Introduction
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Gimme Storage is where I test out codes, layouts, and characters. Ask permission before using anything because stealing makes you look petty, immoral, and above all unoriginal. So to all the thieves out there, git gud.
βcs: bethelitxxβartist: tsukada yuuto (shokugeki no soma)
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- 20 posts here • Page 1 of 1
The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 2 authors
Setting
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βMouse get back!β Claire yells, dragging his partner back.
Revenant, class A, he recites to himself, beings raised from the dead either to fight or kill.
He frowns.
βSomeoneβs got beef with you what a surprise,β he mutters as he draws his gun, βwhat did you do to raise Drusilla from the dead?β
He prepares to fire, but curses once he realizes how close they are to the other passengers. Instead, he pulls Miyoshi closer as Drusilla thrusts her knife forward.
βI will cut you from this world!β
Using the gunβs barrel, he barely blocks her before she forces him to clumsily jab his gun at her again.
βIβm tired of your interference Claire,β she hisses.
βIβm not going to hear that from a trigger ghost doll,β he taunts, dodging her next strike.
With each of her slices, Claire slides farther and farther back, pushing and pulling Miyoshi to follow his movement. Deliberate steps lead him closer and closer to the back of the cart, but Drusillaβs bloodlust only drives her to run faster.
Red eyes and thin lips only form into a grin as she nears the dimly lit corner. She needs only wait for the overhead lamps to flicker before she closes the distance.
Crash.
Vials of holy water shatter on the ground, spraying the revenant. Steam emanates Rigid and petrified, Drusilla falls to the ground mere feet from Claire and Miyoshi.
After setting down Miyoshi, he reaches for his last device: a pocket mirror. The object is plastic and metal with a bejeweled daisy carved in the center. It flicks open effortlessly before a pair of arms thrust forward, embracing her apparent keeper.
βBig brother youβre back!β she exclaims as she nuzzles into his chest.
Claire smiles wryly before returning her hug.
βMary Iβm going to need you to do a special job for me,β he sighs as he nervously runs his hand through blood-stained, ethereal hair.
βBut you always make me do jobs!β she whines before Claire releases her, βwe never do anything fun!β
βI...I know Mary, but I really, really need this. Weβre in danger right now and Uncle Miyoshiβs not feeling well,β he replies, gesturing over.
She crosses her arms and throws an accusatory glare toward Miyoshi.
βAre you doing drugs again?β she gestures for Claire to turn the compact over so she can glare at her uncle properly.
βIβm afraid so, poppet,β[/b][/color] Miyoshi says with a handsome, gentlemanly smile.
βIβm not a poppet! I can come out any time I want!β she huffs before giving a few futile tugs to exit the mirror.
Unfortunately, she is no poppet and merely bounces back to her compact.
βEr Mary,β Claire lifts open the compact once more, βwe need your help because there is someone very, very dangerous.β
Mary turns and nearly shrieks, but Claire quickly clasps his hand over her mouth. He turns her over before smoothing out her nightgown with his free hand.
βSh-shh! People Mary. There are people sleeping,β he whispers sharply, βwe need to get rid of her without wakinβ everyone up.β
She pushes away his hand before puffing up. βAlright let me at βer!β
βNo no, Mary, I just need yaβ to make a veil while I deal with this ghost outside.β
Claire sets down a pouting Mary, but not before giving her a reassuring look.
βWhen you get a little older I promise,β he says, facing the compact toward the hallway.
Spiritual energy emanates from the mirror, cloaking the area in a thick white fog before evaporating into a clear, seamless reflection of the sleeping cart. Anyone who passes by will see nothing more than a locked exit to the baggage.
βThanks Mary, just keep the veil up βtil Iβm back okay?β Claire asks before shooting Miyoshi a knowing look..
βBut itβs dangerous! You might-β
βMary,β Claire cuts in before his face steels, βstay where you are.β
He seizes Drumont as she begins thrashing and dashes toward the back door, forcing the both of them out before he feels the door shut behind him.
βThe darkness is closing in, I can see now,β she rasps as she escapes from his arms.
βCareful Drusilla, you know how good I am at bumping off you ghosts,β he taunts as he shoots forward.
Not to be outdone, she glides to the roof of the next cart, clutching her elbow.
Piker, [/i]he curses mentally as he climbs the ladder attached to the door behind him. The train shakes slightly as it rumbles along the tracks. He stumbles onto the roof, barely dodging the first of many strikes to his chest and stomach. For every bulb that lit the trainβs journey, he had ten seconds of darkness to block or shoot her, but not let her escape. With the rest of the cart still lit, he knows the door is the only entrance left.
Drusilla might be a revenant, but the dollβs still smarter than me dead or alive, he thinks as he kicks away her knife.
[b]βCome out Dru, youβre gonna have to go through me to ice Mouse,β Claire announces as he reaches his hand into the darkness.
Nothing.
βClearly you donβt know me very well at all.β
She kicks him down and stabs downward, giving Claire a window to grab her bad arm and pull her down. Though she nearly falls, Drusilla catches herself on her knees and pins him by the legs. His grip remains firm, diverting her knife into the trainβs roof before she reappears on top of him, knife at his throat.
βYouβre right doll, two hordes of slaughs in Dublin and the only thing I know is that youβre a crazy, Catholic-hating bitch,β he chuckles before bashing her in the head with his pistol.
Instinctively, she raises her knife to block, giving Claire time to throw her body off the train.
βNo, not Catholics, just you,β she replies, βleaving me to for dead to save the pastor!β
It takes only a brief moment for her to reappear behind Claire, but he detects her from sound alone.
βYou wanted to throw him to the sluaghs!β he yells, firing two rounds into her heart, βdo you think βcause he was sick he deserved to kick the bucket?β
[color=#837E7C][b]βHe was poisoning the House--still is,β she yells as she barely misses a swipe at Claireβs chest.
For each quip and retort they exchange Drumont blinks in and out of the shadows, taking advantage of the pattern Claire must run in to keep up with the railroad lights.
βYou canβt have a dead man running a palace. Youβll only attract--β
β--attract vultures,β Claire finishes, watching for the revenant to apparate. βHe wasnβt dead Dru! He had Irelandβs best healers helping him!β[/b][/color]
βYou couldnβt heal that kind of sickness with priests and holy water.β
Drusilla lunges forward with her knife, allowing Claire to take advantage of her momentum. Grabbing her arm, he tosses her forward before shooting her. She vanishes again, managing to graze Claireβs chest before landing on her feet.
βYou didnβt even try Dru! The point of these missions is to help people--help the House,β he quiets his voice for a few moments, βI wanted to help you too.β
βDonβt you dare act righteous now when youβre protecting him of all people,β she hisses, βyou know his true nature better than anyone.β
Claire winces, first in bewilderment and then in anger. More than the pain from the knife, turmoil wells in his body. He cannot refute her argument, but he cannot agree with her statements either. Miyoshi has his fair share of problems that could not be explained by physical or spiritual corruption which he is sure spurned his drug addiction. Everything beneath the Japanese maleβs manicured exterior screams unsustainable and he hates Drusilla for being so frank with her words.
It would be easy, he often thinks, to drop him as a friend or a partner for issues of incompatibility or dangerousness but nothing is truly that black and white. If the House put every madman to rest, half of his superiors would be gone and Miyoshi isnβt nearly on the same level as those who became possessed by their inner demons. They called it something else, but even when the man they were protecting threatened to kill his Artifact Claire never had it in him to blame the guy.
βYeah and he might be a pill popper, he might be a lot βa things but heβs still my friend,β Claire finally says as he moves forward, βI stick by them through thick and thin.β
Instead of waiting to dodge her next strike he fires a shot in the darkness, anticipating her evaporation before firing behind him and hearing a satisfying fall. Unfortunately for Drusilla, she hadnβt forgotten about the railroadβs pattern of overhead lights and left herself open to a second shot. She blinks back into the darkness, but each dash only agitates the shrapnel in her chest. Claire on the other hand, only continues to dodge and use her faltering stamina to his advantage. His empty-handed hits still make no impact, but the time between each apparition increases. Her slices turn from decisive strikes to slow motion swings until he finally grabs her by the arm and shoulder and slams her into the roof.
In one motion, he forces her knife into her chest, carving out a hole until he rips her heart out. Though bloodless, the color (what little is left) drains from Drusillaβs face as she uses her last efforts to wriggle from Claireβs grasp.
βEither you give up now or your next death wonβt be as pretty as your first,β Claire pants, fully aware that this was only half the victory.
Swiveling his head, he sees her beelining for the window. Too exhausted to fully deform, she slithers toward the nearest window in a half-shadow and half-human form but Claireβs rough hands drag her across the roof. Then down the ladder, and within the entrance where they first started.
βI see we were never friends to begin with,β she surmises, her knife slipping through the rails.
βYou lost me when you betrayed the House,β Claire states bluntly.
Expressionless and exhausted, he shoots the rest of his bullets into her neck until her head snaps right off from sheer force. Granted, he could use the knife, but the catharsis is too good to pass up.
βThe House will fall...your friend a weak pillar,β she whispers.
Her body begins dissolving, but rather than run back the Irishman stays for the duration of her death. He whispers a few lines to put her to rest but her words weigh on his soul. During the fight he assured himself that she spoke only nonsense, but nothing keeps him from visualizing Miyoshiβs gaunt expressions.
Revenant, class A, he recites to himself, beings raised from the dead either to fight or kill.
He frowns.
βSomeoneβs got beef with you what a surprise,β he mutters as he draws his gun, βwhat did you do to raise Drusilla from the dead?β
He prepares to fire, but curses once he realizes how close they are to the other passengers. Instead, he pulls Miyoshi closer as Drusilla thrusts her knife forward.
βI will cut you from this world!β
Using the gunβs barrel, he barely blocks her before she forces him to clumsily jab his gun at her again.
βIβm tired of your interference Claire,β she hisses.
βIβm not going to hear that from a trigger ghost doll,β he taunts, dodging her next strike.
With each of her slices, Claire slides farther and farther back, pushing and pulling Miyoshi to follow his movement. Deliberate steps lead him closer and closer to the back of the cart, but Drusillaβs bloodlust only drives her to run faster.
Red eyes and thin lips only form into a grin as she nears the dimly lit corner. She needs only wait for the overhead lamps to flicker before she closes the distance.
Crash.
Vials of holy water shatter on the ground, spraying the revenant. Steam emanates Rigid and petrified, Drusilla falls to the ground mere feet from Claire and Miyoshi.
After setting down Miyoshi, he reaches for his last device: a pocket mirror. The object is plastic and metal with a bejeweled daisy carved in the center. It flicks open effortlessly before a pair of arms thrust forward, embracing her apparent keeper.
βBig brother youβre back!β she exclaims as she nuzzles into his chest.
Claire smiles wryly before returning her hug.
βMary Iβm going to need you to do a special job for me,β he sighs as he nervously runs his hand through blood-stained, ethereal hair.
βBut you always make me do jobs!β she whines before Claire releases her, βwe never do anything fun!β
βI...I know Mary, but I really, really need this. Weβre in danger right now and Uncle Miyoshiβs not feeling well,β he replies, gesturing over.
She crosses her arms and throws an accusatory glare toward Miyoshi.
βAre you doing drugs again?β she gestures for Claire to turn the compact over so she can glare at her uncle properly.
βIβm afraid so, poppet,β[/b][/color] Miyoshi says with a handsome, gentlemanly smile.
βIβm not a poppet! I can come out any time I want!β she huffs before giving a few futile tugs to exit the mirror.
Unfortunately, she is no poppet and merely bounces back to her compact.
βEr Mary,β Claire lifts open the compact once more, βwe need your help because there is someone very, very dangerous.β
Mary turns and nearly shrieks, but Claire quickly clasps his hand over her mouth. He turns her over before smoothing out her nightgown with his free hand.
βSh-shh! People Mary. There are people sleeping,β he whispers sharply, βwe need to get rid of her without wakinβ everyone up.β
She pushes away his hand before puffing up. βAlright let me at βer!β
βNo no, Mary, I just need yaβ to make a veil while I deal with this ghost outside.β
Claire sets down a pouting Mary, but not before giving her a reassuring look.
βWhen you get a little older I promise,β he says, facing the compact toward the hallway.
Spiritual energy emanates from the mirror, cloaking the area in a thick white fog before evaporating into a clear, seamless reflection of the sleeping cart. Anyone who passes by will see nothing more than a locked exit to the baggage.
βThanks Mary, just keep the veil up βtil Iβm back okay?β Claire asks before shooting Miyoshi a knowing look..
βBut itβs dangerous! You might-β
βMary,β Claire cuts in before his face steels, βstay where you are.β
He seizes Drumont as she begins thrashing and dashes toward the back door, forcing the both of them out before he feels the door shut behind him.
βThe darkness is closing in, I can see now,β she rasps as she escapes from his arms.
βCareful Drusilla, you know how good I am at bumping off you ghosts,β he taunts as he shoots forward.
Not to be outdone, she glides to the roof of the next cart, clutching her elbow.
Piker, [/i]he curses mentally as he climbs the ladder attached to the door behind him. The train shakes slightly as it rumbles along the tracks. He stumbles onto the roof, barely dodging the first of many strikes to his chest and stomach. For every bulb that lit the trainβs journey, he had ten seconds of darkness to block or shoot her, but not let her escape. With the rest of the cart still lit, he knows the door is the only entrance left.
Drusilla might be a revenant, but the dollβs still smarter than me dead or alive, he thinks as he kicks away her knife.
[b]βCome out Dru, youβre gonna have to go through me to ice Mouse,β Claire announces as he reaches his hand into the darkness.
Nothing.
βClearly you donβt know me very well at all.β
She kicks him down and stabs downward, giving Claire a window to grab her bad arm and pull her down. Though she nearly falls, Drusilla catches herself on her knees and pins him by the legs. His grip remains firm, diverting her knife into the trainβs roof before she reappears on top of him, knife at his throat.
βYouβre right doll, two hordes of slaughs in Dublin and the only thing I know is that youβre a crazy, Catholic-hating bitch,β he chuckles before bashing her in the head with his pistol.
Instinctively, she raises her knife to block, giving Claire time to throw her body off the train.
βNo, not Catholics, just you,β she replies, βleaving me to for dead to save the pastor!β
It takes only a brief moment for her to reappear behind Claire, but he detects her from sound alone.
βYou wanted to throw him to the sluaghs!β he yells, firing two rounds into her heart, βdo you think βcause he was sick he deserved to kick the bucket?β
[color=#837E7C][b]βHe was poisoning the House--still is,β she yells as she barely misses a swipe at Claireβs chest.
For each quip and retort they exchange Drumont blinks in and out of the shadows, taking advantage of the pattern Claire must run in to keep up with the railroad lights.
βYou canβt have a dead man running a palace. Youβll only attract--β
β--attract vultures,β Claire finishes, watching for the revenant to apparate. βHe wasnβt dead Dru! He had Irelandβs best healers helping him!β[/b][/color]
βYou couldnβt heal that kind of sickness with priests and holy water.β
Drusilla lunges forward with her knife, allowing Claire to take advantage of her momentum. Grabbing her arm, he tosses her forward before shooting her. She vanishes again, managing to graze Claireβs chest before landing on her feet.
βYou didnβt even try Dru! The point of these missions is to help people--help the House,β he quiets his voice for a few moments, βI wanted to help you too.β
βDonβt you dare act righteous now when youβre protecting him of all people,β she hisses, βyou know his true nature better than anyone.β
Claire winces, first in bewilderment and then in anger. More than the pain from the knife, turmoil wells in his body. He cannot refute her argument, but he cannot agree with her statements either. Miyoshi has his fair share of problems that could not be explained by physical or spiritual corruption which he is sure spurned his drug addiction. Everything beneath the Japanese maleβs manicured exterior screams unsustainable and he hates Drusilla for being so frank with her words.
It would be easy, he often thinks, to drop him as a friend or a partner for issues of incompatibility or dangerousness but nothing is truly that black and white. If the House put every madman to rest, half of his superiors would be gone and Miyoshi isnβt nearly on the same level as those who became possessed by their inner demons. They called it something else, but even when the man they were protecting threatened to kill his Artifact Claire never had it in him to blame the guy.
βYeah and he might be a pill popper, he might be a lot βa things but heβs still my friend,β Claire finally says as he moves forward, βI stick by them through thick and thin.β
Instead of waiting to dodge her next strike he fires a shot in the darkness, anticipating her evaporation before firing behind him and hearing a satisfying fall. Unfortunately for Drusilla, she hadnβt forgotten about the railroadβs pattern of overhead lights and left herself open to a second shot. She blinks back into the darkness, but each dash only agitates the shrapnel in her chest. Claire on the other hand, only continues to dodge and use her faltering stamina to his advantage. His empty-handed hits still make no impact, but the time between each apparition increases. Her slices turn from decisive strikes to slow motion swings until he finally grabs her by the arm and shoulder and slams her into the roof.
In one motion, he forces her knife into her chest, carving out a hole until he rips her heart out. Though bloodless, the color (what little is left) drains from Drusillaβs face as she uses her last efforts to wriggle from Claireβs grasp.
βEither you give up now or your next death wonβt be as pretty as your first,β Claire pants, fully aware that this was only half the victory.
Swiveling his head, he sees her beelining for the window. Too exhausted to fully deform, she slithers toward the nearest window in a half-shadow and half-human form but Claireβs rough hands drag her across the roof. Then down the ladder, and within the entrance where they first started.
βI see we were never friends to begin with,β she surmises, her knife slipping through the rails.
βYou lost me when you betrayed the House,β Claire states bluntly.
Expressionless and exhausted, he shoots the rest of his bullets into her neck until her head snaps right off from sheer force. Granted, he could use the knife, but the catharsis is too good to pass up.
βThe House will fall...your friend a weak pillar,β she whispers.
Her body begins dissolving, but rather than run back the Irishman stays for the duration of her death. He whispers a few lines to put her to rest but her words weigh on his soul. During the fight he assured himself that she spoke only nonsense, but nothing keeps him from visualizing Miyoshiβs gaunt expressions.
The setting changes from Β―\_(γ)_/Β― to Testing Palace
Setting
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βMouse get back!β Claire yells, dragging his partner back.
Revenant, class A, he recites to himself, beings raised from the dead either to fight or kill.
βSomeoneβs got beef with you what a surprise,β he frowns as he draws his gun, βwhat did you do to raise Drusilla from the dead?β
He prepares to fire, but curses once he realizes how close they are to the other passengers. Instead, he pulls Miyoshi closer as Drusilla thrusts her knife forward.
βI will cut you from this world!β
Using the gunβs barrel, he barely blocks her before she forces him to clumsily jab his gun at her again.
βIβm tired of your interference Claire,β she hisses.
βIβm not going to hear that from a trigger ghost doll,β he taunts, dodging her next strike.
With each of her slices, Claire slides farther and farther back, pushing and pulling Miyoshi to follow his movement. Deliberate steps lead him closer and closer to the back of the cart, but Drusillaβs bloodlust only drives her to run faster.
Red eyes and thin lips form into a grin as she nears the dimly lit corner. She needs only wait for the overhead lamps to flicker before she closes the distance.
Crash.
Vials of holy water shatter on the ground, spraying the revenant. Steam emanates as the holy water burns through her defenses. Rigid and petrified, Drusilla falls to the ground mere feet from Claire and Miyoshi.
After setting down Miyoshi, he reaches for his last device: a pocket mirror. The object is plastic and metal with a bejeweled daisy carved in the center. It flicks open effortlessly before a pair of arms thrust forward, embracing her apparent keeper.
βBig brother youβre back!β she exclaims as she nuzzles into his chest.
Claire smiles wryly before returning her hug.
βMary Iβm going to need you to do a special job for me,β he sighs as he nervously runs his hand through blood-stained, ethereal hair.
βBut you always make me do jobs!β she whines before Claire releases her, βwe never do anything fun!β
For a second, Claire considers grunting toward the revenant, but reminds himself that Mary is only a child.
βI...I know Mary, but I really, really need this. Weβre in danger right now and Uncle Miyoshiβs not feeling well,β he replies, gesturing over.
She crosses her arms and throws an accusatory glare toward Miyoshi.
βAre you doing drugs again?β she gestures for Claire to turn the compact over so she can glare at her uncle properly.
βIβm afraid so, poppet,β Miyoshi says with a handsome, gentlemanly smile.
βIβm not a poppet! I can come out any time I want!β she huffs before giving a few hard tugs to exit the mirror.
Unfortunately, she is no poppet and merely bounces back to her compact.
βEr Mary,β Claire lifts open the compact once more, βwe need your help because there is someone very, very dangerous.β
Peeking from the mirror, Mary nearly shrieks, but Claire quickly clasps his hand over her mouth. He turns her over before smoothing out her nightgown with his free hand.
βSh-shh! People Mary. There are people sleeping,β he whispers sharply, βwe need to get rid of her without wakinβ everyone up.β
She pushes away his hand before puffing up. It isn't like anyone could hear her.
βAlright let me at βer!β she announces, balling her hands into fists.
βNo no, Mary, I just need yaβ to make a veil while I deal with this ghost outside.β
Claire sets down a pouting Mary, but not before giving her a reassuring look.
βWhen you get a little older I promise,β he says, facing the compact toward the hallway.
Despite her muttering about never getting older, spiritual energy emanates from the mirror, cloaking the area in a thick white fog before evaporating into a clear, seamless reflection of the sleeping cart. Anyone who passes by will see nothing more than a locked exit to the baggage.
βThanks Mary, just keep the veil up βtil Iβm back okay?β Claire asks before shooting Miyoshi a knowing look.
βBut itβs dangerous! You might-β
βMary,β Claire cuts in before his face steels, βstay where you are.β
He seizes Drumont as she begins thrashing and dashes toward the back door, forcing the both of them out before he feels the door shut behind him.
βThe darkness is closing in, I can see now,β she rasps as she escapes from his arms.
βCareful Drusilla, you know how good I am at bumping off you ghosts,β he taunts as he shoots forward.
Not to be outdone, she glides to the roof of the next cart, clutching her elbow.
Piker, he curses mentally as he climbs the ladder attached to the door behind him. The train shakes slightly as it rumbles along the tracks. He stumbles onto the roof, barely dodging the first of many strikes to his chest and stomach. For every bulb that lit the trainβs journey, he had ten seconds of darkness to block or shoot her, but not let her escape. With the rest of the cart still lit, he knows the door is the only entrance left.
Drusilla might be a revenant, but the dollβs still smarter than me dead or alive, he thinks as he kicks away her knife.
βCome out Dru, youβre gonna have to go through me to ice Mouse,β Claire announces as he reaches his hand into the darkness.
Nothing.
βClearly you donβt know me very well at all.β
She kicks him down and stabs downward, giving Claire a window to grab her bad arm and pull her down. Though she nearly falls, Drusilla catches herself on her knees and pins him by the legs. His grip remains firm, diverting her knife into the trainβs roof before she reappears on top of him, knife at his throat.
βYouβre right doll, two hordes of slaughs in Dublin and the only thing I know is that youβre a crazy, Catholic-hating bitch,β he chuckles before bashing her in the head with his pistol.
Instinctively, she raises her knife to block, giving Claire time to throw her body off the train.
βNo, not Catholics, just you,β she replies, βleaving me to for dead to save the pastor!β
It takes only a brief moment for her to reappear behind Claire, but he detects her from sound alone.
βYou wanted to throw him to the sluaghs!β he yells, firing two rounds into her heart, βdo you think βcause he was sick he deserved to kick the bucket?β
βHe was poisoning the House--still is,β she yells as she barely misses a swipe at Claireβs chest.
For each quip and retort they exchange Drumont blinks in and out of the shadows, taking advantage of the pattern Claire must run in to keep up with the railroad lights.
βYou canβt have a dead man running a palace. Youβll only attract--β
β--attract vultures,β Claire finishes, watching for the revenant to apparate. βHe wasnβt dead Dru! He had Irelandβs best healers helping him!β
βYou couldnβt heal that kind of sickness with priests and holy water.β
Drusilla lunges forward with her knife, allowing Claire to take advantage of her momentum. Grabbing her arm, he tosses her forward before shooting her. She vanishes again, managing to graze Claireβs chest before landing on her feet.
βYou didnβt even try Dru! The point of these missions is to help people--help the House,β he quiets his voice for a few moments, βI wanted to help you too.β
βDonβt you dare act righteous now when youβre protecting him of all people,β she hisses, βyou know his true nature better than anyone.β
Claire winces, first in bewilderment and then in anger. More than the pain from the knife, turmoil wells in his body. He cannot refute her argument, but he cannot agree with her statements either. Miyoshi has his fair share of problems that could not be explained by physical or spiritual corruption which he is sure spurned his drug addiction. Everything beneath the Japanese maleβs manicured exterior screams unsustainable and he hates Drusilla for being so frank with her words.
It would be easy, he often thinks, to drop him as a friend or a partner for issues of incompatibility or dangerousness but nothing is truly that black and white. If the House put every madman to rest, half of his superiors would be gone and Miyoshi isnβt nearly on the same level as those who became possessed by their inner demons. They called it something else, but even when the man they were protecting threatened to kill his Artifact Claire never had it in him to blame the guy.
βYeah and he might be a pill popper, he might be a lot βa things but heβs still my friend,β Claire finally says as he moves forward, βI stick by them through thick and thin.β
Instead of waiting to dodge her next strike he fires a shot in the darkness, anticipating her evaporation before firing behind him and hearing a satisfying fall. Unfortunately for Drusilla, she hadnβt forgotten about the railroadβs pattern of overhead lights and left herself open to a second shot. She blinks back into the darkness, but each dash only agitates the shrapnel in her chest. Claire on the other hand, only continues to dodge and use her faltering stamina to his advantage. His empty-handed hits still make no impact, but the time between each apparition increases. Her slices turn from decisive strikes to slow motion swings until he finally grabs her by the arm and shoulder and slams her into the roof.
In one motion, he forces her knife into her chest, carving out a hole until he rips her heart out. Though bloodless, the color (what little is left) drains from Drusillaβs face as she uses her last efforts to wriggle from Claireβs grasp.
βEither you give up now or your next death wonβt be as pretty as your first,β Claire pants, fully aware that this was only half the victory.
Swiveling his head, he sees her beelining for the window. Too exhausted to fully deform, she slithers toward the nearest window in a half-shadow and half-human form but Claireβs rough hands drag her across the roof. Then down the ladder, and within the entrance where they first started.
βI see we were never friends to begin with,β she surmises, her knife slipping through the rails.
βYou lost me when you betrayed the House,β Claire states bluntly.
Expressionless and exhausted, he shoots the rest of his bullets into her neck until her head snaps right off from sheer force. Granted, he could use the knife, but the catharsis is too good to pass up.
βThe House will fall...your friend a weak pillar,β she whispers.
Her body begins dissolving, but rather than run back the Irishman stays for the duration of her death. He whispers a few lines to put her to rest but her words weigh on his soul. During the fight he assured himself that she spoke only nonsense, but nothing keeps him from visualizing Miyoshiβs gaunt expressions.
who da fuck is raven summers
Revenant, class A, he recites to himself, beings raised from the dead either to fight or kill.
βSomeoneβs got beef with you what a surprise,β he frowns as he draws his gun, βwhat did you do to raise Drusilla from the dead?β
He prepares to fire, but curses once he realizes how close they are to the other passengers. Instead, he pulls Miyoshi closer as Drusilla thrusts her knife forward.
βI will cut you from this world!β
Using the gunβs barrel, he barely blocks her before she forces him to clumsily jab his gun at her again.
βIβm tired of your interference Claire,β she hisses.
βIβm not going to hear that from a trigger ghost doll,β he taunts, dodging her next strike.
With each of her slices, Claire slides farther and farther back, pushing and pulling Miyoshi to follow his movement. Deliberate steps lead him closer and closer to the back of the cart, but Drusillaβs bloodlust only drives her to run faster.
Red eyes and thin lips form into a grin as she nears the dimly lit corner. She needs only wait for the overhead lamps to flicker before she closes the distance.
Crash.
Vials of holy water shatter on the ground, spraying the revenant. Steam emanates as the holy water burns through her defenses. Rigid and petrified, Drusilla falls to the ground mere feet from Claire and Miyoshi.
After setting down Miyoshi, he reaches for his last device: a pocket mirror. The object is plastic and metal with a bejeweled daisy carved in the center. It flicks open effortlessly before a pair of arms thrust forward, embracing her apparent keeper.
βBig brother youβre back!β she exclaims as she nuzzles into his chest.
Claire smiles wryly before returning her hug.
βMary Iβm going to need you to do a special job for me,β he sighs as he nervously runs his hand through blood-stained, ethereal hair.
βBut you always make me do jobs!β she whines before Claire releases her, βwe never do anything fun!β
For a second, Claire considers grunting toward the revenant, but reminds himself that Mary is only a child.
βI...I know Mary, but I really, really need this. Weβre in danger right now and Uncle Miyoshiβs not feeling well,β he replies, gesturing over.
She crosses her arms and throws an accusatory glare toward Miyoshi.
βAre you doing drugs again?β she gestures for Claire to turn the compact over so she can glare at her uncle properly.
βIβm afraid so, poppet,β Miyoshi says with a handsome, gentlemanly smile.
βIβm not a poppet! I can come out any time I want!β she huffs before giving a few hard tugs to exit the mirror.
Unfortunately, she is no poppet and merely bounces back to her compact.
βEr Mary,β Claire lifts open the compact once more, βwe need your help because there is someone very, very dangerous.β
Peeking from the mirror, Mary nearly shrieks, but Claire quickly clasps his hand over her mouth. He turns her over before smoothing out her nightgown with his free hand.
βSh-shh! People Mary. There are people sleeping,β he whispers sharply, βwe need to get rid of her without wakinβ everyone up.β
She pushes away his hand before puffing up. It isn't like anyone could hear her.
βAlright let me at βer!β she announces, balling her hands into fists.
βNo no, Mary, I just need yaβ to make a veil while I deal with this ghost outside.β
Claire sets down a pouting Mary, but not before giving her a reassuring look.
βWhen you get a little older I promise,β he says, facing the compact toward the hallway.
Despite her muttering about never getting older, spiritual energy emanates from the mirror, cloaking the area in a thick white fog before evaporating into a clear, seamless reflection of the sleeping cart. Anyone who passes by will see nothing more than a locked exit to the baggage.
βThanks Mary, just keep the veil up βtil Iβm back okay?β Claire asks before shooting Miyoshi a knowing look.
βBut itβs dangerous! You might-β
βMary,β Claire cuts in before his face steels, βstay where you are.β
He seizes Drumont as she begins thrashing and dashes toward the back door, forcing the both of them out before he feels the door shut behind him.
βThe darkness is closing in, I can see now,β she rasps as she escapes from his arms.
βCareful Drusilla, you know how good I am at bumping off you ghosts,β he taunts as he shoots forward.
Not to be outdone, she glides to the roof of the next cart, clutching her elbow.
Piker, he curses mentally as he climbs the ladder attached to the door behind him. The train shakes slightly as it rumbles along the tracks. He stumbles onto the roof, barely dodging the first of many strikes to his chest and stomach. For every bulb that lit the trainβs journey, he had ten seconds of darkness to block or shoot her, but not let her escape. With the rest of the cart still lit, he knows the door is the only entrance left.
Drusilla might be a revenant, but the dollβs still smarter than me dead or alive, he thinks as he kicks away her knife.
βCome out Dru, youβre gonna have to go through me to ice Mouse,β Claire announces as he reaches his hand into the darkness.
Nothing.
βClearly you donβt know me very well at all.β
She kicks him down and stabs downward, giving Claire a window to grab her bad arm and pull her down. Though she nearly falls, Drusilla catches herself on her knees and pins him by the legs. His grip remains firm, diverting her knife into the trainβs roof before she reappears on top of him, knife at his throat.
βYouβre right doll, two hordes of slaughs in Dublin and the only thing I know is that youβre a crazy, Catholic-hating bitch,β he chuckles before bashing her in the head with his pistol.
Instinctively, she raises her knife to block, giving Claire time to throw her body off the train.
βNo, not Catholics, just you,β she replies, βleaving me to for dead to save the pastor!β
It takes only a brief moment for her to reappear behind Claire, but he detects her from sound alone.
βYou wanted to throw him to the sluaghs!β he yells, firing two rounds into her heart, βdo you think βcause he was sick he deserved to kick the bucket?β
βHe was poisoning the House--still is,β she yells as she barely misses a swipe at Claireβs chest.
For each quip and retort they exchange Drumont blinks in and out of the shadows, taking advantage of the pattern Claire must run in to keep up with the railroad lights.
βYou canβt have a dead man running a palace. Youβll only attract--β
β--attract vultures,β Claire finishes, watching for the revenant to apparate. βHe wasnβt dead Dru! He had Irelandβs best healers helping him!β
βYou couldnβt heal that kind of sickness with priests and holy water.β
Drusilla lunges forward with her knife, allowing Claire to take advantage of her momentum. Grabbing her arm, he tosses her forward before shooting her. She vanishes again, managing to graze Claireβs chest before landing on her feet.
βYou didnβt even try Dru! The point of these missions is to help people--help the House,β he quiets his voice for a few moments, βI wanted to help you too.β
βDonβt you dare act righteous now when youβre protecting him of all people,β she hisses, βyou know his true nature better than anyone.β
Claire winces, first in bewilderment and then in anger. More than the pain from the knife, turmoil wells in his body. He cannot refute her argument, but he cannot agree with her statements either. Miyoshi has his fair share of problems that could not be explained by physical or spiritual corruption which he is sure spurned his drug addiction. Everything beneath the Japanese maleβs manicured exterior screams unsustainable and he hates Drusilla for being so frank with her words.
It would be easy, he often thinks, to drop him as a friend or a partner for issues of incompatibility or dangerousness but nothing is truly that black and white. If the House put every madman to rest, half of his superiors would be gone and Miyoshi isnβt nearly on the same level as those who became possessed by their inner demons. They called it something else, but even when the man they were protecting threatened to kill his Artifact Claire never had it in him to blame the guy.
βYeah and he might be a pill popper, he might be a lot βa things but heβs still my friend,β Claire finally says as he moves forward, βI stick by them through thick and thin.β
Instead of waiting to dodge her next strike he fires a shot in the darkness, anticipating her evaporation before firing behind him and hearing a satisfying fall. Unfortunately for Drusilla, she hadnβt forgotten about the railroadβs pattern of overhead lights and left herself open to a second shot. She blinks back into the darkness, but each dash only agitates the shrapnel in her chest. Claire on the other hand, only continues to dodge and use her faltering stamina to his advantage. His empty-handed hits still make no impact, but the time between each apparition increases. Her slices turn from decisive strikes to slow motion swings until he finally grabs her by the arm and shoulder and slams her into the roof.
In one motion, he forces her knife into her chest, carving out a hole until he rips her heart out. Though bloodless, the color (what little is left) drains from Drusillaβs face as she uses her last efforts to wriggle from Claireβs grasp.
βEither you give up now or your next death wonβt be as pretty as your first,β Claire pants, fully aware that this was only half the victory.
Swiveling his head, he sees her beelining for the window. Too exhausted to fully deform, she slithers toward the nearest window in a half-shadow and half-human form but Claireβs rough hands drag her across the roof. Then down the ladder, and within the entrance where they first started.
βI see we were never friends to begin with,β she surmises, her knife slipping through the rails.
βYou lost me when you betrayed the House,β Claire states bluntly.
Expressionless and exhausted, he shoots the rest of his bullets into her neck until her head snaps right off from sheer force. Granted, he could use the knife, but the catharsis is too good to pass up.
βThe House will fall...your friend a weak pillar,β she whispers.
Her body begins dissolving, but rather than run back the Irishman stays for the duration of her death. He whispers a few lines to put her to rest but her words weigh on his soul. During the fight he assured himself that she spoke only nonsense, but nothing keeps him from visualizing Miyoshiβs gaunt expressions.
who da fuck is raven summers
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I hope your wound festers.
The thought slips into his mind seamlessly as he lies, back to his roommate and legs curled to fit the slightly-too-short mattress. He traces the faint line Drusilla cut into him, briefly aware of the help his βpartnerβ gave him to turn the corruption into a mere scar. With his ward being a powerful Spiritualist he sees no harm in wishing the man ill and feeling Miyoshiβs eyes on him (however briefly) only cements the thought into his mind. What gave the Japanese man the right to be so shady? If he had nothing to hide then why did he deflect everything and turn it onto him?
He turns his neck to glare at the man in question before the rest of his body follows.
There are times when he hates the good luck heβs had and this one of them. Working under Gandor, head of the West Wind, his loyalty to the House is especially important since the head himself has no favored allegiances. He is faithful to everyone and his actions show it, but right now Claire canβt even look at Miyoshiβs face and that would reflect poorly on his boss.
Lifting his blanket, Claire decides that he ought to investigate the original attack site for any other signs of activity.
For Gandor, the thinks. [color=#9F000F][i]Not Mouse.
He keeps the oil nestled in his box of cigarettes and the key in his pants pocket while his gun rests in its holster, fully loaded in case anyone follows him. He doubts that anyone will be tailing him at this time of night, but the shiver in his spine tells him not to relax. A few patrolling officers throw him a look that is quickly met with a challenging one of his own. His wild, red locks and equally crimson eyes tag him as Gandorβs bodyguard and the companyβs main gateway to American armaments. They could choose to overlook him, but to offend him would be a grave mistake indeed. Itβs a new feeling, he thinks, to flounce about without another, higher-ranking party by his side but reminds himself that he has as much authority as any other Saniwa on the train.
[color=#9F000F]Mouse included, Claire scoffs.
Miyoshiβs patronization angered him and fueled further accusations, but Claire could normally take that. He hates it, because the condescension is something new, almost exclusive to Miyoshi. Nobody else pulls the βbe a dearβ or βtake Sterling around the blockβ card on him when his opinion isnβt necessary so the method and the timing felt like a slap in the face. Did their time in Shanghai mean nothing? Is every grievance just going to be met with lip service and avoidance tactics? Perhaps it is easier to avoid things because then he does not have to deal with them, but if that is the case why make such directed jabs?
Instead of smoke and mirrors, the Kazetanis are a collective mist, concealing via controlled information and even tighter appearances. Compared to Yuukiβs opaque fog, Claire can see vague shadows in Miyoshiβs miasma in the form of Kimura Asagi, drugs, and the camellia. He is sure that even amongst other Kazetani, they all remain nebulous to each other. Still, it does not stop the redhead from digging up post-argument retorts.
Everyone is an agent of your father. Youβre only here because he asked you to be.
Claire exits the sleeping cart and tightens his hood, but it is futile against the brisk winds that punish him for investigation. Climbing onto the roof only exacerbates the chill whipping against his face. Instead of standing, he lowers his stance into a crawl to check for evidence along the sides of the roof. Drusillaβs knife, to his detriment, slipped between the cracks of the train and he is sure that she hadnβt carried a sheath with her.
We might have a better chance of finding it if she buried her knife in Mouse instea-, Claire cringes before he can finish the thought. No, he may ask for great pain but death is another matter.
Perhaps he has jumped the gun too quickly. He wants to think that he has the moral high ground on that end. Compared to Miyoshiβs normally grim comments, he reserves his death wishes for those who do tangible harm; Miyoshiβs worst crime was putting him in a position of danger.
Corruption, Claire affirms, let him be corrupt and nothing more.
Leaping from the restaurant to the passenger and baggage, he grabs his compact from his other pocket and lets his little companion emerge once moreβ¦
...only for her to freak out.
βEek! Weβre on top of a train!, a train!β
βMrrph Mary you need to let me see or Iβm going to drop it!β
βIβm going to fall?β
For all of the trauma reflected on her body she still carries the quirks of being a child. Wrapping her arms around his head, she gives him little in the way of vision or a chance to loosen her grip. Despite not having any earthly perception of temperature she shivers at the sounds of the billowing trees and the sense of something dangerous.
βMary, please,β Claire backs up until he can fall harmlessly onto his bottom. From a less tall perspective, she purses her lip before peeling herself from Claireβs face.
βSo whatβs our next mission?β She asks, settling for βsittingβ in her brotherβs lap.
βIβm going to need your help again,β the redhead announces, pointing behind her.
βYou seem tired Big Brother, shouldnβt you do this in the morning?β she tilts her head, more calm now that she didnβt have the fear of Claire dropping her.
If I wanted to do this in the morning then Uncle Miyoshi would probably, guilt trip me, was what he wanted to say, but he settles instead for something more child-friendly.
βItβs a secret mission,β he lowers his voice into a whisper, but clears his throat when Mary shoots him an odd look.
[color=#9F000F][b]βI need you to help me find that bad ladyβs remains. You know, like all Revenants have?β he narrows his eyes a slight and turns the compact around so that she can see the scope of the train, βsheβs here somewhere but I just canβt find her.β
βOh well I can help! I just need to-β she looks down at the compact before pressing her lips together.
βRelax, Mary,β he ruffles her hair, βI just need you by my side.β
She nods as Claire affixes the compact to his front pocket, returning to his previous state of crawling. Unlike fights he felt comfortable having her tail by his side since the worst trouble she could possibly get into is attempting to wake the other passengers and she knew that he would close the compact as soon as she tries to misbehave. She provides a softer, more stable type of partnership that doesnβt result in his resentment or someone coming back from the dead and attempting to kill him.
Thereβs a thought, having a partner you can trust, Claire grumbles a slight but continues toward the next cart.
βBig Brother Iβm scared,β Mary whispers.
βWeβll only be here a little bit longer,β he assures.
Claire narrows his eyes as he scampers much more slowly toward the end of the sleeping cart. Feeling for the ladder he descends and runs his hands across the exterior of the doorway until something silky appears under his fingertips.
What is this? He pulls the piece of fabric from a door that closed too quickly and stares at it for a few moments. Red, soft, rotting. It may not have had any thumbprints, but he bet dollars to donuts that it belonged to Drusilla. And if a piece of her dress is here, the rest of her body could be far behind.
He turns toward the cargo, but a yelp from Mary is enough for him to refrain from walking over.
βCan we go please?! Now?β she urges, βI donβt feel safe here.β
Claire grabs the compact to keep her from shaking, but the terror in her face compels him to reach toward his gun.
βDonβt worry. We donβt have to go if thereβs something bad in there,β he says, glancing at her pale expression.
βThereβs...monsters in there. Strong ghosts,β she manages, reaching for Claireβs hand, βthey feel like her.β
There is no arguing there and Claire sets course back to the VIP sleeping cabins.
He doesnβt complain at Maryβs questions about Drusilla nor at her insistence to clutch his torso during the entire excursion. Instead he gives her a reassuring smile and the occasional platitude. His mind, unfortunately, is on other things.
For such a strong, spiritual presence, why did Miyoshi not catch wind of any of this? If the aura of the ghosts on the train are so overbearing that they made Mary, who keeps gunning to fight, then there should not have been a reason for Miyoshi not to catch that upon boarding. Half of him wants to chalk it up to personal selfishness (he has been voluntarily taking soul tablets), but would it really be fair to pin everything on him if Mary herself had not detected anything until right before they entered?
βAre you and Uncle Miyoshi going to take care of all the bad ghosts?β Mary asks, gently tugging at one of Claireβs strings.
[color=#9F000F][b]βIβ¦β Claire hesitates before sighing, βIβll take care of them. Mou-Miyoshi is...β
[color=#F75D59][b]βAre you two fighting?β
The question cuts through the wind and air, hanging in Claireβs ears like dead weights. Had she always been this perceptive? She only barely caught the presence of Drusilla a few hours ago.
βI thought I told you not to eavesdrop,β he replies flatly, βhow much did you hear?β
βI just donβt think you two should fight,β she murmurs, βpeople keeps secrets sometimes. You did it too, to protect me.β
Though he has only known Mary for about a year, heβs come to know everything about her from birth to afterlife. Her abilities to obscure visibility and detect ghosts or ghouls combined with her transparency have made her invaluable as an asset to his missions; however, there is no doubt that they are not on equal footing. He could put her away at any time and her C Ranking status meant that most Saniwa (as well as more dangerous ghosts) could kill her without issue. The only reason she is still alive is due to Gandor and...Miyoshi.
Two of the more important people in his life and he did not truly know either of them to the extent that he knew her. One of them, he incidentally, had no issue wishing death upon.
βItβs just...different though. I donβt want you to get hurt.β Claire stops only a few feet from the door to lean against the door, [color=#9F000F][b]βheβs just being selfish.β
βWhatβs the difference?β she asks, tilting her head.
βYouβll...youβll understand when youβre older,β he says, before glancing at the door.
βIf you say so,β she shrugs, resigning herself to the compact.
Claire slams the device shut before switching it out for a lit cigarette. When he enters the sleeping cart, he feels safe enough to blow smoke without regarding anyone else who might be patrolling. What is more important is the reprimanding he is sure that he would receive from Graham.
Heβd probably say something like βkind of a double standard isnβt it? Well he did it first. He should know. But then heβd say βthatβs childishβ and we wouldnβt get anywhere. Heβs here acting like itβs so bad that his old manβs head of the House and kind of hates him when heβs never been beat.
βHe doesnβt know what itβs like to hop on a train and run the fuck away!β
βStille!β an officer whispers harshly.
βMy bad,β Claire says, pulling his hood over his hair.
Though the patrolling duo walks off, the redhead remains rigid. He blows out another cigarette before eying the wall in front of him. Miyoshi never really could walk around without being recognized. It isnβt as though Claire never thought of the scenario himself, Miyoshi severing ties and trying to be someone else but nothing he did would ever detach him from being a Kazetani. Even with Kimura Asagiβs power he could never be invisible the same way Claire was during his earlier years. Even now, if the redhead wants to, he could dye his hair and live life as Joe Schmoe, combat extraordinaire but a Kazetani death would ripple across waters.
The Kazetanis arenβt veiled by mist, theyβre trapped in it. It only makes sense that Miyoshi might not want to get others too involved in his family because he still wants to protect them.
βIβm a fucking asshole,β Claire sighs, slapping his forehead, βfuck man.β
Whether or not Mouse is truly being shady the Irishman should not have jumped to conclusions for doing essentially what he would have done. Lord why did he need to be so insensitive? So impulsive? He is sure that Graham would be chiding by now if not smacking him over the head. He should only be so lucky that his Artifact is busy with Heleneβs.
Unfortunately, he isnβt privy to waking Miyoshi up for the sake of groveling so he reaches into his pocket to feel Drusillaβs fabric scrap for some reassurance. If not an apology he knows Mouse would be happy to find a clue or two regarding the state of the train. He needs only wait until the morning to pull his friend aside.
He stamps his cigarette out before noticing a hunched over male fiddling with a lighter.
βNeed a light?β he asks.
From across the room, red eyes glance up toward a equally red-haired male before walking off entirely.
A single match drops from Claireβs fingertips before he does the same, both uncertain and uncomfortable with the sight before him.
lmao kill me
The thought slips into his mind seamlessly as he lies, back to his roommate and legs curled to fit the slightly-too-short mattress. He traces the faint line Drusilla cut into him, briefly aware of the help his βpartnerβ gave him to turn the corruption into a mere scar. With his ward being a powerful Spiritualist he sees no harm in wishing the man ill and feeling Miyoshiβs eyes on him (however briefly) only cements the thought into his mind. What gave the Japanese man the right to be so shady? If he had nothing to hide then why did he deflect everything and turn it onto him?
He turns his neck to glare at the man in question before the rest of his body follows.
There are times when he hates the good luck heβs had and this one of them. Working under Gandor, head of the West Wind, his loyalty to the House is especially important since the head himself has no favored allegiances. He is faithful to everyone and his actions show it, but right now Claire canβt even look at Miyoshiβs face and that would reflect poorly on his boss.
Lifting his blanket, Claire decides that he ought to investigate the original attack site for any other signs of activity.
For Gandor, the thinks. [color=#9F000F][i]Not Mouse.
He keeps the oil nestled in his box of cigarettes and the key in his pants pocket while his gun rests in its holster, fully loaded in case anyone follows him. He doubts that anyone will be tailing him at this time of night, but the shiver in his spine tells him not to relax. A few patrolling officers throw him a look that is quickly met with a challenging one of his own. His wild, red locks and equally crimson eyes tag him as Gandorβs bodyguard and the companyβs main gateway to American armaments. They could choose to overlook him, but to offend him would be a grave mistake indeed. Itβs a new feeling, he thinks, to flounce about without another, higher-ranking party by his side but reminds himself that he has as much authority as any other Saniwa on the train.
[color=#9F000F]Mouse included, Claire scoffs.
Miyoshiβs patronization angered him and fueled further accusations, but Claire could normally take that. He hates it, because the condescension is something new, almost exclusive to Miyoshi. Nobody else pulls the βbe a dearβ or βtake Sterling around the blockβ card on him when his opinion isnβt necessary so the method and the timing felt like a slap in the face. Did their time in Shanghai mean nothing? Is every grievance just going to be met with lip service and avoidance tactics? Perhaps it is easier to avoid things because then he does not have to deal with them, but if that is the case why make such directed jabs?
Instead of smoke and mirrors, the Kazetanis are a collective mist, concealing via controlled information and even tighter appearances. Compared to Yuukiβs opaque fog, Claire can see vague shadows in Miyoshiβs miasma in the form of Kimura Asagi, drugs, and the camellia. He is sure that even amongst other Kazetani, they all remain nebulous to each other. Still, it does not stop the redhead from digging up post-argument retorts.
Everyone is an agent of your father. Youβre only here because he asked you to be.
Claire exits the sleeping cart and tightens his hood, but it is futile against the brisk winds that punish him for investigation. Climbing onto the roof only exacerbates the chill whipping against his face. Instead of standing, he lowers his stance into a crawl to check for evidence along the sides of the roof. Drusillaβs knife, to his detriment, slipped between the cracks of the train and he is sure that she hadnβt carried a sheath with her.
We might have a better chance of finding it if she buried her knife in Mouse instea-, Claire cringes before he can finish the thought. No, he may ask for great pain but death is another matter.
Perhaps he has jumped the gun too quickly. He wants to think that he has the moral high ground on that end. Compared to Miyoshiβs normally grim comments, he reserves his death wishes for those who do tangible harm; Miyoshiβs worst crime was putting him in a position of danger.
Corruption, Claire affirms, let him be corrupt and nothing more.
Leaping from the restaurant to the passenger and baggage, he grabs his compact from his other pocket and lets his little companion emerge once moreβ¦
...only for her to freak out.
βEek! Weβre on top of a train!, a train!β
βMrrph Mary you need to let me see or Iβm going to drop it!β
βIβm going to fall?β
For all of the trauma reflected on her body she still carries the quirks of being a child. Wrapping her arms around his head, she gives him little in the way of vision or a chance to loosen her grip. Despite not having any earthly perception of temperature she shivers at the sounds of the billowing trees and the sense of something dangerous.
βMary, please,β Claire backs up until he can fall harmlessly onto his bottom. From a less tall perspective, she purses her lip before peeling herself from Claireβs face.
βSo whatβs our next mission?β She asks, settling for βsittingβ in her brotherβs lap.
βIβm going to need your help again,β the redhead announces, pointing behind her.
βYou seem tired Big Brother, shouldnβt you do this in the morning?β she tilts her head, more calm now that she didnβt have the fear of Claire dropping her.
If I wanted to do this in the morning then Uncle Miyoshi would probably, guilt trip me, was what he wanted to say, but he settles instead for something more child-friendly.
βItβs a secret mission,β he lowers his voice into a whisper, but clears his throat when Mary shoots him an odd look.
[color=#9F000F][b]βI need you to help me find that bad ladyβs remains. You know, like all Revenants have?β he narrows his eyes a slight and turns the compact around so that she can see the scope of the train, βsheβs here somewhere but I just canβt find her.β
βOh well I can help! I just need to-β she looks down at the compact before pressing her lips together.
βRelax, Mary,β he ruffles her hair, βI just need you by my side.β
She nods as Claire affixes the compact to his front pocket, returning to his previous state of crawling. Unlike fights he felt comfortable having her tail by his side since the worst trouble she could possibly get into is attempting to wake the other passengers and she knew that he would close the compact as soon as she tries to misbehave. She provides a softer, more stable type of partnership that doesnβt result in his resentment or someone coming back from the dead and attempting to kill him.
Thereβs a thought, having a partner you can trust, Claire grumbles a slight but continues toward the next cart.
βBig Brother Iβm scared,β Mary whispers.
βWeβll only be here a little bit longer,β he assures.
Claire narrows his eyes as he scampers much more slowly toward the end of the sleeping cart. Feeling for the ladder he descends and runs his hands across the exterior of the doorway until something silky appears under his fingertips.
What is this? He pulls the piece of fabric from a door that closed too quickly and stares at it for a few moments. Red, soft, rotting. It may not have had any thumbprints, but he bet dollars to donuts that it belonged to Drusilla. And if a piece of her dress is here, the rest of her body could be far behind.
He turns toward the cargo, but a yelp from Mary is enough for him to refrain from walking over.
βCan we go please?! Now?β she urges, βI donβt feel safe here.β
Claire grabs the compact to keep her from shaking, but the terror in her face compels him to reach toward his gun.
βDonβt worry. We donβt have to go if thereβs something bad in there,β he says, glancing at her pale expression.
βThereβs...monsters in there. Strong ghosts,β she manages, reaching for Claireβs hand, βthey feel like her.β
There is no arguing there and Claire sets course back to the VIP sleeping cabins.
He doesnβt complain at Maryβs questions about Drusilla nor at her insistence to clutch his torso during the entire excursion. Instead he gives her a reassuring smile and the occasional platitude. His mind, unfortunately, is on other things.
For such a strong, spiritual presence, why did Miyoshi not catch wind of any of this? If the aura of the ghosts on the train are so overbearing that they made Mary, who keeps gunning to fight, then there should not have been a reason for Miyoshi not to catch that upon boarding. Half of him wants to chalk it up to personal selfishness (he has been voluntarily taking soul tablets), but would it really be fair to pin everything on him if Mary herself had not detected anything until right before they entered?
βAre you and Uncle Miyoshi going to take care of all the bad ghosts?β Mary asks, gently tugging at one of Claireβs strings.
[color=#9F000F][b]βIβ¦β Claire hesitates before sighing, βIβll take care of them. Mou-Miyoshi is...β
[color=#F75D59][b]βAre you two fighting?β
The question cuts through the wind and air, hanging in Claireβs ears like dead weights. Had she always been this perceptive? She only barely caught the presence of Drusilla a few hours ago.
βI thought I told you not to eavesdrop,β he replies flatly, βhow much did you hear?β
βI just donβt think you two should fight,β she murmurs, βpeople keeps secrets sometimes. You did it too, to protect me.β
Though he has only known Mary for about a year, heβs come to know everything about her from birth to afterlife. Her abilities to obscure visibility and detect ghosts or ghouls combined with her transparency have made her invaluable as an asset to his missions; however, there is no doubt that they are not on equal footing. He could put her away at any time and her C Ranking status meant that most Saniwa (as well as more dangerous ghosts) could kill her without issue. The only reason she is still alive is due to Gandor and...Miyoshi.
Two of the more important people in his life and he did not truly know either of them to the extent that he knew her. One of them, he incidentally, had no issue wishing death upon.
βItβs just...different though. I donβt want you to get hurt.β Claire stops only a few feet from the door to lean against the door, [color=#9F000F][b]βheβs just being selfish.β
βWhatβs the difference?β she asks, tilting her head.
βYouβll...youβll understand when youβre older,β he says, before glancing at the door.
βIf you say so,β she shrugs, resigning herself to the compact.
Claire slams the device shut before switching it out for a lit cigarette. When he enters the sleeping cart, he feels safe enough to blow smoke without regarding anyone else who might be patrolling. What is more important is the reprimanding he is sure that he would receive from Graham.
Heβd probably say something like βkind of a double standard isnβt it? Well he did it first. He should know. But then heβd say βthatβs childishβ and we wouldnβt get anywhere. Heβs here acting like itβs so bad that his old manβs head of the House and kind of hates him when heβs never been beat.
βHe doesnβt know what itβs like to hop on a train and run the fuck away!β
βStille!β an officer whispers harshly.
βMy bad,β Claire says, pulling his hood over his hair.
Though the patrolling duo walks off, the redhead remains rigid. He blows out another cigarette before eying the wall in front of him. Miyoshi never really could walk around without being recognized. It isnβt as though Claire never thought of the scenario himself, Miyoshi severing ties and trying to be someone else but nothing he did would ever detach him from being a Kazetani. Even with Kimura Asagiβs power he could never be invisible the same way Claire was during his earlier years. Even now, if the redhead wants to, he could dye his hair and live life as Joe Schmoe, combat extraordinaire but a Kazetani death would ripple across waters.
The Kazetanis arenβt veiled by mist, theyβre trapped in it. It only makes sense that Miyoshi might not want to get others too involved in his family because he still wants to protect them.
βIβm a fucking asshole,β Claire sighs, slapping his forehead, βfuck man.β
Whether or not Mouse is truly being shady the Irishman should not have jumped to conclusions for doing essentially what he would have done. Lord why did he need to be so insensitive? So impulsive? He is sure that Graham would be chiding by now if not smacking him over the head. He should only be so lucky that his Artifact is busy with Heleneβs.
Unfortunately, he isnβt privy to waking Miyoshi up for the sake of groveling so he reaches into his pocket to feel Drusillaβs fabric scrap for some reassurance. If not an apology he knows Mouse would be happy to find a clue or two regarding the state of the train. He needs only wait until the morning to pull his friend aside.
He stamps his cigarette out before noticing a hunched over male fiddling with a lighter.
βNeed a light?β he asks.
From across the room, red eyes glance up toward a equally red-haired male before walking off entirely.
A single match drops from Claireβs fingertips before he does the same, both uncertain and uncomfortable with the sight before him.
lmao kill me
The setting changes from Β―\_(γ)_/Β― to Testing Palace
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I hope your wound festers.
The thought slips into his mind seamlessly as he lies, back to his roommate and legs curled to fit the slightly-too-short mattress. He traces the faint line Drusilla cut into him, briefly aware of the help his βpartnerβ gave him to turn the corruption into a mere scar. With his ward being a powerful Spiritualist he sees no harm in wishing the man ill and feeling Miyoshiβs eyes on him (however briefly) only cements the thought into his mind. What gave the Japanese man the right to be so shady? If he had nothing to hide then why did he deflect everything and turn it onto him?
He turns his neck to glare at the man in question before the rest of his body follows.
There are times when he hates the good luck heβs had and this one of them. Working under Gandor, head of the West Wind, his loyalty to the House is especially important since the head himself has no favored allegiances. He is faithful to everyone and his actions show it, but right now Claire canβt even look at Miyoshiβs face and that would reflect poorly on his boss.
Lifting his blanket, Claire decides that he ought to investigate the original attack site for any other signs of activity.
For Gandor, the thinks. Not Mouse.
He keeps the oil nestled in his box of cigarettes and the key in his pants pocket while his gun rests in its holster, fully loaded in case anyone follows him. He doubts that anyone will be tailing him at this time of night, but the shiver in his spine tells him not to relax. A few patrolling officers throw him a look that is quickly met with a challenging one of his own. His wild, red locks and equally crimson eyes tag him as Gandorβs bodyguard and the companyβs main gateway to American armaments. They could choose to overlook him, but to offend him would be a grave mistake indeed. Itβs a new feeling, he thinks, to flounce about without another, higher-ranking party by his side but reminds himself that he has as much authority as any other Saniwa on the train.
Mouse included, Claire scoffs.
Miyoshiβs patronization angered him and fueled further accusations, but Claire could normally take that. He hates it, because the condescension is something new, almost exclusive to Miyoshi. Nobody else pulls the βbe a dearβ or βtake Sterling around the blockβ card on him when his opinion isnβt necessary so the method and the timing felt like a slap in the face. Did their time in Shanghai mean nothing? Is every grievance just going to be met with lip service and avoidance tactics? Perhaps it is easier to avoid things because then he does not have to deal with them, but if that is the case why make such directed jabs?
Instead of smoke and mirrors, the Kazetanis are a collective mist, concealing via controlled information and even tighter appearances. Compared to Yuukiβs opaque fog, Claire can see vague shadows in Miyoshiβs miasma in the form of Kimura Asagi, drugs, and the camellia. He is sure that even amongst other Kazetani, they all remain nebulous to each other. Still, it does not stop the redhead from digging up post-argument retorts.
Everyone is an agent of your father. Youβre only here because he asked you to be.
Claire exits the sleeping cart and tightens his hood, but it is futile against the brisk winds that punish him for investigation. Climbing onto the roof only exacerbates the chill whipping against his face. Instead of standing, he lowers his stance into a crawl to check for evidence along the sides of the roof. Drusillaβs knife, to his detriment, slipped between the cracks of the train and he is sure that she hadnβt carried a sheath with her.
We might have a better chance of finding it if she buried her knife in Mouse instea-, Claire cringes before he can finish the thought. No, he may ask for great pain but death is another matter.
Perhaps he has jumped the gun too quickly. He wants to think that he has the moral high ground on that end. Compared to Miyoshiβs normally grim comments, he reserves his death wishes for those who do tangible harm; Miyoshiβs worst crime was putting him in a position of danger.
Corruption, Claire affirms, let him be corrupt and nothing more.
Leaping from the restaurant to the passenger and baggage, he grabs his compact from his other pocket and lets his little companion emerge once moreβ¦
...only for her to freak out.
βEek! Weβre on top of a train!, a train!β
βMrrph Mary you need to let me see or Iβm going to drop it!β
βIβm going to fall?β
For all of the trauma reflected on her body she still carries the quirks of being a child. Wrapping her arms around his head, she gives him little in the way of vision or a chance to loosen her grip. Despite not having any earthly perception of temperature she shivers at the sounds of the billowing trees and the sense of something dangerous.
βMary, please,β Claire backs up until he can fall harmlessly onto his bottom. From a less tall perspective, she purses her lip before peeling herself from Claireβs face.
βSo whatβs our next mission?β She asks, settling for βsittingβ in her brotherβs lap.
βIβm going to need your help again,β the redhead announces, pointing behind her.
βYou seem tired Big Brother, shouldnβt you do this in the morning?β she tilts her head, more calm now that she didnβt have the fear of Claire dropping her.
If I wanted to do this in the morning then Uncle Miyoshi would probably, guilt trip me, was what he wanted to say, but he settles instead for something more child-friendly.
βItβs a secret mission,β he lowers his voice into a whisper, but clears his throat when Mary shoots him an odd look.
βI need you to help me find that bad ladyβs remains. You know, like all Revenants have?β he narrows his eyes a slight and turns the compact around so that she can see the scope of the train, βsheβs here somewhere but I just canβt find her.β
βOh well I can help! I just need to-β she looks down at the compact before pressing her lips together.
βRelax, Mary,β he ruffles her hair, βI just need you by my side.β
She nods as Claire affixes the compact to his front pocket, returning to his previous state of crawling. Unlike fights he felt comfortable having her tail by his side since the worst trouble she could possibly get into is attempting to wake the other passengers and she knew that he would close the compact as soon as she tries to misbehave. She provides a softer, more stable type of partnership that doesnβt result in his resentment or someone coming back from the dead and attempting to kill him.
Thereβs a thought, having a partner you can trust, Claire grumbles a slight but continues toward the next cart.
βBig Brother Iβm scared,β Mary whispers.
βWeβll only be here a little bit longer,β he assures.
Claire narrows his eyes as he scampers much more slowly toward the end of the sleeping cart. Feeling for the ladder he descends and runs his hands across the exterior of the doorway until something silky appears under his fingertips.
What is this? He pulls the piece of fabric from a door that closed too quickly and stares at it for a few moments. Red, soft, rotting. It may not have had any thumbprints, but he bet dollars to donuts that it belonged to Drusilla. And if a piece of her dress is here, the rest of her body could be far behind.
He turns toward the cargo, but a yelp from Mary is enough for him to refrain from walking over.
βCan we go please?! Now?β she urges, βI donβt feel safe here.β
Claire grabs the compact to keep her from shaking, but the terror in her face compels him to reach toward his gun.
βDonβt worry. We donβt have to go if thereβs something bad in there,β he says, glancing at her pale expression.
βThereβs...monsters in there. Strong ghosts,β she manages, reaching for Claireβs hand, βthey feel like her.β
There is no arguing there and Claire sets course back to the VIP sleeping cabins.
He doesnβt complain at Maryβs questions about Drusilla nor at her insistence to clutch his torso during the entire excursion. Instead he gives her a reassuring smile and the occasional platitude. His mind, unfortunately, is on other things.
For such a strong, spiritual presence, why did Miyoshi not catch wind of any of this? If the aura of the ghosts on the train are so overbearing that they made Mary, who keeps gunning to fight, then there should not have been a reason for Miyoshi not to catch that upon boarding. Half of him wants to chalk it up to personal selfishness (he has been voluntarily taking soul tablets), but would it really be fair to pin everything on him if Mary herself had not detected anything until right before they entered?
βAre you and Uncle Miyoshi going to take care of all the bad ghosts?β Mary asks, gently tugging at one of Claireβs strings.
βIβ¦β Claire hesitates before sighing, βIβll take care of them. Mou-Miyoshi is...β
βAre you two fighting?β
The question cuts through the wind and air, hanging in Claireβs ears like dead weights. Had she always been this perceptive? She only barely caught the presence of Drusilla a few hours ago.
βI thought I told you not to eavesdrop,β he replies flatly, βhow much did you hear?β
βI just donβt think you two should fight,β she murmurs, βpeople keeps secrets sometimes. You did it too, to protect me.β
Though he has only known Mary for about a year, heβs come to know everything about her from birth to afterlife. Her abilities to obscure visibility and detect ghosts or ghouls combined with her transparency have made her invaluable as an asset to his missions; however, there is no doubt that they are not on equal footing. He could put her away at any time and her C Ranking status meant that most Saniwa (as well as more dangerous ghosts) could kill her without issue. The only reason she is still alive is due to Gandor and...Miyoshi.
Two of the more important people in his life and he did not truly know either of them to the extent that he knew her. One of them, he incidentally, had no issue wishing death upon.
βItβs just...different though. I donβt want you to get hurt.β Claire stops only a few feet from the door to lean against the door, βheβs just being selfish.β
βWhatβs the difference?β she asks, tilting her head.
βYouβll...youβll understand when youβre older,β he says, before glancing at the door.
βIf you say so,β she shrugs, resigning herself to the compact.
Claire slams the device shut before switching it out for a lit cigarette. When he enters the sleeping cart, he feels safe enough to blow smoke without regarding anyone else who might be patrolling. What is more important is the reprimanding he is sure that he would receive from Graham.
Heβd probably say something like βkind of a double standard isnβt it? Well he did it first. He should know. But then heβd say βthatβs childishβ and we wouldnβt get anywhere. Heβs here acting like itβs so bad that his old manβs head of the House and kind of hates him when heβs never been beat.
βHe doesnβt know what itβs like to hop on a train and run the fuck away!β
βStille!β an officer whispers harshly.
βMy bad,β Claire says, pulling his hood over his hair.
Though the patrolling duo walks off, the redhead remains rigid. He blows out another cigarette before eying the wall in front of him. Miyoshi never really could walk around without being recognized. It isnβt as though Claire never thought of the scenario himself, Miyoshi severing ties and trying to be someone else but nothing he did would ever detach him from being a Kazetani. Even with Kimura Asagiβs power he could never be invisible the same way Claire was during his earlier years. Even now, if the redhead wants to, he could dye his hair and live life as Joe Schmoe, combat extraordinaire but a Kazetani death would ripple across waters.
The Kazetanis arenβt veiled by mist, theyβre trapped in it. It only makes sense that Miyoshi might not want to get others too involved in his family because he still wants to protect them.
βIβm a fucking asshole,β Claire sighs, slapping his forehead, βfuck man.β
Whether or not Mouse is truly being shady the Irishman should not have jumped to conclusions for doing essentially what he would have done. Lord why did he need to be so insensitive? So impulsive? He is sure that Graham would be chiding by now if not smacking him over the head. He should only be so lucky that his Artifact is busy with Heleneβs.
Unfortunately, he isnβt privy to waking Miyoshi up for the sake of groveling so he reaches into his pocket to feel Drusillaβs fabric scrap for some reassurance. If not an apology he knows Mouse would be happy to find a clue or two regarding the state of the train. He needs only wait until the morning to pull his friend aside.
He stamps his cigarette out before noticing a hunched over male fiddling with a lighter.
βNeed a light?β he asks.
From across the room, red eyes glance up toward a equally red-haired male before walking off entirely.
A single match drops from Claireβs fingertips before he does the same, both uncertain and uncomfortable with the sight before him.
lmao kill me
The thought slips into his mind seamlessly as he lies, back to his roommate and legs curled to fit the slightly-too-short mattress. He traces the faint line Drusilla cut into him, briefly aware of the help his βpartnerβ gave him to turn the corruption into a mere scar. With his ward being a powerful Spiritualist he sees no harm in wishing the man ill and feeling Miyoshiβs eyes on him (however briefly) only cements the thought into his mind. What gave the Japanese man the right to be so shady? If he had nothing to hide then why did he deflect everything and turn it onto him?
He turns his neck to glare at the man in question before the rest of his body follows.
There are times when he hates the good luck heβs had and this one of them. Working under Gandor, head of the West Wind, his loyalty to the House is especially important since the head himself has no favored allegiances. He is faithful to everyone and his actions show it, but right now Claire canβt even look at Miyoshiβs face and that would reflect poorly on his boss.
Lifting his blanket, Claire decides that he ought to investigate the original attack site for any other signs of activity.
For Gandor, the thinks. Not Mouse.
He keeps the oil nestled in his box of cigarettes and the key in his pants pocket while his gun rests in its holster, fully loaded in case anyone follows him. He doubts that anyone will be tailing him at this time of night, but the shiver in his spine tells him not to relax. A few patrolling officers throw him a look that is quickly met with a challenging one of his own. His wild, red locks and equally crimson eyes tag him as Gandorβs bodyguard and the companyβs main gateway to American armaments. They could choose to overlook him, but to offend him would be a grave mistake indeed. Itβs a new feeling, he thinks, to flounce about without another, higher-ranking party by his side but reminds himself that he has as much authority as any other Saniwa on the train.
Mouse included, Claire scoffs.
Miyoshiβs patronization angered him and fueled further accusations, but Claire could normally take that. He hates it, because the condescension is something new, almost exclusive to Miyoshi. Nobody else pulls the βbe a dearβ or βtake Sterling around the blockβ card on him when his opinion isnβt necessary so the method and the timing felt like a slap in the face. Did their time in Shanghai mean nothing? Is every grievance just going to be met with lip service and avoidance tactics? Perhaps it is easier to avoid things because then he does not have to deal with them, but if that is the case why make such directed jabs?
Instead of smoke and mirrors, the Kazetanis are a collective mist, concealing via controlled information and even tighter appearances. Compared to Yuukiβs opaque fog, Claire can see vague shadows in Miyoshiβs miasma in the form of Kimura Asagi, drugs, and the camellia. He is sure that even amongst other Kazetani, they all remain nebulous to each other. Still, it does not stop the redhead from digging up post-argument retorts.
Everyone is an agent of your father. Youβre only here because he asked you to be.
Claire exits the sleeping cart and tightens his hood, but it is futile against the brisk winds that punish him for investigation. Climbing onto the roof only exacerbates the chill whipping against his face. Instead of standing, he lowers his stance into a crawl to check for evidence along the sides of the roof. Drusillaβs knife, to his detriment, slipped between the cracks of the train and he is sure that she hadnβt carried a sheath with her.
We might have a better chance of finding it if she buried her knife in Mouse instea-, Claire cringes before he can finish the thought. No, he may ask for great pain but death is another matter.
Perhaps he has jumped the gun too quickly. He wants to think that he has the moral high ground on that end. Compared to Miyoshiβs normally grim comments, he reserves his death wishes for those who do tangible harm; Miyoshiβs worst crime was putting him in a position of danger.
Corruption, Claire affirms, let him be corrupt and nothing more.
Leaping from the restaurant to the passenger and baggage, he grabs his compact from his other pocket and lets his little companion emerge once moreβ¦
...only for her to freak out.
βEek! Weβre on top of a train!, a train!β
βMrrph Mary you need to let me see or Iβm going to drop it!β
βIβm going to fall?β
For all of the trauma reflected on her body she still carries the quirks of being a child. Wrapping her arms around his head, she gives him little in the way of vision or a chance to loosen her grip. Despite not having any earthly perception of temperature she shivers at the sounds of the billowing trees and the sense of something dangerous.
βMary, please,β Claire backs up until he can fall harmlessly onto his bottom. From a less tall perspective, she purses her lip before peeling herself from Claireβs face.
βSo whatβs our next mission?β She asks, settling for βsittingβ in her brotherβs lap.
βIβm going to need your help again,β the redhead announces, pointing behind her.
βYou seem tired Big Brother, shouldnβt you do this in the morning?β she tilts her head, more calm now that she didnβt have the fear of Claire dropping her.
If I wanted to do this in the morning then Uncle Miyoshi would probably, guilt trip me, was what he wanted to say, but he settles instead for something more child-friendly.
βItβs a secret mission,β he lowers his voice into a whisper, but clears his throat when Mary shoots him an odd look.
βI need you to help me find that bad ladyβs remains. You know, like all Revenants have?β he narrows his eyes a slight and turns the compact around so that she can see the scope of the train, βsheβs here somewhere but I just canβt find her.β
βOh well I can help! I just need to-β she looks down at the compact before pressing her lips together.
βRelax, Mary,β he ruffles her hair, βI just need you by my side.β
She nods as Claire affixes the compact to his front pocket, returning to his previous state of crawling. Unlike fights he felt comfortable having her tail by his side since the worst trouble she could possibly get into is attempting to wake the other passengers and she knew that he would close the compact as soon as she tries to misbehave. She provides a softer, more stable type of partnership that doesnβt result in his resentment or someone coming back from the dead and attempting to kill him.
Thereβs a thought, having a partner you can trust, Claire grumbles a slight but continues toward the next cart.
βBig Brother Iβm scared,β Mary whispers.
βWeβll only be here a little bit longer,β he assures.
Claire narrows his eyes as he scampers much more slowly toward the end of the sleeping cart. Feeling for the ladder he descends and runs his hands across the exterior of the doorway until something silky appears under his fingertips.
What is this? He pulls the piece of fabric from a door that closed too quickly and stares at it for a few moments. Red, soft, rotting. It may not have had any thumbprints, but he bet dollars to donuts that it belonged to Drusilla. And if a piece of her dress is here, the rest of her body could be far behind.
He turns toward the cargo, but a yelp from Mary is enough for him to refrain from walking over.
βCan we go please?! Now?β she urges, βI donβt feel safe here.β
Claire grabs the compact to keep her from shaking, but the terror in her face compels him to reach toward his gun.
βDonβt worry. We donβt have to go if thereβs something bad in there,β he says, glancing at her pale expression.
βThereβs...monsters in there. Strong ghosts,β she manages, reaching for Claireβs hand, βthey feel like her.β
There is no arguing there and Claire sets course back to the VIP sleeping cabins.
He doesnβt complain at Maryβs questions about Drusilla nor at her insistence to clutch his torso during the entire excursion. Instead he gives her a reassuring smile and the occasional platitude. His mind, unfortunately, is on other things.
For such a strong, spiritual presence, why did Miyoshi not catch wind of any of this? If the aura of the ghosts on the train are so overbearing that they made Mary, who keeps gunning to fight, then there should not have been a reason for Miyoshi not to catch that upon boarding. Half of him wants to chalk it up to personal selfishness (he has been voluntarily taking soul tablets), but would it really be fair to pin everything on him if Mary herself had not detected anything until right before they entered?
βAre you and Uncle Miyoshi going to take care of all the bad ghosts?β Mary asks, gently tugging at one of Claireβs strings.
βIβ¦β Claire hesitates before sighing, βIβll take care of them. Mou-Miyoshi is...β
βAre you two fighting?β
The question cuts through the wind and air, hanging in Claireβs ears like dead weights. Had she always been this perceptive? She only barely caught the presence of Drusilla a few hours ago.
βI thought I told you not to eavesdrop,β he replies flatly, βhow much did you hear?β
βI just donβt think you two should fight,β she murmurs, βpeople keeps secrets sometimes. You did it too, to protect me.β
Though he has only known Mary for about a year, heβs come to know everything about her from birth to afterlife. Her abilities to obscure visibility and detect ghosts or ghouls combined with her transparency have made her invaluable as an asset to his missions; however, there is no doubt that they are not on equal footing. He could put her away at any time and her C Ranking status meant that most Saniwa (as well as more dangerous ghosts) could kill her without issue. The only reason she is still alive is due to Gandor and...Miyoshi.
Two of the more important people in his life and he did not truly know either of them to the extent that he knew her. One of them, he incidentally, had no issue wishing death upon.
βItβs just...different though. I donβt want you to get hurt.β Claire stops only a few feet from the door to lean against the door, βheβs just being selfish.β
βWhatβs the difference?β she asks, tilting her head.
βYouβll...youβll understand when youβre older,β he says, before glancing at the door.
βIf you say so,β she shrugs, resigning herself to the compact.
Claire slams the device shut before switching it out for a lit cigarette. When he enters the sleeping cart, he feels safe enough to blow smoke without regarding anyone else who might be patrolling. What is more important is the reprimanding he is sure that he would receive from Graham.
Heβd probably say something like βkind of a double standard isnβt it? Well he did it first. He should know. But then heβd say βthatβs childishβ and we wouldnβt get anywhere. Heβs here acting like itβs so bad that his old manβs head of the House and kind of hates him when heβs never been beat.
βHe doesnβt know what itβs like to hop on a train and run the fuck away!β
βStille!β an officer whispers harshly.
βMy bad,β Claire says, pulling his hood over his hair.
Though the patrolling duo walks off, the redhead remains rigid. He blows out another cigarette before eying the wall in front of him. Miyoshi never really could walk around without being recognized. It isnβt as though Claire never thought of the scenario himself, Miyoshi severing ties and trying to be someone else but nothing he did would ever detach him from being a Kazetani. Even with Kimura Asagiβs power he could never be invisible the same way Claire was during his earlier years. Even now, if the redhead wants to, he could dye his hair and live life as Joe Schmoe, combat extraordinaire but a Kazetani death would ripple across waters.
The Kazetanis arenβt veiled by mist, theyβre trapped in it. It only makes sense that Miyoshi might not want to get others too involved in his family because he still wants to protect them.
βIβm a fucking asshole,β Claire sighs, slapping his forehead, βfuck man.β
Whether or not Mouse is truly being shady the Irishman should not have jumped to conclusions for doing essentially what he would have done. Lord why did he need to be so insensitive? So impulsive? He is sure that Graham would be chiding by now if not smacking him over the head. He should only be so lucky that his Artifact is busy with Heleneβs.
Unfortunately, he isnβt privy to waking Miyoshi up for the sake of groveling so he reaches into his pocket to feel Drusillaβs fabric scrap for some reassurance. If not an apology he knows Mouse would be happy to find a clue or two regarding the state of the train. He needs only wait until the morning to pull his friend aside.
He stamps his cigarette out before noticing a hunched over male fiddling with a lighter.
βNeed a light?β he asks.
From across the room, red eyes glance up toward a equally red-haired male before walking off entirely.
A single match drops from Claireβs fingertips before he does the same, both uncertain and uncomfortable with the sight before him.
lmao kill me
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The rain had subsided. The sun shines bleakly through the thin curtains, beaming slits of sunlight when Claire swings the door to their room open. It surrenders easily, the knob colliding softly with the wall. The bland decor and clashing fabrics are a welcomed sight for once, giving the Irishman ample time to decompress from his earlier engagements.
What ought to have been an easy trip proved to be more of a petting zoo as Claire navigated the dining halls of the upper class car. Matches were in short supply and a source of community for smokers of any nationality and even he had to concede that they (the βtheyβ referring to every European) were treating him better than the first night. Maybe they finally know who theyβre dealing with a small part of him thought, or perhaps they merely wanted to practice their English.
Every βhallo, American man!β was met with a gruff βheyβ, but the few women were met a more cheeky βwhatβs buzzinβ, cousin?β Well, the brunette ones anyway. His own car consists mostly of men and it seems that the few women who are there are either maids, rich debutantes, or the blonde duo. Not too many interest him, but a breakfast of awkwardly conversing with the Germans (the few that weren't patrolling the cart) has helped him acclimate to showing off his humorous side.
Nonetheless it did not prepare him for what lay directly under his eyeline--a body by the name Neumann.
βMouse what the fff-β he silences himself before turning over and closing the door.
He scurries toward Miyoshi, his hand cupping around his own mouth.
βMouse what the fuck happened?β Claire whispers harshly as he points an open hand at the unconscious body, βdonβt you think there was another way to handle...this.β
βNo,β Miyoshi says, without looking up. He licks his teeth.
Claire squats down to observe the body, grabbing Neumannβs right hand.
βWeβre going to have to get rid of this,β he asks, raising it to inspect the damage, βthey canβt know he was here.β
βVery good. Ave Maria, I suppose.β comes Miyoshiβs lackadaisical reply. He tosses the Madonna in a single dispassionate movement.
I leave you alone for ten minutes and you knock this Nazi out cold, Claire thinks, though he canβt deny a twinkle of pride when he sees the statue tossed away in his peripheral vision.
If Miyoshi was telling the truth then they would need to act quickly to prevent themselves from being discovered or worse, having the Germans turn on them. He brushes his fingers over the broken knuckles with some curiosity as he tries to formulate what plausible explanation he might have to drum up should anyone be on the other side of the door, but finds himself at a loss. Maybe they dropped a piece of furniture on his hand while they were rearranging the room? No, the better course of action is preventing any further slip ups.
Claire chews on his lip before standing up and reaching into his pocket to pull out the compact from the previous night.
βBig Brother, youβre awfully early toda-!β
This time Claire has the foresight to preemptively clamp his hand around Maryβs mouth before whispering slowly in her ear.
βMary Iβm going to need you not to scream because there is a bad man passed out and weβre going to need you to shield this room. Now are you not going to scream when I let you go?β
A vigorous nod allows the redhead to let go before Mary darts around the room, flailing in a mixture of frustration and shock as she sees the unconscious soldier.
βThatβs the bad person!β Mary hisses before covering her mouth again, βwhat did he do?!β
βThat is what we are trying to find out,β Claire sighs, rubbing his temple, βI need you to cover this room and make sure that nobody can see or hear us. I donβt want anyone else getting hurt okay? It will be just like all those other times.β
Mary pauses for a moment, turning back at her redheaded companion. βYou arenβt going to kill him are you? Heβs just a human after all.β
βDonβt worry,β Claire smiles reassuringly, gesturing for the ethereal girl to float down to his level, βhe will be fine. We just need to scare him a little.β
βOh well I can do that!β Mary grins before holding her hands up like claws, βboo!β
Claire canβt hold back a chuckle. βI know you can and you are real scary but we donβt know how much he knows about us so we canβt risk him runninβ around screaming about a ghost on the train. Next time okay?β
βFine.β Mary folds her arms and turns away, βBut just because heβs knocked out already.β
As opaque fog covers the walls of the room Claire shoves Neumann onto the nearest chair and binds the Germanβs hands together with his belt. Like all supplies, they were, unfortunately, in short supply of either rope or Artifact.
Donβt worry heβs a Nazi just like all the rest of βem. Heβs more dangerous to us if he escapes,, Claire thinks to himself as he pushes the Nazi to the center of the room. He does not want to break the manβs foot, Nazi or otherwise.
He knows nothing about enacting interrogation nor does he want to. Hearing one of his former mentors talk about the mythical βthird degreeβ of interrogation was enough to turn him off from such missions, along with the subsequent resistance training that followed his Rank A promotion.
Though his experiences with water curing, sleep deprivation, suspension and ice showers never left any scars they validated his decision to never enter the world of espionage.
The West Wind is clever like that, showing easily you can break a guy without even leaving trace, he thinks before frowning at Neumannβs broken hand.
They are far past that point now.
βHey wake up,β Claire grunts as he lightly slaps Neumann awake.
βHerr Kazetani!β the German jolts awake only to be met with a grab.
βHey you arenβt talkinβ to him. Youβre talking to me!β Claire warns, jerking the Germanβs head to him, βwhat do you know about the contents of this train?β
From the corner of his eye, the Irishman sees Miyoshi approaching and crouching beside him, eyes glinting with a wicked curiosity.
βThey are German supplies and armaments,β Neumann replies evenly, βwas this not what we discussed at dinner?β
βThen...β Claire pauses for a second before standing to his full height, βlet me rephrase that. What sort of people are on the train, besides the civvies, the us, the staff? Is there anyone or anything important that you Germans are holding onto?β
βThere are at least fifty people on this train Herr Stanfield. I cannot be expected to know everyoneβs name,β Neumann responds, βwas this not what we discussed at dinner?β
βAnswer the question!β Claire punches the Naziβs stomach, βwhere were you after dinner ended? Did you see anyone?β
βI-β Neumann lets out a large series of coughs before doubling over. Heavy breaths leave his mouth as he gasps for air, unable to contain himself before Claire delivers another to his jaw.
He hears a subdued shriek from the corner and internally winces but keeps his face steeled.
βI was reading Volk ohne Raum in my room. I can show you if you doubt me,β the German wheezes.
Claire narrows his eyes before pulling out a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it, taking a long drag. Clearly, a direct line of questioning is not going to work.
He isnβt creative either, not like Miyoshi.
Glancing back, the Japanese Saniwa gives Claire an expectant nod towards the chair before stepping back towards the door.
If heβs going to let me be, Iβll need to let him be, the American shivers, closing his eyes for a second. He hates that look, but he is sure he hates Neumann more.
βSo you were in your room the entire time? No bathroom breaks? No late night cigars?β Claire asks, smoke billowing from the corners of his mouth.
βWhat-β Neumann huffs before taking another breath, β-do you want me to say? I am a lark,β
βThatβs fair, I used to be an earlier riser too,β Claire admits, βhow early would you say you slept? Nine? Ten?β
Neumann glances up for a second, licking the blood from his lips. He mimics his interrogatorβs grim expression.
βItβs hard to remember. I only read a few pages before sleeping,β
βIt must not be a good book then. Do you remember anything else about last night?β Claire inquires, leaning closer to him.
βYou seem irritated, Herr Stanfield,β Neumann raises a brow, βAre you looking for something?β
In an instant, Claire pulls the cigarette from his mouth and drives it into the Naziβs neck before it drops to the ground.
βDonβt get smart with me,β he hisses through gritted teeth, βwhat did you hear last night? What did you see?β
βI told you I was reading, I could hardly hear anything besides the rumbling!β Neumann exclaims, wincing from the red ring forming on his neck.
βSo you heard rumbling?β Claire calms, βcan you describe the rumbling?β
Neumann knits his brow, his lips in a thin line.
βThere was a fair amount of thudding but I assumed they were nothing more than raucous passengers.β
βDid you hear any names?β Claire inquires, βIβm more of a faces guy so you will have to forgive me.β
βWhere are you leading me Herr Stanfield?β Neumann deflects, βas I told you before I have no inkling of when I fell asleep. It could have been at any time.β
βWell do your best to remember because your next answer is going to be mighty important if you donβt want that burn on your neck to have a friend.β Claire replies as he grabs Neumann by the hair.
βI give you my word,β Neumann sighs, rolling his wrists against his bindings.
βTry feeding him a tab,β Miyoshi smirks. βJust my guess.β
Claire raises a brow before his face lights up in realization. He lets go and reaches a hand into his overcoat pocket. Pulling out a tin box, he pops the cover to reveal several white tablets.
βHave you seen these before Neumann?β Claire asks, holding up one of Miyoshiβs pills to Neumannβs line of sight.
βThis is your big question? I thought you had something more important in mind Stanfield,β Neumann responds before narrowing his eyes, βI am not one for foreign med-. β
βIf you want to keep breathing youβll do your best to swallow,β Claire snaps, shoving the pill into the soldierβs mouth and clamping his jaw shut.
With his other hand pinching Neumannβs nostrils Claireβs hands remain taut as his eyes move toward the tied manβs throat. Miyoshi watches his partner with a bizarre sense of adoration, keeping his eyes fastened on Claireβs moving fingers.
As a lump slides down his throat, the Irishman forces the Germanβs mouth open.
βTongue up,β Claire orders, inspecting Neumannβs mouth for any traces of white.
Were it not for Claireβs fingers in the Germanβs mouth he likely would have heard Neumann saying βI told you I would keep my wordβ, but instead both of them settle for waiting until the redhead slinks his away out of Neumann.
For once he keeps silent, crossing his arms as he watches Neumann for any movement.
I hope he is right about this, Claire thinks as he glances at his partner, he canβt keep doing this.
As much as he despises Miyoshiβs usage of the soul tablets he knows that now is not the time to be glad he is one step closer to depletion, especially when they are still in danger.
Turning back to Neumann, low breathing turns to deep gasps of air as he beings shaking against his bindings. As his shoulders popped and legs trembled as small movements turned into large, jerking convulsions.
A cry of pain erupts as the Nazi topples over, curling and unfurling at the stomach.
βWhat did you-β
βKarl Neumann!β Claire exclaims, as if to drown out the sobbing in the background, βNazi soldier, German, and judging by your reaction a Saniwa.β
A fit of coughs only seems to confirm his, truly Miyoshiβs theory as Claire walks over to the prone soldier and gives him two kicks to the abdomen.
βHow many corpses are in the cargo hold Neumann?β he yells as pulls the chair upright, βwe know that there are revenants on this train!β
Neumann suppresses another cough, drool pooling down his uniform. βThat has nothing to do with me. I am here strictly on military act-!β
Before he can finish, a cry of pain escapes his lips as another punch hits his stomach.
βDonβt lie to me,β Claire commands as he takes hold of the Nazi soldierβs collar, βMiyoshi may have broken one hand but you still a whole body.β
Neumann hitches his breath.
βIf you were just here on orders you wouldnβt have popped into our room and my partner wouldnβt have had to defend himself now would he?β Claire asks, hitting Neumann square in the jaw.
βIβ¦β the German grits his teeth, head swaying from a mixture of the drug and the swirling in his stomach.
βWho is reanimating those corpses Neumann?β
βI-β He holds his breath but is unable to stop the flood that exits his mouth. The smell of blood and acid fills the air as Neumann retches across his lap. As the color drains from his face, his body slumps over, intoxicated by the strain and the bruises blooming across his body.
βSon of a bitch!β Claire curses, recoiling to avoid the mess. He kicks the chair down, knocking Neumann to the floor before delivering a swift kick to the top of the Germanβs bowed head.
First he deflects, then he lies, and now he has the audacity to vomit all over him?
βGet. Back Here. And. Answer. The. Question!β Claire huffs, kicking the Nazi harder with each word.
You have to be kidding me, we were so close! Claire groans, his hands balling and unfurling.
He turns around for a brief second but finds no reprieve in the calm Miyoshi whose smarmy grin only widened.
If there were a way for him to punch Neumann back to consciousness he would be all for it. Unfortunately, those unaccustomed to soul tablets are not so lucky and most certainly (Claire bites his lip) he had gone too far in driving the answer out of Neumann.
Perhaps today is just another day for the Spiritualist and IJA member but his throbbing knuckles and acrid arm are no more glorious than Drusilla or even the Nazi he beat senseless only moments before. To what end did he need to keep kicking him when a single soul tablet ultimately gave them their answer?
He glances back to find Maryβs fog still present yet her figure is nowhere to be seen nor her voice despite the earlier attempts to block it out.
βMary are you still here?β Claire whispers, only to be met with silence.
βMary weβve got everything we need. You donβt need to keep shielding the room,β he tries once more.
βWhy, Big Brother?β the young ghost squeaks out, βyou never told me what he did.β
βI told you heβs a bad man.β Claire as he reaches for the ghostβs compact. βHe isnβt one of us. I was trying to-β
βYou were being a bully!β Mary yells, finally reappearing, βyou said he was a Saniwa too like you and Uncle Miyoshi!β
βThat doesnβt mean heβs on our side!β Claire presses his lips together before producing a weak smile, βPlease, everything is over now so you can rest easy.β
He opens the small, pink compact only for Mary to float into the leftmost corner of the room.
βNo! I donβt want to go back with you! You killed the revenant and now you killed him too!β Mary sobs.
βNeumann isnβt dead Mary, heβs...β Claire trails off, opting to to open the mirror and setting it away from him, βyou donβt need to come with me but I do need you to go back inside. We still donβt know who else is on this train and I donβt want you to get hurt. I swear itβs for your own good..β
βHow can I trust you?β she shrieks, βhow do I know that you wonβt just smash it like you did to him?β
βYouβre right,β Claire sighs, βIβm not trustworthy, but I would never do something like that. You are a sister to me. Everything Iβve done Iβve done to protect you...because I care about you. I promise I wonβt ask for anything else I wonβt even touch you. Youβll stay in here until the mission is over and I will hand you over to someone...who isnβt a bully. Someone better.β
Not waiting for an answer, he walks to the opposite edge of the room before turning around and holding his hands up. For what feels like an eternity he hears nothing until a chills whip past his neck and the temperature undulates through the room.
Perhaps he ought to have let Mary take the reins on this mission.
After Claire hears the compact snap shut, he moves to pick it up and drops it on his bed before approaching Neumannβs drenched form.
Despite the shallow breaths indicating signs of life, Claire hardly feels any less remorse or disgust while digging through the unconscious, odious manβs pockets. Cigarettes, wet matches, a gun, a deck of cards, all standard fare for a soldier.
Laying the items out on the desk, he frowns and spreads the deck apart, fingers moving from card to card before finally pushing out a King of Hearts that appeared a bit thicker than the rest.
At first glance it appears to be a defect yet the rip in the corner tells him otherwise. Peeling away at the back of the card, Claire finally lets out a gasp as he pulls out a small red card with a black border.
βHey Mouse, what does this mean to you?β the redhead asks, holding the card up to full view.
Two chrysanthemums and a purple ribbon across the center.
At first, the Japanese man does not speak. Claire sees Miyoshiβs fist curl and unfurl.
βHanafuda group,β Miyoshi says, voice thick with something other than blood and bile. βThey are here. We are not the only Saniwa organization aboard this train.β
At this, Miyoshi falls into his usual muffled, breathy laughter. Heβs shaking, and for all their years of friendship, Claire cannot fathom if the laughter stems from insanity or mirth.
βSee,β the Spiritualist finishes, wiping a palm across his mouth. βWeβve captured one.β
What ought to have been an easy trip proved to be more of a petting zoo as Claire navigated the dining halls of the upper class car. Matches were in short supply and a source of community for smokers of any nationality and even he had to concede that they (the βtheyβ referring to every European) were treating him better than the first night. Maybe they finally know who theyβre dealing with a small part of him thought, or perhaps they merely wanted to practice their English.
Every βhallo, American man!β was met with a gruff βheyβ, but the few women were met a more cheeky βwhatβs buzzinβ, cousin?β Well, the brunette ones anyway. His own car consists mostly of men and it seems that the few women who are there are either maids, rich debutantes, or the blonde duo. Not too many interest him, but a breakfast of awkwardly conversing with the Germans (the few that weren't patrolling the cart) has helped him acclimate to showing off his humorous side.
Nonetheless it did not prepare him for what lay directly under his eyeline--a body by the name Neumann.
βMouse what the fff-β he silences himself before turning over and closing the door.
He scurries toward Miyoshi, his hand cupping around his own mouth.
βMouse what the fuck happened?β Claire whispers harshly as he points an open hand at the unconscious body, βdonβt you think there was another way to handle...this.β
βNo,β Miyoshi says, without looking up. He licks his teeth.
Claire squats down to observe the body, grabbing Neumannβs right hand.
βWeβre going to have to get rid of this,β he asks, raising it to inspect the damage, βthey canβt know he was here.β
βVery good. Ave Maria, I suppose.β comes Miyoshiβs lackadaisical reply. He tosses the Madonna in a single dispassionate movement.
I leave you alone for ten minutes and you knock this Nazi out cold, Claire thinks, though he canβt deny a twinkle of pride when he sees the statue tossed away in his peripheral vision.
If Miyoshi was telling the truth then they would need to act quickly to prevent themselves from being discovered or worse, having the Germans turn on them. He brushes his fingers over the broken knuckles with some curiosity as he tries to formulate what plausible explanation he might have to drum up should anyone be on the other side of the door, but finds himself at a loss. Maybe they dropped a piece of furniture on his hand while they were rearranging the room? No, the better course of action is preventing any further slip ups.
Claire chews on his lip before standing up and reaching into his pocket to pull out the compact from the previous night.
βBig Brother, youβre awfully early toda-!β
This time Claire has the foresight to preemptively clamp his hand around Maryβs mouth before whispering slowly in her ear.
βMary Iβm going to need you not to scream because there is a bad man passed out and weβre going to need you to shield this room. Now are you not going to scream when I let you go?β
A vigorous nod allows the redhead to let go before Mary darts around the room, flailing in a mixture of frustration and shock as she sees the unconscious soldier.
βThatβs the bad person!β Mary hisses before covering her mouth again, βwhat did he do?!β
βThat is what we are trying to find out,β Claire sighs, rubbing his temple, βI need you to cover this room and make sure that nobody can see or hear us. I donβt want anyone else getting hurt okay? It will be just like all those other times.β
Mary pauses for a moment, turning back at her redheaded companion. βYou arenβt going to kill him are you? Heβs just a human after all.β
βDonβt worry,β Claire smiles reassuringly, gesturing for the ethereal girl to float down to his level, βhe will be fine. We just need to scare him a little.β
βOh well I can do that!β Mary grins before holding her hands up like claws, βboo!β
Claire canβt hold back a chuckle. βI know you can and you are real scary but we donβt know how much he knows about us so we canβt risk him runninβ around screaming about a ghost on the train. Next time okay?β
βFine.β Mary folds her arms and turns away, βBut just because heβs knocked out already.β
As opaque fog covers the walls of the room Claire shoves Neumann onto the nearest chair and binds the Germanβs hands together with his belt. Like all supplies, they were, unfortunately, in short supply of either rope or Artifact.
Donβt worry heβs a Nazi just like all the rest of βem. Heβs more dangerous to us if he escapes,, Claire thinks to himself as he pushes the Nazi to the center of the room. He does not want to break the manβs foot, Nazi or otherwise.
He knows nothing about enacting interrogation nor does he want to. Hearing one of his former mentors talk about the mythical βthird degreeβ of interrogation was enough to turn him off from such missions, along with the subsequent resistance training that followed his Rank A promotion.
Though his experiences with water curing, sleep deprivation, suspension and ice showers never left any scars they validated his decision to never enter the world of espionage.
The West Wind is clever like that, showing easily you can break a guy without even leaving trace, he thinks before frowning at Neumannβs broken hand.
They are far past that point now.
βHey wake up,β Claire grunts as he lightly slaps Neumann awake.
βHerr Kazetani!β the German jolts awake only to be met with a grab.
βHey you arenβt talkinβ to him. Youβre talking to me!β Claire warns, jerking the Germanβs head to him, βwhat do you know about the contents of this train?β
From the corner of his eye, the Irishman sees Miyoshi approaching and crouching beside him, eyes glinting with a wicked curiosity.
βThey are German supplies and armaments,β Neumann replies evenly, βwas this not what we discussed at dinner?β
βThen...β Claire pauses for a second before standing to his full height, βlet me rephrase that. What sort of people are on the train, besides the civvies, the us, the staff? Is there anyone or anything important that you Germans are holding onto?β
βThere are at least fifty people on this train Herr Stanfield. I cannot be expected to know everyoneβs name,β Neumann responds, βwas this not what we discussed at dinner?β
βAnswer the question!β Claire punches the Naziβs stomach, βwhere were you after dinner ended? Did you see anyone?β
βI-β Neumann lets out a large series of coughs before doubling over. Heavy breaths leave his mouth as he gasps for air, unable to contain himself before Claire delivers another to his jaw.
He hears a subdued shriek from the corner and internally winces but keeps his face steeled.
βI was reading Volk ohne Raum in my room. I can show you if you doubt me,β the German wheezes.
Claire narrows his eyes before pulling out a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it, taking a long drag. Clearly, a direct line of questioning is not going to work.
He isnβt creative either, not like Miyoshi.
Glancing back, the Japanese Saniwa gives Claire an expectant nod towards the chair before stepping back towards the door.
If heβs going to let me be, Iβll need to let him be, the American shivers, closing his eyes for a second. He hates that look, but he is sure he hates Neumann more.
βSo you were in your room the entire time? No bathroom breaks? No late night cigars?β Claire asks, smoke billowing from the corners of his mouth.
βWhat-β Neumann huffs before taking another breath, β-do you want me to say? I am a lark,β
βThatβs fair, I used to be an earlier riser too,β Claire admits, βhow early would you say you slept? Nine? Ten?β
Neumann glances up for a second, licking the blood from his lips. He mimics his interrogatorβs grim expression.
βItβs hard to remember. I only read a few pages before sleeping,β
βIt must not be a good book then. Do you remember anything else about last night?β Claire inquires, leaning closer to him.
βYou seem irritated, Herr Stanfield,β Neumann raises a brow, βAre you looking for something?β
In an instant, Claire pulls the cigarette from his mouth and drives it into the Naziβs neck before it drops to the ground.
βDonβt get smart with me,β he hisses through gritted teeth, βwhat did you hear last night? What did you see?β
βI told you I was reading, I could hardly hear anything besides the rumbling!β Neumann exclaims, wincing from the red ring forming on his neck.
βSo you heard rumbling?β Claire calms, βcan you describe the rumbling?β
Neumann knits his brow, his lips in a thin line.
βThere was a fair amount of thudding but I assumed they were nothing more than raucous passengers.β
βDid you hear any names?β Claire inquires, βIβm more of a faces guy so you will have to forgive me.β
βWhere are you leading me Herr Stanfield?β Neumann deflects, βas I told you before I have no inkling of when I fell asleep. It could have been at any time.β
βWell do your best to remember because your next answer is going to be mighty important if you donβt want that burn on your neck to have a friend.β Claire replies as he grabs Neumann by the hair.
βI give you my word,β Neumann sighs, rolling his wrists against his bindings.
βTry feeding him a tab,β Miyoshi smirks. βJust my guess.β
Claire raises a brow before his face lights up in realization. He lets go and reaches a hand into his overcoat pocket. Pulling out a tin box, he pops the cover to reveal several white tablets.
βHave you seen these before Neumann?β Claire asks, holding up one of Miyoshiβs pills to Neumannβs line of sight.
βThis is your big question? I thought you had something more important in mind Stanfield,β Neumann responds before narrowing his eyes, βI am not one for foreign med-. β
βIf you want to keep breathing youβll do your best to swallow,β Claire snaps, shoving the pill into the soldierβs mouth and clamping his jaw shut.
With his other hand pinching Neumannβs nostrils Claireβs hands remain taut as his eyes move toward the tied manβs throat. Miyoshi watches his partner with a bizarre sense of adoration, keeping his eyes fastened on Claireβs moving fingers.
As a lump slides down his throat, the Irishman forces the Germanβs mouth open.
βTongue up,β Claire orders, inspecting Neumannβs mouth for any traces of white.
Were it not for Claireβs fingers in the Germanβs mouth he likely would have heard Neumann saying βI told you I would keep my wordβ, but instead both of them settle for waiting until the redhead slinks his away out of Neumann.
For once he keeps silent, crossing his arms as he watches Neumann for any movement.
I hope he is right about this, Claire thinks as he glances at his partner, he canβt keep doing this.
As much as he despises Miyoshiβs usage of the soul tablets he knows that now is not the time to be glad he is one step closer to depletion, especially when they are still in danger.
Turning back to Neumann, low breathing turns to deep gasps of air as he beings shaking against his bindings. As his shoulders popped and legs trembled as small movements turned into large, jerking convulsions.
A cry of pain erupts as the Nazi topples over, curling and unfurling at the stomach.
βWhat did you-β
βKarl Neumann!β Claire exclaims, as if to drown out the sobbing in the background, βNazi soldier, German, and judging by your reaction a Saniwa.β
A fit of coughs only seems to confirm his, truly Miyoshiβs theory as Claire walks over to the prone soldier and gives him two kicks to the abdomen.
βHow many corpses are in the cargo hold Neumann?β he yells as pulls the chair upright, βwe know that there are revenants on this train!β
Neumann suppresses another cough, drool pooling down his uniform. βThat has nothing to do with me. I am here strictly on military act-!β
Before he can finish, a cry of pain escapes his lips as another punch hits his stomach.
βDonβt lie to me,β Claire commands as he takes hold of the Nazi soldierβs collar, βMiyoshi may have broken one hand but you still a whole body.β
Neumann hitches his breath.
βIf you were just here on orders you wouldnβt have popped into our room and my partner wouldnβt have had to defend himself now would he?β Claire asks, hitting Neumann square in the jaw.
βIβ¦β the German grits his teeth, head swaying from a mixture of the drug and the swirling in his stomach.
βWho is reanimating those corpses Neumann?β
βI-β He holds his breath but is unable to stop the flood that exits his mouth. The smell of blood and acid fills the air as Neumann retches across his lap. As the color drains from his face, his body slumps over, intoxicated by the strain and the bruises blooming across his body.
βSon of a bitch!β Claire curses, recoiling to avoid the mess. He kicks the chair down, knocking Neumann to the floor before delivering a swift kick to the top of the Germanβs bowed head.
First he deflects, then he lies, and now he has the audacity to vomit all over him?
βGet. Back Here. And. Answer. The. Question!β Claire huffs, kicking the Nazi harder with each word.
You have to be kidding me, we were so close! Claire groans, his hands balling and unfurling.
He turns around for a brief second but finds no reprieve in the calm Miyoshi whose smarmy grin only widened.
If there were a way for him to punch Neumann back to consciousness he would be all for it. Unfortunately, those unaccustomed to soul tablets are not so lucky and most certainly (Claire bites his lip) he had gone too far in driving the answer out of Neumann.
Perhaps today is just another day for the Spiritualist and IJA member but his throbbing knuckles and acrid arm are no more glorious than Drusilla or even the Nazi he beat senseless only moments before. To what end did he need to keep kicking him when a single soul tablet ultimately gave them their answer?
He glances back to find Maryβs fog still present yet her figure is nowhere to be seen nor her voice despite the earlier attempts to block it out.
βMary are you still here?β Claire whispers, only to be met with silence.
βMary weβve got everything we need. You donβt need to keep shielding the room,β he tries once more.
βWhy, Big Brother?β the young ghost squeaks out, βyou never told me what he did.β
βI told you heβs a bad man.β Claire as he reaches for the ghostβs compact. βHe isnβt one of us. I was trying to-β
βYou were being a bully!β Mary yells, finally reappearing, βyou said he was a Saniwa too like you and Uncle Miyoshi!β
βThat doesnβt mean heβs on our side!β Claire presses his lips together before producing a weak smile, βPlease, everything is over now so you can rest easy.β
He opens the small, pink compact only for Mary to float into the leftmost corner of the room.
βNo! I donβt want to go back with you! You killed the revenant and now you killed him too!β Mary sobs.
βNeumann isnβt dead Mary, heβs...β Claire trails off, opting to to open the mirror and setting it away from him, βyou donβt need to come with me but I do need you to go back inside. We still donβt know who else is on this train and I donβt want you to get hurt. I swear itβs for your own good..β
βHow can I trust you?β she shrieks, βhow do I know that you wonβt just smash it like you did to him?β
βYouβre right,β Claire sighs, βIβm not trustworthy, but I would never do something like that. You are a sister to me. Everything Iβve done Iβve done to protect you...because I care about you. I promise I wonβt ask for anything else I wonβt even touch you. Youβll stay in here until the mission is over and I will hand you over to someone...who isnβt a bully. Someone better.β
Not waiting for an answer, he walks to the opposite edge of the room before turning around and holding his hands up. For what feels like an eternity he hears nothing until a chills whip past his neck and the temperature undulates through the room.
Perhaps he ought to have let Mary take the reins on this mission.
After Claire hears the compact snap shut, he moves to pick it up and drops it on his bed before approaching Neumannβs drenched form.
Despite the shallow breaths indicating signs of life, Claire hardly feels any less remorse or disgust while digging through the unconscious, odious manβs pockets. Cigarettes, wet matches, a gun, a deck of cards, all standard fare for a soldier.
Laying the items out on the desk, he frowns and spreads the deck apart, fingers moving from card to card before finally pushing out a King of Hearts that appeared a bit thicker than the rest.
At first glance it appears to be a defect yet the rip in the corner tells him otherwise. Peeling away at the back of the card, Claire finally lets out a gasp as he pulls out a small red card with a black border.
βHey Mouse, what does this mean to you?β the redhead asks, holding the card up to full view.
Two chrysanthemums and a purple ribbon across the center.
At first, the Japanese man does not speak. Claire sees Miyoshiβs fist curl and unfurl.
βHanafuda group,β Miyoshi says, voice thick with something other than blood and bile. βThey are here. We are not the only Saniwa organization aboard this train.β
At this, Miyoshi falls into his usual muffled, breathy laughter. Heβs shaking, and for all their years of friendship, Claire cannot fathom if the laughter stems from insanity or mirth.
βSee,β the Spiritualist finishes, wiping a palm across his mouth. βWeβve captured one.β
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Joji leaned back in his chair, eying the shadows moving behind the art director's office.
Must be nice.
He hated open offices and shared tables even moreso. There was no room for personal knick-knacks and the half-wall barriers dividing the left and right sides of the table were laughable. It was easy to tell who was surfing Amazon and who was playing Diablo III, the office worker's game of choice. He couldn't deny that he'd been guilty of shirking his duties in the past but, well there was no "but." The Japanese man still needed to pore through the feedback his team received from the beta testers of their last update.
"Trying too hard to be like Apple" seemed to be the prevailing sentiment, although everyone was happy to finally have night mode (God knows how long Joji had been fighting for that feature to be implemented). Everything trickled down from market research to analytics to the art director to them and finally, to the coders. Those poor, poor coders. There was an art to predicting what users wanted and more importantly, delivering what they didn't know they wanted. He found too often that there could be all outcry in the world against a certain change, only for it to be well-received. The opposite, incidentally, rarely happened.
A ping from his desktop brought his attention back to his screen where his work chat was buzzing.
xxxChris V: yo
xxxanyone down for boba tonight? @everyone
xxxAlex H: I can't. I have to turn in early tonight.
xxxJun H: Depends. Can I get a ride back to BART?
xxxChris V: i gotchu bro
xxxDenise N: I'll go if Andy goes
xxxAndy L: Boi I'm broke
Joji pursed his lips for a moment. He had planned on cleaning his fridge tonight but...
xxxJoji K: Only if we can get Boba Guys.
xxxChris V: oh heck yea dude
He turned to his other screen, tabbing out of
Must be nice.
He hated open offices and shared tables even moreso. There was no room for personal knick-knacks and the half-wall barriers dividing the left and right sides of the table were laughable. It was easy to tell who was surfing Amazon and who was playing Diablo III, the office worker's game of choice. He couldn't deny that he'd been guilty of shirking his duties in the past but, well there was no "but." The Japanese man still needed to pore through the feedback his team received from the beta testers of their last update.
"Trying too hard to be like Apple" seemed to be the prevailing sentiment, although everyone was happy to finally have night mode (God knows how long Joji had been fighting for that feature to be implemented). Everything trickled down from market research to analytics to the art director to them and finally, to the coders. Those poor, poor coders. There was an art to predicting what users wanted and more importantly, delivering what they didn't know they wanted. He found too often that there could be all outcry in the world against a certain change, only for it to be well-received. The opposite, incidentally, rarely happened.
A ping from his desktop brought his attention back to his screen where his work chat was buzzing.
xxxChris V: yo
xxxanyone down for boba tonight? @everyone
xxxAlex H: I can't. I have to turn in early tonight.
xxxJun H: Depends. Can I get a ride back to BART?
xxxChris V: i gotchu bro
xxxDenise N: I'll go if Andy goes
xxxAndy L: Boi I'm broke
Joji pursed his lips for a moment. He had planned on cleaning his fridge tonight but...
xxxJoji K: Only if we can get Boba Guys.
xxxChris V: oh heck yea dude
He turned to his other screen, tabbing out of
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Outfit
She hated it here.
The mess of cars, the booming music, the smell of weed and alcohol wafting out of the doorway. The Myers' mansion was hardly impressive either. Its large windows were marred with rainbow lights. The would-be immaculate lawn had bits of vomit. The five hundred bulb chandelier screamed excess and opulence.
The funniest part was that it wasn't even the largest mansion she'd ever seen. The Lo Po Bia family had the largest house among the wealthy Asian elites of southern California as well as the smartest offspring, a fact that her mom would never let Sherry forget. Lo Po Bia Elaine in particular had a reputation among the first generation as the golden child aspire to and she just so happened to be attending the party. That wasn't why Sherry was here however.
The ghost of (one) Werewolf's past yanked her from a pleasant shower after tennis practice and the subsequent screech did nothing to deter him from barking orders at her to protect his granddaughter. The Asian girl slammed the door in his face but that did nothing to prevent him from sticking his head through the door and rambling on about the "chill in his bones." It wasn't enough that she had to dress herself up to party standard (per her self-imposed wishes), she had to throw around Elaine's name in order to convince her parents that she wouldn't end up drinking, smoking, having sex, or getting kidnapped. Because kidnapping was something that definitely happened at parties.
An icy "I'm already headed inside. Leave." left her lips before she walked up the steps and into the cesspool of hedonism.
Lucky for her, everyone was too self-absorbed to notice her crashing the party or perhaps, her "touch me and die" vibe kept most of the partygoers. Their minds contained nothing more than drugs and horniness, both of which Kenneth had in spades. Though his thoughts were muddled, Sherry could practically trace the trail of his groping, stumbling from girl to the next under the guise of a friendly greeting. She was no exception given that as soon as Kenneth finished greeting one of his friends, he swerved towards her.
"Sherry! Sher-ry! You should've told me you were coming. I would have bought a bottle o' sake for youuuuuuuu," he slurred.
"Where's AJ?" she asked.
"Her? I dunno but I'm sure she'll show up soon. In the meantime why don't you jus' loosen up" he grinned, his hand freezing short of her waist.
Despite his previous sleaziness, her scowl seemed to slap the alcohol right out of him
"You're useless," she hissed, pushing him aside
She hated it here.
The mess of cars, the booming music, the smell of weed and alcohol wafting out of the doorway. The Myers' mansion was hardly impressive either. Its large windows were marred with rainbow lights. The would-be immaculate lawn had bits of vomit. The five hundred bulb chandelier screamed excess and opulence.
The funniest part was that it wasn't even the largest mansion she'd ever seen. The Lo Po Bia family had the largest house among the wealthy Asian elites of southern California as well as the smartest offspring, a fact that her mom would never let Sherry forget. Lo Po Bia Elaine in particular had a reputation among the first generation as the golden child aspire to and she just so happened to be attending the party. That wasn't why Sherry was here however.
The ghost of (one) Werewolf's past yanked her from a pleasant shower after tennis practice and the subsequent screech did nothing to deter him from barking orders at her to protect his granddaughter. The Asian girl slammed the door in his face but that did nothing to prevent him from sticking his head through the door and rambling on about the "chill in his bones." It wasn't enough that she had to dress herself up to party standard (per her self-imposed wishes), she had to throw around Elaine's name in order to convince her parents that she wouldn't end up drinking, smoking, having sex, or getting kidnapped. Because kidnapping was something that definitely happened at parties.
An icy "I'm already headed inside. Leave." left her lips before she walked up the steps and into the cesspool of hedonism.
Lucky for her, everyone was too self-absorbed to notice her crashing the party or perhaps, her "touch me and die" vibe kept most of the partygoers. Their minds contained nothing more than drugs and horniness, both of which Kenneth had in spades. Though his thoughts were muddled, Sherry could practically trace the trail of his groping, stumbling from girl to the next under the guise of a friendly greeting. She was no exception given that as soon as Kenneth finished greeting one of his friends, he swerved towards her.
"Sherry! Sher-ry! You should've told me you were coming. I would have bought a bottle o' sake for youuuuuuuu," he slurred.
"Where's AJ?" she asked.
"Her? I dunno but I'm sure she'll show up soon. In the meantime why don't you jus' loosen up" he grinned, his hand freezing short of her waist.
Despite his previous sleaziness, her scowl seemed to slap the alcohol right out of him
"You're useless," she hissed, pushing him aside
The setting changes from Testing Palace to name
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Suddenly, a swirling vortex appears to the out. You can see something appear in that direction.
The setting changes from name to Testing Palace
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Suddenly, a swirling vortex appears to the in. You can see something appear in that direction.
The setting changes from Testing Palace to bitch what the fuck
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Suddenly, a swirling vortex appears to the in. You can see something appear in that direction.
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WIP!!!!
Unlike some people, Ariza actually enjoyed being home for the holidays. Seeing old friends, showing his family that he had asserted some control over his powers, and eating food with flavor. While Cascadia's students had that in spades, he couldn't say the same for the cafeteria which was woefully bland. He felt more comfortable among the Santeros given that their focus wasn't solely on a western style of magic. That wasn't to say that Cascadia's methods were exclusionary, but they were certainly biased towards certainly philosophies. It was a radical change from the religion-focused pedagogy of his community, but an effective one for containing his power.
When asked about his first semester, he recounted the lukewarm reception, his friendship with Beau (which of course, earned teasing from the rest of his family), and his trying hard not to be angry Cursed magic mentor who chewed him out more than once for not paying attention in class. The santero-in-training abstained from mentioning the murder that happened not too long before Christmas in fear of his parents chiding him for picking such a dangerous school. They were already skeptical of Cascadia and he didn't need more evidence that transferring home to community college was a better option.
Despite that, coming back to school felt like a hassle. Prior to the first day, his humanities professor assigned him reading and along with that, an essay that he would surely get a C on, B+ if he could differentiate a rough draft from a final. Lectures and theoretical knowledge never clicked with him the same way that lab classes did. Practical application suited his tastes more and anything that wasn't directly relevant to his arcane studies tended to fall by the wayside.
Were he actually an upstanding student he wouldn't even be at this party! He usually didn't attend house parties for hosts he didn't know (he preferred the play movies in the background while you drink and play games type of kickbacks). The only reason he was here was because of an invite from Beau and the promise of free drinks (pending what everybody else brought). He expected the rest of the party-goers to be upper classmen so it came as no surprise when the presumed hosts and a laundry list of other people he hadn't met were already there when he walked through the doors.
Beau, his one of maybe three or four friends was busy talking to Harmony who he vaguely knew, but didn't particularly hit it off with. Their personalities clashed (albeit not antagonistically) so he tended to keep his distance unless Beau or Monet were there to break the ice. In rare cases, he would sink into the background and stay on his phone while his great-grandfather marveled at the strange ways that modern young adults wasted their time. Today it seemed like the man was content to leave him alone.
"Hey...Beau!" He mustered as much volume as he could to call her and wave, which didn't amount to much over the din of students pounding drinks and the latest pop hits.
Ah, he would definitely need something to loosen up. Approaching the kitchen counter, he mixed himself a gin and juice (heavy on the juice) and downed it with vigor before heading over.
"Hey Beau, Hatch,"(did he even have the right to call her that?) "Everyone have a good winter break?"
When asked about his first semester, he recounted the lukewarm reception, his friendship with Beau (which of course, earned teasing from the rest of his family), and his trying hard not to be angry Cursed magic mentor who chewed him out more than once for not paying attention in class. The santero-in-training abstained from mentioning the murder that happened not too long before Christmas in fear of his parents chiding him for picking such a dangerous school. They were already skeptical of Cascadia and he didn't need more evidence that transferring home to community college was a better option.
Despite that, coming back to school felt like a hassle. Prior to the first day, his humanities professor assigned him reading and along with that, an essay that he would surely get a C on, B+ if he could differentiate a rough draft from a final. Lectures and theoretical knowledge never clicked with him the same way that lab classes did. Practical application suited his tastes more and anything that wasn't directly relevant to his arcane studies tended to fall by the wayside.
Were he actually an upstanding student he wouldn't even be at this party! He usually didn't attend house parties for hosts he didn't know (he preferred the play movies in the background while you drink and play games type of kickbacks). The only reason he was here was because of an invite from Beau and the promise of free drinks (pending what everybody else brought). He expected the rest of the party-goers to be upper classmen so it came as no surprise when the presumed hosts and a laundry list of other people he hadn't met were already there when he walked through the doors.
Beau, his one of maybe three or four friends was busy talking to Harmony who he vaguely knew, but didn't particularly hit it off with. Their personalities clashed (albeit not antagonistically) so he tended to keep his distance unless Beau or Monet were there to break the ice. In rare cases, he would sink into the background and stay on his phone while his great-grandfather marveled at the strange ways that modern young adults wasted their time. Today it seemed like the man was content to leave him alone.
"Hey...Beau!" He mustered as much volume as he could to call her and wave, which didn't amount to much over the din of students pounding drinks and the latest pop hits.
Ah, he would definitely need something to loosen up. Approaching the kitchen counter, he mixed himself a gin and juice (heavy on the juice) and downed it with vigor before heading over.
"Hey Beau, Hatch,"(did he even have the right to call her that?) "Everyone have a good winter break?"
Lisa arrived relatively early to the party with a bottle of Moscato in one hand and plenty of hugs in the other. She'd already gotten tipsy off a round of shots with her housemates who split off the moment that they entered Hatch's abode. Everyone had their own cliques so she didn't take it to personally when it was up to her to find her own group to meld into.
The setting changes from Testing Palace to bitch what the fuck
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Asher, Asher, Asher. How she loved to loathe that smug grin of his. They were two siblings sharing the same mischievous, corrupted soul.
"Oh you know me so well," Ann grinned, "it wouldn't be a party without some fun and games right?"
"Oh you know me so well," Ann grinned, "it wouldn't be a party without some fun and games right?"
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Charisma and confidence were a perfect duo for D4NGER, but Yusuke Kujikawa...not so much. Nerves and nausea suited him far more due to the simple fact that he couldn't currently stomach anything more flavorful than a bowl of porridge. Renewing his passport had been arduous process requiring him to take the metro, interact with the woman at the kiosk, and force a smile for the camera. It took far more social energy than he was ready for, but he knew that it would be the least amount of social activity he'd have for the next week. Cheers were already pouring in from all over Japan (and Utaite twitter) due to being one of the first acts to come from YouTube. There were a few Twitch streamers here and there, but most were one city acts or openers rather than headline acts. He felt like a minnow swimming with sharks...
...And that was enough to make him puke all over again.
D4NGER's last tweet had been a picture of the sun barely rising as they ascended into the sky, his stomach rumbling all the while. He made sure to pack two weeks' worth of clothes, his equipment, and extra cash; however, he neglected to bring any type of sedative or anti-nausea medication so the twelve hour flight consisted mostly of the flight attendant reassuring him that was in fact, fine that he needed another paper bag. Granted, that was after the person next to him complained about the odor wafting from his first bag. When asked why he didn't simply go to the restroom however the answer was simple: he was stuck in the middle. He didn't want to be that guy who constantly went back and forth from his seat to the aisle.
So he waited, always a minute or two after the person in the aisle seat left before he went to the bathroom and eventually settled on falling asleep to a movie and listening to old mp3s on his Zune, a gag gift from his sister on his tenth birthday. Despite being seemingly obsolete, it held power far longer than his cellphone and didn't require signal.
...And that was enough to make him puke all over again.
D4NGER's last tweet had been a picture of the sun barely rising as they ascended into the sky, his stomach rumbling all the while. He made sure to pack two weeks' worth of clothes, his equipment, and extra cash; however, he neglected to bring any type of sedative or anti-nausea medication so the twelve hour flight consisted mostly of the flight attendant reassuring him that was in fact, fine that he needed another paper bag. Granted, that was after the person next to him complained about the odor wafting from his first bag. When asked why he didn't simply go to the restroom however the answer was simple: he was stuck in the middle. He didn't want to be that guy who constantly went back and forth from his seat to the aisle.
So he waited, always a minute or two after the person in the aisle seat left before he went to the bathroom and eventually settled on falling asleep to a movie and listening to old mp3s on his Zune, a gag gift from his sister on his tenth birthday. Despite being seemingly obsolete, it held power far longer than his cellphone and didn't require signal.
The setting changes from bitch what the fuck to Β―\_(γ)_/Β―
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Treatise of the Royal Empire and Envoys vanishes into nothingness, but you get the feeling they are heading somewhere else.
The setting changes from Β―\_(γ)_/Β― to bitch what the fuck
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Treatise of the Royal Empire and Envoys materializes from the void.
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cayde "quickshot" mori // father ship // #990012 // img credit: alex flores
"What's the purpose of currency on these ships?" a synthetic voice asked, "everything on the Prime sustains itself from the food to the government to the labor that keeps the ships afloat. So why bother with taxes? Everyone would live more efficiently."
βWithout money how do you expect anyone to ascend from ship to ship? It isnβt as simple as throwing wheat at the government,β a white-haired individual mused, βhaving your wealth tied to your labor would create a caste system.β
βIf all the money is being funneled to Mother and she hoards it like a dragon then the Prime is already one, just with extra steps.β
"Is this what you do when you get old? Blabber on about socioeconomic theory?" A blonde woman cut in.
"Hey, I'm only thirty-eight!" Cayde snapped, "now pass me the WD-40."
"So they say." Halo smirked as they tossed the aerosol bottle.
Small spurts of silicone filled the air as the cybernetic man lubricated his joints. It wasnβt easy being Cayde Mori, or Quickshot, as he would be known by the masses. Halo and Renee (their stylist), decided that he needed a stage name that reflected well on him and of the options they came up with, Quickshot was the most popular.
βMmmm Halo, what do you think of this?β she asked, holding up a rhinestone blazer, βtoo flashy?β
βIβd prefer not to look like a disco ball,β Cayde deadpanned.
βYou donβt have a lot of options looking likeβ¦β the woman gestured towards the mutant, β...that.β
βYou just pointed at all of me.β
Halo pursed their lips for a second, stroking their chin in deep thought.
βA lone ranger, super soldier, a family man?β they suggested, cyan eyes moving towards his competitorβs mask.
βDefinitely not a family man.β Renee shook her head vigorously as she pulled out a fluffy overcoat, βhe doesnβt have the face for it or really...any face. How is anyone going to connect with him if they canβt even see him?β
βYou donβt need a pretty face to earn patrons. Modeling is about more than that.β
βThat's rich coming from the face of everything from designer clothing to toilet paper,β Quickshot scoffed, as he set down the spray, βI bet you landed every job you came across."
As if anyone below the ships could afford their products.
βIβm keenly aware. Thatβs why I stepped out of the limelight,β Halo frowned, βI always changed myself to fit the product, but here...we can build around you.β
They left the couch, approaching their stylistβs closet. It was a curious piece. The sliding door was only a few feet in length and inside appeared shallow in depth, yet the list of clothing was endless. Pulling up the navigation menu, they scrolled through a variety of themes ranging from western to cottagecore to an amalgamation of east Asian aesthetics. Each piece projected onto Caydeβs form via hologram, flickering as it went through each suggestion. After a long string of βnoβs (from all sides), the human finally retracted their finger from the touch screen.
βRenegade,β Halo announced finally, βa man who lost everything and seeks to redeem himself by saving others, even at the cost of his humanity.β
βIsnβt the anti-hero trope played out?β the cyborg asked, βeveryone is going to spin themselves into a hero.β
βNot to mention, nothing about him is even human," the stylist yawned.
βI donβt think you need to be human to have humanity,β Halo smiled, βyou just need them to identify with you.β
The manager walked over to their competitor, draping a mesh cape over Quickshotβs shoulders. Upon closer inspection red, hexagonal outlines shimmered in the light, seemingly to dim and brighten with his breathing. The fabric was not unfamiliar to him as heβd used it in the past to dress peopleβs wounds. It was waterproof, breathable, and reacted with heat in order to regulate the wearerβs body temperature, making it ideal for protecting delicate skin. It wasnβt uncommon for mutants to dig through the trash of humans and repurpose what they found in ways both fashionable and otherwise. Long, continuous pieces of fabric were rare. It was far more common to see patchwork linens, threadbare garments, and if your species was hardy enough, nothing at all.
He was sure he saw a few people on Father wearing the same styles, but for them it was just that: an aesthetic. Fake eyepatches, prosthetic tattoos, and the gas masks that didnβt filter anything.
Perhaps he was getting old.
After snapping the magnetic strip down, Halo sat back down on the couch and motioned for Cayde to approach the closet
βMirror mode, please.β
Pulling up the fur-trimmed hood, the mutant mutt gazed at himself, tugging on various parts of the half-cape half-cloak until it finally found rested around his shoulders. Despite his prosthetics, he could still feel the smooth, cool fabric between his fingers. The black matched him well and the fur was surprisingly unobtrusive. Pieces of himself still showed through the garment with the crimson parts of his armor shining the brightest.
βRenegade huh, I like the sound of thatβ Cayde murmured to himself, βWhy didnβt you go with that as my nickname?"
βIt didnβt do well with test audiences,β the white-haired model chuckled.
Cayde rolled his eyes beneath his mask. Who could they have tested in such a short amount of time?
βWell! If itβs all good with you two, Iβm going to arrange for a fresh coat of paint, a tune up and a new mas-β she paused after seeing something resembling a glare-βokay no mask. How about just a cleaning then?"
Halo glanced at Cayde expectantly until the mechanical mutant took off his helmet and handed it over to Renee.
"In the meantime you should unwind, relax, and grab a drink while the pit crew gets to work,β she said before glancing over at Halo, "are you coming along?"
βGood luck out there, Cayde,β Halo smiled, standing up once more to leave the room.
Renee closed the door behind the two of them, a locking noise following soon after. Walking over to the minifridge, he cracked open a beer and sat back on the couch.
I donβt need luck. I always get the job done.
βWithout money how do you expect anyone to ascend from ship to ship? It isnβt as simple as throwing wheat at the government,β a white-haired individual mused, βhaving your wealth tied to your labor would create a caste system.β
βIf all the money is being funneled to Mother and she hoards it like a dragon then the Prime is already one, just with extra steps.β
"Is this what you do when you get old? Blabber on about socioeconomic theory?" A blonde woman cut in.
"Hey, I'm only thirty-eight!" Cayde snapped, "now pass me the WD-40."
"So they say." Halo smirked as they tossed the aerosol bottle.
Small spurts of silicone filled the air as the cybernetic man lubricated his joints. It wasnβt easy being Cayde Mori, or Quickshot, as he would be known by the masses. Halo and Renee (their stylist), decided that he needed a stage name that reflected well on him and of the options they came up with, Quickshot was the most popular.
βMmmm Halo, what do you think of this?β she asked, holding up a rhinestone blazer, βtoo flashy?β
βIβd prefer not to look like a disco ball,β Cayde deadpanned.
βYou donβt have a lot of options looking likeβ¦β the woman gestured towards the mutant, β...that.β
βYou just pointed at all of me.β
Halo pursed their lips for a second, stroking their chin in deep thought.
βA lone ranger, super soldier, a family man?β they suggested, cyan eyes moving towards his competitorβs mask.
βDefinitely not a family man.β Renee shook her head vigorously as she pulled out a fluffy overcoat, βhe doesnβt have the face for it or really...any face. How is anyone going to connect with him if they canβt even see him?β
βYou donβt need a pretty face to earn patrons. Modeling is about more than that.β
βThat's rich coming from the face of everything from designer clothing to toilet paper,β Quickshot scoffed, as he set down the spray, βI bet you landed every job you came across."
As if anyone below the ships could afford their products.
βIβm keenly aware. Thatβs why I stepped out of the limelight,β Halo frowned, βI always changed myself to fit the product, but here...we can build around you.β
They left the couch, approaching their stylistβs closet. It was a curious piece. The sliding door was only a few feet in length and inside appeared shallow in depth, yet the list of clothing was endless. Pulling up the navigation menu, they scrolled through a variety of themes ranging from western to cottagecore to an amalgamation of east Asian aesthetics. Each piece projected onto Caydeβs form via hologram, flickering as it went through each suggestion. After a long string of βnoβs (from all sides), the human finally retracted their finger from the touch screen.
βRenegade,β Halo announced finally, βa man who lost everything and seeks to redeem himself by saving others, even at the cost of his humanity.β
βIsnβt the anti-hero trope played out?β the cyborg asked, βeveryone is going to spin themselves into a hero.β
βNot to mention, nothing about him is even human," the stylist yawned.
βI donβt think you need to be human to have humanity,β Halo smiled, βyou just need them to identify with you.β
The manager walked over to their competitor, draping a mesh cape over Quickshotβs shoulders. Upon closer inspection red, hexagonal outlines shimmered in the light, seemingly to dim and brighten with his breathing. The fabric was not unfamiliar to him as heβd used it in the past to dress peopleβs wounds. It was waterproof, breathable, and reacted with heat in order to regulate the wearerβs body temperature, making it ideal for protecting delicate skin. It wasnβt uncommon for mutants to dig through the trash of humans and repurpose what they found in ways both fashionable and otherwise. Long, continuous pieces of fabric were rare. It was far more common to see patchwork linens, threadbare garments, and if your species was hardy enough, nothing at all.
He was sure he saw a few people on Father wearing the same styles, but for them it was just that: an aesthetic. Fake eyepatches, prosthetic tattoos, and the gas masks that didnβt filter anything.
Perhaps he was getting old.
After snapping the magnetic strip down, Halo sat back down on the couch and motioned for Cayde to approach the closet
βMirror mode, please.β
Pulling up the fur-trimmed hood, the mutant mutt gazed at himself, tugging on various parts of the half-cape half-cloak until it finally found rested around his shoulders. Despite his prosthetics, he could still feel the smooth, cool fabric between his fingers. The black matched him well and the fur was surprisingly unobtrusive. Pieces of himself still showed through the garment with the crimson parts of his armor shining the brightest.
βRenegade huh, I like the sound of thatβ Cayde murmured to himself, βWhy didnβt you go with that as my nickname?"
βIt didnβt do well with test audiences,β the white-haired model chuckled.
Cayde rolled his eyes beneath his mask. Who could they have tested in such a short amount of time?
βWell! If itβs all good with you two, Iβm going to arrange for a fresh coat of paint, a tune up and a new mas-β she paused after seeing something resembling a glare-βokay no mask. How about just a cleaning then?"
Halo glanced at Cayde expectantly until the mechanical mutant took off his helmet and handed it over to Renee.
"In the meantime you should unwind, relax, and grab a drink while the pit crew gets to work,β she said before glancing over at Halo, "are you coming along?"
βGood luck out there, Cayde,β Halo smiled, standing up once more to leave the room.
Renee closed the door behind the two of them, a locking noise following soon after. Walking over to the minifridge, he cracked open a beer and sat back on the couch.
I donβt need luck. I always get the job done.
- 20 posts here • Page 1 of 1
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A place to test my posts when the preview gets too long
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Gimme Storage
by ΰΌΌ γ€ β_β ΰΌ½γ€ on Tue Jul 07, 2015 10:01 am
- 9 Replies
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- Last post by ΰΌΌ γ€ β_β ΰΌ½γ€
on Fri Oct 02, 2020 5:54 am
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Gimme Storage
Most recent OOC posts in Gimme Storage
Re: Gimme Storage
Cherise Nijima | 26 | Eyes Yumei Nakajima | Living | Kagune | ΰΌΌ γ€ β_β ΰΌ½γ€
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DDoA7BoU0AA ... name=large
Re: Gimme Storage
[img]character%20name[/img]
"He doesn't make much of an impression on me. Major gods usually don't."
"Words"
"She's a flippant drunk, but good company otherwise."
"Words"
"A tragedy and truly a victim of Emergence."
"Words"
"Minerva just wait and I will free you."
"Words"
"Quote"
"Words"
"Quote"
"Words"
"This is me."
"Words"
"The mongoose versus the cobra."
"Words"
"Navi is far too meek of a soul for Ra, but he's nice nonetheless."
"Words"
"I don't know too much about her."
"Words"
"A bystander and friend of Nem. He's far too neutral for my liking, but a tolerable person nonetheless. "
"Words"
"Oh to Emerge in the body of someone with such high influence."
"Words"
"Quote"
"Words"
Re: Gimme Storage
B U N G O UxxxS T R A YxxxD O G Sxxx/xxxD A Y SxxxO FxxxT H ExxxC A T S
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β Twenty-One
β Female
β United States of America
β Maverick (Gangsta)
β Stay Gold
β #fdd017
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Things were rough all over, but it was better that way. That way you could tell the other guy was human too.
Leather jackets and chipped nails reveal Hintonβs ulterior motives, or lack thereof. Given her plain language and lack of Ability User pedigree most suspect her of a criminal background, but she considers it a bigger reflection of her peers than herself. She acts according to her own tastes and does little to dissuade peopleβs opinions of her in favor of walking her own path. If someone asks for the truth she will give it, but never tries to glamorize or demonize her past.
Born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, she found her family not in her parents, but in her ragtag group of friends. Monday nights theyβd smoke by the window, Wednesdays they would drink on the porch, and if theyβd saved enough money, they would hit the theaters once a month (and if they didnβt, well there was always the back door). Compared to her peers, she never saw herself as βhoodβ but supposes that she was who she hung out with. Thatβs where she drew her inspiration after all.
For that reason, she values her independence and the self-sufficiency that her ability affords her (even in the context of her squad). When she discovered her ability, she was training to become a student. She found that she could delay any pain or physical troubles she had during stressful moments and work at an unparalleled capacity, but it did little to assuage her personal anxiety. As much as she wanted to lead a new generation of writers, she had an itch for personal writing and a constant worry for her students after leaving the classroom. It seemed that despite her penchant for toughening her exterior, she still had a soft spot for the younger generation.
Making the decision to drop out of her program, she became a full-time writer and lived off the money she received from selling an old manuscript sheβd written in high school. Her continued interest in writing and traction as a young adult novelist focusing on the disenfranchisement of Ability Users caught the eye of American IQ84 recruiters who suspected tracked her down from her pseudonym, S.E. Hinton. With the promise of money and travel, she headed to Yokohama and was assigned to Maloryβs squad where she felt herself immersed in a new world.
At first she did not understand her squadmates and idly wondered whether it was simply due to hair color that she was stuck with Sylvia Plath. Where she was this bourgeois, edumacated girl, Hinton lacked the social grace necessary for formal meetings. Compared to Plath, Hinton felt like less of a knight and more of a bandit. Her answer only came, not in battle, but during the aftermath.
With bloodied hands and quaking legs, Hinton gave Plath a long, tired earful of how reckless and selfish sheβd been endangering their mark for the sake of feeding off of his pain.
It was one of Hintonβs more protective moments to say the least.
As her time on the squad unfolded, Hinton realized that Malory had chosen her specifically because of her capacity for pain. Whether it was delayed or immediate, Hinton could take a beating while retaining her composure. She embodies the beauty of tolerance, of roughness, and a scratched-up old Mustang. Like the sun her ability was named for, one can always trust Hinton to rise up.
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Stay Gold temporarily suppresses all pain signals and wounds (including those that are fatal) for ten minutes, giving its target a "golden" sheen. Unfortunately, once the ability wears off, the user will be overwhelmed with all of the wounds and pain inflicted during the time span regardless of other healing or shielding effects used on them during the interim. Hinton may imbue this effect on any person or object of her choosing within a sight or herself.
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Born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, she found her family not in her parents, but in her ragtag group of friends. Monday nights theyβd smoke by the window, Wednesdays they would drink on the porch, and if theyβd saved enough money, they would hit the theaters once a month (and if they didnβt, well there was always the back door). Compared to her peers, she never saw herself as βhoodβ but supposes that she was who she hung out with. Thatβs where she drew her inspiration after all.
For that reason, she values her independence and the self-sufficiency that her ability affords her (even in the context of her squad). When she discovered her ability, she was training to become a student. She found that she could delay any pain or physical troubles she had during stressful moments and work at an unparalleled capacity, but it did little to assuage her personal anxiety. As much as she wanted to lead a new generation of writers, she had an itch for personal writing and a constant worry for her students after leaving the classroom. It seemed that despite her penchant for toughening her exterior, she still had a soft spot for the younger generation.
Making the decision to drop out of her program, she became a full-time writer and lived off the money she received from selling an old manuscript sheβd written in high school. Her continued interest in writing and traction as a young adult novelist focusing on the disenfranchisement of Ability Users caught the eye of American IQ84 recruiters who suspected tracked her down from her pseudonym, S.E. Hinton. With the promise of money and travel, she headed to Yokohama and was assigned to Maloryβs squad where she felt herself immersed in a new world.
At first she did not understand her squadmates and idly wondered whether it was simply due to hair color that she was stuck with Sylvia Plath. Where she was this bourgeois, edumacated girl, Hinton lacked the social grace necessary for formal meetings. Compared to Plath, Hinton felt like less of a knight and more of a bandit. Her answer only came, not in battle, but during the aftermath.
With bloodied hands and quaking legs, Hinton gave Plath a long, tired earful of how reckless and selfish sheβd been endangering their mark for the sake of feeding off of his pain.
It was one of Hintonβs more protective moments to say the least.
As her time on the squad unfolded, Hinton realized that Malory had chosen her specifically because of her capacity for pain. Whether it was delayed or immediate, Hinton could take a beating while retaining her composure. She embodies the beauty of tolerance, of roughness, and a scratched-up old Mustang. Like the sun her ability was named for, one can always trust Hinton to rise up.
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- STAY GOLD -
(γΉγγ€γ»γ΄γΌγ«γ, sutei gorudo)
(γΉγγ€γ»γ΄γΌγ«γ, sutei gorudo)
Stay Gold temporarily suppresses all pain signals and wounds (including those that are fatal) for ten minutes, giving its target a "golden" sheen. Unfortunately, once the ability wears off, the user will be overwhelmed with all of the wounds and pain inflicted during the time span regardless of other healing or shielding effects used on them during the interim. Hinton may imbue this effect on any person or object of her choosing within a sight or herself.
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Re: Gimme Storage
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β¬β¬β¬β¬ character voice βͺ cv name
β¬β¬β¬β¬ character fc βͺ Anne Takamaki (Persona 5)
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The life of an athlete is never easy, but it's what keeps [name] sane. Healthy streams of activity keep her mind on track because without them she'd be well, a couch potato. When she isn't practicing, hanging out with friends, or doing homework, one can find her decompressing in front of her computer. Despite enjoying validation, big events tax her mental reservoir and cause her to retreat once she finishes playing "[Name] the High Jump Queen." Acting isn't her strong suit so she often comes off more reluctant than she actually is, but makes up for it by asking as many questions as she can to better get to know those she interacts with.
She gravitates toward strong personalities who can match her thirst for excitement and entertain her whether it's in positive or negative ways. Outwardly, nobody could call her a "drama queen", but inwardly she enjoys watching train wrecks. People often ask how she manages to maintain relationships with such volatile people, but she assures everyone of her emotional stability (which really means emotional lethargy). Mental stimulation is key for her to function and idleness leads her to rather questionable decisions. She doesn't enjoy thinking about the darker implications of her personality so when faced with conflict she retreats in to herself. She's only ever comfortable playing the mediator, never the one of the conflicting parties as it requires more introspection than she's equipped with.
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The life of an athlete is never easy, but it's what keeps [name] sane. Healthy streams of activity keep her mind on track because without them she'd be well, a couch potato. When she isn't practicing, hanging out with friends, or doing homework, one can find her decompressing in front of her computer. Despite enjoying validation, big events tax her mental reservoir and cause her to retreat once she finishes playing "[Name] the High Jump Queen." Acting isn't her strong suit so she often comes off more reluctant than she actually is, but makes up for it by asking as many questions as she can to better get to know those she interacts with.
She gravitates toward strong personalities who can match her thirst for excitement and entertain her whether it's in positive or negative ways. Outwardly, nobody could call her a "drama queen", but inwardly she enjoys watching train wrecks. People often ask how she manages to maintain relationships with such volatile people, but she assures everyone of her emotional stability (which really means emotional lethargy). Mental stimulation is key for her to function and idleness leads her to rather questionable decisions. She doesn't enjoy thinking about the darker implications of her personality so when faced with conflict she retreats in to herself. She's only ever comfortable playing the mediator, never the one of the conflicting parties as it requires more introspection than she's equipped with.
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[name] already gets plenty of limelight in the form of athletic competitions so she would start as Pink's accessory. She will, at first, find more enjoyment out of Pink's antics than participating in song or dance. [Name] fears that she can't measure up in personality since she lacks any creative endeavors (or motivations) outside of her athletics and schoolwork. When she sees everyone else, she sees these very "niche" characters whereas she would most definitely describe herself as the "straight man" in every situation. It's easy to be the "down to Earth" girl when your friends are enraptured in drama after all.
Contrasting Pink's honest, almost brazen self, Yellow is only a physical body. She can't separate her identity outside of the things that things that Pink does or the things that she prevents Pink from doing. She questions whether she truly brings anything to the table and begins distancing herself from Pink an attempt to forge her own identity...even if she doesn't quite know where to start. In doing so, she starts doubting her own abilities in singing, dancing, and even athletics. The only positive thing seems to be her budding interest in other fields such as poetry and rapping.
Perhaps she might find something for herself in those fields?
Contrasting Pink's honest, almost brazen self, Yellow is only a physical body. She can't separate her identity outside of the things that things that Pink does or the things that she prevents Pink from doing. She questions whether she truly brings anything to the table and begins distancing herself from Pink an attempt to forge her own identity...even if she doesn't quite know where to start. In doing so, she starts doubting her own abilities in singing, dancing, and even athletics. The only positive thing seems to be her budding interest in other fields such as poetry and rapping.
Perhaps she might find something for herself in those fields?
Spoiler: show
Re: Gimme Storage
NOTE: THIS WAS POSTED AS A JOKE WITH PERMISSION. IF YOU WANT TO USE THIS AS AN ACTUAL PROFILE/APP/WHATEVER PLEASE PM VERIX FOR PERMISSION. STEALING IS BAD AND IF YOU DO IT, YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD.
xxxEDGEMASTER.
dat booty [ur mom] : #420
Take it slow, wait for them to ask you what you smoke.
βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
personality.
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history.
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Donec eros urna, finibus eget posuere ut, vestibulum non nunc. Pellentesque facilisis volutpat quam, at condimentum velit ullamcorper et. Vestibulum auctor euismod diam sit amet dignissim. Praesent sed metus convallis enim porta semper. Aliquam in urna porta, lobortis lectus sed, molestie elit. Vestibulum vitae neque sollicitudin mi faucibus molestie sed eget odio. Morbi interdum metus sit amet lacus rutrum sollicitudin. Sed mattis enim a est convallis, ut fermentum leo ornare. Maecenas non ex gravida, aliquet tortor ac, dictum risus. Proin pellentesque neque id dictum vulputate. Ut pulvinar nisl sapien, ac vehicula ex pretium eu.
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βββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββββ
Re: Gimme Storage
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Edelweiss
Oshiro Arashi (倧ε ε΅εΈ)
Fire.fly SN: sunny_thunder
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β β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xx
He admires Seiya as both a mentor and a fellow band member. His bright personality and reliability. He always seems willing to help be it provide everyone with a meeting place or some catering. Arashi tends to go to him first for advice due to the confidence that he displays.
Hibana Azusa
β β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xx
He and Azusa are (what he considers) close friends and friendly rivals in Monster Hunter as well as Pokemon. He enjoys watching movies with him because they're both action aficionados. Typically, they enjoy activities that don't require too much talking (as he can chuckle in the background whenever Azusa comments), but that they can still enjoy together.
Ozawa Hayato
β β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xx
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Duis nec tincidunt metus, et consequat dolor. Cras ac mi metus. Proin condimentum tristique ultrices. Aenean pretium leo id felis pulvinar, sit amet faucibus nibh porta. Fusce dictum blandit lorem, non laoreet sapien. Phasellus elementum tincidunt mi, ac luctus magna mollis sit amet. Maecenas eu diam id metus pellentesque consequat.
Koizumi Kazuki
β β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xx
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Duis nec tincidunt metus, et consequat dolor. Cras ac mi metus. Proin condimentum tristique ultrices. Aenean pretium leo id felis pulvinar, sit amet faucibus nibh porta. Fusce dictum blandit lorem, non laoreet sapien. Phasellus elementum tincidunt mi, ac luctus magna mollis sit amet. Maecenas eu diam id metus pellentesque consequat.
Narusa Tomoe
β β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xx
Arashi legitimately feels bad for Tomoe since he essentially has to deal with five other divas as well as the group's cohesion. While he's wary of RoseChandelier members by nature he's able to talk to Tomoe more easily than the others (sans Hayate).
Hoshizuki Hotaru
β β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xx
Hotaru feels overly rehearsed and sophisticated to the point where it feels hard to talk to him. Arashi knows that his fears are likely irrational, but he keeps to himself, only responding in short sentences and awkward smiles. Despite this, he doesn't let those feelings get to him and tries not to hate him because of it. He isn't nearly as hostile as his friend after all.
Yoshida Haruma
β β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xx
He finds Haruma repulsive. Though a fairly voracious Incubus, he couldn't imagine himself feeding off of Haruma's scorn or self-inflated ego. It always feels as though the purple-haired man has something against the world and chooses to show it in the meanest way possible: insults. Whenever Haruma is around, Arashi wants to recede into his games. Unfortunately, the man is essentially a super villain.
Yukimura Masaru
β β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xx
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Duis nec tincidunt metus, et consequat dolor. Cras ac mi metus. Proin condimentum tristique ultrices. Aenean pretium leo id felis pulvinar, sit amet faucibus nibh porta. Fusce dictum blandit lorem, non laoreet sapien. Phasellus elementum tincidunt mi, ac luctus magna mollis sit amet. Maecenas eu diam id metus pellentesque consequat.
Kobayashi Hayate
β β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xx
Hayate has proved the nicest member and integral to helping him come off more smoothly in social situations and ease his anxiety whenever there is a show he's unprepared for. Arashi appears blissfully unaware of Hayate's true nature so he regards him a close friend and confidant. Granted, he doesn't enjoy Hayate's "nickname" but he admits that it isn't too off the mark.
Akamine Eishi
β β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xxβ β β β β xx
Arashi doesn't have much of an impression of Eishi since he always seems bored and despondent. He certainly has his own air of glamour, but the fact that he doesn't step in when Haruma (or anyone else) makes fun of him puts him on the "typical RoseChandelier" list in Arashi's mind.
Re: Gimme Storage
AGE 14 β FACTION SPIRITUAL β WIND SOUTH β COUNTRY INDIA
ARTIFACT 1 [C] KADAR (GHANTA) β ARTIFACT 2 [X] N/A
[FC] i. Rani VIII (Fate Extra) ii. Soma Asman Kadar (Black Butler) iii. N/A
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βWrite a quote that is meaningful to your Saniwa here.β
- speaker of quote
- speaker of quote
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Duis est lorem, egestas vitae justo sed, venenatis posuere enim. Integer sed facilisis nisi. Aliquam fringilla cursus diam, id fringilla orci tempor a. Integer commodo sed tellus vitae lobortis. Fusce dignissim, magna in lacinia faucibus, eros sapien fringilla tortor, vel tempor sem arcu commodo sapien. Suspendisse facilisis, massa id aliquam vehicula, sapien nibh suscipit tellus, eu vestibulum tortor dolor vel lacus. Maecenas aliquam id lectus vitae ullamcorper. Nam ornare nisi vel dolor mollis, sit amet sodales nisl viverra. Duis hendrerit nulla nibh, eu ultricies nunc semper sit amet. Phasellus fringilla eget metus nec facilisis.
Nulla rhoncus vestibulum metus, id facilisis orci dictum ac. Pellentesque turpis est, pharetra nec auctor ac, pretium quis tellus. Pellentesque eget hendrerit quam. Donec et egestas nulla. Cras at erat id felis tristique efficitur sed vitae tellus. Cras at gravida est. Nunc nunc ligula, viverra eu tempor et, posuere sodales ante. Aliquam erat volutpat. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Maecenas tincidunt ex nunc, a auctor enim ullamcorper sed. Ut tincidunt mattis lacus, at vestibulum nisl. Suspendisse tincidunt in eros ac laoreet. Integer ac nibh nisi. Mauris sed ex in dolor congue tempor. Integer eget tellus interdum, laoreet mauris eu, pharetra nunc.
Aenean feugiat varius nulla, quis feugiat diam imperdiet eget. Nullam porttitor mollis ultricies. Suspendisse aliquet leo elit, eu cursus justo posuere eu. Nunc ac lorem velit. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Sed nisi sem, vehicula nec eros sit amet, maximus imperdiet augue. Aenean ut commodo leo, in tempor neque.
Etiam sit amet arcu suscipit, vestibulum metus eget, pulvinar est. Donec ac justo pulvinar, pretium nisl sed, sagittis metus. Nunc sagittis lacus in posuere blandit. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Mauris egestas ultricies massa quis gravida. Vestibulum condimentum augue non ex scelerisque imperdiet. Praesent viverra turpis sed fringilla fermentum. Nullam ac augue eu mauris imperdiet tincidunt. In cursus ornare tincidunt. Donec sed massa lobortis mi porttitor blandit. Nullam bibendum porttitor mauris non pretium. Vivamus mi sem, elementum ac libero quis, mattis pellentesque augue. Pellentesque metus eros, finibus ut eleifend dictum, ornare eu diam.
Praesent vel dui diam. Suspendisse odio risus, auctor sit amet interdum eget, pulvinar sed risus. Fusce auctor volutpat sollicitudin. Curabitur ac nisl eget erat egestas cursus. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Duis porttitor finibus vehicula. Nullam ex erat, fringilla eget eros quis, interdum rhoncus metus. Sed dui felis, viverra a tincidunt in, finibus eget nisi. Ut vel eleifend ex. Morbi id felis nisi. Donec a ultricies neque, ut scelerisque odio. Aenean sed augue lorem. Morbi lacinia felis vel nunc maximus, non aliquet metus maximus. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. .
Nulla rhoncus vestibulum metus, id facilisis orci dictum ac. Pellentesque turpis est, pharetra nec auctor ac, pretium quis tellus. Pellentesque eget hendrerit quam. Donec et egestas nulla. Cras at erat id felis tristique efficitur sed vitae tellus. Cras at gravida est. Nunc nunc ligula, viverra eu tempor et, posuere sodales ante. Aliquam erat volutpat. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Maecenas tincidunt ex nunc, a auctor enim ullamcorper sed. Ut tincidunt mattis lacus, at vestibulum nisl. Suspendisse tincidunt in eros ac laoreet. Integer ac nibh nisi. Mauris sed ex in dolor congue tempor. Integer eget tellus interdum, laoreet mauris eu, pharetra nunc.
Aenean feugiat varius nulla, quis feugiat diam imperdiet eget. Nullam porttitor mollis ultricies. Suspendisse aliquet leo elit, eu cursus justo posuere eu. Nunc ac lorem velit. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Sed nisi sem, vehicula nec eros sit amet, maximus imperdiet augue. Aenean ut commodo leo, in tempor neque.
Etiam sit amet arcu suscipit, vestibulum metus eget, pulvinar est. Donec ac justo pulvinar, pretium nisl sed, sagittis metus. Nunc sagittis lacus in posuere blandit. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Mauris egestas ultricies massa quis gravida. Vestibulum condimentum augue non ex scelerisque imperdiet. Praesent viverra turpis sed fringilla fermentum. Nullam ac augue eu mauris imperdiet tincidunt. In cursus ornare tincidunt. Donec sed massa lobortis mi porttitor blandit. Nullam bibendum porttitor mauris non pretium. Vivamus mi sem, elementum ac libero quis, mattis pellentesque augue. Pellentesque metus eros, finibus ut eleifend dictum, ornare eu diam.
Praesent vel dui diam. Suspendisse odio risus, auctor sit amet interdum eget, pulvinar sed risus. Fusce auctor volutpat sollicitudin. Curabitur ac nisl eget erat egestas cursus. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Duis porttitor finibus vehicula. Nullam ex erat, fringilla eget eros quis, interdum rhoncus metus. Sed dui felis, viverra a tincidunt in, finibus eget nisi. Ut vel eleifend ex. Morbi id felis nisi. Donec a ultricies neque, ut scelerisque odio. Aenean sed augue lorem. Morbi lacinia felis vel nunc maximus, non aliquet metus maximus. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. .
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F a c t i o nxxxw o r k s
For Spirituality: Please describe the incarnation ceremony for your one of your Artifacts. You must include the religious paradigm and you may consider explaining significant actions, relics, and any other important symbolism involved in your Saniwa's incarnation ceremony.
As the first daughter of an esteemed Saniwa priest, Rani ended her training as Brahmacharya much earlier than her peers. She spent her days nose deep in the teachings of Vedic tradition for the sake of succeeding her father so it came as no surprise when she underwent her Samavartanam at the age of twelve. Though still considered somewhat of a child by normal standards she
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Duis est lorem, egestas vitae justo sed, venenatis posuere enim. Integer sed facilisis nisi. Aliquam fringilla cursus diam, id fringilla orci tempor a. Integer commodo sed tellus vitae lobortis. Fusce dignissim, magna in lacinia faucibus, eros sapien fringilla tortor, vel tempor sem arcu commodo sapien. Suspendisse facilisis, massa id aliquam vehicula, sapien nibh suscipit tellus, eu vestibulum tortor dolor vel lacus. Maecenas aliquam id lectus vitae ullamcorper. Nam ornare nisi vel dolor mollis, sit amet sodales nisl viverra. Duis hendrerit nulla nibh, eu ultricies nunc semper sit amet. Phasellus fringilla eget metus nec facilisis.
Nulla rhoncus vestibulum metus, id facilisis orci dictum ac. Pellentesque turpis est, pharetra nec auctor ac, pretium quis tellus. Pellentesque eget hendrerit quam. Donec et egestas nulla. Cras at erat id felis tristique efficitur sed vitae tellus. Cras at gravida est. Nunc nunc ligula, viverra eu tempor et, posuere sodales ante. Aliquam erat volutpat. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Maecenas tincidunt ex nunc, a auctor enim ullamcorper sed. Ut tincidunt mattis lacus, at vestibulum nisl. Suspendisse tincidunt in eros ac laoreet. Integer ac nibh nisi. Mauris sed ex in dolor congue tempor. Integer eget tellus interdum, laoreet mauris eu, pharetra nunc.
Aenean feugiat varius nulla, quis feugiat diam imperdiet eget. Nullam porttitor mollis ultricies. Suspendisse aliquet leo elit, eu cursus justo posuere eu. Nunc ac lorem velit. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Sed nisi sem, vehicula nec eros sit amet, maximus imperdiet augue. Aenean ut commodo leo, in tempor neque.
Etiam sit amet arcu suscipit, vestibulum metus eget, pulvinar est. Donec ac justo pulvinar, pretium nisl sed, sagittis metus. Nunc sagittis lacus in posuere blandit. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Mauris egestas ultricies massa quis gravida. Vestibulum condimentum augue non ex scelerisque imperdiet. Praesent viverra turpis sed fringilla fermentum. Nullam ac augue eu mauris imperdiet tincidunt. In cursus ornare tincidunt. Donec sed massa lobortis mi porttitor blandit. Nullam bibendum porttitor mauris non pretium. Vivamus mi sem, elementum ac libero quis, mattis pellentesque augue. Pellentesque metus eros, finibus ut eleifend dictum, ornare eu diam.
Praesent vel dui diam. Suspendisse odio risus, auctor sit amet interdum eget, pulvinar sed risus. Fusce auctor volutpat sollicitudin. Curabitur ac nisl eget erat egestas cursus. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Duis porttitor finibus vehicula. Nullam ex erat, fringilla eget eros quis, interdum rhoncus metus. Sed dui felis, viverra a tincidunt in, finibus eget nisi. Ut vel eleifend ex. Morbi id felis nisi. Donec a ultricies neque, ut scelerisque odio. Aenean sed augue lorem. Morbi lacinia felis vel nunc maximus, non aliquet metus maximus. In hac habitasse platea dictumst.
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S t a t s
Rani Kapoor
KNOWLEDGE xβ β β β β x| x UNDERSTANDING xβ β β β β x|x CHARM xβ β β β β xx|x COMBAT xβ β β β β
Kadar
SURVIVAL xβ β β β β x| x LEADERSHIP xxβ β β β β x|x IMPULSE xβ β β β β x|x MOBILITY xβ β β β β x SPIRITxβ β β β β
For Spirituality: Please describe the incarnation ceremony for your one of your Artifacts. You must include the religious paradigm and you may consider explaining significant actions, relics, and any other important symbolism involved in your Saniwa's incarnation ceremony.
As the first daughter of an esteemed Saniwa priest, Rani ended her training as Brahmacharya much earlier than her peers. She spent her days nose deep in the teachings of Vedic tradition for the sake of succeeding her father so it came as no surprise when she underwent her Samavartanam at the age of twelve. Though still considered somewhat of a child by normal standards she
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Nulla rhoncus vestibulum metus, id facilisis orci dictum ac. Pellentesque turpis est, pharetra nec auctor ac, pretium quis tellus. Pellentesque eget hendrerit quam. Donec et egestas nulla. Cras at erat id felis tristique efficitur sed vitae tellus. Cras at gravida est. Nunc nunc ligula, viverra eu tempor et, posuere sodales ante. Aliquam erat volutpat. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Maecenas tincidunt ex nunc, a auctor enim ullamcorper sed. Ut tincidunt mattis lacus, at vestibulum nisl. Suspendisse tincidunt in eros ac laoreet. Integer ac nibh nisi. Mauris sed ex in dolor congue tempor. Integer eget tellus interdum, laoreet mauris eu, pharetra nunc.
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Etiam sit amet arcu suscipit, vestibulum metus eget, pulvinar est. Donec ac justo pulvinar, pretium nisl sed, sagittis metus. Nunc sagittis lacus in posuere blandit. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Mauris egestas ultricies massa quis gravida. Vestibulum condimentum augue non ex scelerisque imperdiet. Praesent viverra turpis sed fringilla fermentum. Nullam ac augue eu mauris imperdiet tincidunt. In cursus ornare tincidunt. Donec sed massa lobortis mi porttitor blandit. Nullam bibendum porttitor mauris non pretium. Vivamus mi sem, elementum ac libero quis, mattis pellentesque augue. Pellentesque metus eros, finibus ut eleifend dictum, ornare eu diam.
Praesent vel dui diam. Suspendisse odio risus, auctor sit amet interdum eget, pulvinar sed risus. Fusce auctor volutpat sollicitudin. Curabitur ac nisl eget erat egestas cursus. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Duis porttitor finibus vehicula. Nullam ex erat, fringilla eget eros quis, interdum rhoncus metus. Sed dui felis, viverra a tincidunt in, finibus eget nisi. Ut vel eleifend ex. Morbi id felis nisi. Donec a ultricies neque, ut scelerisque odio. Aenean sed augue lorem. Morbi lacinia felis vel nunc maximus, non aliquet metus maximus. In hac habitasse platea dictumst.
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S t a t s
Rani Kapoor
KNOWLEDGE xβ β β β β x| x UNDERSTANDING xβ β β β β x|x CHARM xβ β β β β xx|x COMBAT xβ β β β β
Kadar
SURVIVAL xβ β β β β x| x LEADERSHIP xxβ β β β β x|x IMPULSE xβ β β β β x|x MOBILITY xβ β β β β x SPIRITxβ β β β β
AGE 24 β FACTION COMBAT β WIND WEST β COUNTRY UNITED STATES
ARTIFACT 1 [C] GRAHAM SPECTOR (WRENCH) β ARTIFACT 2 [X] N/A
[FC] i. Claire Stanfield (Baccano!) ii. Graham Spector (Baccano!) iii. N/A
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βA thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.β
- Oscar Wilde
- Oscar Wilde
This is where you describe your Saniwa character! Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nunc volutpat nibh vitae orci euismod tincidunt. Vestibulum semper pellentesque blandit. Proin lobortis enim a nisl sollicitudin, luctus porta nunc aliquet. Integer nec quam sapien. Aenean sit amet mollis magna. Vestibulum dignissim egestas elementum. Ut vehicula metus neque, eu rutrum nisi convallis consectetur. Nam lectus lorem, imperdiet vel scelerisque dictum, scelerisque vel nunc. Vivamus hendrerit leo lacinia ligula ullamcorper, ac dictum ante pretium. Integer elit elit, dictum vitae orci quis, volutpat efficitur nibh. Etiam auctor leo vel odio placerat scelerisque.
Write about your Artifact(s) here. Ut nisi nisi, tincidunt vel dolor in, posuere consectetur urna. Mauris ipsum nisl, scelerisque ac elit sit amet, dictum volutpat augue. Cras molestie, dui sed sodales mattis, odio neque volutpat arcu, sit amet rhoncus metus elit non sapien. In et sollicitudin leo. Curabitur facilisis, nisl a sodales porta, dui mi interdum eros, consectetur feugiat ipsum risus et nunc. Donec congue orci ac iaculis porta. Aenean at nisi placerat, varius nisi sed, suscipit justo.
Write about your Artifact(s) here. Ut nisi nisi, tincidunt vel dolor in, posuere consectetur urna. Mauris ipsum nisl, scelerisque ac elit sit amet, dictum volutpat augue. Cras molestie, dui sed sodales mattis, odio neque volutpat arcu, sit amet rhoncus metus elit non sapien. In et sollicitudin leo. Curabitur facilisis, nisl a sodales porta, dui mi interdum eros, consectetur feugiat ipsum risus et nunc. Donec congue orci ac iaculis porta. Aenean at nisi placerat, varius nisi sed, suscipit justo.
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F a c t i o nxxxW o r k s
For Combat: Propose a combat trial and how your Saniwa completed said trial. You must also explain what fighting style/weapons your Saniwa specializes in.
Mission: Team up for a raid
Fighting Style: Bathe yourself in blood and beat people
Weapon: Blunt objects
Not weapons: Guns
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S t a t i s t i c s
Claire Stanfield
KNOWLEDGE xβ β β β β x| x UNDERSTANDING xβ β β β β x|x CHARM xβ β β β β x|x COMBAT xβ β β β β
Graham Specter
SURVIVAL xβ β β β β x| x LEADERSHIP xxβ β β β β x|x IMPULSE xβ β β β β x|x MOBILITY xβ β β β β x SPIRITxβ β β β β
KNOWLEDGE xβ β β β β x| x UNDERSTANDING xβ β β β β x|x CHARM xβ β β β β x|x COMBAT xβ β β β β
Graham Specter
SURVIVAL xβ β β β β x| x LEADERSHIP xxβ β β β β x|x IMPULSE xβ β β β β x|x MOBILITY xβ β β β β x SPIRITxβ β β β β
Re: Gimme Storage
FACTION Please pick one of the following: ESPIONAGE, SPIRITUAL, RESEARCH, COMBAT β WIND Please pick one of the following: NORTH, SOUTH, EAST, WEST β COUNTRY Your Saniwa's country of origin
ARTIFACT 1 [S] ARTIFACT 1's NAME (ITEM) β ARTIFACT 2 [C] ARTIFACT 2'S NAME (ITEM)
[FC] i. FC 1 ii. FC 2 iii. FC 3
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This is where you describe your Saniwa character! Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nunc volutpat nibh vitae orci euismod tincidunt. Vestibulum semper pellentesque blandit. Proin lobortis enim a nisl sollicitudin, luctus porta nunc aliquet. Integer nec quam sapien. Aenean sit amet mollis magna. Vestibulum dignissim egestas elementum. Ut vehicula metus neque, eu rutrum nisi convallis consectetur. Nam lectus lorem, imperdiet vel scelerisque dictum, scelerisque vel nunc. Vivamus hendrerit leo lacinia ligula ullamcorper, ac dictum ante pretium. Integer elit elit, dictum vitae orci quis, volutpat efficitur nibh. Etiam auctor leo vel odio placerat scelerisque.
Write about your Artifact(s) here. Ut nisi nisi, tincidunt vel dolor in, posuere consectetur urna. Mauris ipsum nisl, scelerisque ac elit sit amet, dictum volutpat augue. Cras molestie, dui sed sodales mattis, odio neque volutpat arcu, sit amet rhoncus metus elit non sapien. In et sollicitudin leo. Curabitur facilisis, nisl a sodales porta, dui mi interdum eros, consectetur feugiat ipsum risus et nunc. Donec congue orci ac iaculis porta. Aenean at nisi placerat, varius nisi sed, suscipit justo.
Write about your Artifact(s) here. Ut nisi nisi, tincidunt vel dolor in, posuere consectetur urna. Mauris ipsum nisl, scelerisque ac elit sit amet, dictum volutpat augue. Cras molestie, dui sed sodales mattis, odio neque volutpat arcu, sit amet rhoncus metus elit non sapien. In et sollicitudin leo. Curabitur facilisis, nisl a sodales porta, dui mi interdum eros, consectetur feugiat ipsum risus et nunc. Donec congue orci ac iaculis porta. Aenean at nisi placerat, varius nisi sed, suscipit justo.
Gimme Storage
This is the auto-generated OOC topic for the roleplay "Gimme Storage"
You may edit this first post as you see fit.
You may edit this first post as you see fit.