HereComesTheSnow

Lostman Graffiti

Iwao - Sharehouse

A light mist of steam flowed up in ethereal wisps from the sink directly after dinner, the byproduct of enough reassurances by the assembled sharehousers and some pointed tapping on the fridge-mounted whiteboard regarding whose turn it was on the chores rotation. The boy stationed, clasping a suds-embossed sponge beneath the steady stream of hot water, didn't begrudge them. If the turn was his, the turn was his.

If anything, he was actually disappointed only now.

I oughta hold out another hour. Be safe. Drank a little.

Despite being graced with the relaxing properties of hot water, a precious commodity around here, his hands staunchly refused to quit throbbing. A dull ache that started in his knuckles had been bugging him, ever since the time Sayuri had her idea to stew the fish, and it just didn't quit. It was a familiar one, too. He could draw its line from knuckle, to metacarpal, to wrist, down the forearm and capping to his elbow. They all just felt worn down, like a one big and stiff joint that no amount of stretching could get to chill out.

The ghosts of impact, really. It was anything in the bone stack that really braced the collisions when you hit the bag, or pad, or body. Now that he thought of it, there mighta been some in the shoulders, too. Wonderful. All the pain of a first day back, with none of the pleasure.

Hadn't smacked on a bag in months.

Grimacing, he set another plate in the drying rack. Since hot water wasn't doing anything, it didn't seem muscular at all. Wasn't that lucky. He'd be calming the nerves themselves. In an hour. Another hour of living through this. Pain in the ass, but it wouldn't kill him or stop him from doing anything.

'cept maybe run, but by the time he did that, he'd have taken his way out. Didn't feel like running this early, preferred later in the night. His wraps would compress the hands too, and that always helped.

He needed something to distract himself for the last few. The more he contemplated this, the worse it got, and it was hard to properly scour a bowl's surface when it felt like you were starting to grind down your elbow with some hellish combination of hydraulic press and car buffer. His ears, normally tuning it out, now turned to the radio, quietly contemplating the rolling obituary droned out by stale, disinterested voices into the mic. Assaults in the South District? Bad, but pretty common for a "wretched hive of scum and villainy". Missing persons... in his experience, less so.

...Were they not gonna, y'know, say who?

Fucked up.

If any of them went missing, would they get the same treatment?

Mochi better get home soon.

Another dish in the rack. Close to finished up now.

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

Looks like Mari went down the right stairwell, actually. I had Gerard on the left for the same reasoning as Fanilly. I'll get a proper combat post up in the coming days.

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

I quibble between this and a few other things. Brut, JMMA Promotion theme songs, the works.

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

Hirasawa does fantastic work.

I prefer a lot of pounding, pulsating stuff for Gerard, but every so often Berserk’s exactly what I need.

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

If you don't want to use the knife, don't feel forced to, I can just say he re-sheathed it or something

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

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR@Krayzikk@Crimson Paladin@PaulHaynek

"I won't, Ma'am."

He punctuated his reassurance with pulling his longsword free from the man's sternum and allowing him to slump, stony expression unmarred. Perhaps a valid concern. He had more than once shown his hand tonight— that of an unyielding marauder, to be directed towards something that needed to be brought down. Given he'd held his own concerns regarding fury overwhelming discipline, it wasn't hard to see where the small Paladin was coming from, that much he would readily admit. He could determine friend from foe fine.

But could he quell a raging inferno if it risked burning her, too? That seemed to be her order. Her words were not something so frivolous as worrying he'd accidentally take her head home with him. Their vampiric comrade was far more wise than that. Priorities were absolute when they included a child's life. It meant to account for bargains, compromises, the thought of a hostage taking precedent over imparting justice to her captor.

That was the message. Never trade the former for the latter.

"Am I familiar?" he parroted to Sir Nicomede next, stepping aside to allow their Captain through. He met the duelist's eye, searching beneath the still waters... He held his temper quite well. His blades, suited more for thrusting than just cutting, had long been drawn— a peek past the veneer. Mistake not the calm for proof that no storm comes. He was a respected knight, and despite differing theological stances, it would be short-sighted to claim that Nicomede or any other did not feel the same as Sagramore.

His longsword met the palm of his free hand, shrouded in sturdy fibers, about halfway up the length of its blade. A knightly technique that saw more use for fully armored combat than specifically enclosed spaces, but it achieved the same end. Now with a second point of control along the entirety of the blade, he held what amounted to one part spear and one part sledgehammer, shortening the necessary length of the weapon.

"Familiar enough, don't worry." He grunted, nodding and falling silent as his fellows passed, one by one, in to the mausoleum after their Captain. He couldn't simply shoulder in, unfortunately. Too much roughhousing would mean too much noise—

A voice from up ahead drew his attention, causing his posture to instinctively tense, and the sound of drawn steel shattered his concerns for noise. Any struggle in there would doubtlessly echo down the stone walls of the crypt. At the closest opportunity, hot on the heels of the previous knight to enter, he hooked himself 'round the frame of the door in a dash.

"Iron Rose Knights, charge!"

As the glow from the torch faded, clattering down stone steps ahead, Gerard's eyes were aided by the rush of imminent combat in adjusting to the soft lighting of the mausoleum's gloomy interior. Everywhere he looked he saw religious icons carved into smooth coffins, effigies of the twin Goddesses sheltering their dead. A rose here. A sunburst there. Lamplighters throughout, guiding those slain to peaceful rest.

Apologies, but you'll be working a little more than usual tonight.

At the sound of a stumble, he couldn't help but whirl away from the footsteps clamoring up the stairs. Had they been pincered? Trapped between two foes? His sword whirled with him, to face...

"I'm back," Sir Fleuri Jodeau announced, drawing his requisitioned claymore. "Have I missed anything important?"

Gilded eyes darted between the senior knight and the body directly behind for a moment, before Gerard elected to scrub the pratfall entirely from his mind. In its stead, he tasked himself with keeping his senior up to speed. He turned again in doing so, stalking forward as he relayed everything pertinent he'd overheard to his esteemed senior.

"Necromancer's at the bottom. Several dozen mercenaries rising to meet us," he spoke in clipped tones, drawing a large knife from his hip. "Orders are to capture two leaders, but prioritize the Sister first. Rescue, not Raid."

Drawing even with Sir Jarde, fists raised, he wordlessly offered the blonde the pommel. It would be better than nothing. Knives could be held against throats, slipped between the gaps of armor, set in the way of swords to knock them off-line. It was no weapon of war, true, but it was far better than one's own body and little else.

Once his hands were free, he held his longsword in half again, and surged towards the stairwell opposite, leftward when entering the chamber. What they needed now was no longer stealth, but a violence of action— the one battlefield virtue in which he genuinely excelled. Attacking from two different angles would be a boon to whomever had the thought— should the enemy rise through here and fall in behind them within the confines of the right stairwell, even the Roses risked being crushed.

Segremors dove in, ready to make his displeasure with the notion undeniably known.

Lostman Graffiti

Iwao - Central District

2:30PM

Ah, the trials of love...

Not terribly familiar a subject, unfortunately. For one reason or another, the mystical high school sweetheart and mythical high school romance had always eluded the nineteen year old, a trend that university life seemed poised to continue without worry. To him as a guy? Not the biggest deal in the world, really. Sure, every subsequent Valentine's Day got a little lonelier, but much like its infamous chocolates, the more bitter pill to swallow was better for him than the idea of something sweet.

So saying, he'd fuck a relationship up anyway. He'd fucked up a lot already without touching the treacherous grounds of ~romance~.

As such, to him as a comrade of poor lonesome Sayuri, it was a bit of an issue. He could get by coasting on his own, but when it came to quelling this strange, uneasy sense of needing to offer some kinda advice to a fellow housemate...

I don't wanna fuck this up for her.

He made a show of nodding along as she explained her disgruntled state, lazily taking another sip of the pilfered beer while his mind raced for a good response. Yes, things did get more lonely when you were alone. That was how it worked, usually. You'd have gone back to bed if he hadn't shown up? Hmm, it was a bit muggy for that, he'd personally suffocate under the sheets.

...None of this dreck would do any good.

He shoved the peanut gallery away from the thinking parts of his brain before things got out of hand. He had to choose his message carefully, approach it from his perspective... as a guy, he guessed. Best he could really do.

"Yeah," he finally replied, miserably failing to help. "Hiro's a cool dude."

He frowned. He had to be able to do better than that. Something. Not even he was satisfied with that, the hell?

She said she was lonely. In a house full of people, they could fix that. Loneliness was easy, right?

"I don't know much about what he does exactly, but so long as you guys are being open with eachother about it, sometimes work just can't be helped. Right? If that's the case then... Well, you've got us. Unless I missed something, everyone who lives here'd at least be down to hang out."

Well, hey, hold on: Romantic problem. Don't forget. Girlfriend and Boyfriend. Don't go stepping on toes.

"I mean, maybe us guys gotta respect certain boundaries, but shooting the breeze like this still works out better than solitude, doesn't it?"

Urgh. This was starting to make his head hurt. Why were people complicated, man? Couldn't whatever creational force, be they divine or genetic, have taken mercy on everybody and made some of this talking crap a little more straightforward?

"I dunno. I'm a bit of a dumbass, Sayuri, but at the very least I think you can count on everyone living here."

Clear enough. Maybe.

@Ambra

---

4:30PM

Who is Captain Belo?

More importantly, who isn't Captain Belo?

A piece of him was in the heart of every Man in Tenoroshi, and two of them were in every Woman. Iwao had heard that he'd once defeated Semy Schilt, the seven-foot Swede, in an underground K-1 tournament by Head Kick. There were supposedly a bevy of hospitals being constructed in the dense brush of the Congo with his name upon them and repurposed drug money funding them.

He was worthy of these photos and strings, but only because he left his life to the imaginations of his fellow man, urging them to reach for the stars and believe that man could, so long as he tried.

The once-pugilist leaned back, eyes scanning Aya's board with some measure of awe. Girl'd gone digging and then some.

So where's the legend start, then?

@OwO

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

Same story here, I've already got the inklings of a beginning in my head, just need to find the time to bang it out.

That said, I won't say no to a clearer picture of what's inside, should the offer still stand.

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

as ever.

Lostman Graffiti

Iwao - Central District

Now would be as good a time as any to make the disclaimer: Despite being quite the capable brigand of the fridge in question when believing himself thirsty, Arizawa-kun was rather unsophisticated in palate when it came to appreciating the fruits of his plunder. Case in point: once his immediate thirst was quenched and the novelty of the first chug wore off, Iwao didn't really know how the hell to judge beer.

It tasted... okay? He wasn't so green as to be bewildered by the fizzy, vaguely bready flavor, but once you got to the idea of adding in "floral" or "citrus" notes... shit seemed lost on him, was all. Granted, Mochizuki hadn't exactly bought anything snooty. Maybe the high-brow stuff that college students were typically priced out of woulda been easier for a guy like him to discern between, but the only opinion he could really offer now was...

Yeah, alright.

Still, drink in hand on a day like today was hard to go wrong with.

"Yeah, caught him on the way out. Told him I'd save what I could." he replied over the can, pulling up a chair as he glanced toward the nearest window. "And you dunno the half of it. No clue how he plans on surviving. Those sleeves, y'know?"

This went without saying, given that she wore long stuff without fail, but Sayuri needed to heed such a warning herself.

Descending with slightly more grace than collapsing into a lax heap upon the seat, he idly swirled the liquid in the can around as the ghost of befuddlement played across his face for a moment. Putting the problems of weather appropriate gear aside, something seemed off with his housemate today. She was more or less a pretty quiet sort, a lot like himself, and seemed to shy away from the spotlight. That much was true, but even at her most withdrawn among the houses's more colorful personalities, Sayuri was usually pretty pleasant to be around. More positive in her silence than his gray-colored ass, for sure.

So what, then, was with the sighing? Wasn't exactly normal. Pulling hair? Maybe, he didn't really know one way or another, but her tone was all disappointed. Like lamenting she'd just missed out on the last can of... beer in the fridge...

Coincidence, surely. He was 95% sure she'd laughed off similar circumstances, she was nice like that.

He glanced between her small frame, currently minding the dishes in the sink, and his can before quietly setting it on the table in case he needed to offer up an apology. Whatever the case on alcohol in this house was, the girl seemed down, or maybe drained, in a way that didn't strike him as doldrums from the warmth. This needed the correct approach.

Iwao and "correct", as it happened, were a self-admitted rare mix.

"You good, kid?" he bluntly asked after a moment, voice textured a little raspier by the beer. "Seemin' kinda in the dumps— What's up?"

Also, let's just brush over the fact that he was without a doubt the younger of the two, and keep going.

@Ambra