him, the smell of smoke and the dyes he once stained his creations with. The cool breeze chilling his arms came from the barred windows, open to let the smoke from the smelter escape. He missed turning the heavy pole in his hands, tiring out his lungs from blowing into it and watching the red hot glass expand into a misshapen bulb to be fashioned into something seemly later. He even missed the way the furnace singed his eyelashes and the burns he received from its embers - heck, he even missed the beatings from his master when he messed up and the glass hardened into a lump, or laid shattered on the floor.

The luckiest person alive, Franklin's inner voice echoed and he drew out of his short daze. Wistfulness tainted his features and he didn't bother trying to plaster on a smile. He had thrown away that life for a reason, and he now found himself serving a vampire for the exact same one. His eyelids fluttered shut, the blush from his cheeks finally drawn out, along with the venom that was driving his heart crazy. He stifled a yawn against the back of his hand.

"Will the others be alright?" he asked, speaking for the first time in grave seriousness. He kept his eyes purposefully shut, not wishing to see Maleah's face as he let the next words slip, "They won't hurt them, will they?" The glaring green eyes of Bishop and the smashed glass flickered in his head. "Your brothers remind me of home..."

He went silent after that, his chest rising and falling at an easy pace. Soon it became clear that his mind was no longer there. The young man had fallen fast asleep.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


"A snack?" She asked, pressing her hands against his chest to lift herself off of him, sliding to the grass beside him. "Not a snack Franklin. You're my life line. You're the person that I need to trust to be there when I need you. We're royals, and that means we are constantly in danger. There are a lot of things in this world, and a lot of secrets that we need to hide." She said, a small frown covering her features. "You're not just a snack," she repeated.

His questions threw her off and she looked over to him, watching him. Her immediate answer wanted to be no, that they wouldn't hurt those girls but she couldn't get the words past her lips. Instead, they sat in a ball at the base of her throat.The vampire reached forward and smoothed some of his hair away from his face, listening to the way his heart and breathing slowed.

"I don't know," she finally murmured to the sleeping boy. A soft sigh escaped her lips and she looked around at the darkening night sky. "I don't know," she repeated and took her gaze to him once more. Quietly, she leaned in and gently suckled on his wounded neck, cleaning away the last of the blood on his skin, like taking the last sip of your drink before you leave the table. It looked as if it had stopped so she stood up, brushed off her dress and then bent over to gather the boy in her arms. Carrying him bridal style, she took them back inside and headed for his room, where she would tuck him in and bandage his neck.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

ImageXXImage

X
Image

X

Image

Image
X
X
X
X
X
X
Image

X


Relief flooded over her and her tense shoulders noticeably relaxed. Maleah's face brightened as he lightened the mood and a warm giggle filled her chest. The worry that she had felt about their relationship suddenly disappeared, joy filling her heart at the idea he wasn't afraid or disappointed in her. Throwing herself forward, the small girl wrapped her arms around his neck and practically put herself in his lap as she hugged him, perhaps a little too tightly. "You have no idea how happy it makes me that you're not scared of me!" Maleah paused for a moment and chewed on her bottom lip. "So... Can I? I don't hurt..." she asked, a sheepish look covering her features. "Please?" She added, batting her eyelashes.


~~~


"Ack, Princess, I - I c-can't... breathe..." Frankie gasped, then rubbed his throat as her grip loosened. "I'm more scared I'll die from your affection than from your fangs..." he grumbled sarcastically. The moment she asked him the inevitable question, the pace of his heart doubled.

"Well, I... no?"

Wait, wasn't obeying their employer's every demand part of the rules of working here? Why was she asking him as if he had a choice in the matter? And even if he did - curse her long lashes and puppy dog eyes! How was he supposed to say no to that?! There was some vampire magic afoot here, he just knew it!

"Agh, whatever!" He burst out loudly and rocked himself forward to sit up completely straight, tucking his legs in to cross them. "You're the first one to ever ask, let alone say please." He sighed and unraveled his shabby red scarf. "S'long as I'm being paid..." he reminded her, brushing the hair on his neck away to expose the goosebumps riddling his bared flesh.


~~~


"Oops. Sorry!" Maleah quickly sat back on her heels, a light blush covering her cheeks. "I forget sometimes." Her hands balled up into little fists and she held them in front of her mouth, using them to hide her anxiously excited smile.

"No?" She repeated, her hands falling disappointed in her lap, her soft lips down turning in a small frown. She wasn't used to being turned down and had no experience in hiding her disappointment. The young vampire made no move to force herself on him, simply sitting beside him with a pout on her porcelain face. The way his heart raced in his chest was far too taunting and the girl began to get up to leave. She may not have been famished, but Maleah could have little control saying no when it came to blood. When he changed his mind, the excitement immediately returned to her and she clasped her hands together in front of her, attempting her best to patiently wait for him to remove his scarf.

Maleah easily and innocently climbed atop of him, sitting comfortably in his lap while her arms snaked around his shoulders. The vampire moved right in before he could change his mind, her nose brushing along his jaw to stop below his ear. It wasn't long before she allowed his scent to completely invade her head, her fingers lacing through his silky blonde locks at the back of his neck. It was too late to turn back now as she quickly and easily sunk her fangs into his flesh. Maleah used the gentle bite, the one where her mark would have to heal on its own. She was claiming him, putting it out there that if anything happens to Franklin, she would be the one to deal with it.


~~~


It felt like Franklin was drowning... in many different ways. As Maleah climbed on top, his hands switched between frisking the ground and hovering over her hips. He had no clue where it was appropriate to put them in this situation. Was anything appropriate about this situation? He sucked in a deep breath, cheeks comically puffed out in an attempt to make light out of this very intimate moment. Chills of this ran up his spine as she touched his hair and her nails trailed over his scalp. She opened her mouth and he tensed, face scrunching up.

"Ow!" He accidentally let slip. Then he started giggling. "Ah... ahaha! Why didn't you say it tic-" That was the moment that something in him began to stir. "-kled..."

He trailed off, his eyelids flickering shut and body beginning to quiver from pleasure. His heart was going into overdrive. A blush began to tint his cheeks until it reached the tips of his ears, dying them a glowing pink. Since when has being eaten alive not been excruciatingly painful?! What the heck is... this... One daring hand moved and stroked her hair after some hesitation. It was soft and light, like how a cloud looked like it was supposed to feel.

The euphoria finally sapped the strength keeping him upright and he flopped onto his back, his gaze blank and face painted red. "What have you done to me," he said bluntly, eyes staring right past her to the sky.

~~~


The taste of his blood on her tongue allowed her to close her eyes in complete bliss, carefully riding out his giggles until he calmed. Was there anything better than this? Her senses began to tune out everything besides the man she currently clung to. The grass against her knees, the cool breeze on her bare shoulders - none of it registered anymore. Instead, the only thing she felt was the way the heat radiated off of his cheeks, the way his heart thudded against her chest and echoed in her ears. His hair was so soft where her fingers laced with it, and his skin salty where her tongue prodded. She was slow in her feeding, suckling the lightest bit and allowing his heart to do most of the work. It was like breaking off the squares of a Hershey bar rather than taking a whole bite out of it.

The sensation of his hand in her hair caused her to fully relax herself against his torso, only to find herself a moment later with her fangs pulled from his skin with a soft yelp, and them laying flat on his back, her hands now splayed across his chest. She couldn't help but to let out a little giggle as her own blush lightly tinted her cheeks. "I told you I don't hurt," she murmured and pulled herself forward, her lips latching on to the puncture wounds to clean any of the blood that was still escaping. Maleah took the time to inspect her bite, smiling with satisfaction at the hickey and clean marks she left behind. "Your taste is wonderful. Thank you for sharing," she purred happily, even when the only thing she wanted to do was latch right back onto him again. Surely he was only feeling the affects of her venom, and not of blood loss. Maybe just a little more?

~~~


"Thanks. And you're welcome," Franklin murmured, running his hand through his hair. His body was still slowly calming down from Maleah's strange poison and he felt embarrassingly sticky from the sweat. "So this is what my job's about, huh?" Actually, this is what my life's now about... forever... he corrected himself internally, very uncomfortable with that revelation, So I escaped the possibility of being in servitude to a vampire only to willingly be in servitude to a vampire. The luckiest person alive, huh? "Let's be clear on something. I'm not just good for a snack, you got that?" He scolded, waggling his finger in front of her nose. It sounded like a joke, but he was serious. This wasn't the line of work he had once seen himself falling into. There once was a very different plan.

The aromas of the cramped work space came back to him, the smell of smoke and the dyes he once stained his creations with. The cool breeze chilling his arms came from the barred windows, open to let the smoke from the smelter escape. He missed turning the heavy pole in his hands, tiring out his lungs from blowing into it and watching the red hot glass expand into a misshapen bulb to be fashioned into something seemly later. He even missed the way the furnace singed his eyelashes and the burns he received from its embers - heck, he even missed the beatings from his master when he messed up and the glass hardened into a lump, or laid shattered on the floor.

The luckiest person alive, Franklin's inner voice echoed and he drew out of his short daze. Wistfulness tainted his features and he didn't bother trying to plaster on a smile. He had thrown away that life for a reason, and he now found himself serving a vampire for the exact same one. His eyelids fluttered shut, the blush from his cheeks finally drawn out, along with the venom that was driving his heart crazy. He stifled a yawn against the back of his hand.

"Will the others be alright?" he asked, speaking for the first time in grave seriousness. He kept his eyes purposefully shut, not wishing to see Maleah's face as he let the next words slip, "They won't hurt them, will they?" The glaring green eyes of Bishop and the smashed glass flickered in his head. "Your brothers remind me of home..."

He went silent after that, his chest rising and falling at an easy pace. Soon it became clear that his mind was no longer there. The young man had fallen fast asleep.

~~~


"A snack?" She asked, pressing her hands against his chest to lift herself off of him, sliding to the grass beside him. "Not a snack Franklin. You're my life line. You're the person that I need to trust to be there when I need you. We're royals, and that means we are constantly in danger. There are a lot of things in this world, and a lot of secrets that we need to hide." She said, a small frown covering her features. "You're not just a snack," she repeated.

His questions threw her off and she looked over to him, watching him. Her immediate answer wanted to be no, that they wouldn't hurt those girls but she couldn't get the words past her lips. Instead, they sat in a ball at the base of her throat.The vampire reached forward and smoothed some of his hair away from his face, listening to the way his heart and breathing slowed.

"I don't know," she finally murmured to the sleeping boy. A soft sigh escaped her lips and she looked around at the darkening night sky. "I don't know," she repeated and took her gaze to him once more. Quietly, she leaned in and gently suckled on his wounded neck, cleaning away the last of the blood on his skin, like taking the last sip of your drink before you leave the table. It looked as if it had stopped so she stood up, brushed off her dress and then bent over to gather the boy in her arms. Carrying him bridal style, she took them back inside and headed for his room, where she would tuck him in and bandage his neck.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image


waiqodwefhweiofheritgh heiwohweklf hiefrnew jkfdkasdfn fewsrfasw fse fes e er er wr wef sef se gter rfe sf sdf ger te tvwe rve te vt sr c te te sty revt ert ew t 4et etv e b6er vte4w vte tv 4e6t 4evt e4 3643 vt5 3t6 43v6 t 4v56 43v5 3w vt 6436 43vw y rt vhgrdgt erd tv revty wery ay

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image


waiqodwefhweiofheritgh heiwohweklf hiefrnew jkfdkasdfn fewsrfasw fse fes e er er wr wef sef se gter rfe sf sdf ger te tvwe rve te vt sr c te te sty revt ert ew t 4et etv e b6er vte4w vte tv 4e6t 4evt e4 3643 vt5 3t6 43v6 t 4v56 43v5 3w vt 6436 43vw y rt vhgrdgt erd tv revty wery ay

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image
Image





Adrestia laid down in the dark, legs crossed and deadly red eyes staring at the ceiling. Her clasped fingers twitched against her pale, scarred stomach with every sound from outside her dark capsule. Her toes, their nails colored with permanent marker, curled impatiently. After what felt like an eternity, the sound of jingling keys penetrated her ears. The door opened, light flooding in and the shadow of a man being cast over her figure. She slowly uncrossed her legs and lulled her head towards him, lips widening into a thin, devious smile.

The girl didn't rush to get ready. Everything was done with purpose, the speed of familiarity in her actions. She shuffled into tight black asymmetrical pants, clipped the lock onto her belt, zipped her crop top up over her breasts and fastened her hat down over her pigtails in the span of a few minutes. She stared herself down in the mirror as she rolled a ball of pink bubblegum over her tongue and slowly crushed it between her molars. She blew a bubble, shut one eye in an unenthusiastic wink then strode out of the room.

She was led down the halls with a scientist, trudging behind him with a permanent glare. As they arrived at a doctor's office, the door opened and the bright-eyed new girl walked out of it. Adrestia slumped against the wall while the scientist went in to speak with the doctor, gazing after the girl. Tomoe Gozen, she was supposed to be. Seems that she would still have to wait for another dead god to rise from these scientist's hands. The scientist left and the doctor's head peaked out from the room. Her eyes brightened when she saw her.

"Right this way, dear," the female doctor beckoned her. Adrestia blew a small bubble and skipped into the room, jumping onto her seat (her expression never once changing from 'I'm so bored, kill me now'). "How was your social isolation, Adrestia?" The doctor asked as she prepared her needle, her friendly tone taking a stern turn. Adrestia closed her eyes as the needle pierced through her skin, letting out a little sigh.

"Bliss," she uttered.

~~~

Some time later, Adrestia stood in the dining room with her tray. She tried not to look at what was on the tray; she had once cooked rat better than this. Instead, she stared blankly over the tables and the company that inhabited them. Choosing where to sit during meal times had to be the hardest part of each day for her, embarrassingly so. She spotted a seat at the same table as "the three", the three first successfully revived heroes, and made her way over to it. She smacked her tray down, sitting a couple seats away from Hercules without giving him so much as a glance. He wasn't the hero she remembered watching from Mount Olympus, after all, just some... strange Roman impersonator. She rested her chin on her hand and chewed the last of the flavor out of her gum.

Wukong was pinching food ahead of her as always, for whatever reason. Why anyone would find anything worth stealing in it was a mystery to her. Whatever his reasons, she'd just found a lovely place to dispose of her gum. She lent over her meal on her elbows, tilting her head back and spitting her gum out. It moved in an arc towards the monkey king before being caught by the hood of his jacket.

Adrestia watched Wukong leave the dining room with her gum piece hitching a ride in his hood, biting on her thumb. The reborn goddess smugly dipped down her hat and began picking at her food, oblivious to or just purposefully ignoring the righteous types that had just witnessed her anti-social behavior.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image


Vic sat at the kitchen table with her laptop in front of her, leaning back with her legs spread out on the chair she slouched on. She wore a black tank top showing off the tip of her tattoo and her chestnut fringe was pulled from her forehead in an unflattering fashion with a dozen unskillfully applied bobby pins. She looked at the computer dully, not even looking up as she heard footsteps walking down the hall.

“Mornin', Vicky,” her aunt excreted through a yawn. Vic glanced at the back of her dressing gown as she went straight to making coffee then fixated herself back on the computer screen, mumbling out a small “Afternoon,” in reply. The kitchen was mostly quiet as Vic clicked from page to page and her aunt made herself a bowl of instant porridge.

“I saw a monster last night,” Vic spoke up suddenly, without any conviction behind her words. She didn't look up from her laptop, but felt her aunt's eyes regard her.

“Oh?”

“Yup,” she confirmed simply. It went quiet again for a moment as her aunt went back to eating her porridge, wondering about how to respond to this. As she opened her mouth, obviously bothered, Vic interrupted, “Looked like something straight out of a heavy metal album cover. Something like... found him.” She went to turn the laptop for the woman to see the screen, then thought otherwise and turned it back. “Actually, you shouldn't see this while you're eating.”

“No, show it to me,” her aunt urged in annoyance and stood up, walking over to peer above Vic's shoulders. When she saw the site her niece was on, she sighed. Vic clicked a picture and it expanded on screen. She suppressed a smirk as her aunt gasped and covered her mouth. “My God. What is it?”

Vic couldn't help but grin a little now. “Human,” she tutted, “But I guess that's debatable. He's a Changer.” She raised an eyebrow at her aunt. “You've got to get out more. Your city is thriving with these people.”

“And you saw it?” The woman pried, ignoring Vic's last comment, “Last night?”

Vic nodded slowly, turning back to the screen to look at the horrific, translucent skinned, six-winged red bat thing. The creature was something straight out of a horror movie. “And it was awesome,” she breathed in satisfaction. She scrolled through the Changer's page on Parahumans Online as her aunt returned to her side of the table and her porridge. Wendigo, he'd been fittingly named. She'd heard about him before she'd seen him the other night. He was pretty reckless when it came to exposing himself and his powers to the public. Vic appreciated that. She enjoyed spectacles, particularly presentations of superpowers on the creepier side of the parahuman spectrum.

“Huh. So that's who he was flying away from,” she murmured to herself as she watched a recently uploaded video of Wendigo fleeing a sandwich shop, being shot at by some guy she didn't know and couldn't get a good look at. It was a shitty recording. Nobody could ever get good footage of these things. “All over a sandwich?” She went to go put her fingers back on the keyboard when the laptop snapped shut.

Her hands froze mid-air and her green gaze slid up, unimpressed, to her aunt. The woman indignantly picked up her bowl and turned to the sink. Vic pursed her lip and nodded. She leaned away from the table and brought her hands behind her head, boring a looked that said 'EXPLAIN' into the back of her aunt's head.

“I don't want you looking at that at the table,” the woman said curtly, “If you must, take it to your room.”

“Am I scaring you?” Vic accused, completely monotone. Her aunt hesitated to turn to her before looking back.

“The world is what's scaring me, Vicky. You young folk are obsessed with these heroes and not accounting them for the threat that they are,” she pointed a finger at the closed laptop, “People, sharing pictures and information of parahumans like they're trumped up playing cards. Discussing origin stories in forums, who would beat who in a fight – it's sickening. The entire thing, it's sickening, and... yes, yes it's scary.”

Vic stared at her aunt's earnest expression, her own face unreadable.

“I'm surprised that you don't feel this way too, after... what happened," she continued cautiously then formed a smile when her words got no negative reaction from Vic, "I'm so happy, Vicky, that even though it was a horrible tragedy, you didn't... didn't...”

“Trigger?” Vic shot when it seemed like her aunt wouldn't be capable of finishing her sentence. She nodded, wiping at her eyes with a watery smile. Vic's gaze darkened and she returned the smile, through hers was wicked. “You don't know that,” she teased, “Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. We heroes take our secret identities very seriously.” Her aunt laughed.

“I need a nap before your boys crash in here and keep me up,” she said, “See you later, Vicky.”

"You just woke up..." Vic trailed off as the woman walked back down the hall. She watched her go blankly. "Oh yeah," she said to no one, "And my song played on the radio yesterday."

She turned back to the table, staring at the closed laptop. She sighed and slouched in her seat, flopping her head over the headrest to look at the ceiling. 'I'm so happy you didn't trigger'. What bullshit. Absolute fucking bullshit. There was a wham as Vic's fist came involuntarily crashing down on the table. She was infuriated that her powers weren't triggered sooner in that incident. There were so many horrible things that happened in those weeks that could have awoken whatever was inside her, but no. It had to wait until she had seen every little horrible detail of humanity at its most desperate. Keeping everything a secret from everyone honestly made her feel like shit. Sometimes she wondered if openly being a parahuman would be good for her, especially for her musical career. Superheros were so much more popular than rockstars these days... but no. Not with everything that came with it. It was better if Nobody stayed this way - as nobody.




Vic got out of the house as quickly as she could after that. Her band would be holding practice at five in the evening, she still had several hours before being back behind those walls of pretense and secrecy. She jogged through a slight drizzle to her skateboard in a long-sleeved, black and white striped shirt, baggy shorts obviously designed for men and lace up military boots. A skateboard wasn't the fastest way to get around the city, sure, but she couldn't stand being cooped up in a car in traffic for too long and the rain on her head wasn't a bad feeling. Vic sighed as she stuffed one earphone in and gave herself a push start before rolling down the road on her way to the skate park.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image


"... Wasn't too sure if it was you or not and I didn't want to seem like some random creepy dude. We have enough of those running around anyway."

"You bet," Vic said, giving a sideways glance to the skull faced boy tucked behind her. She held her hand out for the blonde to shake, wiping the grazed palm on her shorts first, "God, you really are a fan. I mean, a hard copy? Even my own brother YouTube'd to MP3'd that shit. I'm flattered. Really." She could feel her chest swelling with pride... on the inside. On the outside, she kept the demeanor of not giving a damn. Sometimes, she wondered if her face was versatile enough for any other expression. "I'm Vic. If you hadn't googled that already, creep," she teased, the corner of her mouth tweaking up as she did so.

She settled back into the fence as she remembered a tidbit from the band's history the guy would probably be interested in, "Hey, you know, you're not even close to the shit we've dealt with. Back about a year ago, when we were touring the state, we had this girl who kept showing up backstage, demanding that we take her with us. You know, in return for sex." She ground her cigarette in the fence post, puffing out the last of the smoke from her lungs. "Told her we didn't take on groupies, she didn't take no for an answer. We'd kick her out, she'd hitchhike her way after us." She finished the story as casually as she began it, then her eyes misted over as she reflected on the memory. What she'd left out of the story was that they had to get the police involved and that the girl was a teenage runaway they ended up taking with them to drop her back home. So, really, the girl had gotten what she wanted in the end. Somewhat. "She was a good kid, really."

Vic's phone went off in her pocket and she fished it out to check it without so much as an 'excuse me'. There was a message from her front man, but as she went to check it she saw her own reply to whoever the hell Ρεκαλ was. She'd gotten no response back from them... good? Her face involuntarily went slack as she saw it and began thinking about it again. She managed to shake off the paralysis and read Donovan's message, though the sickness in her stomach was there to stay. She dropped her phone back in her pocket and lifted herself from the fence with a sigh.

"I gotta go," she announced. She tossed her cigarette in a bin and dropped her skateboard wheel-down on the ground, stomping a foot down on it. She turned back to the two behind her, the fan and the Changer. She tapped her finger against her leg a few times, flickered her eyes between them hesitantly, then turned her head away. “See you boys around, I guess.” She skated down the slope then skidded to a stop in the bottom of bowl.

“Hey!” She shouted, looking up at them from below, “You got anything on later?!”





Image






Vic strutted into the garage, the people she'd met literally just this afternoon in tow. The members of I Really Hope We Don't Crash were fiddling with cords and warming up their instruments when she announced her presence with a small, “Hey guys.”

A dirty blonde immediately called out to her, “It would be nice if you could help up with the set up for once, you know.”

She shrugged. “Don't need to. The kit just stays here. No cords or nothing.”

He looked like he wanted to argue some more, but was distracted by the two figures ghosting her, “Who are they supposed to be?” Vic glanced over her shoulder at them.

“Alright,” she said in preparation for what was to come, “This is Alex,” she gestured to him as she said his name, “And Jericho.” She waved at the skull-faced Changer, whose skull tattoo had been shrunk a significant portion for this meeting. He looked... not so scary anymore. Like a normal, decent-looking person. Taking the face masking tattoo away would do wonders for his social life.

She allowed them time to give their own greetings, all while she pondered whether Wendigo/Jericho had given her his real name. Surely he didn't. Did he? He didn't seem to hold a Cape's secret identity in high regard, or his own secrecy, really. It must've been nice not to have those limitations. While on the subject of Wendigo, a classified villain, she surely had to be thinking about how she'd led, no, lured such a villain under the promise of food to her address and the repercussions of doing so. No? Alright. She didn't give a shit, then. Typical.

“Alex, Jericho,” she started again and began pointing around the garage, “The big bear-looking fellow is Rudy, red-head with the eye-bags is Zach, and the asshole,” she jabbed her thumb back at the dirty blonde behind her, “Is Donovan. Our leading man.”

“So what are you guys here for? Our drummer's ass or the free show,” Zach shot in their direction, his teasing directed more towards Vic than the two completely innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire. Vic was taking off her jumper at the same time and immediately ditched it in his face. She sat down in front of the drum set in her black tank top.

“They're here to watch us rehearse,” she said exasperatedly, “And they're holding the pizza, so be fucking nice.”

Jericho and Alex immediately found themselves pounced upon by Rudy and Zach. Donovan stayed behind, eyeing Vic down.

“Seriously, who are these people and why'd you invite them here,” he said in a low voice to her.

“Well, Alex is a fan of the band,” Vic explained slowly enough for a toddler to understand, “And Jericho... Jericho is...” She looked at him. Nothing much she could say about him without giving up his Cape identity. “He was hanging at the skate park. He's cool. What's it matter? It's my garage.”

Donovan just shrugged, backing away from her defensive stance, “I guess it doesn't.” He regarded her (as she deliberately avoided his eyes) before managing to squeeze out, "Are you alright?"

Before he got any response, Rudy and Zach returned to their instruments, pizza grease covering their hands. “Are we ready or what?”

“Start with Knock Out, or would you rather...”

"Yeah, alright, to warm up. We can jam to that."

"We're not gonna skip working the new track just cos Vic made us an audience, right?"

Vic looked over at Jericho and Alex, eyes shining brightly. “You boys get comfortable,” she called over to them with a grin, “And, uh, protect your ears somehow.”

She tapped her drumsticks together four times, and the band kicked in.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image


Vic woke up feeling disgusting. She remembered why the moment the body beside her rolled over.

After cleaning herself up, she dropped her towel to the floor and observed herself in the bathroom mirror. The grazes on her knees and elbows were scabbing over and there was a small graze along her jaw, near her chin. Turning to her side, she spotted a patchy green bruise between her chest, spreading to her left breast. The worst of the marks on her body were the small, red marks on her neck and collarbone.

She fixed her chest binder on and layered her shirts, a checkered button up over a band tee, before securing a scarf around her neck. In her room, she sat on the bottom of her bed and laced up her boots. Donovan stirred, shrugging off the covers from his naked chest. Vic took a moment to look at him, a dulled expression falling over her face, before sighing and tucking him back in. She crept to her wardrobe and dug through her belongings to reach a locked box. She opened it and took out the contents, an assortment of pure white attire and a mask, stuffing them into a bag she flung over onto her back. Before she left the room, she threw a half-full packet of cigarettes onto the bed beside Donovan, took her phone and walked out the door without looking back.

She checked on her Aunt before she left the house. She was dead to the world, eyes sore with bags and hair not even taken out of the bun she wore to work last night. Donovan would be out of the house before her, Vic decided. She shut the bedroom door carefully, despite knowing she could slam it and not wake her.

Thank god she had the morning shift that day. She had to call in to tell her instructors she wasn't going to be there for her tae kwon do and kickboxing lessons that afternoon, but that wasn't such a big hassle. The biggest issue had to be making it to her gig in time. Depending on how long this was going to take or exactly when the bastards were planning to rob the bank that afternoon, she would be having to make up some excuses to some pretty grumpy faces. But she was going to take the job anyway. It'd been too long since she'd been in a good fight. And besides...

... any step that could get her a little closer to Ρεκαλ, the mystery that already knew enough to know her identity, was a step she was going to take, if only just to sucker punch them in the face for messing with her.

Work went past unnaturally fast for Vic. Soon, Donovan was barging through the door, coming to take over her shift.

"Hey, Vic..." he murmured, not even having time to blink before Vic had strode past him with her board.

"Catch you tonight," she said briskly and jogged down the cramped stairwell, bursting out of the building. She skated her way through back alleys, working herself through a maze of shady paths, until she reached it. It was a shut down deli that had been out of business because of terrible sanitary conditions. All that remained of the place was its dusty, empty, gratified insides. The building had been on lease since forever and teenagers had taken their pent up hormonal rage out on this place. It was definitely going to be hit with a wrecking ball and build up into something new, but in the meantime, this was Vic's phone booth, aka, the place her superhero costume transformations took place in. Yes, there were definitely more glamorous locations, but small fries like Vic couldn't be picky.

With all her might, Vic managed to shove an empty dumpster just enough to reveal the secret entrance. As she slipped through into the building, the smell of old frying oil hit her. Man, she hated this place. She took no time changing into Nobody. Rather than leaving her backpack of clothes and skateboard in there, she took them outside with her and flew up. She shot above the city skyline before pausing, hundreds of feet above the earth's surface, a tiny white beacon to whoever looked up from below.

Vic hid her bag and board upon the roof platform of a skyscraper. Up there, it was much, much less likely to be found and ransacked. She memorized where she put it and flew out above the city, surveying the land. She loved it up here. It made sense that she did, with her powers to control the air around her, up in the sky she could be a god. Sometimes she wondered whether if she tried, she could use her powers to control the weather, or create a natural disaster. Not that she would set a tornado upon the city just to see if she could. Going too far with your powers didn't do anyone good and Vic at least tried to be "good", despite not being the most heroic. She'd stick to flipping up skirts for now.

After a moment of just enjoying herself in the sky, she spied The Prosperity Bank and dissolved into thin air. She spiraled down to the bank and hovered above it, an invisible guardian angel to the people below her. There, she waited.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

If Vic currently had a jaw to drop, it would've been on the ground. It didn't take long for her shock to turn to admiration. She watched as the civilain teenage girl attempted to blind the monster with her kicks, and was inspired to contribute to the blinding with another hard, tissue-tearing jabs. She backed off as the monster stripped itself from the walls and exits, its mass congealing into a new, more capable form. Its eyes were now small, glowing coals - much harder targets to poke out.

Vic flew near to the girl who'd assisted in annoying the creature enough to get it away from the exits, hovering between her and the devil-beast the goopy flesh monster had turned into. An invisible cloud of gas was probably not the most comforting protector, but Vic floated by her nontheless. Then the towering nightmare screamed. Christ, it knew how to hold a note.

"So... A skirt?"

The monster began to stalk closer and taunt the girl. Agh, shit. The exits were thankfully now open and the unfortunate stragglers who'd been caught behind the walls of flesh were getting their asses out of there. But the girl behind her wasn't running. The monster was blocking her path to the front exit, she couldn't run without an advantage attack being taken on her.

"I promise I'm not smiling at you intentionally, skulls are just weird, y'know?" At those words, a suspicion hatched in Vic's head. This skull-faced horror show's awkward-yet-casual manner of speech and the inky way it morphed between forms were reminiscent of the unforgettable character she had a run in with the other day. Her suspicion took the form of a frustrating thought that wouldn't surface. It was there, yet she wasn't entirely sure what was bothering her. "So! As I was saying... You kicked me, and somehow managed to poke me in the eyes from a distance at the same time. Tell me your secrets! Cape."

Ahh... crap? Vic generally quite liked having the cover of invisibility and the advantages her powers had over others when she was not know, but hiding behind the girl's skirts made her feel cowardly. She needed to get her out of here before the monster could trade blows with her. It would hardly be a fair trade. Thankfully, it wanted her out of there too, aaand also didn't want to fight. Damn, that was half of the reason she was doing this gig to begin with. Maybe she should've been relieved. But no.

An almost solid, concentrated gust of wind slammed into the girl's chest, pushing her across the bank to hold her up against the wall, about a metre off the ground. Vic dropped from the air then into a crouch, solid feet hitting the ground. She released her grip on the girl and allowed her to drop, shouted, "GET OUT OR HOLD ON!" and threw out her arm.

The small arc her arm made was followed by a rippling wave of air, which then moved with incredible speed to envelope her and the monster in a swirling, impenetrable wind wall. They stood in the eye of the storm, the girl safe on the other side and hopefully holding onto something. She could do her best to prevent her from being sucked into the wall, but it was a strain to change the nature of an unnaturally made natural disaster. Having a wall of wind sucking in, while wrapping it in a wind wall doing the opposite, was downright exhausting. Hopefully the girl would just get out so she didn't have to thing about it. Vic could barely see her through her barrier, only a blurry figure.

She turned to the monster.

"Distraction for what?"

Nothing to see here. Move along, 2731471.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image
Image



Image





Vic finished the set with a drum solo she can admit she got carried away with. Donovan often threatened to take it away from her, but it was the only solo she HAD. Fuck the audience for not having an appreciation for wailing on her drum set instead of Don messing around with scales.

Her final clash was met with a slight pause as people expected her to go on, then applause. Donovan told the audience that they'd be right back after the break and the club's usual music started back up. Vic laid down her drumsticks and shook the sweat from her hands, which was dripping down from her sleeve-covered arms.

"Hey, Vic, aren't you hot there?" Rudy called over to her. Yes, she was hot. But she was wearing this jacket for a reason. Rudy went off to buy drinks for them as Vic slunk her way to the back of the stage, tugging on the zipper. Oh, whatever. Let's just get it over with.

She shed her jacket and turned around to be immediately assaulted by, "JESUS CHRIST, Vic! How did you get that?!"

Vic glanced down at the burn spread across her chest and reaching up to her neck, smothered in aloe vera. "Oh shit, yeah." She faked disinterest in talking about it, hoping to lose theirs. "Y'know that parahuman blackout? Well I was in the area, and long story short, zap." She prodded Zach in the chest. It wasn't the best excuse she had thought of, but it sure beat "I tripped up and landed chest-first into the oven." In a way, she was thankful that the blackout happened. She'd have no idea what to blame her burn on if not a parahuman. "I'll tell you about it later." When I think up the details.

"What were you doing there?" Ah, Donovan, he always had to have her under the flashlight, huh? "You have classes after work."

"Didn't feel like them," Vic replied coolly.

"You should get a tattoo to cover it up," Zach enthused, "How about... an eagle with spread wings, or an angel with wings made of blades?"

"Very metal," Vic said without any of the enthusiasm Zach hoarded. She glanced back down at her scar then up into the club's crowd, where she caught sight of a familiar face. "But... I don't think I'll be covering up this one."

She waved Jericho over.


Jericho spotted the wave and gave a wide grin, waving in return and walking over as he sucked down a sigh; irritated with the constant bumping of shoulders and skin between himself and other people in the club. His skin itched, and he couldn't smell anything... Until he got closer to Vic and let out his sigh. "Hey there- Whoa! Wicked scar! What happened to you!?" He asked as he gave her a quick side hug, pausing at the scent of licorice that wafted off of her. Lots of exposed skin and the fact that she was sweating gave way to some body odor that even a nasally blind would've noticed.

Licorice... Licorice... Wait. No. "WAIT. YOU!? THE BANK!?!? WHAT THE FUCK!"

Oops. That was... Not exactly controlled. But honestly, what was he supposed to do? She was there! She got hurt! HE HURT HER! FUCK!


Vic stared at Jericho as he let out his outburst, same with the other two band members present. She could almost hear Donovan's brow furrowing. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. How did he know it was her?! Well, to be fair, it wouldn't take a genius to figure it out, but after fighting with Jericho that day, she'd assumed that he was... ah, how to put this... less than genius? No, less than... an idiot. She thought he was an idiot.

She cleared her throat, interrupting Donovan as he was asking Jericho, "What the fuck are you talking a-", then grabbed Jericho by the front of his shirt.

"You mind taking this elsewhere, mate?" She asked rhetorically, right before she started dragging him through the crowd. She walked him down the hall past the bar where the bathrooms were located, and hurriedly chose the place they were least likely to be interrupted - the disabled accessible bathroom. Feeling like a bit of an asshole, she glanced over her shoulder, saw nobody looking, and shoved Jericho inside the room before stepping in and locking the door. She turned to him, her arms crossed and gaze steely.

"Alright Wendy," she said, "What's it going to take for you to keep your mouth shut?"


The changer came to a full stop, tattoo receding to his cheek as his face flushed with blood and ink alike; giving him a maroon parlor over his nose and the tips of his ears. "I'm so sorry! I just- Sometimes my mouth gets away from me you know? I never- I'm so sorry!"

He was fretting, and the shame and embarrassment was overwhelming, he hadn't been thinking and now he had pissed her off and why did he keep fucking things up?! "This is my first friend and I'm- Oh shit sorry." He had been talking aloud again. Great. "Look I just... You don't have to pay me anything! Hell just give me your number or something so that way I can like, avoid ever encountering you like that again! Unless you want to spar like that or something? You're the first person to actually break something on me that didn't use like, a gun..." His tattoo wriggled some, shifting from his cheek to the entirety of his face as he shifted his stance.

"Is this a secret thing? I mean, well, you just smelled like licorice and the windy-cape did too so it's just kinda obvious... Ugh. I'm sorry!" Repeating, again, what his statement from before had been. Jesus Christ did the rambling ever stop- "It's like it just gets worse every time you- Fuck. Sorry! I'm just... Stressed!" Again was he talking aloud! Jeez.


Vic lunged out at Jericho to grab his cheeks with one hand, mushing them together to force his lips into a kissy-shape which thankfully, prohibited him from talking.

"Jericho!" She hissed quietly, "Just... shut up! That's enough, OK?!"

Her panicked brain whirled, but she managed to keep a straight face. She let go of him and slumped her back against the door, overwhelmed. First "Pekah", now Jericho. Her identity was coming under fire lately, and she didn't like it. In fact, it made her feel sick. Exactly how she felt now. She ran her hands through her hair and sighed, calming herself down.

"So..." she began slowly, rubbing the burn on her chest, "You don't want to expose my identity." She'd gotten that much out of his ramblings. "You... you don't want... revenge?"


Jericho found that he rather didn't like having his face squished, but, on second finding? It was good she did so. He wouldn't have stopped rambling otherwise. "No... No! Of course not! You weren't blatantly using your powers outside of the fight, and I mean, you were just doing a job too! I'm not that stupid! If anything I would like to fight with you again! But... no fire. I never ever meant to hurt anyone, and I think even with the uh, other form, I went a bit too far."

A nervous smile plastered over his face, anxiety riding high on his speech. Focusing was hard, trying to hold onto the topic was harder than holding onto an eel in the water, with lotion on your hands. And if the eel was super strong- wait fuck, doing it again. "Look, I dunno what you think I'm like, but I'm not a ... vengeance and hellfire kinda person! I just wanna eat, have some friends, and just live! Ugh. I'm rambling again, sorry."

A hand came up, plastering over his mouth as his form wriggled for a moment; expanding and then changing until he took human shape again. His skin was flickering with colors and shapes, cephalopod tentacles crawling up from his wrists, while talons and fangs loomed around his fingers and his face. They looked like tattoos, albeit they moved and then began to glow. Pulsing with blues, greens and reds alike, flickering as if under a strobe light... before going neon bright. The change wasn't wanted, but Jericho found that it helped with anxiousness. Hell it even helped get his energy out, expending it on useless changes, if they were rather pretty.


Vic's back slid down the wall until her butt hit the ground. She sat there, exhaustion from the day beginning to take its toll, as she just watched Jericho's change. It was gorgeous. Well, she thought so, anyway. She eventually smiled, the coldness of her face melting away, back into plain old Vic.

"Well... good," she said briskly, standing back up again. "Now we just need an excuse for your outburst, and we're cool."

She unlocked the bathroom door, wanting to get out of this room of intense emotion that made her feel so small and uncomfortable as soon as possible, but just before she left, she looked back at him.

"For a disgusting nightmarish abomination, you sure do look beautiful right now."







Image


When Kate Martel booked into work at Capetown Children's Hospital that night, she discovered the place to be in absolute chaos.

"Capetown Memorial Hospital was hit in the power outage," a coworker informed her hurriedly when she asked around, "Even the generators are down, and from what I've heard, many of their electronics are fried. We've agreed to have a percentage of the patients transferred here until they get the hospital running again."

"Do we have the resources to support this influx of patients?"

Kate's question was met with a grave look.

"What of those who were on life support?"

The reply that Kate received was even graver.

She was assigned a seven year old boy who'd been rushed through the emergency ward that afternoon, needing to have a glass shard removed from his right eye. A bulb had exploded next to his face in the parahuman induced power outage. Under the knife, it was determined that his eye had been completely lost and it was completely removed. Kate walked to his bed carrying a tray with his dinner. He was watching the TV, his one eye fixated on the screen while the other was covered in bandages, while he limply played with the action figures his parents had left him.

"Hello, Liam. You must be starving," Kate said with a smile and laid the tray out in front of him, "It's been enough time after your surgery, you can eat now. How are you feeling?"

"Okay," Liam responded quietly, still looking at the screen. Kate glanced over to see a news report playing. She watched as the shot of the news reporter cut away to shaky, vertically-shot phone footage of a monster screaming from the top of The Prosperity Bank before disappearing back inside. The was shoved back by a wave of some unseen force, as well as the other onlookers, when they steadied themselves and focused the camera on an ambiguous white-clad figure flying away from the bank. The narration over the footage claimed that "the other perpetrator" was unknown, but assumed to be an illegal vigilante. The report began jumping around to civilian witnesses and Kate internally sighed. Since when had children been interested in the news? A report on a terrorist attack was hardly appropriate for the boy.

"It's Nobody," Liam suddenly spoke up, pointing at the screen.

"Hm?"

"The vigilante. That's Nobody," he confirmed, rather proudly, "He's all white and can fly." He moved the heroic action figure down in a swooping motion, dive-bombing the monster. Kate bit the inside of her lower lip, holding back her concern.

"Oh, really?" She said, faking enthusiasm, "What do you like about him?"

"I don't really like him. He's okay," he gave Kate a half-gummy smile, "Wendigo probably beat him up. He's much cooler."

The boy began ramming the monster figure into the hero, grinding him into his sheets. Kate watched on dully before leaving him to his own devices without a word.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image


The scent of sweat was the first thing Vic was met with that morning, groggily raising her head from the mattress she had collapsed belly-down on. She lazily frisked the sheets for her buzzing phone and turned off the alarm, fondly named "Limerbitch 10:30". She grunted in disapproval, then began scrolling through any messages she could have missed that morning. There was just one Rudy sent to her, a photo of the movie he'd claimed to have found at his neighbor's garage that he wanted to give to her. Ah, Hell's Martyrs. So controversial at the time of its release, the director fled the country and the lead actress was apparently driven mad on set. Rudy's neighbor truly had no idea about the gem he was giving away for $3.99.

She texted back a heart and caught a glimpse at the texts between her and Alex the evening before, her face relaxing into a smug smile as she did so. Man, that kid had to be freaking out. Being invited to her band's practice then grabbing coffee with a member just a couple days later? To think what came from a simple, awkward "sup". She remembered finding his number, hovering her hand above the bin with it. Lucky for him, the company of adoring fans was always appreciated, especially when trying to distract herself from the sort of company her "other self" attracted. And yeah... about that.

It wasn't like covering the tab for two ridiculously overpriced coffees was anything to raise an eyebrow at, but now that she'd had a very sudden and very extreme boost in her funds, she'd have to be... careful. Funny how too much money was a problem in its own right. Jericho and her had settled their score, he'd told the band that he just thought he saw her get hit by a fire bolt at the bank (in his own bumbling way that made Vic have to step in and translate for them) and didn't seem to have any desire to expose her. Of course, considering how she'd dragged him off, not everyone was satisfied with the story they came up with. Donovan.

Finally, she had the strength to get out of bed and take the shower her body was screaming for. Right before she hopped under the water, she sniffed under her armpit. Licorice, huh? She shook her head exasperatedly and got in.




Vic creaked the door to her Aunt's room open a crack, then crept inside the room when she noticed something odd. Two crumpled tissues were on the ground next to her bed. She tip-toed her way over to bin them and took a moment to look at her. She was such a short and frail looking woman for someone as sturdy and resilient as she was. Vic placed her rent on the kitchen table and left the house, skateboarding down the road and towards the inner city.

9:23 AM. Coffee. A bit spilled on her pastel sweater.

9:36 AM. Joined a busker. Left him with the cash she drew in.

9:49 AM. Listened to Limerence's planned set for the recording.

10:02 AM. Tuned into the radio. Needed something to cleanse her ears.

10:05 AM.

Sirens.

The faces of the people around her only registered briefly, filled with fear, confusion, and some with defeat, before they began to blur. Some panicked and ran, who knows where, others hurried while talking urgently into their cellphones. A car did a screeching U-turn. A homeless man didn't even budge. Vic slowly - or maybe she wasn't moving so slowly, maybe it just felt too slow - brought her cellphone up and began typing her Aunt's number, when a call interrupted her.

"Hello?"

"Where is the skateboard?" Kate's urgent voice came through, "Did you take it?! Why didn't you take the van?"

"They... have a drum set at the studio," Vic replied distractedly. She sometimes forgot that unassuming Kate was the one who taught her how to skate. "The world is ending. Why do you need it?"

"Don't joke with me, Victoria. I need to get to the hospital, the roads will be too heavy to drive quick en-"

"Why?" Things finally started to speed up again and she began to swerve her way around people, getting home as fast as she could, "You need to get to a shelter."

"I need to shelter the people I have responsibility for," Kate snapped, "You get to a shelter, now. I'll find another way to get there. Text me when you're safe."

"K-Kate?" Vic flinched from her stutter, annoyed at the anxiety infecting her. As she took a moment to properly observe the mass panic happening around her, the dread finally set in. Now everything was moving too fast. I don't want to fight it, she wanted to say. But she couldn't. Because Kate didn't know. She could see parahumans flying above her, making their way to HLA headquarters. All parahumans were together in this fight. Why did she feel so alone in it?

"It'll be alright, Vicky. I promise."

"That's not up to you."

Vic hung up and strengthened her resolve, glaring at the panic before her. It was infectious. She needed to get home as quick as possible to her costume, and there was only one tactic that would get her there fast enough. She ditched her skateboard and ran into the crowd, her solid matter shedding away. She flew as air towards home. Her costume was not as white as it used to be, the scorch marks on its chest left there by Jericho's recklessness. She wondered what he would be doing in this fight.

She materialized above the crowd at the HLA, her demeanor unnaturally calm. Her conflicting feelings had cancelled one another out and now, all that was left was white noise. She took out her phone.

[I'm safe.]

Nothing to see here. Move along, 2733472. Nothing to see here. Move along, 2733825. Nothing to see here. Move along, 2733827. Nothing to see here. Move along, 2733828.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image


Quinn set off in the early evening in a black dress and bonnet, looking as if she was in mourning. In a way she was, mourning for the life she felt was about to change. Her somber attire was definitely not for the dead man she had currently in her suitcase.

Marcel had been left at home to burn the parts that would not fit within her bags and the blood and waste soaked carpet he'd butchered them over. The smell made Quinn uncomfortable and she opted to get out of the house and be rid of the rest of the evidence as soon as possible. A neighbor had made a comment to her that whatever she was cooking in there smelled delicious, which she could only return with a pained smile and mention that the preparation had been a hassle.

She took a road around the back streets of the city, making her way to a discrete location where she hoped to drop the body into the sewers. While she was walking and trying to distract herself from the thought that she was carrying a corpse, somebody ran into her and promptly fell onto their bottom. She was a little girl, face smeared with dirt, who apologized with a half-toothless grin as Quinn knelt down to her. She helped the girl up before the little rat took off running with her handbag.

"Get back here!" Quinn shouted after her but she kept running. Quinn's frustration fell away as the contents of that satchel came to mind, being replaced with a very different emotion. Her olive eyes went wide.

"Oh, shit," she swore, lifted her skirts and took off in the direction the girl had run.

The girl had opted to scamper towards the sound of chatter and people rather than into the shadows, probably hoping to lose her pursuer in the crowds, if there were any such crowds out in the evening. Quinn's bag was slowing her down in the pursuit but she couldn't bring herself to leave a case full of evidence around for anyone to find, especially in a place like Veilbrand when it could be mistaken for holding valuables. As Quinn broke onto the main street, she saw stalls being set up - oh, crap, the night markets were on today, weren't they? Yes, she could even see the space her stall was supposed to be set. These murders had really driven a stake through her schedule.

She saw the girl's red hair disappear among the company of ladies and men dressed similarly to Quinn, the only people who could afford what these stalls were presenting. Quinn almost let the girl go then, but the thought that she could take the bag off her before she could peek its contents spurred her forward. That was when she heard it.

The shrill, anguished scream of a little girl.

The small crowd parted, almost as if just for Quinn to see what was happening. The girl had opened the bag and thrown it to the ground, tossing a hand out of it. Quinn caught the glimpse of silver on one of its fingers and her lips went tight with anger. By the gods, Marcel, did you really not think to remove all items of clothing and valuables before packing these people away?! That was a ring with the Veilbrand crest - guard commission!

Guards had already come to the girl's aid and her teary eyes met with Quinn's. Her heart jolted and she turned away, hurriedly (and painfully aware of how suspicious she seemed) walking back to the alleyways. She heard people jogging up behind her and there was a command for her to halt and hand over her suitcase. And then Quinn did something you must never do when you are under suspicion. She dropped her case and bolted.




Image


Marcel was half naked, crouched in front of the fireplace and stroking the flames with a metal poker. Her could see the blackened meat and shards of bone poking through the firewood, which he regarded grimly. It wasn't the first time seeing a burnt up body. Sweat was dripping down his bare back from the heat of the fire, but he didn't dare open a window to bring in a breeze. The smell of meat brought attention to the house and a whole lot of awkward encounters for him.

There was a sudden rapid succession of knocks at the door, that kept going on up until he unlocked the door and opened it for whoever was outside. It was a short woman with a red face covered in sweat, who raised one gloved hand and swung it towards his face to strike him. He caught her small wrist, his golden eyes regarding her seriously.

"Quinn," he said, "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to allow you to hit me whenever something in your life isn't going well."

Her eyes were shaky with fury and her lips trembled, but she yanked her hand away and shoved past him into her house.

"I have to pack," she muttered to herself as she fretted around the living room, picking up scrolls and jewelry, "Well, I would pack if my bags weren't full of dead people and with the guard. Oh, tempest take them. Tempest take you all."

"What happened, Quinn?" Marcel asked, voice laden with concern, [color=#483f6d]"How did the guard get the bag?"

"That thieving little runt. Took her bait. Shouldn't have run after - gods, they're coming for me. I barely escaped. I can't -"

Marcel lurched forward grabbed her by the arms, pining them to her sides and jerking her out of her mutterings. Her eyes cleared and she looked up at him, her body tense with resistance. "Quinn," he started, searching for a question he could ask that she wouldn't dismiss, "Is it safe for you to be here?" She shook her head. "Then I'm helping you get out. Grab all that you need and we're going."

They didn't discuss where they were leaving to. Marcel put out the fire and updated his supplies, all while glancing back at Quinn, her writings bundled up in her arms, as she stared at the pearl jewelry spread out on her table. After a while of watching her do nothing, he marched over and started picking up the pieces and adorning her with them. Lastly, he fixed two quirky cage earrings containing pearls to her ears. He clasped a string of pearls around his own neck and smiled at her, "There. Go choose two dresses. We can't take them all."

She frowned and blurted, "I know," before running up the stairs. Marcel sighed. It felt like he was instructing a child. A very destructive, terrifying child.




It was dark when they left the house. They could hear the guard performing a search just two streets down. Marcel almost forgot to put his shirt back on and Quinn's cold hands on his back reminded him of his unseemly presentation. They sneaked through the back alleys into the sketchiest parts of the city, Quinn gripping Marcel's hand as he led the way.

"Marcel," she finally spoke up, "How do we get out?"

"The same way I came in," he replied, "You pay in food or anything useful and they make you an exit."

"I meant Veilbrand," she remedied, "They aren't fond of people leaving."

"Either we travel up the mountains, not the best method given your attire, or we try our luck underground. Less of a view but less going uphill in heels."

"Underground? You speak of the rebel's tunnels, is that it?" Quinn pursed her lips, "I visited one often. Egruus had it sealed two years ago."

"He doesn't know where they all are."

"You have a map?"

"No maps. Maps are tangible evidence. The only way to navigate through them is to remember directions given by word of mouth."

Quinn sniffed.

"I know what you just thought," Marcel mused.

"Excuse me?"

"You just thought I'm going to get us lost," he said with a chuckle, "I've been on the road for years, Quinn. I'm smart for some things, if you can remember."

Quinn clicked her tongue. "Very well. Tunnels it is." She shuffled behind him for a little longer before yanking him in a motion to stop, "You aren't coming with me, are you?"

Marcel turned to her, brow furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"When we cross the border you will not be coming with me," Quinn stated, not even asking a question. Marcel let out a short laugh out of shock then folded his arms.

"You don't have to pay me to assist you," he assured, "I'm doing this as your friend."

"Are we friends?" Quinn shot, "You came here for the revolution. Seek out the rebels and stay for it." Marcel went silent and ran a hand through his hair. Quinn's face morphed into repulsion, "By the gods, you did come here to visit me."

"Well..." Marcel began, "... Yes, I currently have no other business in Veilbrand but you."

"I'm not your business!" she exclaimed, "I - I hired you, once! You can't come here and claim responsibility over me."

"Do you want help or not?"

Quinn sealed her running mouth shut and looked to the ground. She gave a barely visible nod, "I want to hire you." She looked back up at him, her eyes burning, "And once I find another life, I want you to stay away from it."

Marcel nodded stiffly. "I can do that."

The rest of their journey out of Veilbrand was practically silent, with the two only saying what they really wanted in their glances while the other wasn't looking.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Image


Quinn set off in the early evening in a black dress and bonnet, looking as if she was in mourning. In a way she was, mourning for the life she felt was about to change. Her somber attire was definitely not for the dead man she had currently in her suitcase.

Marcel had been left at home to burn the parts that would not fit within her bags and the blood and waste soaked carpet he'd butchered them over. The smell made Quinn uncomfortable and she opted to get out of the house and be rid of the rest of the evidence as soon as possible. A neighbor had made a comment to her that whatever she was cooking in there smelled delicious, which she could only return with a pained smile and mention that the preparation had been a hassle.

She took a road around the back streets of the city, making her way to a discrete location where she hoped to drop the body into the sewers. While she was walking and trying to distract herself from the thought that she was carrying a corpse, somebody ran into her and promptly fell onto their bottom. She was a little girl, face smeared with dirt, who apologized with a half-toothless grin as Quinn knelt down to her. She helped the girl up before the little rat took off running with her handbag.

"Get back here!" Quinn shouted after her but she kept running. Quinn's frustration fell away as the contents of that satchel came to mind, being replaced with a very different emotion. Her olive eyes went wide.

"Oh, shit," she swore, lifted her skirts and took off in the direction the girl had run.

The girl had opted to scamper towards the sound of chatter and people rather than into the shadows, probably hoping to lose her pursuer in the crowds, if there were any such crowds out in the evening. Quinn's bag was slowing her down in the pursuit but she couldn't bring herself to leave a case full of evidence around for anyone to find, especially in a place like Veilbrand when it could be mistaken for holding valuables. As Quinn broke onto the main street, she saw stalls being set up - oh, crap, the night markets were on today, weren't they? Yes, she could even see the space her stall was supposed to be set. These murders had really driven a stake through her schedule.

She saw the girl's red hair disappear among the company of ladies and men dressed similarly to Quinn, the only people who could afford what these stalls were presenting. Quinn almost let the girl go then, but the thought that she could take the bag off her before she could peek its contents spurred her forward. That was when she heard it.

The shrill, anguished scream of a little girl.

The small crowd parted, almost as if just for Quinn to see what was happening. The girl had opened the bag and thrown it to the ground, tossing a hand out of it. Quinn caught the glimpse of silver on one of its fingers and her lips went tight with anger. By the gods, Marcel, did you really not think to remove all items of clothing and valuables before packing these people away?! That was a ring with the Veilbrand crest - guard commission!

Guards had already come to the girl's aid and her teary eyes met with Quinn's. Her heart jolted and she turned away, hurriedly (and painfully aware of how suspicious she seemed) walking back to the alleyways. She heard people jogging up behind her and there was a command for her to halt and hand over her suitcase. And then Quinn did something you must never do when you are under suspicion. She dropped her case and bolted.




Image


Marcel was half naked, crouched in front of the fireplace and stroking the flames with a metal poker. Her could see the blackened meat and shards of bone poking through the firewood, which he regarded grimly. It wasn't the first time seeing a burnt up body. Sweat was dripping down his bare back from the heat of the fire, but he didn't dare open a window to bring in a breeze. The smell of meat brought attention to the house and a whole lot of awkward encounters for him.

There was a sudden rapid succession of knocks at the door, that kept going on up until he unlocked the door and opened it for whoever was outside. It was a short woman with a red face covered in sweat, who raised one gloved hand and swung it towards his face to strike him. He caught her small wrist, his golden eyes regarding her seriously.

"Quinn," he said, "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to allow you to hit me whenever something in your life isn't going well."

Her eyes were shaky with fury and her lips trembled, but she yanked her hand away and shoved past him into her house.

"I have to pack," she muttered to herself as she fretted around the living room, picking up scrolls and jewelry, "Well, I would pack if my bags weren't full of dead people and with the guard. Oh, tempest take them. Tempest take you all."

"What happened, Quinn?" Marcel asked, voice laden with concern, "What happened to the bag?"

"That thieving little runt. Took her bait. Shouldn't have run after - gods, they're coming for me. I barely escaped. I can't -"

Marcel lurched forward grabbed her by the arms, pining them to her sides and jerking her out of her mutterings. Her eyes cleared and she looked up at him, her body tense with resistance. "Quinn," he started, searching for a question he could ask that she wouldn't dismiss, "Is it safe for you to be here?" She shook her head. "Then I'm helping you get out. Grab all that you need and we're going."

They didn't discuss where they were leaving to. Marcel put out the fire and updated his supplies, all while glancing back at Quinn, her writings bundled up in her arms, as she stared at the pearl jewelry spread out on her table. After a while of watching her do nothing, he marched over and started picking up the pieces and adorning her with them. Lastly, he fixed two quirky cage earrings containing pearls to her ears. He clasped a string of pearls around his own neck and smiled at her, "We better sneak out quietly, or we'll be mugged before the sun goes down."

Quinn let out a loud, defeated groan and slumped against him, burying her head in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a comforting rub on the back. She just remained a moment before pushing herself up briskly and declaring, "Marcel, you're hired."

Marcel grimaced, "Quinn, you don't have to hire me. I'm here to help you."

"You're hired," she repeated decisively. Marcel bit back his tongue and straightened, regarding her with concern. She was remarkably still for someone with so much fury. At last he nodded.

"Very well," he said stiffly, "Miss Quinn."

She lifted her chin and began to walk up the stairs away from him, "Start planning a route. I'm finding a wardrobe."

Marcel whipped his head up to her, "Only choose a few, we can't take -"

She ran up the stairs before we could finish, not before shooting a steely gaze that said, "I. Know." Marcel sighed. It no longer felt like he was instructing a child. She was a very destructive, terrifying person, yes, but no longer a child. He had the feeling that this trip with Miss Quinn was not going to be as much fun as his adventures with Mistress Ottavia.

Nothing to see here. Move along, 2734632.

Setting

Characters Present

No characters tagged in this post!

Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

Footnotes

Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

Marcel leisurely walked down the Capital's darkest, narrowest alleyways with no light to guide him but a sparse lantern here and there and the moon. His eyes flitted from the paper he held to the rooftops and every fork in the road he passed as he whistled. His whistling came to a halt as he caught sight of a sloached, cloaked figure propped against a wall with a tin at his feet. Marcel slid his gaze over to the door the beggar was positioned beside, looked back at the paper, then smirked. The figure stired as Marcel's scrunched up paper hit the bottom of the tin.

"Hey," Marcel greeted casually, "Got your note."[/color]

The beggar flipped back his hood, revealing him to be the sallow-faced, lanky boy that had run into Marcel earlier that evening. He shot a half-smile as he got to his feet and went through the door beside him. A few moments passed before he returned, leaving the door open for Marcel to step through. It opened into a small room, shabby and consisting of nothing but a table and two chairs, one being already occupied. To his right, two more men. To the left, one and an entrance to another room. All men were visibly armed with daggers, no firearms or long blades as far as he could see. How convenient for fighting in a tight, enclosed location. He kept his hand on the hilt of Shiver.

"Marcel Starr, we're glad you responded to our invitation so graciously," the man sitting behind the table addressed him as the door was shut behind him. Now this was a man he recognised, unlike these other grunts. That ginger moustache was burned into memory.

"Well, this ain't no Chancellor's mansion," Marcel remarked as he came forward and plumped down on his seat, swinging his feet up onto the table. He shot the moustached man a grin, "The Garnett Family sure has fallen, huh, Abott? I wonder how that happened..."

"Spare me your pleasantries, Starr," Abott scowled. One of the men came forward and began pouring the two of them a drink. "My orders to meet with you came on short notice. I apologize if our presentation isn't up to your standards." He held out a glass of brandy to Marcel. He just gave Abott a smile that didn't reach his eyes before unstrapping his sword in a swift movement and lifting it. There was a commotion across the room as all hands went to their weapons, when Marcel placed his sheathed blade on the table.

"A gesture of goodwill," he said and took the brandy, washing it down in one toss of his head. He smacked the glass down with a grin, "So, what can this untrustworthy bastard do for you today? Or, why in Heresta's name do your lot want to hire me after -" he made a "pwooooh" sound and let his hands expand, mimicking an explosion.

"You read my mind," Abott said, resentment colouring his words. He set his empty glass aside and leaned forward, his chin resting on clasped hands. "Our Lady's head was turned by your arrival. She has requested that you carry out a task and in return she will... Lend a favour."

Marcel's golden eyes narrowed and he dropped his feet from the table. "Is Rucia giving orders from her cell now? Honestly, I thought you were through after her capture. Always has a backup plan, doesn't she, that woman..."

Abott shook his head. "Lady Saphine runs the establishment these days." Marcel had to restrain himself from shuddering. He didn't like how the pompous bastard said that name.

"Then what does this 'Saphine' want from me?"

And so came the blunt answer that Marcel already knew.

"The last Virmonte."

Marcel's jiggling foot paused.

"Don't know her," he said after a moment. Abott let out a frustrated noise and Marcel waved his hand, chuckling lightly, "Of course you want Ottavia. But what's the plan once you have her?"

"I believe that is the Lady's business and none of ours," Abott snapped. Marcel raised an eyebrow.

"I like mysteries," he mused. His eyes trailed up to the ceiling and he asked with a more serious tone than those who knew Marcel would be accustomed to, "What do I get for this?"

"First let me make this clear," Abott replied, his chest puffing up, "We know where she is. We could easily take her if you don't comply. Whatever our Lady's motivations for reaching out to you are, I don't understand them. You will be paid for your trouble, but whatever this 'favour' is, I have no idea."

"Oh, I think I know," Marcel said slyly. He stretched and let out a big yawn before hopping out of his seat and cracking his neck. "So, hand over Mistress Ottavia to the Garnetts. Is that all?"

"That's all."

"... I'll think about it," he said and turned as a man came to his side to escort him out.

"Starr, you're forgetting something," Abott pointed out, gesturing to the blade left on the table.

"Oh. You're right. I almost didn't -"

There was a flash of movement as Marcel spun around, snatched up Shiver and jabbed the hilt of blade into the throat of the man beside him. It was a short, deadly movement that made a crunch and the man's eyes bulge, right before the sheathed blade cracked against his head and took him down. Abott just the time to stumble and and reach for his pistol before the table had been kicked over him and Marcel had pounced onto it. He drew Shiver and stabbed it through the wood, piercing Abott's chest. He coughed, spitting flecks of blood while looking up at Marcel's humorless stare.

Two on your right.

Marcel left his blade stuck in the table as one of the duo took a thrusting stab at him. He pushed the arm swinging the blade with his palm as he slid to the side, using the man's momentum against him. His eyes followed the knife moving narrowly past his head. Marcel's fingers grasped around the arm and he swept his leg under the man, knocking him off his feet and leaving his arm straight up with his elbow locked. Marcel struck it with his knee and felt it snap. The knife went limp in the wailing man's hand and just Marcel took the weapon he'd been aiming for, an unarmed someone tackled him from behind, holding him for the charging other half of the duo.

A backwards stab to the side and a head jerk to the nose took care of the idiot trying to hold him down. The bigger problem wasn't the man swinging a knife at him, but Abott. He was up, his shallow chest wound bleeding through his distasteful ruffles and flintlock pistol at the ready. Rather than taking down his other assailant, Marcel ducked behind him and his attacks and pressed his knife to his throat, then took off running at Abott with his meat shield.

He felt the body reverberate from the shock of being torn into by two bullets before he tossed it aside, a foot from the shooter. Marcel smiled dully at the satisfying thought of never seeing that horrid moustache again as he slit the Abott's throat.

The fight felt like it was over before it truly started. What came next were a few gurgles then silence. Mostly.

Marcel sighed at the suspicious quantity of blood soaked into his shirt, then looked over his shoulder to see the man with the broken arm and guy with a bloodied side both clutching their wounds and making an escape.

"Hey, wait, I'm coming for you. Just a second," Marcel called out the went to yank Shiver out of the table. After a few seconds of struggling to get it out then checking his baby for damage, the man with a broken arm was gone. The bleeding one was still crawling. Marcel sheathed Shiver and jogged past the bodies to the door, poking out his head. The man was limping away, but he didn't pursue.

"That kid watching the door is gone," he murmured, "Probably ran off when he heard the fight start. Oh well, no point in killing you." He walked past the dying young man on his was to unconcious man amongst the dead. The body with the cleanest shirt. He squatted and picked at the fabric. Really not his style, but whatever. He stripped him of it and tied it around his waist for the time being then approached the shivering, bleeding man, drawing his sword. He stomped his boot down on his back when he reached him and swung the blade to pause right beside his neck.

"I believe I've made my point," he said darkly, "Touch Ottavia, and I'll murder you. Can you take that message to your Lady?" The young man just grunted and Marcel brought the blade closer, scraping his cheek. He nodded. Marcel sheathed Shiver and hauled the bleeding man off the ground, slinging his arm over his shoulders.

"Come on, buddy. No use in bleeding out here."




Almost as soon as the words left Marcus's mouth, the devil himself burst though the doors wearing a too-small white button up, all buttons undone. Quinn instinctively shot to her feet, hands hitting the table. Marcel's amber eyes met hers in moments and he waved cheerfully at the table before walking over.

"Where have you been?" Quinn demanded as he reached the table.

"What, can't a mercenary have a social life?" he waved off and took a seat, picking up her unfinished tankard and downing it. He retched as he pulled away. "By the Goddess, that tastes like shit. How do you do this to yourselves?" His eyes darted to the empty chair at the table. "Where's Jeanne?"

Three bowls of stew were set down before them on the table. Quinn thanked the barmaid then gave Marcel the evil eye as she picked up two bowls, taking away the one set in front of him. His delighted expression was reduced to disappointment and hurt.

"The payment for your services is in my room. Come collect it when you're done here," she said coolly. Marcel frowned, heaving.

"Come on, Quinn, I'm not taking your money just for hanging around."

Quinn froze, he grip on the bowls tightening. For a moment it looked as if she had something she wanted to scream (or throw) at him.

"You have blood on your face," she said calmly, then turned to Marcus and addressed him in a thin, composed manner, "It was nice speaking with you, Marcus. It's my turn to take care of Jeanne now. Goodnight."

Marcel watched her leave, confused and a little miffed. "Women," he murmured to Marcus as he rubbed Abott's blood from his face, then lifted his tankard up to be refilled.

Please Scroll Past: Out Of Character (OOC)

  • Topics
    Replies
    Views
    Last post

Most recent OOC posts in Please Scroll Past

Re: Please Scroll Past

If you would like some help, then the Scholar team in the Role Play Academy will be happy to offer it.


Re: Please Scroll Past

And... just like that I got the hang of that something! All good here, thank you for scrolling past and ignoring me! *waves goodbye to... nobody* Ah well.


Please Scroll Past

This is the auto-generated OOC topic for the roleplay "Please Scroll Past"

You may edit this first post as you see fit.