Inuyasha — Roleplayer Guild

Leo had finished his soup, and lay back laxed on his chair. He took out his cigarette holder and flicked out a cigarette with his right middle and ring finger, holding it gingerly in his hands. He snapped the holder shot with his other hand, and pocketed it. Then he put the cigarrete in his mouth and, still with his left, he took out a lighter from his vest pocket. The lighter was simple, stainless steel. Well, not exactly stainless, as wear and tear of the past six years had roughed up the edges and left smudges everywhere. He pressed down on the spark wheel, and the lighter came to life. The little wicker of a flame danced about wildly, as Leo lowered his head down to light his cigarette. He took a deep breath of the cigarette, and felt better already. Sure, he knew that he was filling his lungs with pollution and smoke, but he didn't really care. Smoking always loosened him up a bit, made him easier to talk to. Well, as easy to talk to as he was going to get.

"How was your evening?" he heard as Takumi slid in next to him. Yellow robes, he noticed.

"Can't even send your real self to talk to me?" he said, while smirking.

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Nous vivons à l'un l'autre tuer

Pierre walked across the grass, the dampness wetting his socks. He twirled a an ancient Japanese knife in his hand; it had a intricate hand-carved handle of a dragon twirling around the handle, and the blade coming out of the dragon's mouth. He lost his flow of twirling and dropped the knife in the grass, something a graceful blademage would most likely never do.

"Merde," Pierre muttered under his breath in his native french tongue, as he bent over to fish out the knife. After recovering it, he decided it best just to slip it in his pant pocket.

He was going to meet with a member of the clergy, someone in power, at a roadside inn. He hated missing breakfast, but it was the only time that putain de West wasn't on guard duty. The caravan's grounds were abandoned at the moment, as everyone was off eating Drina's soup. Off in the distance he could hear the rumble of laughter and joy. Not the life for him. When he asked himself why he was betraying the caravan that had protected him for so long, he told himself it was for the money, but he knew the real reason. It was because he was angry. Anger. Anger was red and smoldering, and it ate at Pierre's soul. It consumed him, a rage that boiled from within. He was mad about his powers, mad about his inadequacy, mad about getting laughed at, mad about his inabilities, mad about his eye, just mad. Pierre sighed a deep and heavy sigh from within. He looked to his left, and then to his right to make sure no one was watching, and slipped between two carriages, off caravan grounds. And so his betrayal had begun.

Tout ce que nous voulons, c'est plus
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