LimeyPanda

Peace Keepers

Bushi grumbled something in frustrated Japanese when he accepted the bottle of vodka and sipped it. The alcohol was not one of his favourites, but the sentiment was one he appreciated. "Thank you, friend. I'm still confused as to how my bottle god bro..."

"Alright then, this is starting to get interesting. Liquid manipulation. " Bushi lifted his head to glare at the Siren, a storm brewing behind a stern gaze. Bushi may not have been the first to put two and two together, but he certainly wasn't going to ignore it, when the truth was dangled like a morsel in front of his nose. He grumbled something else in Japanese, before taking another, larger gulp of Vodka, before handing it back to Angel.

Bushi would be lying if he didn't admit he expected Mia to mop the floor with Cerulean: even in her human form. Bushi never really got the opportunity to spar with the Werewolf, but the initiation fight they had was...an enjoyable affair, to say the least. The intricacy and ferocity she imbued into her warrior's craft was a sight to behold by any warrior worth his or her respective salt. Yet throughout it all, the Prince-ling kept up his defence and, despite the disrespectful way he acquired the liquid, he used it admirably and efficiently to block, push back and hold the Lycanthrope at bay.

Then the boy did something incredible: He landed a blow on Mia. Any pseudo hostility melted away in a sort of half-smirk as he felt a level of respect well up in his bosom. Mia could probably count the number of people that had managed to injure her in a one-on-one fight on her fingers. Bushi suddenly felt an urge to fight again. To fight Mia or to fight the prince: either would be a delight. His hand itched for a weapon: something to strike out with, to be one with. As the urge grew deeper and deeper, his smirk widened.

…And then Mia promptly ended the fight. Her bestial form was always a sight to behold and when she reached the zenith of her half-transformation, Bushi felt a tendril of worry forming in his gut. Was Mia going to take it too far? Bushi started to lurch forward when Mia stopped herself with a pat on the Siren's shoulder. No, Mia was in full control and Bushi's worry was unfounded. He felt his hand gripping a phantom weapon: which had a wave of longing wash over the god-warrior. The lack of his blade felt like the phantom limb he no longer had. His covered eye felt deader than ever as his reminiscing brought back the loss of himself.

“This is where I’d drink my Sake…If it wasn’t on the floor.” He gave Cerulean another look; his eyes squinted as if anger was mounting. After a few seconds of holding the stare, he offered a little smile: trying to distract his mind with the thoughts of friendship and camaraderie, instead of dwelling on what was lost. “That was a fine showing, Prince. You gave Mia a bit of a workout, not many people in the Peacekeeper’s can claim that. I mean, you didn’t quite get her hot and bothered, but that can come later: I’m sure.”

Bushi chuckled at his own, poor-in-taste joke. The distraction technique was working somewhat and his dull emptiness faded away behind the thought that Mia would probably end up trying to punch him. “I think I should fully introduce myself now, since you’re part of the team. The name is Bushi; I’m the awakened spirit of a Kami-A demigod-made flesh. I’m the guy who hits stuff with a sword and wastes the unit’s budget on alcohol.” He offered his right hand to the Siren, making sure to keep his free hand in between himself and Mia, who might decide to deliver a very sharp blow in retaliation.

Peace Keepers

Why is the wine always the first to die...

Peace Keepers

If Bushi liked anything about his continued existence, it was the little dramatic socialisations that came with being a living being. People were fascinating! He'd met so many bizarre individuals in his four centuries of life: dragons and demons and deadly damsels all made the demi-gods time more interesting and subsequently more enjoyable yet they so often paled in comparison to the mundane-ity of mortality.

Like the way Robin seemed to ignore his offer of a drink, or how the pink-haired woman seemed enamoured with the Prince, or how that very same prince seemed to reject his heritage. The last one caught his interest the most; why would a prince reject his heritage? It made as much sense as a tiger rejecting meat. Some sort of doubt clearly held the boy, and Bushi could only ponder as to what it was that held him so tightly.

As was the norm, Angel acted so as to diminish his worth. The way the harpy dismissed himself was of great amusement to the Kami: who had long since learned to respect the Harpy's talents for what they were: indefensible. The fact he also proved an adequate drinking partner was another boon, to be sure. Bushi took a moment to ponder: how well would a creature of the sea hold liquor? That could be a fun experiment, to be sure.

In the end, professionalism trumped all: as one of Cyber-boss came on screen and began to chastise Pinkie. The dynamic between the pink-haired banshee and they electro-lady were another example of micro-actions that made humanity such a pleasure. In the time before, when he had been only Kami and not Bushi, he would never have enjoyed the simplicity of complicated conversations. His entire purpose was the blade and who held it...Simpler times, but less enlightened times.

And so, Air-headed lass and Mia led the group towards the simulation room. Inside was a large, electronic grid of light and contrasting nothingness. It was a blank canvass, ready for the swipe of the paintbrush. In this case, it was a key-card that created the artistry. Lines and blank-ness were filled with a grassy meadow: and suddenly Bushi reminisced about the last time he’d got to use one of these rooms. He’d been banned from participating in the simulations since last time: when he might have…broken it.

Bushi cradled the bottle of sake, before taking a large swig of the liquor and placing it on the floor. He watched the dynamic between Mia and the prince, and after they began fighting, he turned his head to Robin, a laugh on his lips as he took note of the illusions. “You seem in a better mood, songbird.” To see the Kitsune toying with the siren was a delight. He had met a few Kitsune in his lifetime, as they were a more common sight in the home land of Japan. All of them shared a slight mischievous spark which was a delight to watch.

The Siren seemed to be faring well enough. He was certainly surviving, which was a boon. Bushi was more interested in the weapon he held: A trident of high quality. Bushi knew very little about the smiting work of the Under-folk, but even he could tell the weapon was crafted to be at least beautiful. That meant it was either a shameless ornamental weapon or one that was meant to last. Bushi felt a sudden inkling; a desire, almost. He wanted to grab the trident: to feel its weight and judge its strength. To feel the power of the weapon as his own, and to…

The sound of a crash disturbed his thought patterns to a grinding halt. It was a horrifying sound, one that caused him to look left and down. The sight of his wine-gourd, broken on the floor and its contents spilled to the dirt was heart-breaking. Bushi had a look of genuine disgust at the wasted alcohol and suddenly he looked a great deal sadder.

“I liked that bottle…”

Legend of Renalta 2 (Dark Fantasy)

So uh...Has anyone heard from Slade recently?

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Glancing around the granduous hall, Jay-Jay felt a sudden thankfulness that she wasn’t the center of attention. Perhaps it was the various forms of drama that she saw: people shouting and people feasting and people fracking and...wait...She knew the two people so tenderly embraced in a lover’s hold. “Oooh, ooh. Vampire lady is getting it on with the boss man! I totally called that!” The Fire-child gave a short, sharp round of applause at the union, as a fan would. Vampire lady had been one that Jay-Jay had a lot of time for. She seemed genuine, if not a little scary.

Short people were always scarier…

The next big thing that caught her attention was the growing outrage and overall feeling of discomfort coming from Daisy and Nestor’s little corner of the room. The two goldies were seemingly at odds with each other: and a third person, who was not quite so golden but looked decidedly olden was seemingly on Nestor’s side of the argument...Or Nestor was on his side. Hard to tell, really. That little tirade ended when Daisy left the hall, but not before scooping up Artie and making a short gesture at Jay-Jay. She smiled and offered a curt little wave. The demoness was desperate to go meet up with Daisy and talk and gossip and be...a person. It was amazing how much she’d missed the concept of socialising when her year of exile had been done with.

”There is a certain irony to the fact that you are made most active by the sight of a reaper.” Kata cut in, a soft sort of chuckle seemed to crackle in the air, a small sound full of warmth and energy. Jay-Jay held back the urge to grumble a rather childish remark about no one else really taking a notice of her, but she managed to bite back the urge to act the spoilt brat. She was the new Jay-Jay damnit. Fire mage extraordinaire and a god-damn asset to the group outside of the fact she was conveniently hosting some incredibly powerful demon.

She decided to take stock of the rest of the room before she made her decision to go anywhere. Looking over the gathered individuals, she started counting heads on her fingers: Daisy, Nestor and the creepy lookin’ new guy were accounted for; as was Vampire-lady and Boss-man. Scanning the room had Jay-Jay spot Veti and Henry, who was talking to a big-ass-werewolf lady. The werewolf was big. The only time Jay-Jay had spotted a beasty of that size and scale was when she had been forced to watch Big-boss-Hoyle rip apart a bunch of werewolves in a vampire orgy-nightclub...Fun times.

There was one other oddity in the room, a guy who by all accounts was dead. She would have doubted the existence of the man, if he didn’t saunter over to Veti and playfully kiss at the ear. Yup...Defo the same person.

Then the main attraction of the room caught the Fire-host’s eye. A person that seemingly had no effect on Jay-Jay at all and another guy...someone new...Someone kinda cute. Jay-Jay offered a little wave in his direction, hoping, despite the barrage of other perspective interests to steal a bit of attention. Before she approached, she felt a sudden revulsion in the pit of her stomach. It rang through the core of her being, as if Katagogi was dragging nails accross a chalkboard in her gut.

”Do not go near that one Jay-Jay. He revolts me.” The demoness was acting in a way Jay-Jay had never felt before. Something was causing Kata a great deal of distress, and while the demoness was so close to the surface, the fire-child would feel at least some of the same revulsion...Even if the boy was a little cute: not Henry cute, mind you, but not bad at all. He would be on the ‘talk-to’ list later. Kata’s reaction had her worried, although the last time she’d even got close to a mirage of a hint of a close friendship with a man, the demoness did temporarily get a chunk of her soul stolen...Perhaps she was just a bit rusty?

Either way, Jay-Jay had a place to be. One person had seemingly been having a shitty time of things, and that person was also one of the coolest individuals the Firebrand could remember. Besides, red and pink make a fabulous combo...or something.

Jay-Jay shrugged and skipped in the direction that she’d saw Daisy going. A few turns here and there had the Demon-host realise she was completely lost; but that wouldn’t stop the new, improved Jay-Jay, no-sir-ee. Rubbing her hands together, she started to recall one of the newest tricks in her collection.

A small little orb started to form in Jay-Jay’s hands. It was the size of a golf-ball at first, but it grew bigger in stages until a clear bowling-ball of magic floated between the magical hands of the wizarding, witching Jay-Jay. The ball of magic started to glow, and suddenly: it exploded. The magical sphere divided itself, a small sphere going in every direction and dividing again at every corridor. Jay-Jay’s eyes glowed a shiny white as she seemed entranced by the magic until one of the little spheres entered the courtyard: and spotted the reaper alone.

Jay-Jay’s opalescent eyes snapped back to normality, and suddenly the magical witch had a direction. She skipped down corridors, turning correctly every time and reaching the courtyard in no time at all. She beamed at her own success, and took a moment to glance at Daisy, her smile turning to a pout as she saw the dejected reaper.

“Daisy, um…” suddenly her words failed her. Nerves catching in her throat as she realised what a baby she was being. Daisy was a badass! She didn’t need help from some rando-hanger-on like Jay-Jay. She almost turned around and hid, but a little prod from the demon-who totally wasn’t just avoiding having to go inside to the sickening being inside- gave her the courage she needed. “...Hi. Seems like I missed a lot.”

The Last Bastion: Bunker Chicago

Daniel Anders

---

Heathens. Why did he always have to serve alongside heathens? He wouldn’t have minded if the devil-coaxings bastards were all just ignorant of the faith, at least that was excusable. Instead, two of the men had strange delusions of grandeur and one even worshipped fire as some base, false idol.

He was already inside his mech, activating various launch protocols when the fire-heathen delivered a mercy kill to the babbling man. “Deus animae tuae misereatur” -God have mercy on your soul. It was of ill-consequence to God what Daniel said, but the thought that at least one prayer might tip the scale in the man’s favour was comfort enough for him.

His start up protocols were all-but-finished when he noticed the advancement of the two on-foot soldiers. One was rushing towards the tank like a bat out of hell and the other was moving towards it also, albeit it a much slower pace. The zealot rolled his eyes with a disappointment masked behind thick layers of armour. Inside his mech, he was away from the idiocy and behind the wheel of the monolithic ‘Crusader.’ The purging fire and the righteous fist of god, all ready and waiting for Daniel’s tender caress. He felt an excitement surge through him, when a moment of foresight reached him. Picking up the radio, for he knew he wouldn’t be heard over the din of the fool-pilot Brucie, he decided to open comms with everyone, not just his team. “Don’t forget your gasmasks. Not even a mech-suit will keep you safe from the smog, and I’m sure none of you want to see your insides.” Closing off his coms, he then tuned the radio into Achilles’ frequency. No doubt he’d be calling on the cocksure pilot before long: his fellow soldiers were the loudest, after all.

Daniel waited at the back of the group, a shepherd amongst sheep. He could almost taste the attack coming as he donned the gas-mask. Inside his mech, he had a number of hours, should he seal the airlock. Wearing the mask was a protection against faults though, and while god protected the faithful: it was the faithful’s job to protect themselves a little.

With an attack imminent, and at least two people being too stupid to keep themselves safe, Daniel waited to see who would need his assistance first. He manouvered the mech behind a central piece of cover, crouching it down and providing at least moderate protection while waiting for the first cry for help. As Jesus watched his disciples, Daniel would watch the idiots and await the wolves to come.

---

Kiku

---

The air felt funny. Not to her hands, or anything: Kiku was more than aware that the air would only feel this way to her because of the small spines of her back, ever ‘tasting’ the air; sensing what would come from where and when. They were safety mechanisms: they kept her safer and she was happy to have them, even if a few had found the protrusions grotesque.

’Not that I care. They’re all dead!’ She giggled a little at the realisation that the only people alive who’d seen her back spines could be counted on her fingers. There was Col. Black, who found her in the pits, half-naked and covered in blood, then there was the doctor… Whos-a-ma-call-it. The cute guy who served in the second ring of the bunker with the cute little dimples when she tickled his chin.

...Shame about the whole wife thing, she might have paid him another visit, if he didn’t mumble that little detail in his sleep.

Her radio grumbled to life a second time: First was the cute-Chinook pilot, who was full of almost endearingly copious amounts of self-confidence, who shouted out options and instructions. The other message came from some other, older guy. She hadn’t really paid much attention to his name, but the advice was sound...Was it meant for her? She had admittedly forgotten about the gas-mask though, and upon hearing the advice, she put it on. It wasn’t like she needed her nose to sniff things out.

Turning to the rest of the group, she saw: a guy with a fancy sword-which she totally didn’t fantasize about stealing-a chick who looked like a badass ninja lady and another girl with a bitchin’ sniper rifle. She didn’t fantasize about stealing that one though...She sucked with sniper rifles. “So which of you th-ohmygod my voice sounds funny in this thing.” She giggled at the sound of her own muffled voice, resounding through the gas mask. The giggle sounded like a sick gurgle, compared to the normally whimsical laughter of the listener. “So as I was saying. Which of you guys are good at shooting? I’m basically ass when it comes to long range fire, so I’ll probably watch yo’ booties by guarding the stairs. I’m pretty good at sensing things coming too, so that means I don’t have to worry about fucking up the shooting...Yay.”

She looked at the group with a smile, unaware that the gasmask, as well as the left side of her face, had started to match the dark skies behind her in an active shift of her camouflage ability. The other side of her face had faded out the mask, but kept her unblemished skin clear and visible: which revealed the almost innocent smile matched with murderous eyes.

Kiku liked this job a little too much.

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Sailor Murder and Sailor Werewolf.

This sounds like a program I would watch as a child.

Legend of Renalta 2 (Dark Fantasy)

Herzinth said
two fellatio's and a cappuccino

Hopefully, in that order.

The Last Bastion: Bunker Chicago

As long as your stupidity doesn't get Daniel killed, I'll enjoy the show.

:P

Peace Keepers

Boredom did not befit a god: even such a minor one as a Kami. Bushi didn’t appreciate the boredom, and yet he was obliged by his honour to attend the meeting. If he were being completely honest, Bushi would admit he had nothing better to do with his time than to meet up with the new team mate: who was a selkie or a siren or a squid or...something. He couldn’t really recall which though: he had ignored the brief for a good few hours and was only going off of second hand information. Apparently it was a princess or something? That tipped the team’s numbers towards the fairer sex: not a sad thing, to be sure.

Bushi shared the room with his other team-mates, where he commanded a nearby chair which he leaned against the wall. He was close to falling asleep a couple times in the small period of time that had been allotted to waiting for the teammate, and had chosen to watch the members of his team, in order to stave off the tendrils of tedium that accompanied the mortal form. His focus was drawn mostly to the exacerbated form of the Kitsune. Robin was a strange creature: for far more reasons than the unusual nature of her name vs her heritage. It always caught him off to think of a mind-bending fox having the name of a song-bird, even if both parties were a sight to behold.

Sadly, the song bird was singing a tune of anger and frustration as once again, her secret projects seemed to prove fruitless. Whether the projects were actually secret or whether Bushi simply hadn’t bothered to pry enough to find out was hardly the point: what mattered was that Bushi didn’t know why she was frustrated, and nor did he really care that much. Life was far simpler when you didn’t worry about other people’s problems needlessly. If she needed his help, she’d ask him.

Bushi reached to his belt, pulling out a small, corked gourde with two kanji on it. Too anyone who was able to read the language, they would see translate the symbols to ‘simple pleasures.’ “A drink would calm the nerves, fox. Hardly seems apt for you to stress yourself before meeting the Princ...” before he finished off the ‘-ess’ the door burst open to reveal their commander in arms. Young Mia, the wolf that guarded the sheep. Accompanied by the communication’s officer whose name he’d forgotten more times than he’d been told it and what he assumed was their newest crew member...a male?

Goddamn rumours…

"Alright everyone. Today, as you've all been briefed before hand, we are getting a new teammate. Meet Cerulean Mystique, I hope you can all treat him well and make sure he fits in here."

Mia spoke in her same measured tone, and Bushi tried to stave off the inevitable forgetting of the new person’s name. Bushi looked at the rest of the room, quiet and unwilling to lead the introductions. In the end, Bushi shook his head and did the most evil of deeds he could inflict upon himself. He stood up, gourd of alcohol still in hand as he reached his full, towering height. Without a weapon to sharpen himself with, Bushi was a tall, thin man. Well over six foot three and less than two hundred pounds: at a glance, he would look to be a weak link in a team. To those in the know, he was a sheathed blade: undrawn, ready to strike in a moment’s notice. He wore loose clothing of white cotton and the most dominant feature, other than his body shape, was an eye patch.

“A pleasure to meet you, newbie. I’m Bushi, and I guess this makes you the newest member of the team.” He made no mention of the fact that, prior to Cerulean’s arrival, he was the ‘new kid.’ Most of the normal rituals applied to a new member of a team were never applied to Bushi: perhaps it was his age, or his godhood, or the fact he could murder a dozen man with a spoon. “If you need any help, I’ll be able to oblige: same if ya have any questions.”

He looked around the group, noticing an approaching silence as no one else seemed to rush towards the mantle of conversation. He didn’t feel like fighting of any approaching awkward silences, so Bushi uncorked the gourd and poured rice-wine to his lips and taking in deep, heavy gulps of the sweet wine.

Bushi slumped into his seat again, relaxing against the wall as he waited for someone to fill the silence. Hair-or-whateverhernamewas would probably suffice, or Mia might say something towards their next mission. Either way, Bushi was content with the alcohol in his hands. He almost regretted not having a piece of metal on hand: showing off his talents might have been fun.