• Last Seen: 7 yrs ago
  • Joined: 9 yrs ago
  • Posts: 342 (0.11 / day)
  • VMs: 0
  • Username history
    1. Zugzwang 9 yrs ago

Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

Sorry about the slowness of my posts. I meant to have one up today, but I have been sick the last two days. Bad times all around. Expect one Tuesday? Wednesday, at the latest. While you wait (no doubt with bated breath), please post as usual!
I'll have a post soon, comrades.
@Lunaeria

That sounds exciting. All I've got is a cold and my neighbors having loud, grunty sex for AN HOUR STRAIGHT.
@Dragonbud

I figure, go wild, write up a post. It's been 4 days, I think that's reasonable enough time for people to give people for a post.
Sorry about the shittiness of the post: from now on, I will never promise to get things done on Monday. My class schedule Monday and Tuesday is fucking bananas. Alas, the post suffered for it. Anyways, I think I got everything: if I made mistakes, PM me. Other than that, I can't wait to read everyone's posts.
Town Hall

The fox faunus shifted a lock of hair from her cerulean eyes, her form shifting beneath the tight dress in pleasing, no doubt meticulously-orchestrated, ways. She smiled a winning, amused smile at Carmine, as though the whole affair, introduction included, was some big joke. A joke which she was, at least if her smile was to be believed, the punchline. A soft hand and strong grip took Mina’s offered appendage and squeezed, and the characteristic slightly-slippery sliding of aura on aura could be felt, the feeling of shaking hands with a trained hunter. It was near-universal, among those trained as Hunters, to have one’s aura at least present at all times: what with Aura being remarkably susceptible to blunt force trauma, the shield existing while the warrior was dazed or fully unconscious was required for success.

“Amolia Fairfax,” her blonde hair made a nuisance of itself and was once again corrected gracefully. “Here to be protected and served, I suppose.”

Her voice was crisp and delightful, musical in an entirely fabricated way. Everything she did was purposeful, and as she reached with a blind hand for a shrimp dish she regarded the whole of Mina. “It’s good to know there are Huntresses here for our safety. I’d like to thank you, for all the good you do the world. Though, I’m sure you hear that more than enough.”

Nura and Noel could hear a ringing laugh swell over the ball, as the fox faunus laughed in a conversation with another of the Huntresses on security detail. Nura’s suited figure blended into the background of servants, the invisible caste siphoning money from those within while deigning to fetch and carry. The wall she was holding up bore her weight, and kept silent company as she fumed. There were no threats visible to her eye, more partygoers making merry in the celebration of peace. Her watch showed her a group of three, all of whom hated one of the other two but was rather taken with the remainder. It showed her a surreptitious exchange of a letter, sealed with red wax studded with what looked rather like gold, of all things. The most dangerous thing on display was a soldier, clad in the dress uniform of Vale and well decorated, lighting a cigar on a balcony with a burn-crystal lighter, a luxury in the age of petrochemicals but fitting his gravitas.

Her vigil was interrupted by a man sliding in beside her. Clad in the suit of the wait staff but looking too haughty and self-possessed for a veteran servant, he was impeccably handsome. A roman nose, a strong jawline, a well-groomed crown of navy-blue hair. His eyes gleamed with interest, boredom, mischief, a hundred small emotions all focused on Nura. He cleared his throat, as though he needed to further announce his presence after the thud of his back on the wall and the clack of his shoes on the floor. His rich tenor was amused and welcoming. “It’s a shame, to have someone scowling so.” He looked out into the crowd, but his attention was still clearly directed at Nura. “I’m sorry you’re troubled. Can I get you anything? It’s the responsibility of people like me to improve the mood of beautiful young women, or so my father always said.”

----------

Dilapidated Tenament

The older man smiled, just a sliver, pleased with the answers. “We’ll save honor for when we’re done. I’m glad you two’re not going to turn coward. The Government paid for the best, and I don’t doubt you’ll provide. Earn your pay, and do your duty to whatever you claim to serve.” Colonel Malachus stood, and gestured for the two hunters in his presence to follow. As he stood, the pistol was once again visible, and he adjusted the beret back atop his head after removing it to sit and address. He spoke as he walked, quiet as he made his procession down stairs and into a dank basement. Water dripped from long-broken pipes, but the walls of earth blocked the wind, dilapidated or otherwise. “You’re going in without support: we know the cell is operating in a sewer annex accessible through a tunnel beneath our feet.” His boots rang out on the hard floor, clacking against an extended nail every once and a while.

He stopped before what was little more than a hole in the floor, leading to a broken pipe perhaps seven feet in diameter. It smelled of filth and rainwater, of rust and darkness. Malachus looked down at it without relish. “Once you go in, a MP team will secure this exit and be prepared to follow if either of you become casualties. We hope it won’t come to that. Your objective is simple: find the terrorist cell, eliminate their capability to cause harm to civilians or property, and either call me to collect prisoners, or bring them to this exit.” He turned, looking at the hunters with extraordinary gravitas. “Rules of engagement are clear: lethal force is to be used without warning or hesitation if necessary. Time is of the essence, the cell is expected to be moving out in a half an hour at most. Are there any questions...” he gestured towards the open sewer pipe. “...before you go in?” His tone expected an answer in the negative.

------------------

Airfleet Street

This soiled world…

After several minutes, the performance stopped, to be met with uproarious applause. Caestovani took a very polite bow, the picture of humility, and slunk behind the falling curtain as the band picked up a warming medley of folk songs, warming the crowd from the ceremonial dirge to a mood more befitting celebration. The music would continue, after an interlude of impressive violence. Lights flashed on around the colossal cage, and eyes began to turn as the tone brightened to fevered excitement.

Cardamom beamed at the hunters, humming with energy, clearly as excited for her own role as the people were to see the coming performance. Her voice was clarion clear, a bark of energetic denial. “Of course it’s too late! You’re on the billing now, and the show must go on!” She hit a button, and the sole visible entry to the cage opened. With a brisk step, the interim mistress of ceremonies zipped behind the hunters and without warning shoved them towards the gate, pushing them in from the dark of the annex and into the gleaming floodlights of the cage.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” A moment later, Cardamom’s voice rang from speakers cleverly concealed. At her voice, the crowd erupted in cheers. “Children of all ages! The city of Vale presents to you, your Hunters !” Another cheer. “The defenders of peace, justice and tranquility, keeping us all safe from the forces of Grimm.”

She had the voice of a circus presented, and the crowd was eating it up. The band swelled a brisk, chipper military tattoo, proud brass and deep drum ringing joyous over the thronging crowd. “Without further ado, the first Slaying!”

A cheer greater than the others rang out, and on the opposite side of the flat, plain, circular colosseum, the floor opened. A platform rose, and atop it sat six ursae. The great bears were roaring, held down by what looked like steel cuffs pulled to the platform by hidden magnets. They screamed their hatred through wide mouths, hungry voices baying for the death of humanity. They snapped at the hunters within the cage, and with a shout of “Begin!” from Cardamom, the magnet flicked off. With a blazing, furious speed, the fully-grown and menacingly angry ursae split into pairs, each pair charging headfirst without forethought towards one of the hunters which held the eyes of every face in the churning crowd.
Post coming tonight, come hell or high water.
Now, should my antagonist be Luigi Galleani, or Ernst Junger? I'd write a fascist, but I feel like we have that covered.
Fuck, sorry folks: my post will be delayed until tomorrow. I am busy AF, and classes start tomorrow. I gotta get a good measure of sleep. Please forgive me <3
@Dragonbud

I figure, be considerate. Give people a day or two more, just to clear everything up in the first posts. After this first cycle, I trust you all to post when appropriate and when when consideration is required.

I'll be posting probably tomorrow, so maybe wait until I have a post up to go? Maybe? I honestly didn't think that far ahead ;_;
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet