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24 days ago
Current buttchugging vaccines serves the dual purpose of immunizing you from corona and eliminating your need to compete with walmart karens for toilet paper, how has nobody else figured this out
1 mo ago
cautiously backtracking my previous statements: five of my family members being infected with the wuhan virus is not, in fact, "a bingo"
1 mo ago
i don't know who needs to hear this, but the activation code is 3301. POTUS has been compromised by a team of kidnapping ninjas. You have been activated to maintain State Security
2 mos ago
sex is for virgins
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3 mos ago
going back and replacing every instance of the word 'joke' thhat i have typed with 'meme'., gotta stay current in the new decade fellas


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Gerard Segremors

Almost imperceptibly, the charcoal-haired man's grip upon his blade's pommel tightened.

"I believe we all did. I suppose, at least, they can only get better from here." came the reply cast over his shoulder, before he met the pair of approaching footsteps with a brief, flinty glance. A silent, immense knight clad in ebony plate strode alongside a girl, easily young as the three from before. Her bearing alone suggested nobility, to say nothing of her dress or apparent guard. His face was of course unreadable behind the visor he wore, but Gerard could at the very least divine that the man was alert. Good.

"We've got her detained and are in the process of interrogation. The more experienced and cool-headed Roses than I are handling it, so for now I help guard." he replied, jerking his head to indicate the ring of Iron Roses that still encircled the scene, and the Princess by proxy. "Once we know who sent her and why, I can't imagine our response would marshal anything less than our totality. This won't stand. That I promise."

He spoke with only tempered steel, as if the words served to reinforce his already-held convictions as much as they were to inform the pigtailed girl. Out of the corner of his eye, the impassive goliath was a pillar of onyx.

A shortsword on the hip. A Zweihander on the back. It was though he were loomed over by a blackened specter of Fleuri. He supposed this to be plain enough proof of yesterday's determinations— there were many such monsters like Jeremiah strewn about the world. Could this man measure up to that awe-inspiring display he'd borne witness to? Segremors saw no reason to doubt it. It was a blessing that he seemed to be on their side, but it was all the more reason to keep honing oneself.

There were doubtlessly many that would not be so welcome a sight on the field, yet would appear nonetheless.

He continued to stare into the hall.

"You are?"
Iwao - Eastern District

Well, far be it from the good Captain to let any of his loyal customers get away with slipping into a funk. The man had a preternatural gift for compliments, even if they came from an unexpected angle. He just always dyed it these days, y'know? "Spooled sunlight"... was certainly a new one, amongst "like a punk" and "bad news". Maybe that was focusing on the negative, but it was nice to hear somebody not riding your ass for it every once in a while, even if you'd long since stopped letting that bother you.

The erstwhile boxer's mouth quirked up a bit, in spite of himself.

Perhaps this was why he was thought of as a former philanthropist, happily giving away his millions from the mercenary life to pursue the humble calling of fisherman— he wanted to share his gigawatt smile with the rest of the world. Iwao certainly couldn't begrudge the idea.

Neither could he begrudge 600 yen a pop for unagi. That was a steal. Those damn things were so expensive normally... freshwater, farming, expensive to raise...

And here they were, wriggling about the bucket, pristine and by all rights healthy as could be. Good sheen to the scales, docile but still moving around...


How did he get unagi this close to the sea, anywa—

"I've got 4000!"

Uh oh.

For the briefest instant, Iwao's gaze snapped off of the long, luxuriant fish that promised cleared pores and possibly long nights under the covers (for Hiroyuki and Sayuri, at least) to capture several important details about his sudden competitor, stemming from the arm that had smashed into his peripherals and nearly made him jump.

That's a slick watch. The sleeve's... silk, I think. Not a tailor, but it looks fancy. Everything he's wearing, actually, looks fancy. Looks done up. I've never even seen any of that gaudy shit around here.

I can't outcompete this guy if he just keeps going over me. That much is for certain. Let's test the waters... If he's not a local, he might get spooked. If he'll play ball, I don't have a lot of room to work with.

The young man who never carried more than 6000 yen in his wallet on any given day spoke up, clear baritone slicing through the crowd to match the voice of the fashionista newcomer. It wasn't much, just a fleeting and momentary task to complete, but locking down some good grilled Unagi (or maybe Anago, who the hell knew) for everyone while not breaking the bank was a goal. The world seemed to sharpen a bit, even beneath the blazing heat.

"4250! While you're at it, what's the Snapper going for?"
I'm always down for some Raildex.
Iwao - Eastern District

Heat haze on the wharf made for a rather fitting bit of metaphor.

The Eastern District was, in its storied Saturday fervor, no stranger to all types of people— young and old, clean-cut and roughnecked, fettered and carefree. As such, it came as no great shock to any present that amongst the milling crowds, desperate to not miss out upon the fruits of the sea, there ambled a young man with a head full of blonde. To begin with, a gray tee with a black and white diamond pattern combined with navy basketball shorts wasn't terribly "rowdy" attire by any means, and the way he floated through the mass of eager seafood junkies as though carried upon those thermals was even less so. He was just, surely, a kid in the middle of an image change here for the same reason as anyone else—

It's about 2 now. Hopefully the Captain's still got something worth eating left.


Arizawa Iwao was here to shop. Fresh fish seemed to be a welcome addition to the sharehouse's fridge, which was a lucky break. He had been part of this crowd since he was a grade-schooler, after all. If his feet didn't follow Saturday's most familiar path, then... Well, what the hell else was there to do?

Just like the wavering air that leaked up from the wood as it baked in the oppressive sun, he was just doing what he always did on a day like today. Going where he always went. If the day's a scorcher, an inferior mirage distorts the image of things near the ground. If the day's a Saturday, Arizawa Iwao goes and gets seafood. There is a how, and there's even a why, but to those in question it just is.

And thus it was. Here we are, headed to Captain Belo, just like last week.

"Ah— Sorry!"

A rogue shoulder, owned by a rather frazzled-looking man with short hair, collided with Iwao's and snapped him back to the present. The faux-blonde's earthen eyes tore away from the shimmers at foot level to meet those of the other half of the encounter,

"Nah. I shoulda been lookin'."

And closed momentarily, as a grunted acceptance of blame and tilt of the head were made in response. A moment passed as the two regarded eachother awkwardly, before Iwao took it upon himself to cut things off there and start walking again. It was true, after all— even if the heat made a guy wanna take a nap, melt into the floor, or otherwise shut off, he had to keep his eyes on the prize if he was gonna get there before the Seven-Time Mr. Fisherman's stocks ran dry. Not to mention, the other dude was in a hurry to begin with.

As usual, even though the veterans of the Eastern District knew that this was cutting things close, there was still a very respectable crowd around the jacked, jovial, and judicious Somali salesman. There was just no catching the man at a dead hour— they only seemed to exist once he'd begun closing up, cleaned out by the hungry citizens of Tenoroshi. Two people were rung up with the quickness in the time Iwao took to approach, and when he'd drawn up to the far edge of those jockeying for position, three had taken their place.

Hm. Nothing compared to the buccaneers that massed during the morning, but still competitive.

The pensive frown that had populated his face when he was lost in his head faded, its ghost accompanied by a calculating narrowed gaze. He'd have to find a way in here. A gap in the net, if you'd pardon the pun.
Gerard's currently acting on orders given. He was a bit far to help once she started writing, and trusts those already handling it to do so with more sense than him. No sense in crowding the questioning when he's better used on lookout duty, as he sees it.
Gerard Segremors

Soulless, huh?


A light snort puffed from the ex-mercenary's nostrils, ghost of a smirk playing across his face as he approached the tall, wide archway that lead to the inner gardens of the Crown. The interrogation continued behind him unabated— it seemed as if there was no immediate threat of a retrieval party, or the tying of loose ends and loose lips. That was good— without worrying about more bolts flying at more heads, answers would hopefully be forthright.

You tempt fate pointlessly, Gellert. It's already proven willing to bite. It could happen at any point.

Well, of course.

A half-step before the posted guards, he paused the string of regimented, direct strides that had brought him there, meeting the eyes of each before glancing at their crossed polearms. He didn't expect them to permit his entry, to raise the X-shaped gate of steel that was before him— if they had, the Crown was wasting their resources.

No need to worry about that, at least.

"Some party, huh?" he huffed sardonically, turning on his heel and unbuckling the leather strap around his chestplate.

He wasn't terribly worried if he never received a response from the pair, either. Instead, he simply planted the tip of his (still sheathed, mind you, these were the royal family's floors) longsword into the carpet, and cast an amber gaze onto the whole scene before him.

Should the soulless come, as Nicomede mentioned, Gerard would know, and act.

The equation with them was really quite simple compared to this, anyway. No point in capture or questioning.

Just simple threat erasure.
I'll get a gear-mover up soon
And in the edits go, because i sweat these things
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