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3 yrs ago
[at my second rodeo] This ain't my first rodeo.
3 yrs ago
once you learn you can call your dad by his first name he loses all power and you can freely kill him
3 yrs ago
they should change the name of the 'most recent visitors' thing on ur profile to 'perverts'
6 yrs ago
If your grave doesn't say "Rest in peace" on it you are automatically drafted into the skeleton wars


BORN TO DIE / WORLD IS A FUCK / 鬼神 Kill Em All 1989 / I am dragMan / 410,757,864,530 DEAD COPS


what is yourre favorite tea? i like all kinds

Most Recent Posts

Interactions: MAGPIE, Ava, HACHIDORI
The Beach


Like some metallic Christmas, explosions and sparks swam around King Gizzard as the shell tore the top of the transport ship asunder. Letting loose a volley of occasional shotgun fire at any drone or jet that came too close for comfort. The timing was tricky, but they'd swoop in close enough that a direct hit from the blast would all but delete them from existence. It provided the shell with breathing room and gave Hachidori a chance to conserve energy in any case.

The shells departed, eviscerated circuitry and a rapidly descending dropship providing them with a climactic exit. Gizzard was quick to begin swooping in and out the second it hit the floor, giving an erratic pattern to evade the squad of fighter jets responding to their carnage. It slid into the dark embrace of an undestroyed flush of trees, emerging only once given confirmation that the jets were history. Surrounded by continued fighting and the arrival Kingfisher, Gizzard ran his finger across the strings.

"Put some funk on for me, Gizzard!"

"Sure, how 'bou-" He winced, the sound of God's kick drum and a wave of blue engulfed King Gizzard in its light. He knew. He just knew before Ava's nails on fuckin' chalkboard voice rung in his cockpit.

"... Ossifrage-80 down. The good news is that you all will get her share of the payment for this mission."

He frowned, deeply. Expression shifting only when he realised he was close to snapping the metallic strings clean off Old Boy with how white his knuckles had turned. He hadn't been particularly nice to Ossifrage, much the same as he'd been equally unpleasant to everyone else. Even still, the suddenness of her death and the casualness of its dismissal fucking angered him. He could already feel it was going to be a long night when he hit town.

"I want Gizzard and Hachidori to rip the thing to shreds with their weapons. Copy?"

"Yeah, loud an' fuckin' clear." He said, flipping her off like a petulant teenager. His direct feed might have been off but he was eighty percent sure Ava could see him regardless.

A downstroke, King Gizzard sprung to life - eager to rejoin the fight.


Repeated strokes, faster and faster, turning into a menacing line as the shell began moving towards the big bastard of an auto-shell. Rage filled the pilot's heart, but focused, familiar. His eyes narrowed, ignoring the scrambler placed on its FCS. You didn't need to be accurate with Gizzard's weaponry to make it hurt.

"Gizzard, let's hit it at the same time. I'm going at it from behind. Over,"

"Ok! Keep your finger on the trigger, I'm gonna keep this fucker entertained while I get in close!" A red blur emerged on the open. Letting out a single shot from its gun to herald its arrival and keeping the other in reserve. King Gizzard moved like rusty kissed water, making sure to weave through every bit of Ushi-Oni return fire - as well as ensuring enough room to avoid another big-ass laser blast.

The performance within the shell rang out across the beach. Crescendoing with the revving buzzsaw on King Gizzard's arm as it approached its quarry. Closer and closer.

"Rip it!" Gizzard yelled, swinging for the fences while expecting a stream of blue energy from Hachidori's blades to pierce through the glorified robot.

Reception Room
Oh-Seven, Isabella

Florian stumbled in a daze. The physical shock of being knocked out had long since worn off (thanks to his peerless durability, no doubt). What had him disoriented and muddled was grappling mentally with the fact that he'd lost.

It wasn't that cut and dry, of course. He had won, his opponent, a Justice Rider no less, had merely fought without honor and snatched victory from the jaws of certain defeat. The fact he could hardly stand after the fact was proof enough of the devastation his patented Wessington style had inflicted upon him.

But then, a smile. Florian was being silly! Naturally, he'd won! He just hadn't been declared the victor! He had been upset by an underdog and in the process had left the fight with much more knowledge than when he'd started. By next year he would sweep all the participants like they were… something you swept… dust?

Florian was roused from his intellectual musings by the pat of a napkin bundle bouncing off the back of his brilliant cranium. He picked it up from the ground with keen interest.

”Incredible! Who threw this thing at me?” He mused, head darting around like a surprised (and noble) dog.

He spotted his best friend Justy's paramour (or perhaps partner? General lady friend? He would need to inquire later.) Oh-Seven, gesturing at him to join her and a rather large fellow with spiky hair. Florian recognised him after a moment - from some media scrum or another - as a fellow Justice Rider, one who hadn't quite the same level of courtesy and manners as his student, Jill.

Nonetheless, Florian brushed the napkin residue out of his radiant hair and walked towards the duo.

"... Now where was I? Ah, yes; I have reason to believe that Oh-One is making his attempt to steal the Power Stone... I require your assistance to prevent that from occurring."

Of course! It was his solemn duty as a fighter, upperclassman and author to lend his considerable talents wherever requested.

”Of course, Miss. Auclair!” He said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ”I merely have one inquiry.” He spoke with gravitas, looking sternly into Oh-Seven's eyes.

Who is Oh-One?” He asked, tone shifting to one of pure confusion.

Elsewhere In Brazil - Several Hours Earlier

"Still don't see how some League trash is worth all this, Sir."

"Your opinion’s been noted, rookie. I'd advise you keep it to yourself. The payment is considerable, the employer's a weasel but he checks out and, if intel's correct, then this guy isn't just some thug with a gun. He's legit."

Two filtered voices exchange words as they march down the halls of an empty office building. Their footsteps and speech enhanced in intimidation by their full bodies of armour.

"Legit enough for our entire outfit?" The younger, more skeptical of the two Mercenaries, gestured as they walked. Sandbags, waist-high turrets and fellow mercs dressed in the same high quality gear dotted the hallways of the once bustling office.

"Legit enough for the client to pay for our entire outfit, yes. I don't anticipate he can stop us, rookie. But when we have an opportunity to double our company in under a day, you can rest assured I'm taking the situation with complete seriousness."

They stop at an ornate door at the end of the hall. The aspiring soldier of fortune looks at his senior with a doubtful expression that could be felt even beneath his face-concealing helmet.

"He wears a cowboy hat, Sir."

A buzz. A light blinking rapidly from the wrist of the senior merc erased any semblance of informality, replacing it with stoic professionalism. The mercenary company begin moving into positions like a well-honed machine, silently drawing their weapons as their tech whirred to life. The two Mercenaries at the ornate door exchange a nod, the younger drawing his rifle and beginning to jog toward his post, the senior bringing his fingers against a button on his helmet.

“We’re live.” He states to his team, voice shifting from affable mentor to that of a man who'd lived a life of nothing save conflict.

Beneath the inch thick layer covering his face, the Mercenary squints his eyes and readies his weapon.





He was running. It felt foreign and bitter, beneath the fear. Even when things had been at their worst, he'd never run. But there he was, carrying the blood of comrades and his own newly acquired wounds on his once pristine white armour. A chunk of his faceplate broken - revealing a glimpse of his thousand yard stare to the world.

Behind him was that calm rhythm. The thudding of a boot followed by the clacking of a metal spur as it hit the ground. Infrequently, the clacking would stop and a gunshot would follow, illuminating the building in a flash of orange no matter where it came from. The Mercenary finally arrived at the ornate doors, barging it open with the strongest collision of his shoulder he had ever thrown in his life.

Before the Mercenary sits a dishevelled man, filled with enough mortal terror to jump in fright yet resigned enough to have his hands already up in surrender. He lowers them shakily upon seeing the leader of his hired protection and gives him a hopeful look.

“You need to leave.” the Mercenary flatly states, deflating the optimism of his client. The Mercenary steps forward, grit returning to his voice as he regains his nerve. “I’ll be with you all the way. We circle back around the building, give him the slip and reconvene at the nearest safehouse.” He tightens the grip on his rifle and silently beckons the man to stand up.

A plan is forming within him, the quickest routes, who still owes him a favour now that he is a company of one. He is no longer a frightened soldier. He is no longer the leader of a building full of dead men. He is a warrior. He is a survivor.

He is gone.

A flash of orange and a jacketed hollow point arrow pierces through the Mercenary’s exposed eye in a geyser of blood. He collapses to the floor immediately. Death comes before the realisation.




"Mr. Welles." The murderer says calmly, stepping over the corpse and towards his frightened target.

"You were told by our mutual friends that I'd be sent over here to discuss the next phase of the plan. The one you agreed to take part in. Your response is to go hire a mercenary company while sitting in your office shredding documents." He holstered his weapons as he began to explore the office. Stopping in front of a shelf of personal effects. "Mind filling in the leap between those two events?"

"I know who you are." Welles said, shakily. "Voyt The Gunslinger."

"Then you'd think you'd know better than to go do something like this. You got these folks killed. Not me." Voyt picked up a picture frame and looked at it. Expression cold. "This your family?"

Silence. They both knew it wasn't really a question.

Voyt dropped the picture back onto the shelf. "You were given this role because your employers and my employers wanted another foothold in the area and needed someone who’d do what they're told. You played that part because your greed made you believe the good times were gonna last forever." Voyt placed his hands on the desk, masked visage looming over the cowering Welles.

"Now, your part's been played and you've been told to pull the plug, hand over the profits and ride off into the sunset. You wanna hold on a little longer." Annoyance slipped into Voyt's previously matter-of-fact tone. He glared down at Welles. "First of all. Where's the money?"

"I- I don't have it..."


"The company, I-I've had to do a lot of financial manoeuvring to fulfil your people's requests."

"Then sell the company."

"We're already in debt for more than it's worth!

"Then sell your family!" Voyt growled, knocking over the last few documents from the desk. Welles offered nothing beyond a whimper.

"Somethin'!" Voyt slowly paced back and forth. Merely looking back towards Welles' caused the man to flinch.

"How were you plannin’ on payin’ our friends here?” He asked, gesturing towards the dead mercenary and the ever-growing circle of blood pooling around his temple.

”It was payment on completion! I- I was hoping to just by myself some time t-”

”You lie, Welles.” Voyt interjected. ”You might have the greed for a scheme like that but you damn sure wouldn't have the spine. You've got a little something for yourself stashed away, don’t you?” A pause. ”Don't you?” Voyt asked again, differing only by a slight raise in his delivery.

Welles didn't have the heart to vocalise aloud that he was still hiding things with a man who'd cut through his one and only line of defense. He meekly nodded.

”Chin up, Welles.” Welles let out a sharp yelp of pain as Voyt, fast as a whip, reached over and slapped a small device into the side of his neck. ”Now you get to make it right.”

”What did you do!?” Welles sobbed, hands frantically swiping at his neck. Outside, a bird let out a cry as it flew by the window. Free.

”Tracker.” Voyt replied, bluntly. Swaying Welles fears only slightly. ”You're gonna go out, drain your accounts, check under your couches and empty any stashes in your kids’ bedrooms. Whatever it takes for you to make up the difference. If, for any reason, I see that you're trying to skip town or if I even suspect you're trying to play me again. I will make sure to put a bullet in your lap first.”

”M-my family…”

”Will be safe an’ sound; s'long as you don't do anythin’ else stupid.” Voyt replied, taking a scrap of paper and writing down a sequence of numbers. ”These're GPS coordinates. Meet me here, preferably with the money, by sundown; ‘less you want your family to see their patriarch get his head opened up on the sidewalk.”

A pause. As customary during an awkward interaction where one party isn't sure how to end things after narrowly keeping their life.

”That'll be all, Mr. Welles.” Voyt said flatly, eyes never leaving Welles as the man shot up from his desk and sprinted out the door - doing his best to ignore the pile of corpses littering the building.

”Your orders were to eliminate him if he didn’t comply.”

A voice reverberated throughout Voyt’s mind. Like a mechanical hand holding his spine in a vice grip. Cold and clinical. Voyt pressed his middle and forefinger against his left ear.

”Want your money back, don’t you?” He asked, knowing the answer. The voice did not respond.

”He’s out of friends and out of hiding places. If he doesn’t come through then I’ll deal with him, otherwise I’ve given you a chance to get what you’re owed.” The gunslinger added, removing his mask and looking out the window. The hot sun filtered into the office through cracks in the blinds.

”You’re needed at the arena.” The voice finally responded, filtering away its employee’s insubordination for a later time.

”Thought you had people on it.”

”Yes. You’re to assist them. Intel suggests trouble.”

”Wasn’t part of our contract.”

”As I understand, you’ll have some time until sundown.”

Voyt’s brow furrowed. ”Think we oughta discuss my rates.”



Voyt removed his hand from his ear and walked over to the window, pressing down the blinds to see the light soaked arena glowing off in the distance. A hum travelled even here, the noise and music as the Fighting Carnival raged on. His eyes narrowed.


Interactions: CROW III, BARN OWL
The Beach

“Copy that Gizz, parking my ass down.” The Carrion Crow wore an adversarial smile the second she heard King Gizzard’s voice. Her Shell’s bipedal legs folded as her sniper cannon extended to its full length. She was ready for some easy pickin’s.

“You mind syncing me up to your ventriculum feed?” She asked. “I’m in the mood to show off tonight.”
Crow III

”Rodger dodger, Crow. Patchin’ you into Old Boy now.” He stretched in his chair, getting ready for the lower back strain that came from prolonged shell piloting. ”Anythin’ for my biggest fan.” He added while pressing a few buttons on his console. Were his tone any dryer it could well have absorbed all the rain in New Zealand.

As his console hissed for a second - signifying the successful addition of a new frequency into his piloting system - the party was getting underway. King Gizzard disappeared under the shadow of the dropship.

"Gizzard, Hachidori, we're gonna have a big fucking problem in a second! Recommend rolling on top of it, the cannons aren't up there and the defenses aren't going to fire on their own ship! Take Ossi with you for support!"
Barn Owl

He exhaled from his nose, a not-insignificant chunk of him wanting to tell the Owl-man to stick it. "Aye aye, you just rest easy hm?" Gizzard replied.

His hands moved delicately over the strings, a soft screech as he waved up and down the fretboard for a moment, waiting for the inevitable.


The shot of Carrion Crow's giant-ass sniper rifle rung out across the battlefield. As though God themselves had deigned to join the fight and rain lightning down onto the dropship. He knew she'd jump the gun the second she started receiving orders. As such, King Gizzard was primed as well.


A heavy downstroke on a simple Em chord. The 'ENCORE' launchers on King Gizzard's shoulder fired with a whistle up towards the dropship. Close enough and likely disoriented enough that the missiles slammed right into its firing systems on its right side, an explosion of colour that engulfed a few nearby drones and likely disoriented some of the nearby jets with nearly half the ship drenched in a pastel fog.

"On second thoughts, Crow. I'm gonna go surround sound on this one." The speaker on Gizzard's other shoulder hummed, ready to provide the soundtrack for this engagement. "This little hit goes out to Murakumo Robotics."

Gone where the single strokes and deliberate movements. Like a rush of water breaking a dam, King Gizzard's Ventriculum0001 system erupted in a cacophony of sound, plucked notes and power chords amplified out onto the previously quiet and still wasteland and piercing through the endless noise of rain falling on metal.

With speed and fluidity that would make an AI blush, King Gizzard bent and launched itself upwards towards the ship. Sailing through the night sky as its extended guitar solo rung out towards friend and foe alike. The shell blasted through the multicoloured mist and landed atop the ship with a heavy thud.

Gizzard was afforded the opportunity to see the sniper damage up close. His missile fire had hopefully prevented much of a counter-attack after she'd left the ships engines a smouldering wreck.

He didn't completely trust Owl's belief that the drones wouldn't fire on their own ship just to catch one shell, but it wasn't a matter. Raising his Buzzsaw and revving it up, he smiled lightly, he had an idea of his own. King Gizzard plunged the massive high frequency 'Velvet Buzzsaw' elbow deep into the shell, letting it ravage anything and everything inside as it tore right through the armour plating. Then, using the shell's incredible speed, it began to zip around while keeping the buzzsaw active where it was. A dark red blur of saw noises and guitar solos skated around the top of the ship, cutting its top layer to ribbons while never staying stationery or predictable enough for an easy retaliatory strike from the air support.

"(Whistles merrily)."



The crowd roared with anticipation, patrons hurrying back to their seats as the Announcer's voice blared from every speaker in the arena.

"Our next fight SHALL! BEGIIIIN! Introducing first! Representing Minerva Defense Logistics! FLORIAAAAAAAN WESSINGTOOOOOON! THE FIRST!"

A cheer from the audience (and squeal of adoring fangirls) similar to his last rang Our as Florian walked towards the stage, good naturedly waving and smat the audience like a dignified upper classman ought to do.

Roses gently rained down upon him once more, which he took the opportunity to pluck one from the air and give it a light inhale followed by a gracious bow. Delighting his enraptured audience even further.

"AND his opponent! Representing the Justice Riders! SKYLEEEEEEEEEER BEEEEEEEEELSKY!"

While Florian received a loud response it was nothing compared to Skyler's. The Justice Riders were hot commodities in Brazil and seeing them live, much less getting to see them fight, was quite a treat.

And as opposed to Florian’s dignified regal entrance, Skyler bounded in bouncing on their heels and shadow-boxing like a rough and tumble prizefighter, a leather coat draped across their shoulders as the crowd chanted their name. Holding their arms wide as they stepped into the arena, Skyler shrugged off the coat and tossed it into the crowd, where a pack of screaming teenagers frantically tussled over the garment like a holy relic, before going directly to the nearest camera.

“Representing nothing honey, I might be helping out the Riders,” Skyler smirked, lowering his shades to look directly at the home audience. “But Lancer…” They spun around and whipped off their shades. “...fights for Lancer. Don’t forget it.” Tucking the shades into the front pocket of the camera man, they finally stepped out onto the main stage, smacking their fists together to produce crackles of electricity as they stretched their neck out.

“Hope you’re ready for the surge, Florida,” they taunted, drawing themselves into fighting stance.

Florian laughed and applauded at the display, even he could find himself being drawn in by the Rider's "larger than life" presence.

He responded to Skyler with a confident smile. "Ah! This must be the infamous pre-fight "trash talk" I have heard much about!" He pointed dramatically towards Skyler. The Rider seemed a bit taken aback by this maneuver, giving a look and a comedic shrug to the camera as if to say ‘get a load of this dude’.

"Then it is my solemn duty to inform you that your surge will not be able to withstand my impeccable technique!" His smile grew wider, he was beginning to understand why engaging in this tradition was so popular. "En garde!"

Without warning, Florian screamed forward like a bolt of light, green spear in hand.



Skyler had always intended for this first enemy to throw the first punch, but they hadn’t expected such a dramatic move. A second too late and that spear would have stuck them like a pig. It didn’t though, and with a tiny flash of electricity Skyler crouched and slid under the attack to come up behind Florian.

“Nice move, fancy pants!” Skyler grinned, shuffling their fists. “Love the name too! How about one of mine…let’s amp it up!” Opening one fist with a crackle of energy and staying on their toes, the cocky fighter send an electrical charge into the ground to pop up the fancy fighter.

Florian's eyes widened for a moment as the wave of electricity rumbled towards him. Two green angel-like wings protruded from the nobleman's back and darted him upwards at the last second.


He smiled down at Skyler as the heat of the electrical charge shuffled harmlessly below him.

"Impressive yourself! I expect nothing less from the legendary Justice Riders!"

His wings disappeared, dropping Florian back towards the ground. A green bow appeared in his hand as he descended, aiming and firing a shot towards Skyler before he'd even hit the floor.


The green bolt flew with a whistle towards Skyler, accompanied by the delighted laugh of Florian. At last a worthy adversary!

The second dodge wasn’t any easier than the first, and Skyler knew that second one was coming. He’s quick, and he’s airborne. Gotta watch for that, he thought to himself. Getting up close and personal outta do it. Bait out another heavy callout attack, then hit him with a grab.

“Good shot, I’ll give ya that one,” Skyler grinned, closing in and aiming a flurry of punches and light jabs, flashing a grin as he ducked and weaved. “Now let’s show ‘em a little footwork!” Come on, Florida, big attack, let’s go, you can do it.

Florian landed gracefully and almost immediately was forced into a defensive position as Skyler charged at him with a flurry of offense. Admittedly, they were providing a much different challenge than Florian would have expected from a Justice Rider as they traded blows. Florian recognised their style however, Muay Thai with sprinklings of Monkey Kung Fu. He needed to break Skyler's streak and create an opening for himself.

"Footwork is one of many areas I excel! But tell me, how is your fencing, mon ami?" With a smile, Florian's Basilisk system began to glow and a green rapier materialized in his hand mid-swing! Up close and personal was Florian's preference, all he needed was to break Skyler's flow. He slashed at the Rider, trying to create a little distance for himself to get the crucial first blow and begin mounting a string of combos.

“Woo! Dunno, haven’t fought with a weapon since the last season!” Skyler admitted. “But what can I say-”

Dodging a precise jab that brushed the hairs on their head, Skyler charged a fist and aimed for an electric uppercut.
“Everyone loves an UNDERdog!”

With seamless precision, Florian’s green rapier evaporated mid-swing, moving into an elegant overhead swing to break through Skyler’s defense and chalk up another victory for the Stardust Genius! His fist bathed in a green glow as it flashed towards Skyler.

”But you must first get OVER th-!”

Florian’s rebuttal was cut short as their fists collided in an explosion of emerald lightning. Sending both fighters rocketing violently in opposite directions. The crowd erupted in shock and cheered wildly at the chaos as Skyler skidded to a halt at the edge of the fighting area, their hair wild and unkempt as electricity arced across their body. Skyler took a moment to inhale, then leapt to their feet in a graceful motion before ripping off their jacket and shirt, revealing a tank top and making a few girls and guys in the audience squeal.

“Oooh, what a rush...now you got me amped up!” Skyler taunted, grinning as they bounded back into range, almost leaping around the arena floor. “You wanna dance? Let’s fucking dance, handsome!” With an apelike screech, they dove low and under Florian, intending to come up with a debilitating grapple behind them!

As opposed to Skyler’s dramatic removal of their shirt, Florian instead opted for a more restrained removal of his gloves (though in his mind the intent was the same). ”Quite the thrill…” he half-muttered in both awe and determination as he dusted himself off and regained his composure. Not a second too soon either as Skyler charged towards him. Florian once more summoned a green spear to meet the rider but narrowly missed them as they slid beneath his swing.

The crowd went nuts as Skyler quickly leapt up onto Florian’s back, taking the chance to give him a noogie as he grappled the foppish swordsman. “Too slow, Florida!”

Florian’s eyes bugged out of his face, should he be enraged? Surprised? ”T- the IMPUDENCE!?” Suddenly his arms wrapped around Skyler’s leg…


…And sent them both shooting up into the air, using the momentum and hold to flip Skyler over so their head was barreling straight back towards the floor as Florian released their leg.


Skyler sure hoped that was the floor they heard cracking as stars popped in front of their eyes from that nasty blow. For a moment it looked like the great Lancer was knocked out cold, before they flopped over and stumbled to their feet again, twitching slightly.

“A-alright, I’m a little upset now…” Skyler said, their voice cracking slightly, one eye not quite closing all the way as they beckoned Florian to keep going. “Come on Florida, you think you got what it takes? Let’s end this show!”

Florian landed gracefully - coat blowing behind him from the impact. Extending himself fully and summoning a green spear in his hand, twirling it with finesse before pointing back towards Skyler. They were on their last legs, naturally! An excellent showing but he really shouldn’t have overestimated the rider too much. After all, a victory in this tournament was his destiny!

”In the name of MINERVA, The Wessington lineage and the upstanding people of Brazil!” The mention of the country’s name elicited a loud - if slightly cheap - cheer from the audience. ”Your performance concludes here! After all, heh-” A fiery smile, sparkles all around him, perhaps even a single tear as the audience - and Florian himself - got swept up in his monologue. ”It was my destiny!”

With a mighty yell, Florian charged forward, leaping up into the air for the finishing blow. Time slowed as his swing began its arc and his movements shone under the arena spotlights. He couldn’t help but feel slightly envious of the fans in attendance witnessing peak perfect physical form before them. The God-Shattering Star brought down the spear towards Skyler.

And it hit empty air.

“Oooh, did you forget the third act twist?” a voice in Florian’s ear said. “Let’s give you a crash course!”

It was like a bolt of lightning surged through the crowd and Skyler alike as the Justice Rider ally grappled Florian from behind and somersaulted across the arena in an electric whirl, almost as disorienting to watch as it was to be hit by. Finally, the monkey like brawler ended with a devastating drop kick, sending him sailing back to Earth, Skyler descending after a barrage of sparks to knock Florian down.

There was a hushed silence as Skyler landed, then with a flourish, they slicked their hair back and pulled a pair of sunglasses from a back pocket, placing them on.


The crowd went absolutely nuts and Skyler took the chance to wince a little from the admittedly damn good beating they just got from Florian, though they kept their smarmy grin on.


Interactions: None.
The Beach

A long, weary sigh escaped the cockpit of King Gizzard. It was a bullshit little power move Corps liked to play. A favour for free under the table before they could get down to "business". He was about to call it for the political dick swing that it was but bit his tongue at the last second and settled for a longer-than-normal drag of his cigarette. He was on thin ice as it was and fucking up this mission, however idiotic it was, would likely be what finally brings him in front of a firing squad. Some of his fellow "Vultures" really needed the money anyway, so at least he didn't feel like he was taking it like a chump for nothing.

"System check lookin' good, one hundred percent, all systems go, et cetra." His bored southern rasp informed down the radios, flicking his cigarette out of the cockpit before it closed shut with a metallic thud.

King Gizzard whirred to life as its pilot put his feet up on the control board - missing a few buttons that were no longer needed due to its piloting system. A hatch opened above the cockpit with a woosh and down came the guitar-shaped apparatus that controlled the shell, resting just above its pilot's lap. He inhaled and put his hands on the machine - 'Old Boy' as he liked to call it - and let his left hand run up and down the strings, quietly savouring the soft screech as his skin glided against the metal. He broke the silence with a hard downstroke and the shell took a step forward. While other pilots were busy selecting music, Gizzard was creating it with every step. A strum turned to a rhythm turned to a symphony as the machine made its descent from The Nest's hanger.

Despite its borderline ramshackle appearance, the shell glided through the air in an almost beautiful arc - momentarily resembling the very birds mimicked by the squad. When it landed, King Gizzard's momentum didn't falter as it deftly shifted to ground movement, weaving through the derelict shells and crumbling buildings and moving further away from the squad.

"Gizzard, movin' towards the nearest treeline. Gonna let 'em move in a little and fuck 'em up from behind. Should be easy pickin's for the firing support." A rueful little smile spread on his face as King Gizzard blitzed into the vegetation and halted, crouching amongst the shadows. "Or, sit back and enjoy the show. I don't give a shit.

As if in anticipation, King Gizzard's buzzsaw spun softly.



Lucas "Killer" Miller stood there utterly dumbfounded as his opponent was placed on a stretcher and wheeled out of the painfully quiet arena.

Who the hell has a heart attack the minute before a fight!?


Lucas stood there, eyes darting around at the morose crowd with their heads firmly down in solemn respect. He slowly, wordlessly, raised both of his arms in victory. Confused expression still etched on his face.

"That poor man…" One of the front row audience members muttered loud enough for the microphones to pick up. Lucas took that as his cue to leave. Quietly but briskly exiting the arena and past the equally despondent crowd of reporters.

"Dad?" Lucas asked, turning up the earpiece only to be met with his Father's shrieking wail of elation. Lucas turned the earpiece back down.

So much was his confusion that he wasn't even all that anxious about his surroundings, until he looked around to find himself smack dab in the middle of the crowded arena once more.

A low, weary groan rang out from him as his head lowered and he tried finding a corner to hide in until the next opportunity to get the shit kicked out him arised.

World Fighting Carnival - Fighting World Stage.

"AHAHAHA! Merveilleux!"

Florian bowed over his fallen opponent, a ruffian biker who'd expected the heir of MINERVA to be little more than hot air. Roses seemed to fall from the gushing audience (even from those who weren’t paid to cheer for him), which Florian happily took and posed with. A microphone was suddenly handed to the young man.

"Thank you! Thank you! Wow! What an honour (honour)! Let's first give thanks to my excellent opponent: "Lash'' Thompson (Thompson)!

"Urgh." Was all the biker managed to retort with from his prone form.

"But, this is not just a sporting event (event)!" Florian's expression turns serious. "This is a time of great social change (change)! We must slow down the nuclear arms race (race)! Stop terrorism and world hunger (hunger)! We have to provide food and shelter for the homeless, and oppose racial discrimination and promote civil rights (rights), while also promoting equal rights for women (women)! We have to encourage a return to traditional moral values (values)! Most importantly, we have to promote general social concern and less materialism in young people (people)!”

The audience watched on, tears in their eyes at Florian’s impassioned plea. ”To that end (end)! I will continue to fight (fight)! FOR YOU! BRAZIL~!”

Thunderous applause, cascading down in a rhythm of adulation towards Florian who wiped away a single tear of his own before bowing and retreating the fighting area, waving all the while.

World Fighting Carnival - Reception Room Bar.
Interactions: Justin & Oh-Seven @Punished GN, Jill @Kamen Evie

The high of a post-match victory was often intoxicating, Florian had to admit, but he felt little elation as he re-entered the main halls. Perhaps it was the ease with which his victory was obtained, had his ambitions reached such a height that he’d actually grown too strong?

His growing fear turned back into joy, for what greater high was there than reuniting with a new yet treasured friend?

”JUSTY!!!!!” Florian said, waving and jogging in one brilliant motion while he chuckled heartily. It was the half-android friend he’d made earlier, standing at the bar conversing with two women, one Florian knew and one he did not, his best friend must be quite the lady killer!

”Splendid to see you again my friend! I am glad to see your skills carried you further in this contest!” Florian said, grabbing “Justy”’s hand and shaking it vigorously before releasing it from his incredible clutch.

”And Ms. Breicen! Pleasure to meet you again!” a bow. ”I trust you continue to do MINERVA’s good name proud! Oh!” Another bow, this time towards Auri, grabbing and holding her hand aloft for a moment as he’d done earlier with the little girl who could fly.

”A pleasure! Absolutely!” He released her hand as quick as he’d held it, as rare and as coveted as a shooting star. ”I am Florian Wessington The First! Heir to MINERVA and, based on empirical data and breeding, destined to win this fighting carnival! Again, a pleasure to make your acquaintance mon ami!”

Like a rabbit on amphetamine, Florian’s expression and demeanour changed again. From one of over-familiar friendliness to one of embarrassment and shame. ”Apologies! I hadn’t meant to interrupt! Allow me to get us all a few drinks, something heavy with electrolytes in preparation for our next rounds! BARKEEP!”

Interactions: Harmony (@Nosuchthing)
Quintin Market ---> Towards the Swamps.

Gene and Harmony walked in silence, not much to talk about, Gene supposed, which suited him fine enough. Though even he was feeling the need to fill in the silence now and then with the odd comment or observation.

He marvelled to himself at how the marketplace - and Quintin as a whole for that matter - was some incomprehensible mishmash of multiple different centuries at once. Clashing designs and architecture that made it feel more like a half-finished movie set than a place where people lived. Not to mention the smell and the heat, coupled together into some evil omnipresent force that clung to your clothes and permeated senses you didn't even know you had.

Gene was about to let out another colourful "Texan" analogy before stopping, tapping Harmony to do the same.

"There." He whispered, looking as if he were instead perusing the wares of the nearest stall and inviting Harmony to do the same as his eyes darted towards Genesis and Cody Black at the edge of the market. It wasn't good for his cover as some huckleberry from the sticks but he needed to get something useful, letting these kids get away with any valuable info due to the negligence of the rest of his group was not something he could let happen.

"Wait here; I'm gonna toss 'em the 'ol Watson charm." He said with a wink to Harmony. It probably didn't inspire confidence in her but he needed to come off a little delusional. "If it looks like things're goin' south then step in and we'll get a move on out of here." It wasn't really a sincere request, more so it was just to keep Harmony content, Gene had already began walking before she could even respond.

In truth, Gene's mind was going a mile a second, taking in the minutiae of Cody and Genesis with every step. You have to know your audience before you can begin a show.

They were both tall, they were both apparently little hell-raisers, they both had fairly stupid names. The girl, Genesis, didn't even bother any attempt at subterfuge as she all but yelled to her twin about the "outsiders" in town. She didn't seem particularly malicious about it though, she spoke as if pointing out a deer to her brother rather than a perceived invader. She was also wearing a disproportionately large amount of black.

Loose lips, lack of malice, weekend goth. There was something to work with.

"Howdy, Sir, Ma’am." Gene said, extending his hand. "My name's Vincent, my friend and I are on vacation to see some…" A sheepish grin escaped him as he scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "Well we're both fans of the country… and, well, "spooky" stuff too for lack of a better term." He said with an embarrassed chuckle.

"Sorry, I'm babbling. We were told that when it came to Quintin, the Black family would know more than anybody and that you guys sometimes hung around here. Hope I'm not disturbing you?" It wasn't his best work, admittedly. But it was light and open ended. He just needed an in.

Interactions: Harmony (@Nosuchthing)
Webb Family Coffee House

"Spoilt brats never do know how to keep a zip on it. Mind if I tag along?"

"Ah. Well, I-" Not fast enough unfortunately, his escape halted by the tall, pale woman. Whilst his hopes were to separate from the group and make some actual progress himself, he was having real trouble coming up with an excuse that wouldn't offend. Even if his plans were to go it solo, he might need to glean more information from the group later and having them be suspicious of him would do no good.

"Well, I was goin' to check out that motel first..." A glance to his side revealed the haughty girl, Jasmine, dragging some wannabe tough guy by his wrist, and announcing her intentions to investigate the motel like she were born to do it. But that job seems to be drawin' a crowd." he added with a slight chuckle. If he couldn't go it alone he'd rather pick the smallest (and thus far least obnoxious) group possible.

"Sure then." He tipped his hat to Harmony and held open the door for her. "Let's see if we can't spill a few secrets from Mary-Louise's spawn."

Quintin Market

Gene tugged at his shirt a little while they walked. He was used to the heat, or so he thought. In Texas, the air and type of heat changed fairly regularly throughout the day, but thus far in Louisiana it was like working out in the gym and then wrapping yourself up in a big thick blanket. The air was so heavy he could practically see it as it clung to his clothes. Nevertheless, the markets were where the grandkids of Mary-Louise Black could, apparently, be found most often. How exactly he was going to get something useful from them was another matter. If he were too guarded they’d likely just ignore anything he had to say, but if he were too elaborate or charismatic in his dealings it might be harder to sell the “average blue collar texan” schtick to Harmony and therefore the rest of the group.

Gene looked around while exhaling a warm cloud. The market looked pretty much as expected, cramped drab and depressing architecture maintained by cramped, drab, depressed people. Some market vendors appeared to be gossiping amongst themselves about something that happened recently but whenever they caught sight of Gene or Harmony they seemed to clam up sharpish. Gene tilted up his hat and narrowed his eyes as they walked through the square.

”See anyone who looks like they’ve never worked a seven hour shift?” He asked Harmony, though really anyone who didn’t look too emaciated and numbed by the sun would probably fit the bill as a member of The Black Family.

Webb Family Coffee House

So lost in thought was Gene that he initially didn't notice the outpouring of newcomers until the coffee house looked a lot more packed and the locals a lot more pissed.

The tough chick duo had already split to go and harrass Mary-Louise and the young British chick had already claimed the doctor's office, angling for someone to come along with her. Gene might've taken the chance too since she seemed more preoccupied with finding her mother and less inclined to question Gene personally before the cop chimed in to join her.

Oh yeah. The cop.

Gene suppressed a frown by examining the map more closely. Who did this guy think he was fooling? The way he carried himself, the way he summarised everything to try and find common threads, the fucking donut that he'd scared on like it was his last meal on earth. Gene could well be wrong but that was more out of hope he was rather than a track record against his instincts. Still, twelve seemed more interested in accompanying Charlie and hadn't so much as glanced at Gene which could suggest he was either here incidentally or Gene wasn't his main priority at the moment. If nothing else, he did seem like an out of towner on account of not looking and sounding like a mutant from The Hills Have Eyes.

A few more people entered, two strange looking fellas who Gene didn't have to even as much as glance at to know weren't from Louisiana or law enforcement. Nevertheless, their arrival and further introductions provided Gene with ample enough distraction to begin making his exit.

"I'll have a look at The Moss Motel." he said, putting on his hat and tapping once more on the map. "If I don't find anything which, frankly, seems likely. I'll poke my head around for a little chat with Mary-Louise's ankle-biters." That actually was likely to lead to something. There truly was no more malleable a mark than old money rich kids. Even if the conversation was brief, Gene was more than confident he could get something useful.

He near enough began power walking away after announcing this. If he were by himself, especially when it came to interacting with the Black family, this investigation would be over before lunch and Ellie's little scheme would be made clear to him. It also meant he wouldn't have to keep wondering if he were overdoing the whole "Texan" thing.
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