HereComesTheSnow

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Been writing a lot elsewhere and dealing with lost car keys. I’ll go today.

Lostman Graffiti

@Ambra

Forgot to tag, what a gaffe

Lostman Graffiti

Iwao - Central District

It was about halfway through the pilgrimage of sun and cement towards the sharehouse that an idly poignant thought floated through the mind of our erstwhile athlete— If you removed the ice from the equation, he might have actually been better served by buying, say, crab. This wasn't born from any dislike of white fish on his part, far from it. But every time he glanced at his reflection in the Central District's many glass windows, urban hall of mirrors this patch of the city was, and saw his reflection waver with the heat haze...

The things'd steam right here in the bag. Ultimate lazy cooking.

...His mind found itself getting literally half-baked ideas like this. He must have been going soft. A little heat hadn't killed him before, and he was no stranger to running in the summer. Get a grip, Iwao.

That said, he was reasonably sure it was the kind of day where frying eggs on the hood of a sun-baked car was actually viable. Exertion heat and "oh, that's my skin starting to go golden-brown I feel", while both trying to the wills of anyone, were actually pretty distinct.

I need a break. No mas, no mas.

And on his way he continued, solemnly trudging past the brave young pairs that quietly asked their beloveds who the hell carried a bag of cold groceries this far on this sort of day, dodging his fellow pedestrians, and even observing a madlad or two on bicycles. They and their ultra-breathable compression wear were... a different breed.

But this arduous trek was not insurmountable, and completing it took much less than an eternity. He soon drew up to the dilapidated three stories of "sharehouse" that the Urban Exploration Club called home, promising that coveted shade and, if luck permitted, maybe even AC. The fish would definitely appreciate the refrigeration within, too.

He passed the threshold to their territory, the weathered wood of the door ahead of him giving way as he stepped between the concrete slabs they called their fence. As if to meet him, out stepped the tall and striking figure of a friend— Hiroyuki, a man with knack for flexing his style and wearing a welcoming look on his face. While Iwao wasn't sure how well the sharply dressed dude would fare in this heat that was testing he and his simple, light garb, it wasn't like he could do much about it—

"You don't know the half of it," he drawled in both response and warning, holding up his half-melted bag of fish to punctuate the point. "Grabbed some Red Snapper from Belo 'bout twenty minutes ago and they're already starting to swim again. It's nuts out here."

A beer in the fridge, huh? Say no more. Something cold and wet sounded fucking divine right now, and Mochizuki, for all his earnest kindness, couldn't stop him. Dog eat dog world, he could enjoy the fish later as recompense. Speaking of—

"You're heading out?"

"Yup."

"I'll save you some fish. Thanks, man."

Mutual nods of assent and gratitude were exchanged (albeit with the reassurance to not worry due to an expected late return), as the two men forged ahead towards their new destinations, Hiroyuki letting the door close behind Iwao as bruiser powered up the stairs with a practiced, light gait. Stairstepping built cardio and calf strength and demanded accurate foot placement— muscle memory kept the ghosts of old training alive even in this mundane context. Despite not being a club member du jour like his girlfriend, Hiroyuki had always been nothing but a chill guy to Iwao. His constant presence, thusly, never proved to be much a bother, and was basically just another roommate. There were worse arrangements in the world.

"Oh, Sayuri. Yo." He entered the kitchen, brandishing the bag for the second time in as many minutes once he spotted the familiar head of long brown hair at the table. So she hadn't left yet. Couldn't blame her there. "Snagged fresh Snapper for later."

Beelining for the fridge, he kept an ear open for a response as he rummaged through it to a) extricate that last beer and b) clear the requisite space for three pounds of protein. Apologies to whomever that inconvenienced.

After a moment or two... the fridge door shut,

tss-CRACK

And the odyssey came to an end as the young man turned and ambled towards the table, indulgently savoring the beer on his lips.

Mission complete.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

oh boy, time for 200% MAD

Lostman Graffiti

Iwao - Eastern District

His skin welcomed the frosty reprieve from the constant marauding of the midday sun. Leaking out of the top of the bag and permeating the air around it in a thin film of pleasant cool, that ice was inviting. Almost made him want to shove his hand in and cool off until it went numb... But that'd be a waste. There were better alternatives. In this summer heat, any extra bit of melting his blood would do just make life hard, plus he'd risk mangling or contaminating the fish. Not worth it. The captain's gorgeous knifework would be ruined, and Iwao knew he wouldn't be able to salvage it in any presentable way.

You know, for whatever value he still worried of presentability.

"Uh," the pugilist mumbled, eyes turned upward as if searching for the answer in the cloudless day. "Should be Aya, I think."

He honestly only knew when he usually went out. If he'd missed some sort of rotation system getting established between the others, that...

Should be fine, right? Not like we can get in eachother's way.

...Didn't matter unless there was a real shortage on fridge space, and if there was, they could sort it out fast. Call it a wash. Better than being all washed up, at least. Or being awash in what used to be the ice insulating your fresh nutrition from the indomitable furnace above.

"Thanks for the fish, Captain. I'd better get 'em home." He nodded at the omnidisciplinarian myth before him, punctuating the somewhat awkward gesture with a wave of the free hand before turning on his heel. "Take care."

Lostman Graffiti

Iwao - Eastern District

Should have seen that coming.

A frenzy had well and truly started now, the going offers ratcheting higher and higher...

4200!

4300!

4500!

4800!

Aaaaaand careening right out of Iwao's workable range. As the singular, lone minnow amongst a swarm of sharks with fresh chum in the water, he knew his hard ceiling of 5000 yen wasn't going to cut it— Not with the multitude of established housewives joining the fray. Oh well. Was a bit of a long shot anyway. With the usaual window of opportunity fast drawing to a close, when there was a crowd like this they'd fight tooth and nail for anything they could get their hands on. Iwao was outgunned, simple as that. No point in fighting it.

Plainly, amidst the cascade of numbers that sailed in towards one of Tenoroshi's most experienced auction ears (heh), young Arizawa unfurled the note, contemplating the perfectly legible, eminently reasonable price. Even in his haste, while distracted by this impromptu bout of multitasking, Captain Belo's penmanship and folding skills were impeccable. While weighing options, the blonde idly compared it to his own undisciplined scrawl in the back of his head.

Guess that tracks. He did have to issue orders through origami cranes while under heavy enemy surveillance...

1200 a pound worked, especially with such a frenzy surrounding the unagi. Snapper wasn't quite the storied delicacy compared to the eels, and he'd not really heard of its myriad health benefits, but a catch was a catch. Fish oil was good for midterm time, right? So long as they got it, Belo's fresh catches weren't stinkers.

He pocketed the note, trading it for his wallet. When the good Captain's eyes passed over him next, he nodded and held up three fingers.

It ought to be enough for everyone.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR

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?"

Lostman Graffiti

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?"

A Certain Scientific Apocrypha

I'm always down for some Raildex.

Lostman Graffiti

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.

Shopping.

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.