Hawlin

The Hole: 1940s Magic Noir (High Casual-Low Advanced)

Theas had walked in on an interesting scene for sure. Between the front door being shambled back into position after having been kicked off its hinges and the gore that remained of the home intruders, her roomate's behavior was also on par with the climate of the room.
Lights flickered around the side of the apartment room where Luciel was lowered on all fours, fingers of one raised hand twitching and arching while the other clutched a second axe tight enough to use its flat head to prop himself up. It was a focusing stance, trying to center himself in a serious manner that was reflected in the arms rising from the ground around the dresser. Opposed to their usual fluid, ink-like composition, these bent at sharp and stiff angles while being comprised of shimmering 'white noise' like fibers of darkness. While five merely stood by as if waiting to react, the sixth creaked as it inched forward to open the drawer, seeming almost to shake.

Luci bit his lip with sharply focused eyes, conditioned to respect such boundaries as what could be contained in a woman's armoire, though the expression was closer to someone about to delicately cut a wire for diffusing a bomb. That was until Theais' voice broke the chimera from his trance, ears and tail bolting upright in excitement like a switch had been flicked to cut darkness down with the light that now filled his eyes. The arms made sharp but muffled barks of static as they demannifested and Luci scrambled to his feet, dropping the axe in the process.
"Miss Theais!" he chirped, ecstatic that his roomate had returned as well as relieved that he had managed to retain his honor by not having to further rummage through her stuff. The extent of such conditioning was made clear by how he circled the dragoness rather than tackle her with a hug which his expression betrayed his want to. "Zeht voman from zee ohzer night...ehm...she iz Derrick daughter..." he began to explain, his excitement tempered by the explanation, though he still seemed to be bursting at the seams as usual whenever Theais came home. In some ways, Luci was closer to a pet than a roomate; like an alley cat or a half-feral dog, down to the bad habit of bringing home half-eaten birds and tearing up the apartment.
"She vahz not happy vith zeht job, ehn...vell..." Luci continued, nervously picking at the bullets fused to his armor which he looked down at before shifting his eyes to the mess of the intruders, hoping he wouldn't have to explain the situation any further. However, her question regarding what hung out of the drawer made him wince with embarrassment, especially at the comment of Luciel looking to borrow a pair. "N-no! I vahz goink to help pack. I have my own, anyvhay, hehe...ehh" he explained with a nervous chuckle before his eyes darkened and a light blush rose on his face, though he decided to leave it where it was rather than try to backpedal.

There were more important matters afoot, and the room wasn't the most ideal place to stay, what with the goons leaking into the carpets. The door, taking the conclusion of the jack's sentence as its cue, noisily groaned from its weight pulling one of the screws from the wall where its last good hinge bent.
The sound made Luciel's ears fold back, taking a step away from Theais as his true feelings of shame for the state of their apartment hushed his excitement. He'd yet to take a moment to get dressed in something other than armor and undergarments, painting a picture of what haste he'd been in up until Theais' arrival. He wasn't the best with the whole 'uprooting' thing yet after regarding the small apartment as paradise in comparison to...well...everything he'd ever known. To say he felt bad about it would be an egregious understatement.
"I-I am sorry, Miss Theais..." he whispered, having yet to get over his needlessly formal stance with her.

The Lodge (A Superhero Kitchensink RP)

@Tergonaut

Ah. From what I hear, the thread may not be suited for the character I was intending to run.
It still seems like a solid thread with more than enough interest, though I am going to retract mine for the sake of more enthusiastic individuals.

>_<;
Sorry, and I hope all yas have fun!

The Lodge (A Superhero Kitchensink RP)

@Tergonaut
Easy enough of conditions. How would we go about proposing such pitches?
Here or PM?

The Lodge (A Superhero Kitchensink RP)

Certainly sounds interesting.
:o

Can't go wrong with the classics.

The Marauders (Will Return)

.

The Marauders (Will Return)

Waiting for space before posting again.
On that note, is it 'tonight' or 'tomorrow', yet?

The Hole: 1940s Magic Noir (High Casual-Low Advanced)

Three salamanders in faded trench coats loitered on a sidewalk; while two of them chose to stand, one with their arms crossed, the third indulged in the day's paper while lounging on a bench. 'Crossed-arms' turned his eyes skyward after a silent minute, noting the gentle yet ever-present clouds of the lightly overcast day. "Say anything about the weather?" he asked, immediately getting a response from the one on the bench who looked up before quickly looking up and down the sidewalk. "Cloudy..." he replied.
Standing and leaning against the wall of the apartment the trio waited outside, the third took a drag from their cigarette and sighed. "Hope it rains...I got the niece for the weekend" they mused with the faintest of smiles and shake of their head, betraying the claw scars down the left side of their face. Crossed-arms couldn't help but feed into the most conversation the three have had in the last two hours, "Ah, she's the 'stomping in puddles' type?" which earned a chuckle from ol scarface.

A long shadow turned the corner, the emblem of a converse stepping into frame. After a pause, the figure took deliberate steps forward with an obvious limp.

"Heheh, yeh. Its a mess, but that smile is worth more than the laundry, ya know?" scarface went on with a lifted brow. Cross-arms went back to looking at the sky, "Nawh. I dunno about kids. Cute as all hell, but I'm not sure I'd be much of a father."
"Well, me either. Kinda why I just babysit for the sis-" scarface began in an attempt at empathy before the salamander on the bench noisily turned a page before asking, "And why aren't you back at your place, babysitting?" with layers of bitter skepticism that implied that he was reminding scarface of his reason rather than actually asking a question.
Regardless, it stole the salamander's smile as the glimmer of whimsical thoughts left his eye. "Because uncle Kirk is at work..." he sighed, looking at the cig and the small scattering of butts around him.

"Vaitink for zeh bus?" Luciel asked, sitting down on the bench and leaning forward to fold his fingers. His own coat was tattered and even burnt in some places with the buttons pried off. A tank-top that was mostly tucked into slim jeans was shrouded by the neatly re-wrapped black/green/red plaid scarf. This did nothing to hide the clinking of black metal that chimed as he folded his hands, or how the jacket was irreparably damaged and showed off bits of his arm plating.

The trio fell silent, Luciel watching as the half-burnt cig fell from scarface's lips. "Ahh...just missed eit? Tch~" he sighed, leaning back and sliding his hands up the sleeves of his other arms. "Just my luck...ehm...scarface? Mind if I bum one of those?" the jack asked, making eye contact with scarface as he reached into his pocket for the revolver.
A bit flustered from the turn of events as the one they were on the lookout for had just walked up to them, scar tactlessly hissed, "And why would I give you anything but a quick death?"
The salamander with his newspaper up slowly took a hand off the black-and-whites to fish for the handle of the Thompson he had on his lap.

"Because, uncle Kirk, I vahz goink to burn out paperboy, here's, eye out zehn use him as a shield vehn stargazer got his head out of zeh clouds ehn finally drew his...I don't smoke" Luciel bluntly explained in his bastardized accent which was somewhere between French and German. The cryptically half-explained plan left the rest in a bit of shock since none of the encounter was going as planned, and the freelance hands of The Swamp had heard enough stories of their target to be shaken by the threat.
That was until Luciel decided to wrap it all up; "Zough I may just play eit by ear~" he chirped with a wink and a flick of an ear.

Having had enough of his cheekyness, 'paperboy' leveled his weapon on a knee and squeezed the trigger. A snap followed by a few metallic chimes highly uncharacteristic of the weapon made his eyes widen as he noticed the ghostly black mass writhing in the barrel of the thompson which soon exploded. Before 'paperboy' could even react to the agony of having his hand and knee shredded by the wild munitions, 'stargazer/cross-arms' drew his gun only for it to be kicked out of his hand.
Surprised, he looked from his hand to the gun and then to Luci who laid in mid-air with one elbow on the bench. His other hand on his hip and two ghostly ink-black hands holding him up, the leg crossed over the one that disarmed 'stargazer' lifted to kick him squah in the chops before being brought down in an axe-kick to the top of his head and flattening the salamander to the pavement in what was likely concussion-inducing.
The hands eased Luciel down as he turned to look at Kirk, his gun raised high as his hands shook from a fourth clawed appendage trying the same trick on his revolver as with the thompson.
On that note, 'Paperboy' was promptly sick all over the sidewalk as he rolled off the bench and blacked out from pain.

Luciel looked from him to Kirk and simply held his hands out, the appendage disappearing. "Vell...?" he asked with expectation, though Kirk seemed to have frozen. Disappointedly, Luciel limped over to him with a growl, causing the man to back up into the wall as he realized he had signed up for more than he bargained for. Small as the jack was, he bucked, hooking the revolver from Kirk's hand with his antler and wrenching it from his hand with a small slice to his fingers from the sharpened tips.
"You are a stupid, stupid...STUPID MAN!" Luciel roared, giving Kirk a few punishing slaps across the face before balling his fists and taking a threatening stance. "How dare you get in my way!? Take care of your fucking niece, you pathetic newt!" he spat in what could be considered a racial slur before giving the man a jab to the gut.
While the impact would be about as much as could be expected from someone Luci's size, it was still enough to ice the cake as he slumped against the wall and trembled, holding his hands up to defend himself...while disgracefully wetting his trousers.

Luciel frowned and pulled out his wallet to throw the man two fives before turning to approach the doors to the apartment. "Hail a taxi ehn drag your jackass friends to zeh hospital..." he sighed, feeling bad for the man for not even having the guts to fight back no matter how bad it would have ended, though he had something to live for.

"...Get your niece someszink nice...ehn forget my face."

As he stepped through the doors, Luciel looked around before gritting his teeth and wiping a bit of blood from his nose. He didn't have the mana to make such an example of the lookouts, especially after having essentially come back from the dead once, today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Luciel cursed himself for having a room on the eighth story, the stairs were less than inviting due to how he'd pieced himself back together after the crash. To be 'efficient' he had not considered that he would have to walk back home and sacrificed most of his left leg's healing to keep from bleeding out while pulling shrapnel from his chest. Taking the elevator would be too obvious, but Luci was one to have a sense of humor in a cynical sense.
Striking a knuckle against the button for '8F', he patted his legs and made small fart sounds with his mouth to drown out the elevator music. Casually, his attention turned to the wall where hung various notices and posters for events going on in the town. Sports, music events, plays at theaters...not so much the idea of attending as simply finding interest in the artistic renditions of athletes caught in climactic moments, faces of famous people he had no way of even beginning to imagine the name of.

Despondence could find someone so disconnected, but the jack was comfortable with his mild enthuse which he found in the frozen frames, like windows peering into bite-sized pieces of life's significance. Lifting a hand to touch one of the posters, he hadn't noticed how the elevator slowed as it reached floor 7.

A voice screamed over the 'ding' of the elevator as the doors finished opening. Luciel looking up from his fixation just in time for a symphony of pistols to cry out with the percussion of thumps and screeching of steel. Sparks and splatters of ink scattered the wall of the elevator behind him as Luciel held eye contact with the woman.

The Woman From Last Night

Yesterday Morning...

Cinching up the ties to the black-red-white plaid skirt after tucking in the white buttoned blouse and slipping into a black and red plaid vest, Luciel quietly eased the door to their bathroom open to check on their patient. Some foxy fox of a woman who'd taken a stray to the side; it was a mess to extract, but she'd thankfully been unconscious at the time and the jack hoped he wouldn't have to waste too much painkillers on her...in spite of the stitching. Still, it looked quite painful, even after the mild sedative. It wasn't like he was a doctor who could simply prescribe oxy. Ya never know when you may need it for your own wound's pains...or for a bump when reality is a bit too much.
She was up, apparently having started to take advantage of the rationed meds he left with a note taped to the bottle: a simple heart and a frowny-face next to it.

The woman jumped, making Luciel jump as well. "P-paerdon~" the jack began, coming off surprised but comforting in their tone which they bent enough to sound like the young woman they had composed themselves to be. The woman set down yesterday's newspaper, one of the reading materials he often left in such cases since the door was locked from the outside...for reasons.
"Where...wh-who are you?" the fox in the tub asked, sitting up with a slight wince, the drugs taking most of the edge off from having a hole punched in your side and thankfully missing organs before getting caught in the ribs.
Luciel smiled, albeit nervously as intended, "Sorry, I am Kaitra. I could not bear to simply leave you zehr..." to which the woman looked down, their hand touching the scar at the top edge of their exposed midriff. "Is...he here? I thought I heard him just a few minutes ago" the woman started, Luciel approaching to offer and arm to help her up. "Nawh, iz off doink...vell...such szinks for ohzer people" he chirped with a wistful sigh before helping her out of the tub and into the kitchen to change her bandages. "And he left you here to do this? He must have a lot of trust in you...what is his name?" she asked, causing Luciel to hesitate for a moment, an ear flicking.

Introspectiveness...despondence...what was the name for a person who rarely was comfortable with a shred of themselves. I was maybe five different people and a sixth being 'me' for whatever it meant, whichever it even was...it's probably four, now that I think of it. Somewhere in there was a real name, but it was funny how two words could put four people in mortal danger. Nawh...its best to forget such people even existed.

"Heh, he trusts all of his friends...zough I suppose I never bothered to ask his name. Everyone just calls him-

"ANGEL! I knew it was you following me!" the figure called from down the empty street. I'd been following Derrick for a while, even during his mess of a date with that disgusting tramp who still had more class than the ape. Standing under a streetlamp, I slid a hand up my denim coat to draw Sandcastle, letting it glint in the light. I wanted this job...Sir Lavandou doesn't have friends; they're just one more thing to vainly hold dear before being taken or turning on you, and it was better that it ended this way. "Zehn you know how zeis ends, Derrick!" I warned, being sporting enough as I noisily drew the hammer back on one of my .38s to make the threat clear.
True to his lack of innocence, he didn't beg or ask 'why'. No, he took advantage of being a block away and darted down the alleyway which I followed, darting down the one before in my pursuit. Where I hoped he'd be waiting with his own gun, watching where he came from to see if I was ironically dumb enough to walk into the ambush, he was unfortunately smart enough to run.
Over garbage tipped garbage cans, his fat ass did all it could to escape, and my shell-catch only held one clip at a time. I needed each bullet to count, and twelve was a tall order while trying to aim in the dark on the run, even if the target was as big as the broad side of a barn.
I suppose he wasn't that fat, but call it a hobby to speak ill of the dead. He'd evaded me for long enough, but I knew he or his heart would give up before I did...this was what I lived for. Metaphors aside, tonight, I was the predator.

The idiot eventually dashed across a street, thinking it was too late for traffic to interfere...oh but he couldn't be any more wrong. Some woman, maybe a fox I saw out of the corner of my vision had gotten out of a taxi about half a block down. The taxi had begun to speed off before clipping Derrick.

The world we live in, a taxi driver tears off into the night after leaving a poor girl at the mercy of a person wielding a gun while they're chasing a man they just hit.
The ape choked as I approached, doing the sensible thing as to look both ways as not to end up with crushed ribs and a broken leg. "Iz nohszink personal...and I am sorry" I offer, approaching him with my weapon leveled to his skull before the idiot drew his own pistol. Before he could line me up, I already had a round through that thick skull of his, but not before he could reflexively pull the trigger in his impulsive death throes.

Stupid as always...persistent, but stupid. Who had me come after you? What did you do to deserve this? I frankly don't care. Its unfortunate, but an acquaintance's death had made my pockets heavy for the next few weeks.
Though, it was after I took his wallet that I noticed the result of the errant round. A woman...the woman from the taxi, caught after crossing the street without having ever known either of us or our business, save for the face of a jackalope silhouetted in the streetlamp, apologizing for their mistakes as if it meant a thing...and was nearly as personal as the insane tears he shed.

Betraying friends, saving strangers. It was bedlam in the streets and in my heart as I carved out the proof-

An eye and a few fingers floating in a pickle jar with Derrick's drivers license, Luciel thoughtfully stared at while reaching for the milk to brew a batch of cappuccino. "Angel..." the woman giggled before grunting with another wince, (bless her heart) containing her excitement to simply be alive. "...He certainly is" she mused, echoed by 'Kaitra', "He certainly is..." though knowing and sardonic in nature. He made her a traveling cup of cappuccino, swearing she could keep it as a gift of good will before giving her money for a cab as well as a strong suggestion that she should seek professional medical aid...and forget their face.

"How could you!?" she wailed, stepping into the elevator and pulling the emergency stop while one of her two bodyguards held the door. "How could you kill my father!?" she barked as Luci gasped for air, hands over the wounds in his chest which oozed a black goo with the consistency of blood. "H-He...vahz...sellink...-" Luci managed before his head jerked back with a third crack of gunpowder scattered ink behind where drooped ears and snow-white hair pressed against metal.
The body that was once Luciel slumped to the side, smearing ink across the wall before coming to a rest in the corner.

The three would presume him dead, and even as one of the guards threw the emergency switch back down and hit 3F to send the mess back down, but out of sight...the body's teeth grit and the remaining eye narrowed, fixed on the fox before the doors closed.
The nameless fox found comfort in the embrace of one of her bodyguards as the still smoking revolver clattered to the floor.

All The King's Horses

Dead, again?

I saved her life.

Mister hero! Or...no? No, today its mister?
Do you even know who the hero is, anymore?

Heroes...Heroes don't die!

No, they don't. Martyrs die, thinking they're heroes. So, dear child...what did you die for?

Her...

How very astute! I...heh, well, color me intrigued when I ask your poor...pallid soul.
What did your work accomplish?

She...killed me.

Aces-cross. One more question, and don't toy with me~
What would you do differently?

...

Take your time, we have all of eternity for your mistakes to devour you.

W-we...We...

Come on, piggy, let me hear you cry!

We eat our mistakes!

...well.
Then sic 'em, boy...!
And do not dare disappoint me, again!

The elevator came to a rest at floor 3, the doors opening to reveal the gore to the nobody who was otherwise asleep or invested in their business while undisturbed by the silent hum of machinery.
After the chime, a moment passed where the lights in and outside the elevator flickered moments before the door closed, returning to standby.
Black ink, a corporeal manifestation of his will and mana crept across the steel housing of the elevator, seeping back into its home within Luciel who shuddered.

A pop of their fucked knee resetting and the fibula fusing itself to the half-shattered stump, the leg lifted and arched for the toes of their classy converse to rest on the floor. Ink from the wall behind him and arms that reached from his shadow to hoist him up lifted the body of Luciel to stand before demanifesting into mist.
"Cathissssss" Luciel hissed in remark to Derrick's last name, forked tongue flicking as he stood in the darkness of the idle elevator. For a moment, he was simply stunned, gaining a hold on reality as the new swell of mana honed his senses.

For a long moment, he lingered in the darkness, numbly waiting before pressing '8F' once more to send him back up to the prying eyes that had aimed guns at his dead body. He'd hoped that they would have cleared out, but it was only half-truths as the elevator door opened to the muffled sound of crashing glass and furniture being tossed over.

With a jittering shudder, a pool of darkness boiled in the mangled eye socket that was once home to a slug before the twin eye surfaced, blinking away ink while his pupils sharpened to a razor's edge.
Planting a foot into the hallway, Luciel twisted himself in a fluid manner which caused his bones to noisily pop the beginnings of rigor mortis from his joints and lifting a leg high. The cold and stone-faced expression of discontent lifted as he tilted his head back enough for it to come off commically enthused by the idea of people rooting around in his and Theais' apartment.
"T-Trespasser~?" he cooed, grinning as he pressed his hands to his face only to allow the glint of slit pupils and a sinisterly toothy grin. He lifted a foot, turning and pirouetting on the tip of a converse before falling into an expressionless march down the hall only the few doors to find his own already kicked in.

"Well, the mattress is just stuffing. Fuck...I mean, you don't get such a big name without something to show for it!" one of the two crows squawked, mangling Luci's bed with a knife while their folded wings fluttered. The second was in the middle of digging through Luciel's dresser, throwing all manner of négligé on the floor even as the man of the hour walked in. "Did you check that recliner? Theres enough cuts in it...that..." the raven at the dresser croaked, looking over in time to see Luciel stomp into the room.

There were no games to be played, Luciel falling to a knee and seemingly contorting himself where the back of his left leg nearly touched the top of his head with both arms splayed out. The raven froze with their hand inches from their holstered pistol as a 4-jointed arm reached from around the dresser to grip their wrist and then violently yank as Luci planted the toe of his contorted leg back to the floor. A sickening snap became the overture to the raven's arm being broken backwards and his body being forcefully dragged behind the dresser. The force pulled the gurgling figure and the inanimate object half way across the room before catching on the wall where a sickening series of crunches heralded the once anatomically correct figure being reduced to...well...less than. The mangled and disfigured mass was then flattened by the dresser falling onto it.

The crow, meanwhile, dealt with the sharp glare of Luci in his focused stance, arms coiling above him.
In response, four arms snatched the avian and slammed him against the ceiling before yanking them back to the floor, dragging them across the length of the room and through the legs of a table before pinning them to the ground.

The sputtered, coughed and groaned, hyperventilating as the ghost of their target swept over them like a shadow, straddling their chest while the four arms pinned them down. "D-doing...doing my job! I was just doi-" they frantically mustered their voice to almost screamed before inky sludge was rammed down their open mouth and throat.

"Shhh...." Luci hissed, leaning in as the avian struggled, choked and tears ran down his cheeks. Leaning in, the jack softly whispered...

"Ve eat our mistakes..."

A sickening pop rose from Luciel's skull as his jaw dropped an inch and a half, mouth opening hideously wide before taking a large chomp out of the bird's pectoral flesh, taking a moment to turn his head and spit feathers and flesh while the goon gurgled muffled screams of agony...before the jack went in again...and again...
Blood and bubbles belching from the mangled flesh, cracked ribs and lungs while Luciel savagely tore into their chest with accentuated K9s and front teeth like a feral hound. He would pause only to rear back and gnash the raw and bloody other white meat.

Partaking~
I felt nothing as I gambled whether the bird's senses would grant him unconsciousness, he would bleed out or I would strike something vital. With a free hand, I tore at clothes and feathers for the other side, chicken breast being a classic favourite~
Sadly, it didn't take long before their twitching stopped.

Dead meat was just...fowl~

Luciel lifted himself with a content sigh, wistful eyes blinking and settling. A squall at seas meeting the silencing light of dawn, the hollowness of his slit eyes returned a renewed glint as the jack's pupil's dilated. Sniffing harshly and spitting a glob of mucus and blood onto the maimed crow's corpse, Luciel stretched and took in the dump of an apartment which he fondly considered home...though his fondness nixed the torn apart walls and scattering of his everything across the floor.
A compromised mess was best looked at compromised than considered what it once had been. A lesson learned while he was living on the streets before Theais picked him up.

Thankfully, his dufflebags were still there and he had more than enough space to carry his crap out.
Where was a different issue, but it wasn't worth thinking about until he was done packing. The ungrateful lady whose life he saved was prey for another day, and the jack needed to flee, first and foremost. As his thoughts raced, he piled clothes he favored most as well as various...amenities. Thinking ahead, his body worked like a machine to make efficient of the time he had, though he was likely considered dead at this point. The task burned in his head, echoes of reminders in his own voice and that of his faceless lord were discontent with the state he left the avian that even now filled Luciel's otherwise empty stomach.
It wasn't nearly enough, though...he needed... her.

Darkly in thought, Luci threw his coat and blood-soaked clothes aside, leaving him in his choice undergarments and the armor which was a bit worse for wear. A long dent across the back of the chestplate and pauldrons from when he took out the newspaper stand after being thrown from the car, gouges and scratches along the left arm, various scuffs along the shin plates and a new set of 2 magnum slugs fused to the metal in their mushroomed state. The material of the bullets had already faded back as the iron, itself and it robbed the unpolished armor of its otherwise featureless design. The ruined simplicity made Luciel frown as he tried to pick one of the bullets off before quickly giving up.

With a huff and a pout, he planted his hands on his hips and shook his head, grumbling as he strode over to Theais's dresser, figuring he may as well help her pack. A ringing rose up in his ears as he opened the top drawer and was blinded by colors and his own stupidity. A chorus of "Luci~!" affectionately rose up even as he slammed the drawer shut and stumbled back, lightheaded from the blush that washed across his face. Toppling over the chunks of his favorite chair, he stared in shock, breathing heavily.

In the connected kitchen, the coffee machine hung from a cabinet door by its cord, getting in a good few snickers at his expense before being cleaved in half by an axe that stuck into the wall behind it. Luci laid back rubbing his face and softly growling as he stared at the ceiling, wishing Theais had gotten the call and came with him. It would have made things far simpler, but there was no time for that, now. He pulled himself back to his feet, pacing and cursing under his breath as he eyed the dresser which cast a long shadow across the room...a bit of lace poking out of the drawer from how the contents were jostled when he slammed it.
"Just cloth...iz just cloth..." he quietly reassured himself, shaking his arms and giving a few hops to shake out the jibblies and psych himself up for trying again, now that he knew what foe he was up against.

The Marauders (Will Return)

Hello?
:x

Multiverse: The Awesome and Thought Provoking Title (Closed)

Hello! :D
Are the characters all dream-scape skin-masks based on a dream?

How 'multiverse' is this? Since I assume it has to be soft and constrained by how the thread isn't blown to bits with interest.
:x

The Hole: 1940s Magic Noir (High Casual-Low Advanced)

Luciel J. Lavandou

Luciel J. Lavandou

”This world is a dangerous place to live; not simply due to the aspirations of those who are evil, but because of those who do nothing about them”

________________________________________

Age:
Estimated 17-18ish

Occupation:
Odd jobs, Contract killer, vigilante

Race:
Jackalope Chimera (The bloodline is a bit racially mixed)

Gender:
Androgynous male

Height:
5'2" (5'10" counting ears)(Stunted growth from malnutrition in their youth)

Weight:
110lbs (Bare necessities. Old habits die hard)

Descriptive Appearance:
While the various personas Luciel plays as have their own motifs, going so far as to crossdress for the bartender and weekend singer role as well as the bi-weekly shift manager 'Ansel', Luci's tasts are a bit bland.
Luciel is most notably clad in a scarf of various plaid intricacies. Other than this, he shifts between a hooded pea-coat, simple white T-shirts and nondescript jeans. He is an avid fan of high-top converse, plain steel rings and leather gloves. For disputable reasons, Luci sometimes wears an eyepatch on 'pirate logic' (keeping one eye dilated as to preserve night vision).

- Vertically slit pupils, single antler, forked tongue.
- Runic tattoos across their shoulderblades and their back ribs depicting a thin web where a large spider is detailed out of darker runes. The language is in Iaillaosian and speaks of Abject concepts regarding the corporeal composure of mankind.
- A numeric tattoo etched into his left collarbone reading "2-11073A". (Usually kept covered by scarf)
________________________________________

Personality
Layer A: The 'Masquerade' that typically runs Luciel's behavior is a collection of personas and backstories. While there may be about five, he mainly utilizes two primaries named 'Ansel' and 'Kaitra'. Ansel is a more organized Englishman and night manager at The Hole. Fatherly in some ways, he is stern but compassionate and quick with a joke only when it's appropriate...a sick parody of who the man really was. Kaitra is the day bartender and occasionally morning barista at The Hole. The quiet type who also works as an information middleman of The Warran's agents and their infrequent dealings with Murder Inc. She comes off a bit aloof, but means well when you get past the sass.
Layer B: 'Luciel' proper is divided into two categories when considering 'non-acting behavior. The most professionally experienced side is also the most elusive of his faces, going by the alias 'Charlotte'. Most mobs have had run-ins with 'Charlotte' for seemingly no reason over the last few months, starting with the warehouse fire which resulted in the destruction of a sizable smuggled weapons cache. Since then, it is suspected that 'Charlotte' is a sadistic malcontent with a blood-grudge against both the Pack and Pride as well as little regard for the lives of innocents. Little else is known due to the infrequency and thoroughness of her attacks.
Jericho Lavandou (or more commonly known as 'Luciel'), on the other hand, is more or less a timid, mob sponsored, street doctor who values his privacy and the weight of a secret. He hides behind faces of the dead to live in relative anonymity. However, investing so much time into being other people has left him unsure who he really is. The main characteristics that bleed through the various masks is his otherwise good nature, though his reasoning and ethics may be a bit flawed. He is eager to please, but broken from the fears of his past. Seeking to belong in the world, he simply cast a wide net...unfortunately, due to the deals he struck, nothing is ever good enough.
Layer O: Depressed and nihilistic. Luciel's life is wasted on the past and obsessing over what could have been done 'better'. His common disposition in its rawest of states is the child who had lost all but the breath in his lungs. In some childish manner, Luciel blames himself for what happened to his family, those around him and himself. He is empathetic as long as it meets his morals, and swift in judgment and violence with a numb handle on reality, the 'real' Luciel is never completely invested in anything...having already reached self-actualization...and is discontent with his lot in life.

Quirks:
- Considered having split-personality disorder, though likely acting as a defense mechanism .
- Can become reactively violent when threatened. (Bad negotiator)
- Gets 'Carried away'.
- Bites nails when stressed.
- Closet Cannibal.
- Rarely honestly smiles.

Background

Life was not quite how I describe it, now. Yes, there was a family and I had relatives, although it was unlike the stories I tell how we were simply victims of war. It was three families living in a small house, and I only say three since I was technically from somewhere other than those who took me in. However, this information would be kept from me until it was important since, as an infant abandoned in the street, it no longer mattered who I was. I loved them all...I mean...I could have just as easily been left to die with my eyes closed with my youth.

I should have died.

My eyes opened and I knew the world only as a game with souls as pieces on the board; what I could take from them. The Nazis decided to keep me alive for some reason, my family not having the papers to explain me. It was then that...I don't know...maybe they did it to protect me? As we were pulled apart, kicking and screaming, they told me everything they could before the accent of a gunshot painted a picturesque example for anyone else daring to resist.
They weren't my family, but they were. Maybe they said it so I would not miss them, so that what was about to happen would hurt less. I didn't know how to feel, but it was quickly made clear that I no longer decided how I felt. When 'tests' weren't being done, my keepers having found some interest in keeping me in one piece as opposed to the others in my group, I earned some semblance of favor by...helping.
It was called helping, but winning food by fighting other children to the death over a knife...over a cup of gruel...

They ran out of other children.
Or they stopped sending them to me after what I did to the last one...
...I was so hungry...

I was punished by having one of my antlers carved out. My handler fashioned it into some kind of handle plating for one of his knives. It was beautiful, to be honest, but it was mine...a part of me that was stolen. After this, food came regularly as well as other experiments. I was never told what they were doing, to matter how hard I cried or begged. Shocks...shots...I couldn't give them the answers they wanted, hell, I barely understood what they were shouting at me while I was shook and beaten by even the scientist.

Six years of my life were spent starving and suffering. It had been for almost as long as I lived before it all and it had become my life. I became a man in the darkness, and I died in the darkness. The darkness was my new family and was all I knew. By the time I saw the light, it was alien and blinding like being set aflame in a block of ice. Silence and stillness of peace were a hostile miasma so thick that I could barely see the world around me through my own fear.
I think it was during this time that I...lost? It seems like a fitting word for how much of myself simply disappeared after simply waking up in my apartment like it was all just a bad dream. Small flashbacks of my time in the warehouse work its way to the surface on occasion.

Ugly men would pay an ugly monster filthy money to do unspeakable things to me...

Luciel pauses, catching the antler-plated butterfly knife and pulling out the second ebony plated knife. With a flick of the wrist, he sent the weapon into a double-zen rollover.

_{Sounds of straining leather. A snap and a pained moan.}
The blade glints beautifully in the dull light of the weak overhead bulb. Like silver in the moonlight.
_{Steel cutting with grizzly scraping and carving as fur and flesh is peeled away. Muffled screams echo down a concrete hall. Dripping.}
The blade stops, blood dripping from it and its brother, clenched in ink-black hands with curling claws before going in for round two. Luciel's hand lifts the man's chest, suit stained with blood and ruined with a dozen holes. He seems frozen for only a moment, gasping but being held up by two other twisting black hands clenching his arms with enough force for their claws to hook into his flesh. In a second, the armed hands stiletto like a sewing machine, stealing the life and breath from the man as the soft voice of Luci coos, "Oh, Ansel...you've made me zee luckiest man in zeh verld~" blushing while looking between the fingers of his hands pressed to his blood-splattered face. A pleasant grin.

The blade stops with a resounding metallic chime...closed...

...and now they don't.

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MAGIC SECTION HERE!
Specialization: Darkness

School of Magic Attended: Physical Abstract

Primary Deity Worshiped: Iaillaos

Permanent Sacrifice: Yes.

• Deity Sacrifice was made to: Iaillaos
• Reason behind Sacrifice: Fear of the world and a loss of what had made them who they were. To discard their fear and remain focused on their task, such mortal links were broken. Unfortunately, this numbness left vengeance bland and immaterial to his existence; the world still turns, regardless of how many people die every day. A simple drop in the ocean was only accentuated by the lives one murder saves...or the next one...or the next one...or the next one...etc.
• What was Sacrificed: Their Soul

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Equipment:
The Black Iron Mantle - Runes depicting the shapeless words of Iaillaos are etched into the fitted plate armor Luciel wears. Though the metal is laughably thin, the sustained spell is memetically linked to Luciel's mana. Relatively light weight for its design, the magic has stained the steel black and it holds up against most attacks at the cost of Luci's mana rather than health. Similar to his magic.
- Billfold containing two razor blades, a few business cards to 'NightOwl' and $24 in assorted 1s and 5s

Messenger bag

- Medical kit stocked with extra supplies; vials of morphine (And hypodermic set), surgeon's tools.

- Water canteen.

- Fake glasses+case, makeup kit

Weapons:
- Leg-fixed bandolier of 3 throwing axes. Broad-head, all of them are scuffed and dented along the sides.
- Two 8in (Handle base to extended tip) French manufactured butterfly knives. One has ornate silver-plated ebony handles scribed with runes vertically reading 'estate (of) sun and ash' set into the length with the trademark lightningbolts 'SS' at the bottom, burnt in silver. The blade itself holds a swastika on each side of the kicker section of the tang.
= The second is crude in comparison, a polished cast iron frame speckled with rust with what looks like stag antler plats set unadorned in either handle. Like its pair, a swastika is etched into either side of the kicker section of the tang.
- One snub-nose double-barrel derringer shotgun. Brass jacket 12 gage, 00 buckshot.
- Two Double-action .38 revolvers
- One brass knuckle which is too big for his hands. Embossing on the plate reads 'Vereor Nox' (Latin for "I fear the night")

Other:

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