Avatar of Howler
  • Last Seen: 5 yrs ago
  • Joined: 11 yrs ago
  • Posts: 368 (0.09 / day)
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    1. Howler 11 yrs ago
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Recent Statuses

9 yrs ago
Dear People: Please stop 'hating' a day where people try love with each other, however corporate the reason. Remember instead that there are people out there trying to love you, too, and let them.
1 like
10 yrs ago
Gone from 6/19 to 6/27.
10 yrs ago
Ah, Buddhism. Dramatically worded for his and her pleasure.
10 yrs ago
Grave digger, grave digger, let me be the one that got away.
1 like
10 yrs ago
My children, raise your proud and terrible heads. I will find you a better world, where man is a cautionary tale and angels fear to tread.
3 likes

Bio

This is my bio. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

Drop me a line if you're feeling brave.

Most Recent Posts

@Wind Wild
Glad to hear he went over so well. In regards to your points:
  • I had figured he was initially weakened enough by the loss of Jegudiel that he was able to slink away, and after that he mostly just Invested away enough of his essence to remain personally only on the level of a particularly powerful angel.
  • As I understand it, Archangels are the original Created-by-God, lived-in-Heaven style Angels that possess the powers of all angelic types and have never been killed and reborn. Is that correct, or is there more?
  • The Bio's been altered to reflect him running in general rather than running to Earth.


As for Rubra's ability, it's not tremendously important. I was just looking to give an ability to represent herself as a powerful Hellion in her own right counter to Alba (who's basically just a tank on two legs). I've altered her description to have her absorb and redirect magical attacks rather than fire off her own essence (I had just substituted the word aura for some reason, not sure why).

I imagine that he would have something of a nasty reputation among demons, yes. He wouldn't take pains to spread it, but I imagine word gets out that this guy here is Bad News if you don't want to end up as one of his flying monkeys. I can't imagine many demons appreciating being turned into a finger-puppet.

He would not, on the other hand, be of interested to the Peacekeepers. Jegudiel pretty much doesn't kill people. I mean, that would be wrong.

And wasteful. <3
Well, this is awkward. If anyone can tell me what I cocked up with the hiders, I owe them a coke. In the meantime, here's an attempt at a character.

Edit: I owe Fairess a coke, apparently.

I have been informed that I am interested in this.

I am drunk enough to be amenable.

That is all, until I come up with more specific questions to determine the necessary bits for whatever character I formulate.
Fingers crossed, then, looking forward to it.
For you, darling, of course! Ready when you are. I'm sorry to hear things have been such a mess, let me know if I can help.
Color me interested.
Color me interested.
I may throw my hat in as things are more fleshed out. It looks like there are some specific ideas you have towards things that aren't yet posted, but I'll be keeping an eye out for the opportunity when the dust settles.
I as well! Though my ill-timed vacation might have dealt it a blow, I'm still totally up for getting things going with it again.
His swords.

The rest of the world moved around him as if underwater, the others shouldering their way through the closet to gather their belongings, but for a time the world contracted to the lacquered scabbards that held his life. They lay amid the lank strands of mops and the dusty splinters of a straw broom but nothing could hide the beauty of their craftsmanship, the elegance of their form. Having spent the last month in a shoe-closet with a raving orangutan and a pair of psychopaths for company, without water to bathe or more than bread to eat or a proper shirt on his back, it was the loss of his swords that had weighed on him the most. He had failed them--they were his to own and care for, as he was theirs, and they had been stripped from him and abandoned in a fucking broom closet.

It was fortunate that Ryotaro was dealing so adeptly with the guards of the establishment. Ibiki would likely have been more final.

As he stood with the pair of blades in his grimy hands, his smile softened, his demeanor shifted. He was no longer a caged man kept from freedom by fate--he was a samurai again, as he had begun to fear he never would be. His shoulders softened, his posture straightened, his movement became more fluid. Aside from the stubble on his chin, the exhaustion, the grime of his time in squalor, he looked much better already. He turned, slipping the blades into what was left of his obi, and bowed to the woman who'd so expertly assisted him.

"Thank you." He said softly, his voice still a bit hoarse. He'd managed to forget that, moments ago, she'd said something he should be blushing over. "I am in your debt."

And with that, he turned to leave this awful place. He stepped over the guards on the floor where Ryotaro had knocked them out, a last flash of irritation in his eyes before he decided it was beneath him to worry about them further. Hisao was squealing about something already--how had he managed to injure himself literally a minute after escaping?--but he followed him regardless. He would have liked to have a shirt, but the reassuring weight of steel beneath his hand was too refreshing for him to care overmuch.

"We should go." He agreed, nodding down the alley. "Though we're a bit noticeable like this. I..." he blinked, stopped, realized that in his haste for his swords what he hadn't found was...

"Actually don't have any money." He finished dumbly. Of course they'd taken his stupid coin pouch for themselves. Swords might have been hard to leave off a manifest but coins? What coins?

Assholes.

"We can't stay like this, and we'll only have until someone investigates all the howling before it's clear that we've escaped." The howling, of course, caused by the brothers being left behind who had no interest of missing out on the jail-break quietly. Ibiki, of course, had no intention of releasing them himself--he had been wrongfully convicted. They were a pair of disgusting pigs who thought forcing themselves on a woman was acceptable. Still...

"We need a plan."
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