Atrophy

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

I mean, there is a 150,000 character limit, but you do you boss.

On other news, the new Star Wars is DOPE! All I'm saying. *squeals like a little girl*

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@DJAtomikaLook, not to give you any pressure or anything, but if your character is a shirtless, greasy saxophone player singing sweet, sweet 80s ballads or a young Kiefer Sutherland then I might becoming your bestie. Just saying.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Name: Valorie Pierce

Race: Human // Necromancer

Age: 20

Appearance:

Valorie is shorter than most human women, barely breaking five feet tall with shoes. A passing glance would make the woman appear aesthetically skinny, but underneath her clothing she's unhealthily scrawny with barely any feminine curves and nearly non-existing muscle thanks to a choice diet of cigarettes, straight liquor, and hard drugs. There are a number of cut-sized scars on her body due to her “studies”. A careful application of makeup hide the numerous blemishes and gives color to her pale skin, draws attention away from the bloodshot veins in her light brown eyes, and keeps the bruises out of sight. She tries to take care of her teeth, but her smoking and coffee habit try harder to stain them. When she smiles she does so with closed lips, although her resting expression is an unintentional one of a muted, disgusted frown. The girl has a definite oral fixation, and always is either smoking, chewing on something, talking, or a gross combination of the three.

Her clothing choices can be best described as “secondhand preppy chic” or “try hard twee poser” depending on the person. She dresses in layers to hide her lack of curves, and favors longer sleeves to cover up the track marks. The paint on her fingernails are red and chipping. Her blonde hair is rarely without an accessory and she always keeps a pair of sunglasses handy so she can pull off her best Corey Hart impression. She rudely keeps her stock white earphones plugged in unless with friends. When she talks, her voice is almost always one level louder than it should be and squeaks with sickening shrillness. As well, she talks with a manic pace and large gestures, and tends to stand with good posture and an open appearance.

Personality: On the outside, Valorie is the primo example of wasting youth on the young. She cares about vapid, useless things that offer little satisfaction at a heavy price. When she's with her fellow Rats she's the first to slam a shot, jump in the mosh, suck a face, get high, and throw a fist. Her energetic, flirty, and outgoing nature makes her both the life of the party if the highs mix right or its slow, hemorrhaging death if the lows hit harder. It's clear that she has not fully grown-up. She's opinionated and can be an insufferable brat when she does not get what she wants. She's the kind of girl who seems like she thought people were serious when she was called princess as a child. Ask one of Valorie's friends, however, and you'd see the woman behind the party girl. She's cares deeply about her peers, and would drop anything to help one who was in need. Valorie may bite the head off of a stranger, but would be the one to extend the olive branch after a fight with a friend. She invites people who'd be too shy to normally speak up into conversations, and keeps the conversation moving without dominating it.

On the inside, Valorie is extremely motivated and dedicated to her studies, but struggles with finding a proper balance between her work with the Rats, her work as a rat, and her own interests. She's excited about having a group of friends that seem to enjoy her company, and often loses sleep by worrying about what would happen if she was exposed. She's disorganized, confused, and anxious. Her smoking habit has nearly doubled to two packs a day since moving to Santa Somabra. She's naïve, she knows it, and that scares her. Sometimes, Valorie thinks about packing up her bags and running home. Other times, she considers coming clean and taking responsibility for her screw ups. Mostly, though, mostly she daydreams, convincing herself that this will all be worth it when she's a super badass lich with a skeleton horde and zombie underlings.

Bio: Valorie's childhood was spent moving around the country every year or so. When she was five her parents bought her a beagle to keep her company and also to shut up about getting her a sister. She named the dog Samantha. It was a boy dog. Again, she was five. Valorie and Samantha grew up together. They played together. They slept together. They went to the bathroom together until the neighbors alerted her parents about it; it became one of those embarrassing memories Val's mother would bring up to embarrass her in front of her friends. Simply put, the two were inseparable. For a decade, Valorie palled around with her pup; Samantha, or Sammy as she mercifully started calling the dog, was her best friend. So of course, like a family movie that wants to easily tug at your heartstrings and leave parents with an uncomfortable discussion after the credits roll, the dog died. Hit by a drunk driver. Real graphic. Blood and guts everywhere, kind of where the family movie plot falls apart.

Valorie was wrought by guilt. Not that kind of lame, self-blaming guilt where she it was her fault Sammy got smeared because she didn't lock a gate or left the door cracked ajar or something innocent like that. No, it was more of the kind of “oh shit, I hit my dog while going for a joy ride in my dad's Bentley after getting smashed after three Bud Lites I'm going to be grounded forever also my dog's dead” kind of guilt. So, she did what any responsible underage teenager would do in that situation: she packed a cooler full of ice, scooped her dog off the pavement, picked the tufts of blood and fur from the car's grill, and turned to the Internet. About a dip into the deep web, several restless nights of reading and practicing, a few dozen energy drinks, maybe half a pint of blood drawn into a pentagram, a fair amount of amateur needlework, some low-light candles and atmospheric music to set the mood, and an incredible amount of good luck later Sammy was back. Oh, and Valorie was now, technically, a necromancer and would probably be in a real “not cool” position if people found out about it, but hey, dog's not dead. A little mangy, smells kind of bad, missing some fur, ear isn't quite right, obvious stitching, but alive-ish.

Despite knowing the inherent dangers, Valorie becoming unhealthily obsessed with necromancy and all sorts of other fun, dangerous, blood magic things. The fancy for the weird did not fade away as she went to college in Colorado, and she soon became “that” roommate who never went to class, never went to parties, barely left the room to eat, and had extremely questionable hygienic practices. College wasn't a complete waste, though. The nearby cemetery gave her plenty of opportunities to practice on things a bit more complex than beagles. She managed to raise a human once, although her spell only lasted a minute. Still, it was perhaps the most unpleasant minute of her life. He just complained so much. If she knew now that this was how most conversations with the deceased went, she would have switched her personal studies into demonology or something. At least devils try to be charming.

Not going to classes was a pretty good way to fail out of college. Still, Valorie hadn't fully wasted her tuition; her talents and interests just happened to not be part of the curriculum. She was confident enough in her skills to be able to temporarily raise humans for a few minutes with a regular success rate. Now, she just needed a way to use that talent to pay for food and board. Colorado didn't have many opportunities for an illegal necromancer, and she felt her parents would become suspicious upon seeing Sammy if she went home. She decided to take her chances in Santa Somabra.

And what does an illegal, amateur, naive necromancer do in a city that was currently plagued with an undead problem? Does she join the Brotherhood of Rot to be closer to likeminded individuals? Does she take what she calls the easy way out and join a vampire family with hope for that cool sign-on bonus of eternal life to give her plenty of time to research? Nope. She gets arrested for maleficence after being caught drawing runes at a graveyard. Her arresting officers, who Valorie suspects to be much like the majority of the cops in Santa Somabra, are on the take. She gets an offer: either work for them as an undercover agent to aid their “superiors”, or enjoy a nice campfire where she served as the kindling.

And so, the dog-loving, amateur necromancer became a Rat.

Other: Valorie has a tiny studio apartment that that she shares with her zomb-dog, Sammy. It's fully feature complete with loud neighbors, thin walls, poor pest control, a terrible view, and a dangerous neighborhood. She sleeps on her couch both because it's comfortably and because it's her only furniture. Internet she “borrows” from her neighbors. The electricity's been out for a while. She's behind on rent. It's great!

Her necromancy is self-taught through whatever reading she can find and trial and error methods. She's strictly forbidden by her contact within the police from using her magic, and generally prefers to keep it as a secret from her fellow Rats and friends. Her magic is rather weak for a necromancer, meaning it is still greatly reviled and potentially dangerous. The longest she raised a human was for about four minutes using her own fresh blood; the length of their undead vacation greatly shortens when the blood is either not fresh or not hers. Animals she can command for maybe an hour before they turn to ash, although the time rapidly diminishes with the more she tries to raise and the quality of blood she uses. Valorie hasn't been given the chance to raise any already fantastical creatures and could only guess with where she'd start.

She commonly carries her phone, earphones, sunglasses, key, a perpetually almost-empty wallet, at least one pack of cigarettes, gum, a knife, a flask full of slowly congealing Type O, mace, various personal goods, and a stolen gun with about five bullets left that she's afraid to touch.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Here you go, boss. Lemme know what I broke.

Valorie

Name: Valorie Pierce

Race: Human // Necromancer

Age: 20

Appearance: Valorie is shorter than most human women, barely breaking five feet tall with shoes. A passing glance would make the woman appear aesthetically skinny, but underneath her clothing she's unhealthily scrawny with barely any feminine curves and nearly non-existing muscle thanks to a choice diet of cigarettes, straight liquor, and hard drugs. There are a number of cut-sized scars on her body due to her “studies”. A careful application of makeup hide the numerous blemishes and gives color to her pale skin, draws attention away from the bloodshot veins in her light brown eyes, and keeps the bruises out of sight. She tries to take care of her teeth, but her smoking and coffee habit try harder to stain them. When she smiles she does so with closed lips, although her resting expression is an unintentional one of a muted, disgusted frown. The girl has a definite oral fixation, and always is either smoking, chewing on something, talking, or a gross combination of the three.

Her clothing choices can be best described as “secondhand preppy chic” or “try hard twee poser” depending on the person. She dresses in layers to hide her lack of curves, and favors longer sleeves to cover up the track marks. The paint on her fingernails are red and chipping. Her blonde hair is rarely without an accessory and she always keeps a pair of sunglasses handy so she can pull off her best Corey Hart impression. She rudely keeps her stock white earphones plugged in unless with friends. When she talks, her voice is almost always one level louder than it should be and squeaks with sickening shrillness. As well, she talks with a manic pace and large gestures, and tends to stand with good posture and an open appearance.

Personality: On the outside, Valorie is the primo example of wasting youth on the young. She cares about vapid, useless things that offer little satisfaction at a heavy price. When she's with her fellow Rats she's the first to slam a shot, jump in the mosh, suck a face, get high, and throw a fist. Her energetic, flirty, and outgoing nature makes her both the life of the party if the highs mix right or its slow, hemorrhaging death if the lows hit harder. It's clear that she has not fully grown-up. She's opinionated and can be an insufferable brat when she does not get what she wants. She's the kind of girl who seems like she thought people were serious when she was called princess as a child. Ask one of Valorie's friends, however, and you'd see the woman behind the party girl. She's cares deeply about her peers, and would drop anything to help one who was in need. Valorie may bite the head off of a stranger, but would be the one to extend the olive branch after a fight with a friend. She invites people who'd be too shy to normally speak up into conversations, and keeps the conversation moving without dominating it.

On the inside, Valorie is extremely motivated and dedicated to her studies, but struggles with finding a proper balance between her work with the Rats, her work as a rat, and her own interests. She's excited about having a group of friends that seem to enjoy her company, and often loses sleep by worrying about what would happen if she was exposed. She's disorganized, confused, and anxious. Her smoking habit has nearly doubled to two packs a day since moving to Santa Somabra. She's naïve, she knows it, and that scares her. Sometimes, Valorie thinks about packing up her bags and running home. Other times, she considers coming clean and taking responsibility for her screw ups. Mostly, though, mostly she daydreams, convincing herself that this will all be worth it when she's a super badass lich with a skeleton horde and zombie underlings.

Bio: Valorie's childhood was spent moving around the country every year or so. When she was five her parents bought her a beagle to keep her company and also to shut up about getting her a sister. She named the dog Samantha. It was a boy dog. Again, she was five. Valorie and Samantha grew up together. They played together. They slept together. They went to the bathroom together until the neighbors alerted her parents about it; it became one of those embarrassing memories Val's mother would bring up to embarrass her in front of her friends. Simply put, the two were inseparable. For a decade, Valorie palled around with her pup; Samantha, or Sammy as she mercifully started calling the dog, was her best friend. So of course, like a family movie that wants to easily tug at your heartstrings and leave parents with an uncomfortable discussion after the credits roll, the dog died. Hit by a drunk driver. Real graphic. Blood and guts everywhere, kind of where the family movie plot falls apart.

Valorie was wrought by guilt. Not that kind of lame, self-blaming guilt where she it was her fault Sammy got smeared because she didn't lock a gate or left the door cracked ajar or something innocent like that. No, it was more of the kind of “oh shit, I hit my dog while going for a joy ride in my dad's Bentley after getting smashed after three Bud Lites I'm going to be grounded forever also my dog's dead” kind of guilt. So, she did what any responsible underage teenager would do in that situation: she packed a cooler full of ice, scooped her dog off the pavement, picked the tufts of blood and fur from the car's grill, and turned to the Internet. About a dip into the deep web, several restless nights of reading and practicing, a few dozen energy drinks, maybe half a pint of blood drawn into a pentagram, a fair amount of amateur needlework, some low-light candles and atmospheric music to set the mood, and an incredible amount of good luck later Sammy was back. Oh, and Valorie was now, technically, a necromancer and would probably be in a real “not cool” position if people found out about it, but hey, dog's not dead. A little mangy, smells kind of bad, missing some fur, ear isn't quite right, obvious stitching, but alive-ish.

Despite knowing the inherent dangers, Valorie becoming unhealthily obsessed with necromancy and all sorts of other fun, dangerous, blood magic things. The fancy for the weird did not fade away as she went to college in Colorado, and she soon became “that” roommate who never went to class, never went to parties, barely left the room to eat, and had extremely questionable hygienic practices. College wasn't a complete waste, though. The nearby cemetery gave her plenty of opportunities to practice on things a bit more complex than beagles. She managed to raise a human once, although her spell only lasted a minute. Still, it was perhaps the most unpleasant minute of her life. He just complained so much. If she knew now that this was how most conversations with the deceased went, she would have switched her personal studies into demonology or something. At least devils try to be charming.

Not going to classes was a pretty good way to fail out of college. Still, Valorie hadn't fully wasted her tuition; her talents and interests just happened to not be part of the curriculum. She was confident enough in her skills to be able to temporarily raise humans for a few minutes with a regular success rate. Now, she just needed a way to use that talent to pay for food and board. Colorado didn't have many opportunities for an illegal necromancer, and she felt her parents would become suspicious upon seeing Sammy if she went home. She decided to take her chances in Santa Somabra.

And what does an illegal, amateur, naive necromancer do in a city that was currently plagued with an undead problem? Does she join the Brotherhood of Rot to be closer to likeminded individuals? Does she take what she calls the easy way out and join a vampire family with hope for that cool sign-on bonus of eternal life to give her plenty of time to research? Nope. She gets arrested for maleficence after being caught drawing runes at a graveyard. Her arresting officers, who Valorie suspects to be much like the majority of the cops in Santa Somabra, are on the take. She gets an offer: either work for them as an undercover agent to aid their “superiors”, or enjoy a nice campfire where she served as the kindling.

And so, the dog-loving, amateur necromancer became a Rat.

Other: Valorie has a tiny studio apartment that that she shares with her zomb-dog, Sammy. It's fully feature complete with loud neighbors, thin walls, poor pest control, a terrible view, and a dangerous neighborhood. She sleeps on her couch both because it's comfortably and because it's her only furniture. Internet she “borrows” from her neighbors. The electricity's been out for a while. She's behind on rent. It's great!

Her necromancy is self-taught through whatever reading she can find and trial and error methods. She's strictly forbidden by her contact within the police from using her magic, and generally prefers to keep it as a secret from her fellow Rats and friends. Her magic is rather weak for a necromancer, meaning it is still greatly reviled and potentially dangerous. The longest she raised a human was for about four minutes using her own fresh blood; the length of their undead vacation greatly shortens when the blood is either not fresh or not hers. Animals she can command for maybe an hour before they turn to ash, although the time rapidly diminishes with the more she tries to raise and the quality of blood she uses. Valorie hasn't been given the chance to raise any already fantastical creatures and could only guess with where she'd start.

She commonly carries her phone, earphones, sunglasses, key, a perpetually almost-empty wallet, at least one pack of cigarettes, gum, a knife, a flask full of slowly congealing Type O, mace, various personal goods, and a stolen gun with about five bullets left that she's afraid to touch.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

What's that @The Darklight Project? Cyril fell in the well?

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

While we wait for our intrepid GM to pound out another massive collab post, is everyone prepped for the holidays? I just got to go out and get one final gift, meaning I have...6 more days to push it off until the final moment.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Joy

Throughout most of Joy's life, she was fine with the fact that she was born with reflexes that were quicker and sharper than her mind. After all, being able to properly quip and bitingly taunt your opponent didn't matter if they were already slicing through your throat. However, it was the times like these that she wished she had been blessed with a bark that could replace her bite. By the time the prospect of even raising a question on how Diane could refer to herself as a lady after her unladylike first impression had even begun to form in Joy's mind the conversation had already moved on. Joy fixed a neutral expression upon her face, her eyes narrowing as Diane mentioned her less than respectable departure. Joy knew she'd gain nothing from antagonizing her, and had even less of a reason to win the woman over. She had already soured her relations with half of the Barcean noble family's when she was Vesta Debove; no reason to try and mend them now.

There was something else that stopped the woman from wanting to make amends. Something that Joy wouldn't want to admit. She shifted her weight uncomfortably as the Prince began explaining to the others, ignoring Sampson's nervous glances and Gortful's confused expression. The other Sentinels had it, too. There was a connection between the group and Cyril that was more than just being soldiers together. It made the air feel weird; it made Joy's chest feel tight. She drifted in and out of the conversation, her mind struggling against her gut reaction to reach for her flask. When she was young, when she led briefings, when she was in command, this room didn't feel like this. She had kept her men at arms length. Strict, professional, efficient, or so she had thought. In hindsight, it had probably been her first major mistake as captain.

Am I jealous? she thought. She didn't know. Joy needed to find the answer. She was told by her gut that she wouldn't find it here in this room. Maybe at the bottom of a bottle? The Sentinels had just lucked out. Drinking would have to replace her plans for drilling. Just need to clear my mind. It's fine.

“Unfortunately, I must rescind my offer. I just recalled that a certain ambassador requested my presence, and I can only keep him waiting for so long,” said Joy, using Ennis as an excuse to escape to any bar she could find. “I'll have time when we make camp to see how your men hold up. Take care, Your Royal Highnesses.” She nodded to Cyril and Ayano and excused herself to Calypso and Etsuko, giving a cold shoulder to the Sentinels as she limped out of the room.

Ennis

Ennis drew in a deep breath and tried to slow down his hammering heart. Nobody was in this room. He would have certainly found out earlier if that was the case. Picking back up his sword, he slowly crept out of his office and back into the hallway. Three rooms to check. He started with Yan's. Touching his hand to the door knob, he twisted it open as he placed his back against the hallway wall. Gesturing with his hand, he threw a spell into the middle of the room and closed the door shut. There was a tiny, unimpressive crack sound, followed by a brilliant white flash that snuck through the bottom of the door. No expressions or noises that sounded like he had blinded somebody. Still, he checked through Yan's room, his sword extended out in front of him. Nothing. He cleared the next two rooms. Again, nobody was there.

Sighing with relief, he went back to his desk and studied his discovery: a boot print in the now dried ink that had spilled from his desk. Feeling foolish, he optimistically leaned up against his desk and looked at the bottom of his boots, hoping that in his hurry earlier he had just stepped in the puddle and hadn't realized it. He felt his stomach drop: both his shoes were clean. The footprints led to the front door. That explained why his balcony was ajar and his door unlocked, although how somebody broke into his balcony that faced the street without raising an alarm beguiled Ennis. He stepped next to the footprints, trying to measure the size of the stride but failing to draw any conclusions from it.

He walked through his apartment again, checking the rooms to see if anything of value had been stolen. Nothing appeared to have been touched. Ennis fumed for a second; he had plenty of valuables, meaning whomever had broken in wasn't just some random thief. He checked his desk, rummaging through the files and documents. Some seemed shifted out of place, but nothing struck him as missing. Still, he knew somebody had been in his apartment while he was at the castle. What could they have been looking for? He pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought. Who had reason to do this?

His eyes studied his desk. Nothing of interest had been in any of his official reports—he had made a habit of sending what he sent back to H'kela to Kori as well to serve a sign of good faith (although if she ever actually got them was an uncertainty). Perhaps a Barcean thought he was spying and had taken time to look through his unofficial reports...except those didn't exist and never would exist. Ennis refused to spy for Gartian. Maybe a H'kelan, then? Somebody who hated his family and wanted to find something to defame him? But what would it be? My family has always done things by... His train of thought was cut off as he reached for the letter his father had sent him, warning him about Gartian's attacks and begging him to come home. It had read to Ennis like the letter from a concerned father. To others? It'd probably read closer to a traitor revealing military secrets. His head hurt as he continued thinking hundreds of questions with no answers. He cast a spell on himself to ease the ache.

There was one thing Ennis knew for certain: he had to get rid of this letter. Striking a fire to life in his fireplace, he tossed the letter into the flames and watched as the licked around the edges of the envelope and crisped it black. He slumped into one of his chairs. Who knew about the letter? thought Ennis. There was Nia, but she had known about the letter before he had even opened it. The idea that she had planted it on Ennis to set him up didn't even form in his head. He knew she wouldn't betray him. Yan, then? He was still missing, although Ennis didn't believe he was working for anybody else but him. It didn't make sense. Gartian did have spies in Barcea. Perhaps one of them had been watching? He wouldn't get any help from the guard, and troubling the Queen was not high on his list. Besides, he doubted she would send her men to examine the entire kingdom for dirty boots.

Think.

Think...

Thud!

The noise stirred Ennis. Judging by the view from his balcony, it was now dark outside. You fell asleep? You idiot! He looked around the room in a panic, before his better senses told him to calm his nerves. The thud had come from outside; the loud cursing from his front door confirmed it. Another thud, followed by even more fluent cursing. Surely, some of them had to have been made up on the spot there thought Ennis as he cautiously approached the door. He pulled the door open. He felt tears form in his eyes as the smell of hard alcohol punched him in the nose.

“Come on, ya whoremongering, sandswallowing, dogloving, sonofabitch, open the...open...open the door,” said Joy, slurring her words.

The woman rose her hand up to knock again, swinging forcefully at the now open door. Her body followed after her fist, and Ennis clumsily ducked out of the way to avoid getting hit. She tripped forward, crumpling to the ground as she laughed and swore in pain. Joy was saying something about his mother as Ennis tried to help her up. The drunk woman offered no assistance, prattling on in further and further graphic detail.

“Miss Joy, please, perhaps you shouldn't talk about people you don't know,” said Ennis, finally pulling the woman up to her feet and giving her his shoulder.

“Don't...don't know? I know that bi...” She fell silent. Ennis was worried that she might have been getting sick, and contemplated pushing her away from making a mess on his clothes. “Fucking...fugging...frogging...grog and...you have a drink?” She wiggled her flask in front of his face and giggled. Ennis didn't know the woman well, but it sounded very unnatural and made his skin crawl.“I'm all...alllllllllll gone.”

“Yes, I could tell,” said Ennis, leading the woman into the bathroom. Not the finest of quarters, but he refused to have a mess in the morning and imagined the first thing the woman would want to do is bathe the stench away. “While I appreciate you stopping by, I was hoping you'd be a little more...clear headed, so you would be able to fully appreciate my points. Still, I-”

“Goddamned stupid, dumb, concieted, little noble fuck,” said Joy, cutting Ennis off. At first, he thought she was talking about him, but she continued. “Calling me a mutt, hah, the...the Laues are...” She blew a raspberry. “Stupid, dumb. Lady Laues, should've said, I should've said, hah, I should've said Lady Loser to her big dumb stupid bitch face.”

“Yes, I'm sure that would cut Lady Laues very deeply, Miss Joy. Come on, give me a leg up or something.”

“Eating jerk. Stupid smile. Buncha....buncha nobodies. Faster than...fucking crippled and faster than all of 'em,” she struck her hand and sliced the air, making chopping sounds with her mouth for emphasis. It was anything but impressive. Ennis casually leaned out of the way of the hits. “Assholes. Everyone else...everyone else is an asshole...”

“Mm, yes, clearly that must be it,” said Ennis, lifting one leg followed by another so that Joy was now in the tub. “Sit for me, please?”

“You're...you're cuter than your brother,” she said. “Whatshisname? Pfft, he was a....a loser asshole, too. Couldn't even...weak. You got his stupid dumb big nose. Stupid dumb big H'kelan loser asshole nose.”

“And there you go,” said Ennis, shoving Joy onto her rear with a less than careful push. “I'll check on you to make sure you're asleep and don't hurt yourself soon.”

He cast one spell on the woman as he walked out of the bathroom. Joy was still rambling in gibberish as he closed the door behind him and went to his room, taking a minute to double check the locks on his doors and windows. He had invited her over to ask a question and to see if he could win, or buy, her help. That would have to wait until morning. Now, he'd just have to find a way to sleep knowing that a burgular was on the loose and that there was a boozed bandit in his bathtub.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Running a Smash tournament right now as a program, but I should hopefully have a post up tonight or tomorrow!

@The Darklight Project

I'd imagine my play style would get me thrown out of any Smash tournament. My roommates stopped playing it with me after I kept cheesing losing winning by body slamming them into the abyss as Bowser. :(

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Yeah, maybe we should go with the 2nd so we can get the band together.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Oh, hey, it's you! Well, tickle me interested then.