[center][h2][color=turquoise]The Cereal Killer[/color][/h2]
[@Lugubrious][/center]

Runch couldn't help but give out a hearty laugh at how utterly serious his competition was. It really was just his lot in this tournament to be constantly pitted up against pessimists and the scorned, wasn't it? [color=turquoise]"OMNOMNOMNOMNOM!"[/color] His mustache wiggled and twitched in time with his laughter. The pirate closed the journal, and pocketed it once again. Cyril had no idea that by engaging in the conversation, he'd already given Runch a huge advantage. [color=turquoise]"I do not want to fight if I can avoid it, no, and I do not enjoy the situation we share at this time. I am a humble cereal chef who wants only to live life freely, and to provide for my loyal crew."[/color]

At this point Runch completely let his guard down by taking a seat, cross-leg style, leaning on his spoon-saber which had dug into the earth. In a way, he was testing Cyril. The journal described him as relentless, but also tactical. Would the knight, or perhaps the shrine maiden, take advantage of this incredibly poor maneuver? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Erina stood nearby, still aghast at the poor decisions Runch had been making, wondering to herself if his victory over both her and Motley hadn't been a complete fluke. A stroke of extreme luck.

[color=turquoise]"If you don't have any intention of backing down now, then I can't argue you out of it. It isn't the place of a man to change another man's mind anyway. I just want to see more smiles as I continue my journey. But I'm not convinced you're entirely convicted in your goals here, Mr. Boniface. You just said yourself it's not all worth it. So tell me, has the College broken the terms of their own rules and attacked you too?"[/color]

[hr][hr]

[center][h2][color=darkviolet]The Murder[/color][/h2]
[@Lugubrious][/center]

Samuel's eyebrows rose up for a second before returning to their normal place. The bizarre man had to have sensed that he had taken some coin from his pocket. Why else would he have described Sam as having "sticky fingers?" Finding someone who could watch his hands so closely was a rarity indeed. That just meant that Samuel was even more wary than before. Trust issues were so difficult to put aside, especially when one wakes up in a new and dangerous world without explanation.

Cautiously his fingers moved toward his own pocket, curious as to what this thing was that the man said he already carried with him. Samuel had a number of things in his pockets. Coins, cards, knives, clothes, and numerous other props to aid in his illusions at any given time, but there wasn't a single thing he would have described as "yucky" or having "stomach-churning writhe." Then, just before the tips of his fingers dipped below the pocket line, he remembered something else the odd man had said, and stopped. [color=darkviolet]"You said that you had over three dozen customers and implied they were unaware. What did you mean by that? Is this associated with that contest I've heard from the kitsune?"[/color] The longer he delayed, the more his horror cried out to be satisfied. To be fed. To terrorize this man and devour his delicious fear. Run him off, let him know it is wrong to toy with others, lies by omission are still lies and are wrong! Rip and tear his flesh, make him cry out [b]and feed feed feed [i][color=darkviolet]NO![/color][/i][/b] ... Maybe later.