Current
Found a new job that I hope I'll love! :D Gonna get to posting!
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6 yrs ago
It's been a while. I think I'm ready to start again.
7 yrs ago
To all my partners, I'll start writing again next week :D A few things came up, and I need to prioritize them. My burst writing spree this week has officially ended XD
7 yrs ago
I typed out two replies to my RPs in one day rather than my usual 1 Reply = 5 Days ratio. I'm feeling pretty good and inspired.
6
likes
7 yrs ago
A'right :) Managed to complete a lot of my responsibilities. Replies will soon rain from the sky... in a few days.
Husband of Kalani (@karamonnom), his auburn rose, and future husband of Amalia Solair (@Belle)
Cuwarr finds solace in Kalani's decision to stay. He finds himself falling for her as his eyes glazed all over her as she binds and cleanses his wounds. The warlord accepted the aching of his core as he presses her against the wall before slamming his lips down on hers in an expression of gratitude, and perhaps, attraction. Cuwarr finds the strength to get back on his feet in search of a new bride, giving Kalani the power to lead him around the Choosing Hall and to choose a bride for him in Cuwarr's stead.
No words passed between them further as Kalani took it upon herself to clean and bind the nasty wound trailing down Cuwarr's neck. The incision left a visible scar, one that Cuwarr would never fail to see whenever he looks at himself in the mirror-- a permanent mark from a gemminite he once trusted. While he felt jumpy, almost too defensively, whenever Kalani's fingers brushed against the soft incline of his neck and the sliced skin, Cuwarr had to remind himself that Kalani stayed, and that was more than enough to trust her to bind his wounds without twitching at every wince of pain that coursed through him whenever the medicine burned the slash. She could have escaped, took up his offer and bolted out of Shadow Worth, but instead, the gemminite sullied her hands with his blood, patched him up, and looked at him as neither a drakken nor a master. Her eyes just saw him as a husband. And that was what mattered. He watched her with his azure eyes, never averting his gaze as she washed off the blood from his hands. She took her time in wiping the cloth against his neck to remove the stains, going as far as to also dash the cloth against his armor. At this action, Cuwarr shed off his breastplate to the floor, exposing the crimson stains scattered around his torso.
Cuwarr gently took her hand with the washcloth, pressing her palm against his chest as their hands swept slowly to clean the mess. Could she feel the beating of his heart? Perhaps, perhaps not. But, Cuwarr never felt something like this since time immemorial. He kept dragging their hands across the valley of his chest to the ridges of his stomach, relishing the feel of her smooth skin against his. His spine tingled, shooting pleasurable sensations down to every one of his nerves with every pass of her hand. This feeling wasn't love, but it was far deeper than just an otter with a rock; she mattered to him on a higher level, and it was terrifying how quickly she had become important to the warlord. And, while it was unwise for others to pick up on that, there was no harm in expressing what his core ached to say in the confines and secrecy of their room.
So, the warlord spun her around, pushing her backwards until her back pressed against the wall of the bathroom. His hands left hers as it traveled upwards until he cupped both of her cheeks in his palms. Cuwarr's eyes fluttered for a brief moment before he slanted his face over hers. He glanced down at her, cerulean gazing against hazel. A million thoughts raced through his head, but the one thing that remained proved to be simple: kiss her. And, so, he did. Cuwarr pressed his lips against hers, angling his head just enough to shift the pressure when he deemed necessary. The desirous way he bit and tugged at her bottom lip spoke volumes of how much happy he was that she stayed. The connection lasted only for a few moments before the warlord parted from her, his mouth panting for air as he realized that his breathing stopped the moment his lips met hers. His eyes met hers again as a weak smile formed on his lips.
"I must say that I am overjoyed that you chose to stay, Kalani." Cuwarr whispered, his forehead on hers. "And, that, was my first kiss. The gems always treasured these kinds of firsts; they say you should only do it with someone who matters. But, at this moment, I do not regret sharing it with you." The warlord rose to his full height before he bent down to pick up his armor, swinging it over his head shoulders as he wore the plate again. Cuwarr grinned as he exited the bathroom to cover his eyes with the usual cloth. He picked up his recurve and the quiver, hesitating for a moment before deciding that he should probably let go of it already. The warlord couldn't really step outside to look for a new bride with his paranoia at an all-time high. He began to look at every gem in a hostile light-- well, except for Kalani who he looked upon favorably. But, he knew his body tightened in a flee or fight manner when he would see a new gemminite.
Which, really, was the reason why he needed Kalani to accompany him. She would be his reminder that not all gems were dangerous, and that, Sorici was just a rare case. "Kalani," Cuwarr turned to his wife, beckoning for her to hold his hand. "Let us a find a sister bride for you. But, please, lead the way. I... am still not comfortable around your sisters. I trust your judgement, my dear." The warlord instructed, letting Kalani lead the way to the new wife she would choose for him. At this moment, no one knew him better than Kalani, and strangely, that thought made Cuwarr smile.
She was really different, and to imagine an outcome without Kalani in it was nigh on impossible to do. Though the lotus withered in the dark, the rose continued to bloom-- it stared the shadows right in the eye, but it continued to fight on, thorns and all. The color auburn symbolized security and protection; thus, Cuwarr knew that he never made a mistake in naming Kalani as his auburn rose. She made him feel safe, made him see strength where there was none.
Husband of Sorici, his white lotus, and Kalani (@karamonnom), his auburn rose. Future husband (?) of Amalia Solair (@Belle)
Sorici attempts to kill Cuwarr by slashing at him while they were eating at the dining hall. As Sorici tries to deal the final blow with her earth affinity, Cuwarr counters by blasting her away with winds. As Sorici is captured by the guards, Cuwarr instructs the woman's execution to be done outside. So, as Sorici runs for her life with Cuwarr aiming down at her throat, the unexpected happens: Sorici escapes the marksman's sights. The crowd mocks Cuwarr who thought to himself as to why he allowed Sorici to live by implanting his wind magic on the arrow to repel it before it could harm his former wife.
As Cuwarr returns to the quarters with Kalani, he expresses his trust in his auburn rose. But, he still gives her the chance to flee-- better for her to break his trust now than in the long run where his urges as a drakken had been awakened when someone came this close to severing the strings that kept him moving.
The day waned almost too quickly, and soon, Cuwarr found himself seated in the rapidly vacating long dinner table alongside his Kalani and Sorici. It wasn't surprising why the drakkens left for their rooms with their wives in tow, nor would it take a genius to realize what the brutes intend to do behind the closed doors. Well, hopefully, these brides survive the night unlike their sisters from last time. Cuwarr grimaced at the thought, chatting up his brides in an effort to distract their attention from the gloomy fate that sealed the destiny of their sisters. Thus, Cuwarr began talking about how much he appreciated the gemminite arts, marveling at how intricate and well-planned their pieces were. Music, colors, dances-- every single performance made the warlord's jaw drop in awe, and he couldn't help but lavish these joys on the two women who sat near him.
"And, yes, dear," Cuwarr continued, munching a piece of chicken between his canines. Though he exhibits a demeanor unfitting that of a drakken, it would seem that even Cuwarr himself still held the drakken roots within him-- like, talking while chewing. "I bought all of those paintings. They all hang in my castle right now. I just couldn't stop thinking about those masterpieces; I really had to get my hands on them." Cuwarr looked at Kalani and Sorici, perfectly happy to be surrounded by his two wives. As the dinner went on, most of the drakkens and gems already went back to their quarters, leaving only the trio at the table along with some other drakkens who chose to finish the left overs. Cuwarr's storytelling went on and on, going from the gemminite arts to his prowess as a marksman. For some reason, most would realize why the warlord's bodyguards absolutely looked relieved that Cuwarr found himself brides-- this way, someone else would be forced to listen to his tales.
But, really, he couldn't stop his mouth. Stories always piqued the warlord's interest, and he would gladly listen to any story offered to him. When he did try to ask some details from his brides, the two of them just kept mum and refused to tell him any. While it was understandable, he felt quite disappointed that he never really learned anything new about these two gems. But, if they do not tell him a story, then, by the gods, Cuwarr would tell them his. So, he reached the story of his gemminite mother, and how much he adored her when a sudden lash from Sorici stunned the warlord.
"I suppose you really loved your mother that you didn't think about setting her free." Sorici interjected, a slight snarl in the way the words left her lips.
Cuwarr took a moment to compose himself, feeling a stinging sensation down his core at the words uttered. If anything Cuwarr would have wanted to set his mother free, but it was not his decision to make. Still a fledgling, Stezius, his father, controlled everything that happened inside the Naxremis fortress. And, even if Cuwarr heard his mother's pained screams as his ruthless father ravaged her without mercy, he could do nothing but wait for the shadows to pass. After all, no dawn comes without darkness. Every bruise, every wound his mother sustained brought Cuwarr closer to plotting his revenge against Stezius, and everything came to pass when the bloke was dishonored. As a parting gift, Cuwarr shot his father right between the eyes as the older drakken was tied to the rear of a pig while his manhood twitched inside the swine's cavity. Brutality. The drakkens did it best, and Stezius should have thought of that before tormenting his mother to death.
"Oh, I would have, my dear lotus, but I was not in power yet." Cuwarr forced a smile, taking into consideration that Sorici had always been the fiercer of the pair. "It is not beyond a drakken to not feel remorse. Just take a look at Lady Beneni. Why else would she come here to take a bride. Surely, it's not to be intimate with the gems. She comes here to safeguard the women from the blokes like Huron." The warlord glanced at Kalani, hoping that she felt more at ease with him. "But, I assure you, you shall not find the same tyrant in me as your husband."
"It is useless to fool the crows, Cuwarr," The way his name fell off of her lips sent shivers down Cuwarr's spine. Her very voice was laced with venom, and she dripped insults with every syllable. "What you're doing-- all the stupid things you're doing... they are nothing but a facade. Pathetic. Do not taint the gemminite culture with your bloodline so rotten that a filthy pig would be a better husband than you can ever be. You know what a good drakken is? One that is hanging from the gallows whilst the birds feast on his bones." Sorici spat, a dark glint on her lips. "You want to be a good husband? Get a noose, and Kalani and I will help you out."
At the onslaught of insults, even the stoic warlord's hand twitched. In any normal circumstance with other drakkens, she would have been planted face down on the table, clothes torn from her body while a knife plunged through her head. Her corpse would have been violated over and over again by the minions of the drakken lord she insulted. But, he couldn't bear to hurt her. His mother once lectured him on why gemminites were suppressed, maltreated. And, while he never really understood the effects then, he could surely see it now. Sorici, his white lotus, reddening with rage as her fingers clenched the table cloth. He wondered what the drakkens did to her for such a woman to this hostile to them, but he really tried his best to put himself in her shoes.
He experienced the same rage against his father, and perhaps, he and Sorici were not so different after all.
"I understand your rage, my dear lotus, but--" Cuwarr began, but was soon interrupted as Sorici shook her head.
"I apologize for my behavior." Sorici bowed her head, causing Cuwarr to raise his brow in surprise. "Just, please, hand me the plate of chicken."
A smile curved Cuwarr's lips, hopeful that perhaps Sorici would give him a chance before judging his being. "Of course, my dear." Cuwarr reached down the table, grabbing the plate with the chicken on it. The roasted poultry with a knife sticking out of it was passed down to Sorici, but before Cuwarr could let go of the plate, he realized he was too late to see the malicious intent behind Sorici's smile.
"Thank you, my husband." In a flash, Sorici pulled the knife from the food, slashing it vertically at the warlord who failed to react in time.
And, so, Cuwarr only had a split-second's worth to tilt his head backwards, causing the knife to slice at soft flesh beneath his jaw-- just a few centimeters away from his jugulars. Sorici knew how to handle blades, and if Cuwarr were any normal drakken, the slash would have proven fatal. As blood dripped down Cuwarr's throat, Sorici went in again, her hand gripping the knife in an ice-pick hold. She jumped at the warlord, landing on his torso as she raised her hand to bring down the knife once more in order to seal the deal. But, Cuwarr, having gripped himself, brought his arms up in a cross, effectively shielding himself from the knife as it dangled dangerously close to his forehead. Sorici had no intention to give Cuwarr time to recuperate, and channeled her affinity with the earth. Her eyes glanced at the spiked decorations dangling from the pillars, and since they were made from earth, she glared at the warlord with immense fury. The spikes ejected from their space, hurtling towards Cuwarr whose teeth gritted in frustration.
At this point, the four deathsworn guards sprinted back inside the dining hall, just in time for them to see the lethal spikes heading for their master. Even the drakkens seated near the table began to stand up, but before anyone could do anything further, Cuwarr muttered out a deep incantation. The archaic words he spouted from his lips echoed in a chorus as a barrage of whipping winds lashed around him, deflecting the spikes and launching Sorici a few feet away. She slammed against the nearby wall, and before she could stand, the deathsword guards were on her, pinning the woman to the floor as Pezach unsheathed his blade.
"You whore," Pezach snarled, raising his blade before deftly bringing it down towards Sorici's neck. "I'll teach you to harm our lord!"
But, before the blade could touch Sorici's flesh, another burst of wind parried Pezach's sword which caused it to spin out of his grasp. The guard tried to mumble his surprise, but Cuwarr motioned for him to keep quiet.
"No." Cuwarr strode over to Sorici, not sparing a glance at Kalani. "Why?"
"I have seen my sisters lose the life from their eyes because of your kind! My sister is there, yet not complete. Never to be complete again." The woman spat at Cuwarr as she struggled out of the hold. "Like a ghost stuck in the mortal realm yet unable to pass on, my sisters have suffered. They died without a fight, but that will not be the same of me! I would rather die fighting than to die a coward!" Sorici began to laugh as a twisted look invaded her features. "You may kill me, but that mark on your throat will be a reminder that no matter how hard you try, you will never be loved. You don't deserve to be loved, because you're a drakken. No drakken deserves peace!"
"I've had enough!" Qiorach roared as he launched his fists at her, but an arrow soared past his fingers, prompting the guard to freeze in place.
"I will not have her blood spilling these grand halls." Cuwarr instructed, his voice striking a tone colder. "Pezach, take her outside near the window. Bind her to the ground and come back at once."
The instructions were quickly followed as Cuwarr strode over to the window overlooking the bound Sorici who thrashed against her ropes that pinned her to the earth. A crowd had gathered near the window as well, trying to get a glimpse of the execution. The warlord held his bow tighter as he passed by Kalani, pausing just in front of her. Cuwarr instructed the deathsworn to veer the crowd to his right side, leaving only Kalani and a few gemminites to witness the 'death' of their sister while being able to look at the full facial features of the enraged warlord. Cuwarr aimed down his bow using his left hand, notching an arrow in the right as he pulled back the string. A series of stretching sounds emanated as the arrow was pulled. Then, after a split second, the bolt soared through the air before striking Sorici's ropes, freeing the woman.
"If you can flee without being struck, you may live." Cuwarr called out to Sorici as the drakken crowd was incited to an excitement at such a spectacle. Of course, the deathsworn knew that the woman would not live. Cuwarr possessed the keenest eye among all the drakkens, and there was no doubt that his arrow would fly straight and true. Sorici began her desperate dash as she sprinted barefoot through the clearing.
Cuwarr notched another arrow, pulling it back before muttering something under his breath. The arrow flew with deadly speed, chasing after the woman. And, soon, the bolt was flying in the right angle that it would hit Sorici's back, but before it could touch her, the lone arrow spun out of control as it hurtled away from the fleeing gem. The crowd murmured in surprise at the missed shot, but Cuwarr only aimed down another arrow before, again, mumbling another set of silent chants. Once more, the second arrow tore through the winds as it neared Sorici's head. And, again, before it could strike her, the bolt flew away from Sorici as it was launched spinning into the air before dropping to the earth. By this time, the visage of the rogue bride had vanished from the horizon, and the crowd were beginning to boo and mock the archer for missing such a shot.
"So, you're just all talk, master marksman?" one of the drakkens jeered before moving away.
"I could have hit her. You're just as blind as your reputation." Another mocked as Cuwarr withdrew his bow.
The warlord turned around, walking towards his room before looking at Kalani. "Come." It was an order; a command lacking the tenderness of his past requests. The deathsworn guards tried to stop Cuwarr, saying that Kalani could not be trusted. But, the warlord growled at them, sending them away as he headed for their quarters. Every slow step back to the room weighed on Cuwarr. For those whose eyes were sharp enough, they would have noticed that the two arrows would have definitely struck their target. But, then, just before it reached Sorici, the arrows would always bounce away. It wasn't because of Sorici or any divine intervention; it was because of the warlord himself. The mutterings he spoke as he readied an arrow was a wind spell which coated the projectile before being launched. Then, as the arrow would near Sorici, the winds would lose control, hurtling the arrow away from the woman. Why he chose to let Sorici live was beyond him, but the woman left a far more painful wound on him than just the incision near his throat. Words. They pierced deeper than any physical wound could.
The bright warlord lost the spring in his step as he entered the room with Kalani in tow. He took off the eyepiece, setting it down on the dresser before he took a seat on the bed. His hands trembled-- shook violently-- as he took one of the bandages stowed in the nearby drawer, holding the gauze and the ointment in his hands. Cuwarr spoke nothing for a good few minutes, and neither did he try to fix his wound even though blood dripped down his torso. It was only when he remembered Pezach's instructions did he speak to the wife who stayed.
"Kalani," His voice broke for a second. The warlord wanted to appear less shaken than he actually was. He twitched at any foreign sound, and his blood pumped through his veins in an effort to sate the bloodlust growing within. Sorici may have failed to end his life, but she killed some far more precious: his trust. Heated, rapid pants flowed out of Cuwarr's mouth as he tried to process his thoughts in attempt to stave away the haunting memories. "The night is waning, and we need to leave for the east soon." He turned to Kalani, his eyes trying their best not to forego the tears that were held in them. Though, a lone trickle ran down his face before it melded with his blood. "I need one more bride, but I do not think I can choose one... after what happened." Cuwarr shook his head before planting his face in the palms of his hands, the bandage and ointment falling to the floor. "Sorici was right." Cuwarr's voice was muffled by his hands, but it echoed clearly. "I am just trying too hard to be someone I am not. The urges," He grimaced, his fingers clawing at his forehead. "The urges are coming back."
Cuwarr released a deep sigh as he raised his head, his blood now staining his hands. "We will find another bride from one of your sisters." Cuwarr spoke in a monotonous tone as his head hung from his shoulders. "You are the only one I trust as of the moment. I plead with you, for both my sake and yours, do not break my trust." However, he turned to Kalani once more with a deadly gaze. "So, if you want to leave now, I will allow you to do so. I will slide you through sunbeams to send you back to Gemminia. It is better for you not to break my trust in the long run for it will ruin you more than it would ruin me."
A beast can only be suppressed for so long before it lashes out of its cage.
All noted, and I'll do my best as the new drakken for Amalia. As for Kalani, I might be setting up a timeskip post for the two of them. Also, this will include Sorici's attempted murder which, I do hope, Kalani will witness :D And, I think I'll also appreciate it if Amalia will be one of the audience for Sorici's 'disposal' :D
See you soon, @karamonnom@Belle. And, I do hope I am not boring the two of you, especially Kalani who's been with me from the start <3
I'll be posting after DarkTemplar :) I was just waiting for his post where we go shop for clothes before rolling around at the speed of sound... to capture the rogues.
"It's called being 'nice', Sarge. Doesn't take a doctorate to figure that out." Avis grinned. "We've already got Doc Carson and the rest of the eggheads to do the mean part. Can't we agents be a bit nicer to each other?" The younger agent bent over to tie his boots before Gray expressed her intention to go to the car, taunting Avis in the process. At this, though, Avis looked up at the woman with a smirk. "No need for the Sullen Dad to hold this kid's hand. In fact, Momma Bear, I'd race you there. Be careful not to break your back." Without a moment's notice, Avis sprinted towards the Blacksite's garage where a handful of the DMA's undercover cars were stored. When the DMA agents wanted to blend in with society in order to get to their target, it wasn't rare for them to look like an everyday normal family. While he wasn't really jumping on the idea of pretending to be Thorne's teenage son (again), Avis did miss the opportunity to shop for new clothes, and to wear something rather than just the DMA standard-issue uniform of black, jet black, and onyx. But, Avis knew not to get his hopes up. The DMA has been quite stingy with budgets, and can't really afford such luxuries. So, the young lad bolted through the long, hallowed halls-- something that he hadn't done since childhood. He hopped over boxes and crates of weapons, vaulted over low walls. Purposely, he took the long way through the corridors, just wanting a bit of freedom and a remnant of a childhood long gone.
As he jumped over the obstacles, he remembered the time that he and his brother would free run all over the park, leaping over rinks, ledges, and to an extent, from tree to tree. At that point, there father was dead, and their entire life rested in their hands. Freedom, a spirit set free from the shackles of abuse and pain. And, now... his comatose brother is being watched day and night by agents of the DMA, a dirty blackmail and control method for the ocular specialist in their ranks. They knew that death would not be enough to enmesh a soul such as Avis, and to make sure of his loyalty, they messed with a life that Avis deems greater than his own.
The DMA was dirty. The whole lot of them. He wouldn't have bothered catching the other metahuman rogues if his brother didn't have a Glock 15 near his head.
Thus, as Avis reached the garage, he wasn't real sure if the others had already arrived. Chances are, they've yet to even leave the briefing room. They were always so serious to the point that it became infuriating. "I wonder what car we'd be using." Avis mused to himself, surveying the different vehicles that were there "Well, either way, I'd have no choice but to ride." Regardless of what vehicle they'd use, Avis would just sit patiently inside like the good little boy he was known for in the DMA.
Asychis possessed a healthy disdain and distaste for the royalty. This sort of loathing was born upon his epiphany of how the dervishes of Ibzya manipulated the people, using their weakness and need for water in order to send them off to their deaths by claiming the caves from the gnolls. Spineless priests with their heads in the sands, vouching for power within their bloodlines as they scoff and drink from their ivory towers, pretending that they knew how it felt to have your throat too parched to speak and breathe. They speak to the masses as if they understood the brunt of carrying a pot of water from an oasis ten miles from home, your skin seared by the sun and your back bent by the weight of the liquid gold. Their baseless prayers to the Sun God a clear sign of their hypocrisy, they ask for water for the people yet they themselves deprive such basic commodities to the dying. They were all pretenders, the lot of them. And, Asychis despised the priests with great fury. However, again, the teachings of the monks have reminded him that rage is best when controlled.
So, as a man began to guide through the palace territory, Asychis tried to keep an unimpressed façade, but the sheer glamor and architectural flawlessness of the structure cracked his resolve. Though he is unfamiliar with the different sculptures of deities of old, he still marveled at the intricacy of it all. The Daughters of Love and Beauty, as they were called. Asychis tilted his head at such a masterpiece, somewhat pondering whether the boldness and freedom that seeped from the stone arts was what love and beauty was all about. Love was being exposed, being vulnerable yet love still possessed strength and fang; love was not only about exposing oneself to danger but also serving as a shield and sword for the significant other. As the monks always said: 'love never counts the cost, but it gives everything to the beloved'.
Soon, the party of hunters entered the grand hall as they were met with the pompous, stoic... annoying faces of these nobles. It was normal for royalties such as these to always look strong, untouchable from their vantage point. They always seemed invincible from afar, but when the straws were drawn, when these people, born with a silver spoon in their posteriors, would grasp the short end of the stick, they all seem to beg for mercy. They throw down their pride for the sake of living another day, too attached to this materialistic life that they forget in the life after this-- a place where they cannot take their fancy titles and flowing riches. This sort of belief was the founding principle of the Monks, a good reason why they always only wear the tattered and hand-me-down tunics and cloaks. The man named as Firenze had painstakingly given them instructions on how to interact with the people inside: a kiss on the ring, keep silent, and other ridiculous practices. If Asychis had his way, he would have spit on these nobles.
In all honesty, nothing irked Asychis more than nobles. Gnolls were one thing, but these royalties were in their own league of hatefulness.
Now, the Phoenix was quite famous when it for the members of the Order, expelled or not. The Order had always frowned upon the use of Blood Magic which was strange, considering that as long as Blood Magic was not used for anything harmful, it was perfectly okay. The young monk remained perfectly neutral towards the Phoenix, but one of their members, Vessandra, had a reputation of messing with the hunters through her provocations. Well, Asychis was confident that he was too insignificant to stand out, and even now, as long as he doesn't pay heed to the duchess' snide grins, then, he would be safe. So, as the plenary session began, it was Master Lethodus who spoke on behalf of the hunters. Truthfully, Asychis welcomed his passive role, and was contented with merely listening as these affairs were quite new to him since he had spent his years in Ibzya where nothing really happens aside from gnolls.
As Lethodus spoke about this secret evil that has began its onslaught of plagues, Asychis noticed that Yin's features looked a wee bit unnerved. As the timid girl stood at the back of the formation, Asychis also stood beside her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder as he smiled. "It'll be all right, I believe." Asychis whispered, careful not to draw too much attention. But, with the crowd's focus on Lethodus, it was unlikely that the two young hunters would be put into the spotlight. "We're hunters," Well, I once was one. "What's the worse that could happen?" Asychis grinned before turning to Lethodus, eyes hopeful of an easy time in Isamanca for the sake of Master Lydic's dying wish.
"Up, and about, Sarge." Avis quipped from behind the two, still holding his trench coat in his hands. The black tank-top sagged over his shoulders before he swung the trench coat above him, inserting his hands into the sleeves. Avis' quick fingers hastily buttoned the coat as he combed some of his hair out of his eyes. The young agent had made sure to take a few meters away from Gray, taking into account that, at all times, he must have vision of every member in the team as was protocol when it came to suppression. While Avis knew that when it came to his two-man cell with Thorne, getting-to-knows were scarce, he couldn't help but feel that if they were to work better together, they have to develop a sense of camaraderie that exceeds that of soldiers-in-arms. It must be a bond like one brother to another, from one comrade to another. In a sense, the lad believed that the reason why meta-rogues were strong was because they had a solid foundation, and treated others like their own, reducing the chances that their brethren turned against them.
This was certainly not the case with Avis and the team. He knew; heck, even Thorne knew that the only thing preventing Avis from sending the sergeant into a pained haze of twitching limbs was the shock collar around Avis' neck. All notions of alliance with the DMA and even with Thorne were only as good as the quality of the shock collar. Once the collars were down, once the die had been cast, Avis knew that even Thorne would go rogue against the DMA. After all, you could only cage a beast for so long before it lashes out of its cage.
"Why do we keep doing this?" A slight question escaped Avis' lips before he shook his head, and focused on the task at hand. "Anyway, I have reason to believe that the attacker of the convoy had been that pyromancer. And, I think all of you have already figured that out. So, surely, she is not acting alone. But, if our target is a Type 2 Pyrokinetic and a Type 3 speedster-slash-illusionist, then, we're gonna need water-based weapons as well as that same pulse weapon sir Daemon had used. Hydropumps, liquid grenades. The good stuff." Avis turned to look at Thorne before he scratched his head. "Normally, I'd just neutralize her, but with the pulse bombs that Daemon's been swinging around, it might be unreliable for me. Now, unless two psychic fields can cancel each other," He murmured, pertaining to Gray's own psychosis field and Nott's nightmare field. "The pulse bombs might be the only weapon we have to cancel out any psychic fields. Well, as far as my clearance level is concerned, the pulse bomb is the only weapon I've been acquainted with that removes Type 1 abilities."
Then, Avis' eyes lit up before glancing at his superior. "Oh, and since I can't take down something I can't see, someone will need to slow down that speedster; slow enough for my eyes to get her in my sights." The young lad shrugged his shoulders before slinging his small satchel that contained some first-aid materials. "Well, I'm ready to go. Just say the word, Sarge."
Hi! To apply, fill out the CS (Character Sheet) which was given by the GM. Make sure to read everything about the setting, though. That way, you'll know where to start :)
As Sergeant Thorne conversed with Dr. Carson with this Daemon and Gray just a few steps from them, Avis preferred to keep his distance and watch Gray from afar, taking in the information being dispensed by the handler. If Gray, indeed, had a 15-meter limit to her ability, long-distance attacks would be her disadvantage. In this case, Avis would have an advantage over her in terms of ability. The only thing Avis needs to do to beat her would be stay away at least 16 meters wherein he can still see her for his gift to take her down. After all, the only condition for Avis' ability to work is sight: as long as the enemy is in his personal sights, in that, he can see their figure, it will still work. He wasn't really sure how 15 meters would like from a distance, but he was damn sure he can really still see her. Of course, everything was theoretical as he had never thought about engaging an enemy from a long distance; more often than not, he often used his powers when he was a but a few meters away from them. So, he wasn't even sure his plan would work. One thing was for sure, though, if Gray does succumb to his ability, she ain't going to be walking straight for a week.
The team dispersed as Thorne, Gray, Dr. Carson, and Daemon all became the anti-social people they were all meant to be. Each going their own way except for Daemon and Dr. Carson who kept conversing. In this case, there was no point in talking to a guy who Avis was so close to making him flop on the floor like a pierced fish. So, really, there was no point in talking to anyone. Dr. Carson was too formal and thought that everyone had a crush on her. Thorne was too unfriendly and anti-social to even start a casual conversation with. Gray was too hostile and unstable. Daemon was too serious, and had this air of aloofness around him. Avis couldn't help but think that they were in a cliche horror military film wherein all the agents were people who wallowed in self-isolation. Avis was the jolliest bastard one could find in this shithole. But, it wasn't in his personality to say all of these things. He always kept a controlled tongue and a smiling face.
"I'm going out." Avis announced, scratching his head before putting on some slim-framed shades to hide his eyes. "And, don't worry, I know the two-block limit without a handler. Beyond that, I'm fried. I've got my GPS in my watch to keep track of my distance." Avis put his hands in the pockets of his coat before hopping up the stairs. "I'll be back in a few hours." Avis gave them a reassuring smile as he finally got out of the Blacksite. As an agent, he was allowed a maximum of two hours of restricted outside contact back at HQ. But, without the yoke of HQ, he was allowed to be outside for as long as he wants whilst maintaining the two-block limit. Even now, Avis knew that HQ was monitoring his movements, and would zap him the moment he tries to do anything funny. But, all negative thoughts vanished as Avis got out of the bar, fully relishing the fresh air and the casual feeling of the normal world. Whenever he was outside like this, there were no expectations whatsoever. He wasn't a metahuman nor was he a rogue; heck, he wasn't even an agent. He was just... a person. A stranger. Someone who passed by another. He just existed alongside others, and for Avis who was experimented on for days on end, just existing without expectations was more than enough.
So, the young lad walked on and on, making sure he was still within the two-block limit. He stopped by a nearby tea shop, stepping inside as he ordered a pot of jasmine green tea. The glass windows of the tea shop allowed Avis to observe the people as they continued to go about their daily lives. And, as he sipped the hot beverage, he couldn't help but sigh in disappointment that these people were heedless and unappreciative of the freedom they had-- of the freedom Avis once had. Avis reclined in his seat, pouring himself another cup as a woman cleared his throat to get his attention.
"Hi, is this seat taken?" she gestured to the empty seat in front of Avis.
"Sure, take it." Avis shrugged in response as he adjusted the shades that covered his eyes. As the girl took a seat, Avis noted her features. A smooth, almost creamy complexion paired with stunning cerulean eyes and a luscious blonde mane which was tied in a ponytail. She was a young woman, as Avis could piece it together, and her cute, button-like nose complimented her overall features. Her thin lips was parted in as smile as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "What's your name?"
"Oh, I'm Claude." Claude grinned, extending her hand for a shake which Avis took. "Yours?"
"Eyes Kerch." Avis introduced himself as he took another sip.
As Claude smiled up at him, Avis knew that the next few hours were going to be great.
And, it was. Him and Claude visited the different places (still within the two-block limit, of course), and Avis had never been happier in the past years. They acted like a casual couple, sharing a few secrets here and there; they also flirted with each other like young teens. For some reason, Avis was beginning to see that this girl he met in just a day would quickly become important to him. And, while he never really believed in love at first, Avis was willing to bet blind right now. Soon, the duo stopped at a cafe as they sat beside each other laughing at the memories where they were almost chased out of the nearby art museum for being too noisy when faced with a certain blank canvas which was considered as an artwork.
"I still can't believe that the blank canvas was considered art!" Claude spoke in pants as she pressed her palm against her stomach.
"That goes to show that you just can't trust your eyes, my dear." Avis grinned as he rested his hand on the table, his five fingers tapping one after the other.
"Nope. Nope, you cannot." Claude mused, subtly placing her hand over his as another smile lit up Avis' face. "Do you always wear shades?"
"Y-yeah. I've got an eye problem, you see." Avis lied through his teeth as another person accidentally bumped into him, jolting Avis forward which knocked his shades to the ground. "Damn it!"
"Are you okay?!" Claude unknowingly pulled Avis' head too hard, causing her to fully face the metahuman without his shades. A look of horror, of disgust shrouded the woman's features. "Y-you're... one of them. You're a freak. This won't work between us!"
Avis remained silent, picking up his shades before bowing his head. Claude stormed off in a huff, stating how she was doing him a favor of not telling the others of his curse. In exchange, he was not to go near her again. As Avis watched her leave, he sighed before clenching his hand around his left arm. Fury, sadness, deceit. They all flowed within him as he bit his bottom lip in frustration.
"Yeah. You can't trust anyone's eyes nowadays." Avis muttered under his breaths as he took his cup of cappuccino before heading out into the streets. "And, it never really works. It never does, it never did."
shylarah
Dominique