[center][h3]The Lady in White & the Fungal Knight[/h3]
Location: Kno One / City Street
[@Lazo][@Gardevoiran][/center]

Though they felt far longer in the head of the moment, Pithy had solved in a span of a couple dozen seconds a critical situation that would have spelled death for any less of a genius, any less of a sorceress, any less of a contender.  

“Hm.”  The voice came in the silence that followed his test subject's wry comment and visible hesitation, tinged with a sort of allowance.  “...Impressive.  It seems that to make proper use of this power, I must be more creative.”  A loud crack resounded throughout the restaurant, heralding the appearance of a large, stark white fissure in Pithy's inverted ice umbrella.  Though in nature such a sound typically precluded the breakdown of a whole glacier, nothing else followed this crack except a snicker from the disembodied voice.  “Hmhmhm.  Perhaps the adage is true: it's how you use it that counts.  I will keep my end of the bargain, Pithy.”

In front of her, the door swung open.  At the back of the utility room, with his back to a couple of pipes, was Nero.  A tight black band, one of the restaurant's napkins, wound tightly around his head to cover his eyes, and upon closer inspection his hands proved to be tied behind his back to a pipe that disappeared into the floor.  He stiffened when the cold air streaming in fell across his skin, mouth twitching into a weak smile.  “You made it, huh?  My hero...I can't help but feel as if I've been thrust into a deeper hell, all of a sudden.”

Around the two, a new change began to spread over the walls.  They began to rot, growing thin and neglected, with holes suddenly appearing like tears in stretched-out cloth.  Behind Pithy, the door fell off its hinges and rusted away to nothing; a loud and startling smashing noise rang out as her icy barrier hit the ground, scattering its degenerating pots and pans everywhere.  Through the growing gaps all around, Pithy could see the entire restaurant wasting away.  “Hmhmhm.  Have fun with the woman you tortured, traitor.  If you survive, cherish the time you have left.  As for you,” he addressed Pithy, his tone lightening a touch.  “Though I'm a professor, I daresay I learned more during this experience.  There's no particular reason we'd meet again, but if we do, I hope it will be without confrontation.  If you try to interfere with our business, though, I won't pull my punches.  Perhaps you got a sense that I wasn't being too serious.  As for Nero, I hope you treat him exactly as he deserves.  Goodbye.”

The voice faded just as the restaurant wasted away in its entirety.  When the transformation was complete, all that remained where the premier establishment Moscow Caliber once stood was a condemned, derelict ruin most of the way through the process of being dismantled.  Gone also was the omnidirectional pressure of some unidentifiable yet supernatural presence.  The restaurant itself might have as well been a mere dream, but as Pithy's bruises told her, it was all too real.  Whatever had inhabited this wreck had not just projected illusions, but altered it physically, violating any number of universal laws in the process.  All in all, the abilities and properties of the unknown untity made for a difficult-to-comprehend scenario.

Of course, the loss of walls meant Pithy could see outside again, and that both Mountain Dew and Bonesword could see her.  Though remarkable to look at to say the least, Bonesword harbored one feature of special implication: a drone hovering around him, oriented exactly in Pithy's direction and reorienting itself whenever she moved.  

[center][h3]The Cereal Killer[/h3]
Location: Oldtown
[@Propro][/center]

Runch's uneventful journey, made in morose quiet, took him out of the flooded portion of the historical district and into a region identifiable from the streetsigns as 'oldtown.'  He passed by buildings of many different periods, distinct in design if not distinguishable by era to someone knew to this particular world.  Patiently his drone reoriented itself as he detoured around buildings, guiding him ever closer to the next step on the way to his dream.  Every step of the way, however, plagued him with the harrowing memory of what he witnessed; the minutes marching on had yet to deaden the disturbing image his ally's actions.  Behind him, nagged by the question of what she was fighting for, trailed Erina.  No longer was this any sort of enjoyable competition, especially since she disliked fighting from the first.  Though together, the pair of Runch and Erina could feel the pang of loneliness—of being lost somewhere they still didn't understand, unable to do anything about it except to continue walking forward.

Their dogged continuance in putting one foot in front of the other brought them to a plaza just as the sun's retreat behind the horizon turned the heavens orange and pink.  Bordered on all sides by various buildings, this place might have been a hub for tourist activity when -or perhaps if- the City of Echoes sustained a populace, but now its cobblestoned expanse lay close to empty.  In the quadrant of the place to the arrivals' right, however, a couple of people could be seen from the moment they entered.  Both defied understanding at a first glance, requiring a keen eye to make out anything more from the outset than that one appeared to be a female martial artist and the other a male knight.  Clad in armor and sporting what looked like a screw through his head, the latter could be seen drilling melee techniques under the guidance of the former, who featured two different metal boots and just one arm.

Even if Runch and Erina attempted to hide, their drone had already gone forward enough to give their approximate position away.  Furthermore, the two strangers across the way possessed a drone of their own, which -having exhibited a number of adjustments in the span of a short time previously- zeroed in on their location.  Both the knight and the martial artist ceased their activities at once, watching the direction indicated by their drone with intent.  The same conclusion had befallen both parties: that their next opponents were nearby.  

Keeping an eye out, the knight strode over to where a few weapons lay upon the ground, stooped, and picked up both an impressive halberd and a unique shield.  The deftness with which he handled both betrayed expertise in the field of arms, and the stance of his companion -even though casual- suggested a readiness to spring into action at the drop of a hat.  Given their current position, a surprise attack without the use of accurate, long-range attacks was implausible, so they held their ground and waited to see what their new acquaintances would do.

[center][h3]The Book Keeper[/h3]
Location: Flooded Historical District
[@BCTheEntity][/center]

When Crue's former allies disappeared from his sight, he stood alone once again in the City of Echoes' Historical District, with only his Stand for company.  Upon his return to the inn, he found it vacant as always.  Behind the few locked doors lay possessions without owners, mildewed and dusty.  Piles of black rubbish marked the places where abandoned bits of food rotted some time ago, their smell as lost as their shape.  In the kitchen freezers, savable victuals remained for consumption, though nothing that would satisfy the specific palette of a vampire.  Though the inn provided a good avenue for rest and relaxation, and a decent place to spend time, it was lacking in many respects, yet suitable for a man who lacked much also.  Now, most of all, Crue lacked a purpose, and this place secreted away none to provide.  With his soul trapped in a device that could render him barely able to fight with its holder, he could not win the tournament to gain his one wish, and if there existed a way back to his home, he would not find it in the Historical District.  If anything presented a solution, it was -maybe ironically- the Inquisitional College on their island across the city.  The city itself, of course, wasn't an issue so long as the great chasm that divided Uptown from Downtown remained, as witnessed by the vampire the night before.  On the other hand, a man of learning might wish to wrinkle out the secrets of this extraordinary city, for how could there be a more magical or mysterious place?

Though the inn served as little more than a comfortable dead end by itself, it lay at a proverbial fork between many roads that lay before the man known as Motley Crue.  If a selection was to be made, it demanded rumination.

[center][h3]The Murder[/h3]
Location: Street Mall
[@Propro][/center]

Still sporting a wide, toothy grin, the fat man replied with what must have been intended to be a disarming laugh, had he any semblance of charm.  “Bahahah!  Might not look it now, but I have plenty of customers!  Over three dozen, whether they know it or not!  They just have to find me.  I've got something everyone needs.  You, my friend, are a lucky man”  As the shopkeeper continued to speak, his accent became more apparent, though that wasn't to say that Samuel could figure it out.  It was a bizarre thing, possessed of a couple different inflections -Chinese, Russian, Japanese, Italian, even German- all combined into one strange, bassy dialect only describable as 'ambiguously foreign.'  When Samuel indicated the animate art monster, the man followed his gaze, then waved a hand at it dismissively.  “Naaah!  They're not here for me.  Everything with its purpose, yes?”

He chuckled again, then swept his hand over his wares before crossing his arms.  “So, anything look good?  You strike me...er, rather, I mean I have a knack for telling things about people, and you strike me...as a troubled man, mister!  Something painful deep inside.”  A look of sympathy passed over his face, and he strode out from behind his stall to stand next to his visitor, like a family member trying to help him find a sale.  “Right?  I am sure of it.  One of my fine treasures here can bring you peace.  For you, my friend, I'll make a bargain!”  Grinning once again, he clapped Samuel on the shoulder.