Atrophy

Persona: Crossroads

Until a better name is formulated:
_{(suggestions are welcome)}

Fool · Nightmare Liberation Squad · Rank 1

@Attis

Super Sleepy-time Sentai Squad.

_{Oh, better names...uh...I'll get back to you...}

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

So I took some free time today where I could've been writing or reading to compile a fact sheet about our lovely RP instead. I'm not gonna really hype it up, so here it is:

Atrophy's Master Sheet of Foul-Mouthed Duders

_{(That means you kids)}

In the past 71 posts, as a collaborative team of writers we have managed to utter the word (or variation of the word) this many times:

Your Dirty Fingers

Pussy - 2
Slut - 4
Cunt - 5
Dick - 8
Bastard - 10
Asshole - 25
Bitch - 43

Damn - 52

Shit - 134

Fuck - 304

What does this mean? Well, we have now given four more fucks than Goodfellas. On average we give about four and a quarter fucks a post. As well, we are becoming more vulgar as we go along. On the first page we only gave 42 fucks, Page 2 was 62 fucks, and on Page 3 we gave 124 fucks! Page 4 currently has 76 fucks and is well on its way to out-fucking Page 3.

And since we're already talking about giving fucks, let's breakdown who has given the most fucks and their average FPP (or fucks per post, including their parts in collabs).Kids, I present you with:

THE F LIST

Rockette & RedDusk gave no fucks. :(
Flagg gave a lonely fuck, with an average of 0.2 FPP.
Drinky gave 2 buck fucks. 0.29 FPP.
Zombiedude101 gave 3 ol' fucks. 1.5 FPP.
Dev3117 gave 4 fast fucks. 4 FPP.
Meiyuki gave 5 solid fucks. 1.66 FPP.
Wernher gave 8 whole fucks. 4 FPP.
JulienJaden gave 18 big fucks. 1.5 FPP.
Lexicon gave 19 strong fucks. 4.75 FPP.

Kingfisher gave 53 hard fucks. 2.12 FPP.

DJAtomika gave 59 goddamn fucks and gives the most fucks at 7.38 FPP.

Atrophy gave 132 fucking fucks. 7.33 FPP.

In short, either DJ & I need to watch our fucking mouths or you guys need to get on our fucking level.

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

The sting of hot water on her lesioned skin reminded Valorie that she was, miraculously, alive. She leaned against the wall of the shower in a semi-delirious state as blood and dirt washed off of her. She had left Hurk and his undead friends shortly after the man had begun sobbing. It was a gross thing to do, really, quietly excusing yourself when someone else was in need of support, but the woman had already paid the man back. She didn’t want to put up with that sort of downer shit, especially not after everything she had dealt with lately. Valorie had spent the rest of the night out on the streets, a vial of Demon’s Blood gripped tightly in her hand in case the need for it arose. Okay, okay, so perhaps she was purposefully wandering outside of some old hole in the walls waiting for a Rat to crawl out of them.

She needed answers, or at least that was what she told herself. She had a few brushstrokes illustrating why somebody had been sent to kill her, but Hurk had been pretty sparse on details and by the time she had thought about pushing him for more the man was more or less invalid with despair. It was a terrible idea, but she decided she would test her theory by putting herself forward as bait. Yet, when a Rat finally did come out of some dilapidated apartment building it had been Valorie that had to rush him down to get his attention. If they were out for her ass then he hadn’t gotten the memo. Hell, he barely seemed capable of functioning from the way he was shambling to how he didn’t even bat an eye at her dirty, disheveled, and bloody appearance.

She needed answers, but she wanted a high and she wanted one that she considered less dangerous than Demon’s Blood—after all, she had almost nearly destroyed her body because of that shit. Valorie wasn’t the kind of dumbass to make the same mistake twice most of the time. So, obviously, she traded down. One vial of Demon’s Blood for two doses of Runez. A real rip off, going by street prices, but she didn’t bother with haggling. She just wanted to not be there for awhile, and if some goddamn piece of shit nightmare killer came after her then she’d be that much harder to hit. Plus, she still had two more vials of Blood. Worst case scenario and she’d just pop one of those and change the chemicals of her body with some super powered speedball that'd either make her indestructible or at least make her feel that way until the end.

So much for going cold turkey. So much for keeping promises.

No trouble came that night, and by the morning light she was no longer jaunting across crosswalks or phasing through streetlights. She hid out in a park near Cain’s apartment smoking a pack of cigarettes that she had discounted for herself in her haze until mid-morning, and then decided to risk entering his place. He was, thankfully, already out. After disposing of her bloody clothes and throwing up into the trashcan (the Runez, she decided, had not been as pure as she had been led to believe), she had hopped into the shower. That had been thirty minutes ago, maybe longer. At this point, her skin was a raw red like a lobster’s and a strangely pleasant pain was pulsing from her wounds from her fight with that crazy comic book bitch.

What's her name, again? Vindictive? Vengeance? Vigilance?

That was the first time she should have died. Last night was the second. No, fuck that, that was wrong. There were so many other times. There was that night where she had almost overdosed. Almost, only because in her mind an overdose only occurred if it was officially declared by a sleepy-eyed doctor at three in the morning in some rundown free clinic. Then there had been the one night with the weird tasting drink. Her second job. That one time she had written the wrong rune, the other time where she had said the wrong thing. The dead already hated coming back; they were downright violent when they came back wrong. How many times, how many times, the better question was how many times had she saved herself?

At least that was a number she could keep track of with one goddamn hand.

Fucking hell, what am I doing? she thought, her hand curling up into a tight, tiny ball as it slammed against the wall of the shower.

The vibrations must’ve signaled the water heater to give up at the point, and quickly the shower became unbearably cool. Valorie swiped the fog away from the mirror and glared at her emaciated, self-abused body. Disgusting. She toweled herself off quickly and tossed on a over-sized sweatshirt she had borrowed off of some forgotten, alcohol-fueled hookup. Disgusting. She collapsed onto the couch and hazarded a glance at her bag, knowing fully well that she’d jump at any excuse to use her second dose of Runez even though it had been a bad batch. Disgusting. She poured a double into one of Cain’s tumbler from some decanter and took a large, stiff drink. Her face wrinkled as she shook her head back and forth no, no, no.

“God-shit-fucking-shit disgusting,” she said between a fit of coughs, whatever the hell kind of spirit she had just drank burning away at her taste buds as she poured herself another double. “Ugh, seriously this stuff is so disgusting. Nobody’s impressed that you drink this shit by choice, Cain.”

Exhaustion overtook her halfway through her second glass, and when she woke up the sun had gone down and her cup was still amazingly balanced the armrest of the couch. She set the wounded soldier on the table where it would remain until she either poured it out or forgot how gross the liquor had been. Stomach rumbling, she smothered her appetite with a cigarette and walked over to the bookshelf. She idly flipped through some of the books as the cigarette burned until she found a rather colorfully and explicitly illustrated one with chapters titled things like ‘Hexes: Inflict Pain and Restrain’ and so on.

It was a bit too dry despite the graphic images, but she still found herself devouring the material. ‘The common hexer would prepare charms activated by incantations by etching runes into wooden planks carved from either a holly or alder tree. Often, these hexers would be caught with their prepared spells and condemned for practicing witchcraft. The more shrewd and practiced hexer, one that all students should strive to be, are capable of executing hexes through conducting the charged magic in air with a silent series of nigh-unnoticeable finger twitches, allowing them to public inflict suffering on any adversary without alerting attention to themselves. One such spell that even amateurs can execute without the need of timely preparation is an equilibrium jinx that tricks an individual into feeling that they are losing their balance, quite often causing them to readjust their movement in such a way that forces them to fall. While often bruising no more than the victim’s ego, it is not to hard to theorize the potential uses of the jinx if one’s foe was walking along a rush river or standing near a steep drop.’’

And so on. Valorie took photos of choice passages for later consultation. Of course, she’d still need some practice; in the meantime it wouldn’t hurt for her to stock up on a box of bullets. Since it was already out, she looked at her phone. It was getting on in the evening, but her sleep cycle was now screwed after staying up all night. Cain hadn’t come home yet. He hadn’t even sent her a text. It wouldn’t be accurate to described her as necessarily worried or concerned; she knew the old man could handle himself or at least she assumed as much. Still, she did feel a slight unease that he had failed to get in touch with her.

Or disappointment, really.

She kicked her feet up on the table and flipped through her newsfeed: 42 Cute Outfits For Less. Elves Hate Him: Man Claims To Hold Secret For Longer Life. Slayer Strikes Again, Slaughters She-Elf! Valorie rolled her eyes as she scanned through the detailed article, thumbing through the comment section not unlike how somebody would gawk with morbid curiosity at a horribly bloody carwreck. Anything about that crazy Lediyah bitch was overshadowed by the Slayer. Her feed updated with a live broadcast of the Swat storming some fancy hotel to do something, whatever, the news was boring.

Tossing her phone into her bag and slipping on some pants, Valorie pulled her hood over her head and slipped her knife into her sweatshirt pocket. After the nonviolent encounter with the Rat last night she wasn’t sure who was or was not hunting her, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from going out. It’d give her a chance to see if she could pull off a few of those hexes, and she always had her old failsafe if those didn’t work. Besides, her stomach was positively barren and no amount of cigarettes or angry junkies would be able to keep her hunger underfoot.

Maybe she’d use her newfound wealth to eat in one of those snotty restaurants where they listed the food as market price and had whatever the hell a “sommelier” was on staff. She’d sit there in her sweatshirt and leggings, cross her arms, turn up her nose, and pretend that she knew what the fuck she was supposed to do when they handed her the cork to a wine bottle. Better yet, Valorie was pretty sure that no fucking psycho for hire would come barging into a place with some fancy French name looking for a Rat that had been a rat. And all of those places were pretty close to the Firm. She could swing by and see if they had any further books on hexes, or at the very least see if Kurtz knew anyone that’d sold handgun ammo without checking IDs. Regardless, she knew that she had to begin watching her own back.

Persona: Crossroads

@BrassOtterI really expected Carmen's jam session to have been Smoke on the Water or Iron Man. _{I mean, there's still time to edit the post...}

Kudos for picking from something as rad as Nausicaa.

Awilix (Closed version)

Yo dudes, how are those sweet, sweet intro posts looking?

Persona: Crossroads

It was defective, clearly. If only he could buy another one, then he’d be set.

Taro was squatted down on his haunches behind Mari, trying to figure out why his was the only broken one. Okay, fuck that, he was hiding behind Mari, trying his hardest not to appear that he was cowering behind a blind girl by letting the compass mold and shift between his hands. Damn it, the thing was disgusting. He felt the weight of Akito’s knife in his pocket. What was he supposed to do with the damn thing? Throw it at the beast? After his bricked shot with his book bag, he doubted he’d do much more than possible embed a blade in one of his peer’s backs. Try to gut the monster like he was some thug? The one fight Taro had been in was when he was seven.

It had been over an action figure (a doll, really). Taro had started it. He had wanted to doll, and the other kid wouldn’t give it to him. Stupid, selfish kid shit. So he pushed the kid; the kid proceeded to beat the shit out of him. He still remembered the embarrassment he felt, worse than the pain, as he cowered in the fetal position as a girl two years younger than him kicked his ass. The girl’s parent stopped her, and recognizing him as Mori’s heir actually made the girl apologize and give him the doll. Lame, right?

“We won’t let anything happen to you- no matter what! So just keep trying- even if it seems impossible! Don’t stop until you get the hang of it!”

The boy’s words ran again through his head. Taro didn’t get it, really. It made no sense at all why Akito was so certain that the others would protect him; he hadn’t really done anything for the rest. Sure, he had tried to take command when they had all come to, but even then it had mostly been in jest. When they actually needed a leader, he had fallen short while, he guessed fittingly enough, the shortest one in the bunch had stood tall.

He watched Nao through moist eyes—Fuck me, why are you still crying—as she fought, relentless and unyielding even as the monster retaliated against her. Akito, despite being unconscious for the first half, had managed to get his compass to work so he could help the girl out. First try. Just like Izuki, Mari, Yuumei, and Nira, who continued to offer their support and strike out against the monster. The monster lashed out at everybody except him. He heard the cries of his peers and his stomach tightened. Even the monster knew that he wasn’t worth getting attacked as he hid behind Mari like a goddamn coward.

He felt a warmth shift through his body as Mari cried out, ”Healing Wave!”

The tight pain in his forehead from when he had first awoken flat on his face relaxed and fade away. He had been healed, too, even though he was nothing but deadweight. Taro gritted his teeth and wiped his face dry. He couldn’t abide by this, hiding and crying like a bitch while his new friends struggled to keep some asshole like him safe. It was time to roll-up some newspaper and discipline this bad doggy. He fished Akito’s knife out of his pocket, flipping the small blade out and holding it with a reverse grip because he had seen one too many movies.

He thought about the girl on the playground. When his father had found out about what he had done, the man sent Taro over to her house with a raw hide to apologize and return the toy. There was probably a lesson hidden there about not abusing his family’s name to get the things he wanted so he didn’t become just another asshole trust fund baby, but in Taro’s child mind he picked up on the slightly more obvious one: don’t pick on girls. They’d end up kicking your ass, and nobody would feel bad for you because you had been a little piece of shit. He knew that Nao, Izuki, and the others could handle this demon pup without him—they had been doing it so far—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t offer his hand anyway. He had his pride after all.

“No matter what, I won’t let anything happen to you guys,” he said under his breath, echoing Akito’s words.

I am thou…
...thou art I…
...from the sea of thine soul, I emerge…

He stepped out from behind Mari, the compass in his hand spinning wildly. He relaxed his grip and let it take control as the golden goo shifted and warped in his palm. The material wrapped around his wrist and hardened. The needle stopped and pointed due North at the three-headed dog. A smile flashed upon Taro’s face. He had stopped crying.

...the greatest slayer of monsters and tamer of beasts, the only mortal man worthy of ascending to Olympus, I am…

“Bellerophon! Let’s put this fucker down in a Single Shot,” he said.

He heard the cry of a horse and felt his hair and jacket whip forward as something shot by overhead lightning fast. A flash of light reflecting off of metal was all he could make out as something pierced through the vines after Nao and Izuki’s attacks. He could hear the beating of wings and the clomping of hooves from behind the monster, his persona coming into view as it rose back into the air above the beast. The armored rider on the pure white, winged horse gave a disparaging look down on the monster as black goo dripped from his spear and then it faded away, returning to Taro to prepare for another attack.

“Sorry it took so long. I was a little busy, uh, crying like a baby,” said Taro with a laugh, stepping up to the front. His voice shaked. He was still scared, but he wasn’t going to give up on the others. “Okay, okay, okay. We got this, no sweat right? It's just some stupid three-headed nightmare dog that can breathe fire. No biggie."

Persona: Crossroads

@DJAtomikaIf Izuki's follow-up attack after someone downs an enemy is her not doing a Frankensteiner then I will be pretty distraught.

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

Ennis

The ambassador had joined the spectating members of the Prince’s party late, making some lame excuse to the curious Sentinels as to why he had been delayed. Truth be told, the man had no stomach for watching people disembowel one another just to feed the ravenous maw of the uncivilized masses. If not for the curious stares of the Arena’s guards, Ennis would have spent the day wandering the halls studying the architecture of the nomad’s one real building. However, as an oversized brute with a nasty looking weapon began making his way towards the ambassador all hopes of spending a rather peaceful afternoon alone were dashed. So he made his way to his group, knowing that they wouldn’t question him if he was surrounded by the Prince’s men.

The man watched the fight mostly with his ears as his eyes drifted between his shoes and the ceiling, rarely glimpsing the melee below. However, Ennis still got a fairly decent idea of what was happening between the uproarious reaction of the crowd and Diane’s filtered explanation to Ayano. His mind’s eye painted in the rest. If Diane said someone was struck and there was a mild reaction from the audience then Ennis knew it was likely just a fleshwound. If Diane said someone else was hit and the crowd howled like rabid beasts then Ennis knew that somebody had probably just lost a limb or two. Once or twice he tried making a side conversation with some of the Sentinels, but they were too focused on watching their leader fight to really offer anything that’d serve as a distraction from the violent noise. Ennis knew well enough that it was probably best to the Paladin alone, and besides—

—something’s wrong. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.

A loud whine began to fill the Arena. He doubled over, hand clutching his gut. The ambassador felt an ache in his stomach he had not felt since his days in H’kela; his vision blurring white with pain as his head spun . He heard himself groan in pain, but the sound was muffled and distant like he was trapped under ice. Ennis tried standing to his feet, his knees buckling as he made his way towards the exit. He didn’t know what was happening exactly, but he knew that he shouldn’t not be there—despite the nagging curiosity in the back of his brain. His stomach tightened again. It felt like he had swallowed glass.

“This is too barbaric for me,” he muttered under his breath as cover as he half-bolted to the exit.

He barely made it through the threshold before he collapsed to his knees as the whine of Mizra’s attack ended in an explosion. Coughing violently, Ennis felt the ground tremor around him the stone shifted and fell. He kept hacking up his lungs as he slid himself further and further away from the Arena, the shifting earth of his uncontrolled spells being absorbed into his essence as he pushed on. The ambassador gave up right before the entrance back into the hall, refusing to create a scene by falling out through the doors on all fours. Instead, he tried to stand himself up by pushing against the wall—only to fall back down to his knees, his face wet with tears from the pain.

And then, with another thunder of applause and hoots, the pain was gone.

Vesta

Somehow, they had won. Good. She would have been furious if she had pushed herself so hard just for the others to fail to pull through, but instead she allowed herself to smile. Later she would hear details about what had happened between Christopher and Mizra, and later she would once again be weighed down by distrust and doubt. Now, however, now she relaxed for what felt like the first time in years. She let herself slump to the ground near the man who had crippled her years ago. She wouldn’t be walking anymore today, and she had too much pride to hop around on one leg. Vesta wiped the blood from her nose once more and leaned back on her hands, letting her head droop back as she propped up her one good knee.

Deep down, she knew that she missed fighting—not necessarily in the Arena, but just in general. It had felt good to use her sword again. She chuckled, her mind drifting back to the days before she had ever been picked to serve on the King’s guard. Usually when she thought about her youth the woman grew bitter, hating how she always ended up pitying herself for no longer being able to fight like she once had. For the moment, though, it was just nice to think about how even after all of the years and all of the injuries she could still make a difference with her blade if the need arose.

“Enjoyed yourself, Vesta?”

Cade. As much as Vesta despised the H’kelan, even his presence was unable to ruin her moment of euphoria. She looked up at him with a softer glare than usual. The ambassador was giving her a friendly smile, appearing just as put together and prim as usual. There were no signs on his body of his earlier troubles.

“It was single-handedly the worst experience in my entire life, and I regretted every single moment of it,” she said, dryly.

A confused look appeared on the ambassador’s face.

“Oh. I thought I saw you…” he trailed off. The look of confusion warped into one of stunned amazement as the man realized that Vesta had actually tried to make a joke. “Mm, of course. Then it must’ve truly been awful.”

She knew that Ennis was trying to play off of her, although the negative implications to what he said were both rather in poor taste and rather extremely true. But she’d forgive the ambassador for his blunder just today, offering him a half-smile as some form of acceptance.

“Would you like help getting up?” he asked.

“I think I’ll lie here a little longer,” she said.

“Should I have Diane come over? I need my bodyguard to be in good health. Not very effective otherwise.”

“I think I’ll wait to go last,” she said, wrinkling her nose. She nodded at the man to hint that it was time for him to leave her alone, “Ennis.”

“Vesta.”

Ennis

He left the woman on the ground as he made his way towards Cyril, adjusting his collar and nodding acknowledgments as he passed by the others. He felt his stomach flip as he spied the darkened pool of blood on the Arena floor, but the fleeting feeling passed as he looked away. Ennis decided that he would ignore what had happened earlier. For all he knew, perhaps he had just gone too long without feeding magic to his curse. With all of the riding from the past day leaving him exhausted it was quite possible that he had slipped up. Besides, for the most part he felt better now.

And there were more pressing things to worry about. Like celebrating.

“Maybe things are different in Barcea, but in the Kirun we try to look a little bit happier when we’re victorious, Cyril,” said Ennis. “Seeing a leader so glum is usually a hit to the men’s morale. Unless, of course, the men despise the leader—and judging by the way your men were shouting during the fight, I think it’s pretty safe to say that is not the case. So, you know, feel free to smile?”

Ennis gave him a half-smile that was either encouraging or mocking.

“But I’m pretty sure you already know that, and it’s not why I came over to bother you all,” he said, eyeing the Chiefs. “I’m not going to claim to be a native of this land, but isn’t it a typical tradition to throw a banquet in honor of the champions? Food, wine, music, all those nonsense. Now, I know that perhaps that may not have been part of the agreed upon deal—not that we really had much of a say about the terms of things—but I believe it would be an acceptable apology for whatever that,” he waved his hands towards where Mizra’s body should have been, “was all about.”

He turned to Cyril. “Don’t you agree, Your Royal Highness? While I’m sure Diane can make all of us fit for the road again, wouldn’t it be best for your men if we have some relaxation before the long road ahead?” He put his hands up. “But it’s just a suggestion. I really have no say; I’ll agree with whatever decision you make.”

Persona: Crossroads

I never felt old before on this site.

Thanks for the first, guys.

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

@The Darklight ProjectMore or less, yes. Like, I had a farm, but now it's more or less a bunch of kegs churning out booze and my wife petting chickens for me so I can spend my time working in the mines.

It's pretty rad.