Keeping an eye on this.
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A Spiny Ant
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The old man snorted, started, as if roused from his sleep. He swivelled from side to side, his clouded eyes straining to see anything at all, before he finally took in a deep breath. A pause, and then the skeletal man whipped his head right in Ari's direction. "Oooh," he moaned, "Ooooooh!"
Half-crawling over, he grabbed the young adventurer by her ankle, a desperate grasp that pressed in like a vulture's talons, big, fat tears welling up the corner of his eyes.
"Please, young lady, show this old man some kindess! It's been so long since I've had a proper meal! Please, I beg you! Some alms so I can live another day! Have a heart! Please!"
@GreenGoat
Half-crawling over, he grabbed the young adventurer by her ankle, a desperate grasp that pressed in like a vulture's talons, big, fat tears welling up the corner of his eyes.
"Please, young lady, show this old man some kindess! It's been so long since I've had a proper meal! Please, I beg you! Some alms so I can live another day! Have a heart! Please!"
@GreenGoat
The Sharehouse
And like that, Iwao went back to work, alone now in the kitchen. The silence was heavier now, the sharehouse as empty as it would ever be. Mochizuki didn’t return, and Aya just recently left. The radio droned on, switching to larger scale news. Politics. Elections. Corruption. Big enough that humans were numbers, enough to remind one that even though Tenoroshi may have been infamous for apathy, the outside world wasn’t much different. It took a lot to feel for someone you never knew.
Armed conflict in the Middle East. A hole in the atmosphere. A European heritage site set on fire. An oil spill in the Pacific. Small tragedies, building up to a quiet apocalypse. The radio continued to fill the silence, the silence continued to smother the mind. How long would it go on for? How many more until everything falls apart, breaking into molecular dust?
Crack.
The plate broke, split in the middle in a perfectly straight line. Mochizuki’s plate. They used it to hold the greens tonight. His sister got it for him, didn’t she? So he stopped eating out of plastic containers.
“You just keep fucking up, huh?”
The radio dissolved into static.
If she slept now, maybe she'd be hitting her REM cycle by the time Hiroyuki came back? Maybe he'd be tired too, but maybe they could exchange some words, snuggle up warm, and pretend that she hadn't messed up her sleep schedule just for the sake a stupid fantasy. Her, no, his room was as messy as always. Mornings and evenings never seemed to be Hiroyuki's times, really. For all his sharply-dressed outfits, he certainly didn't care to put them where they oughta be. The sweater he wore to sleep in laid at a bundle in the corner of the room. It was a present. Cost her a month's wages to get something from that foreign export boutique out in the Southwestern District, and even now, it wasn't so clear. Was it good that he was comfortable using it as loungewear, when he used to have none? Or was it bad that he never wore it when going out with her, or even going out at all?
Aya slipped in bed, soon enough, shifting to her side. Something hard pressed against her leg. Right, her phone. Should empty your pockets before sleeping. She brought it out of her pockets, and a note slipped out as well. Though she had a skylight in the room she shared with Hiroyuki, it was too dark to read by moonlight, or even by citylight. Above, the window looked pitch-black.
If she decided to turn on a light to read, the note's contents were simple enough.
A prank, maybe from Aya? That handwriting looked like her's though...
Armed conflict in the Middle East. A hole in the atmosphere. A European heritage site set on fire. An oil spill in the Pacific. Small tragedies, building up to a quiet apocalypse. The radio continued to fill the silence, the silence continued to smother the mind. How long would it go on for? How many more until everything falls apart, breaking into molecular dust?
Crack.
The plate broke, split in the middle in a perfectly straight line. Mochizuki’s plate. They used it to hold the greens tonight. His sister got it for him, didn’t she? So he stopped eating out of plastic containers.
“You just keep fucking up, huh?”
The radio dissolved into static.
If she slept now, maybe she'd be hitting her REM cycle by the time Hiroyuki came back? Maybe he'd be tired too, but maybe they could exchange some words, snuggle up warm, and pretend that she hadn't messed up her sleep schedule just for the sake a stupid fantasy. Her, no, his room was as messy as always. Mornings and evenings never seemed to be Hiroyuki's times, really. For all his sharply-dressed outfits, he certainly didn't care to put them where they oughta be. The sweater he wore to sleep in laid at a bundle in the corner of the room. It was a present. Cost her a month's wages to get something from that foreign export boutique out in the Southwestern District, and even now, it wasn't so clear. Was it good that he was comfortable using it as loungewear, when he used to have none? Or was it bad that he never wore it when going out with her, or even going out at all?
Aya slipped in bed, soon enough, shifting to her side. Something hard pressed against her leg. Right, her phone. Should empty your pockets before sleeping. She brought it out of her pockets, and a note slipped out as well. Though she had a skylight in the room she shared with Hiroyuki, it was too dark to read by moonlight, or even by citylight. Above, the window looked pitch-black.
If she decided to turn on a light to read, the note's contents were simple enough.
Flying hand squashed building.
A prank, maybe from Aya? That handwriting looked like her's though...
Outside the Sharehouse
It was the smell that hit Otoya and Fumiko first, the smell of garbage, freed from its odorless containers. A fishy, moldy, meaty stench, underscored by the knife-like scent of rust, iron, blood. Another dead stray? Another dead fucking stray, so close to their sharehouse? That cat killer was right beside their fucking home? What the f-
A car drove by, headlights briefly illuminating the contents of the alleyway.
It was just a dead crow, wings twisted and feathers scattered all over the place, blood speckling the pavement. Above, the crows continued to dive down, some feinting, others swiping with their talons at a shape that darted from one corner to the next, bursting in and out of the spilled garbage like a soldier taking cover. Another crow dived down, but went too low. The creature leapt out, snatched it by the throat, and slammed it into the concrete. The crow twitched and squawked terribly, but more brutality followed, its body slammed to and fro by the alleyway creature until enough bones snapped that it no longer moved.
Above, the remaining flock circled or roosted, uncertain, and below, the two clubmates could see what the creature truly was: a rat. A rat of freakish size, its naked tail whipping about as it tore into the creature. It was a blessing, really, that the shadows were enough to obscure most of the large rat's features. Like seeing a fruit fly up close, like seeing a slug that had grown too big, it was uncanny, disturbing, to witness something become larger than what you think it should. And this one...this one was the size of a small dog, discounting its tail. Its teeth chitter-chattered, gnawing through flesh and into pulverized bone.
Another car passed by, momentary illumination lighting up its eyes, the fleshy gristle running down its chin, the scratches and naked patches of its hide. The car passed by. The shadows returned.
But the rat was no longer chewing.
It was staring out, towards the two that stood at the mouth of the alleyway.
And without any signal, any warning, it scampered towards them, claws clickering against stone.
A car drove by, headlights briefly illuminating the contents of the alleyway.
It was just a dead crow, wings twisted and feathers scattered all over the place, blood speckling the pavement. Above, the crows continued to dive down, some feinting, others swiping with their talons at a shape that darted from one corner to the next, bursting in and out of the spilled garbage like a soldier taking cover. Another crow dived down, but went too low. The creature leapt out, snatched it by the throat, and slammed it into the concrete. The crow twitched and squawked terribly, but more brutality followed, its body slammed to and fro by the alleyway creature until enough bones snapped that it no longer moved.
Above, the remaining flock circled or roosted, uncertain, and below, the two clubmates could see what the creature truly was: a rat. A rat of freakish size, its naked tail whipping about as it tore into the creature. It was a blessing, really, that the shadows were enough to obscure most of the large rat's features. Like seeing a fruit fly up close, like seeing a slug that had grown too big, it was uncanny, disturbing, to witness something become larger than what you think it should. And this one...this one was the size of a small dog, discounting its tail. Its teeth chitter-chattered, gnawing through flesh and into pulverized bone.
Another car passed by, momentary illumination lighting up its eyes, the fleshy gristle running down its chin, the scratches and naked patches of its hide. The car passed by. The shadows returned.
But the rat was no longer chewing.
It was staring out, towards the two that stood at the mouth of the alleyway.
And without any signal, any warning, it scampered towards them, claws clickering against stone.
En Route to Western District
Other than salarymen rushing to catch the train, or rushing to join their bosses in 'optional' after-work drinking parties, the streets of the Central District were fairly empty. Those who looked for edgier entertainment would go Southwest and hopefully not find themselves encased in concrete and tossed out under the docks. Those who looked for classier entertainment would go North and hopefully not find themselves bankrupt after indulging in one too many fancy snacks. And for the rest, the Western District was always willing to serve them with generations-old izakayas. No one hung around in the Central District for fun, after all.
Which made things just a little bit unnerving. Talk of disappearances within Tenoroshi seemed like a favorite topic of the radio host tonight, and there wasn't even a taxi for her to hail too. Not that there was a need to. She could see the station now, with its bright lights and slightly higher pedestrian presence!
Her shadow grew long. An unmarked vehicle slowed down beside her, and the tinted window scroll down, revealing a man with sunken cheeks and a thin nose. His hair was slicked back, like a yakuza enforcer, and his shark-like eyes stared into her very soul, assessing her worth as a human being.
"Da," Atsushi said, his voice accented by the Russian he had been practicing for the last coupe months. "Not good times to be stomping about alone, Aya. Need a lift to Tsunoda's?"
Which made things just a little bit unnerving. Talk of disappearances within Tenoroshi seemed like a favorite topic of the radio host tonight, and there wasn't even a taxi for her to hail too. Not that there was a need to. She could see the station now, with its bright lights and slightly higher pedestrian presence!
Her shadow grew long. An unmarked vehicle slowed down beside her, and the tinted window scroll down, revealing a man with sunken cheeks and a thin nose. His hair was slicked back, like a yakuza enforcer, and his shark-like eyes stared into her very soul, assessing her worth as a human being.
"Da," Atsushi said, his voice accented by the Russian he had been practicing for the last coupe months. "Not good times to be stomping about alone, Aya. Need a lift to Tsunoda's?"
@Blu Should probably put the dorm setups in the Character tab or something. I don't see it placed anywhere else obvious right now.
Even with sub-human statuses, the group of Ames, Calace, Amulak, Raymond, Magpie, and Ari were able to fully enjoy the sights and sounds of Nyu-Taro. Some of them may not be able to withstand the planet’s gravity, but there was nothing that impeded their sense of the world around them. Beautiful people were practically everywhere, regardless of what perception setting they had, and the vibrant colors of the city-state popped out with just as much freshness as one would from seeing a tourism-focused city in real life. The street that the strange man directed them towards looked to be one of the busier streets too, enough so that, with all the festivities going on, it was absolutely congested. Normal people filled the street itself, but even the walls of surrounding buildings and the rooftops were filled with people. Immortals and Riens alike, so long as their statuses allowed it, ran on vertical surfaces or hopped from one building to the other, while the music of the Ryoku-Jo clan, filled with percussions and brass, resounded brightly and obnoxiously through the air, though the exact source was hard to tell.
Food stalls were set up in every available spot by the street, and carriage-drivers urged their oxen through the same roads that pedestrians took. Sometimes, the oxen were the ones brushing people by. Other times, the people were the ones brushing oxen by. In a world where superhuman individuals were high in number and could only be distinguished from others by their outlandish attire, the frenetic chaos was certainly intense. Interspersed chaotically upon footprint-marked walls were posters, depicting in bold brushstrokes what looked suspiciously like a schoolgirl in a sailor uniform, a fox mask covering her face and limbs of red, lacquered wood extending out from her back. In black, calligraphic script were the words ‘Rinkan Annihilation Tournament Victor: Ryoku-Jo’s Flamebringer Princess’.
There wasn’t much time to linger though, not when the crowds pushed anyone swept in along for the ride. Though Ari, Ames, Raymond, and Magpie were able to make it through fairly smoothly, with the catgirl finding it particularly easy to navigate the busy streets, once again, Calace and Amulak lagged behind, jostled to and fro by the disorientatingly attractive masses. Their companions helped them along though, ensuring that no one was separated from the group, and after some more struggling, the six of them broke out to the side, right at the doorstep of a teahouse. A wooden plaque designated the place as ‘Mei Rei Tan’, and, just as that vagrant-sage-shitter said, there was an old man sitting cross-legged a couple meters beside it.
In a world where 90% of the Rien population seemed to be at least moderately attractive, this particular fellow was the 10%. His skin, dark and sunburnt, was stretched over his thin bones, and liver spots marked his almost bald head. The robes he wore to cover himself up must have been white one day, but had yellowed with age and browned with…just more age, hopefully. A scraggly grey beard dipped down all the way to his ankles, and his dark, bulging eyes were clouded, staring a hole into the ground that he sat on. Shallow breaths hissed out from between rotted teeth, and his stomach caved inwards.
In front of him lay a straw hat; only a couple paper bills sat in it.
@Yankee@GreenGoat@OwO@Searat@Psyker Landshark@Haha
Food stalls were set up in every available spot by the street, and carriage-drivers urged their oxen through the same roads that pedestrians took. Sometimes, the oxen were the ones brushing people by. Other times, the people were the ones brushing oxen by. In a world where superhuman individuals were high in number and could only be distinguished from others by their outlandish attire, the frenetic chaos was certainly intense. Interspersed chaotically upon footprint-marked walls were posters, depicting in bold brushstrokes what looked suspiciously like a schoolgirl in a sailor uniform, a fox mask covering her face and limbs of red, lacquered wood extending out from her back. In black, calligraphic script were the words ‘Rinkan Annihilation Tournament Victor: Ryoku-Jo’s Flamebringer Princess’.
There wasn’t much time to linger though, not when the crowds pushed anyone swept in along for the ride. Though Ari, Ames, Raymond, and Magpie were able to make it through fairly smoothly, with the catgirl finding it particularly easy to navigate the busy streets, once again, Calace and Amulak lagged behind, jostled to and fro by the disorientatingly attractive masses. Their companions helped them along though, ensuring that no one was separated from the group, and after some more struggling, the six of them broke out to the side, right at the doorstep of a teahouse. A wooden plaque designated the place as ‘Mei Rei Tan’, and, just as that vagrant-sage-shitter said, there was an old man sitting cross-legged a couple meters beside it.
In a world where 90% of the Rien population seemed to be at least moderately attractive, this particular fellow was the 10%. His skin, dark and sunburnt, was stretched over his thin bones, and liver spots marked his almost bald head. The robes he wore to cover himself up must have been white one day, but had yellowed with age and browned with…just more age, hopefully. A scraggly grey beard dipped down all the way to his ankles, and his dark, bulging eyes were clouded, staring a hole into the ground that he sat on. Shallow breaths hissed out from between rotted teeth, and his stomach caved inwards.
In front of him lay a straw hat; only a couple paper bills sat in it.
@Yankee@GreenGoat@OwO@Searat@Psyker Landshark@Haha
@Shovel Alright, it's been 84 years since 71342's been around or said anything. Feel free to drop your application in.
Well, they were going to engage after all.
Cecilia surely couldn't imagine that going poorly, even if Serafaye appeared to have a jawline made of steel by the way she took that slap to the face. No magic, and a curse that prevented her from using weaponry, but at least she knew how to take a hit, huh? Said a lot about the predilections of the celestials, truly. She cast a backwards glance towards Artemisia, who had already taken to the main road rather than go through another alleyway rundown, before grimacing. Don't split the party, the guild receptionists always said.
"Arte! Over here!"
The lizard man surged in like a tidal wave of muscle, looking like he definitely was going to smash through the walls of the narrow alleyway with his horizontal swipe. The elven paladin became a springboard for Annabelle, while Yinha and Serafaye still...existed. If they were gonna do it, then they were just gonna fucking do it! Cecilia let out a breath, arcane energies flowing out of her heart and to her arms, before tracing up her Ensorcelled Spear like entwining vines. The magical power concentrated on the flat of the spearhead, and Cecilia raised it outwards, pointing towards the clustered group of spearmen.
"Flash."
Brilliant, eye-searing light shot out at the group, hopefully blinding them and seeding enough chaos that Kaze could do his barbaric, bloody work with no reprisal. Unless the fellow turned around. That'd be a bad time. Funny, but bad.
...hopefully Annabelle could dodge arrows too.
Loss of Sekhandur.
Mages usually have the first round advantage yeah. Round two, I'd bet, would go to Sophiel.
So it's basically just a free-for-all deathmatch disguised as a bunch of concurrent 1v1s in a single area, eh.
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