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Interested for sure.
Intrested for sure. Thinking about rping as Marcus Milton (Hyperion).
For your consideration:

World of Darkness brings me back. Are we able to use stuff from Mummy: The Resurrection?
My Interest is aroused.

Esmé lay on the floor motionless for a few seconds before he let out a barrage of coughs, allowing the fresh oxygen to enter his lungs. It was a welcome sensation to say the least. Oh, how he missed the ability to voluntarily breathe. Of course, his masterstroke worked like a charm and the hideous hussy released him from her death grip. It was just natural that his innate majesty would overpower her simple peasant brain. That wicked women probably went of somewhere to wilt after witnessing such a spectacular display of power knowing full well that she could never top it. Even if she dedicated the rest of her pathetic existence to improving her quite limited skill set all her future efforts would still fall short of his glory as he was the Sun King and she was nothing. It would probably kill her to know that this was just the tip of the iceberg regarding his powers; unlike her who clearly peaked his potential was unlimited. Vile degenerate. How dare she lay one of her dirty fingers upon him as who knows where it has been. Probably somewhere filthy. At this moment he absolutely loathed her. Because of her unprovoked assault on his personage his outfit was undoubtedly ruined, and he had to temporarily blind himself. Bon, très bon. He wasn’t particularly planning on exerting himself today. Last time he would attempt to offer any of his treasured advice to these plebeians as it was clear it was going over their empty heads. He made a mental note to use smaller words when he was forced to interact with these simpletons lest they become enraged at what they could not understand.

He was aware that some other imbecile entered this den of horrors sprouting off profanities in an immature cadence while looking to do God knows what to his prone body. Ah, it seemed this loose coalition had another genius amongst its ranks. Marvelous. Simply Marvelous.

On the subject of rather irritating morons that populated this merry band of rejects Esmé could not help briefly thinking of the embodiment of annoyance that was Monsieur Jacques. If he was recalling correctly the braggart's power was to do machines or something to that effect. The oblivious twit only mentioned it at like every possible opportunity, so Esmé begin to just tune out the fool's hotdogging and grandstanding. Similar to a child seeking attention it was sad and rather pathetic. If his recollection was indeed true, he regretted not demanding that the pompous tryhard make him a pair of glasses that could reduce the side effects of his light manipulation. Regular sunglasses could only do so much and temporarily blinding himself was an inconvenience to say the least, though maybe it was preferable to engaging with the walking toolbox and hear him prattle on endlessly. Esmé considered telling the self-aggrandizer to tone his cool guy personality down about roughly ten to twenty percent, but he tired of expending his good advice on those that did not deserve it.

His train of thought was interrupted by some booming voice echoing from outside claiming to be from that alphabet soup agency from the conspiracy theories that dealt with all the mutants and chuds. As if anyone would fall for that apparent trick. Esmé audibly sighed. What this sad bitch needed right now was a big box full of blow. Cocaine always made things more tolerable around here and this lucky bitch new where to find some.

After a few unsuccessful tries Esmé still relatively blind rose to his feet. It was time to leave this mess in the not so capable hands of whomever this third person was. Stumbling and teetering he made his way to the doorway arms outstretched. He arms eventually made contact with whomever was blocking the doorway.

“Excusez-moi. As you can clearly see, we have quite the emergency as your beloved teammate and overall ungrateful…”, Esmé does not even finish his insult or wait for a reply as he pushes his way past the figure in the doorway.

As he shambles down the hallway only falling and bumping into walls a respectful number of times his vison eventually recovers. He swiftly makes his way to that junkie-from-earlier’s room and enters through the unlocked door. Being sure to close it behind him he begins to sift through her meager belongings. Ugh, she did not own one cute top that he could confiscate. For real. What a train wreck, who owns just t-shirts and jeans. Poor thing certainly needed a fashion intervention as half of this wardrobe seriously needed to be discarded. After what seemed like eons searching through what he presumed was trash Esmé came across a seemingly discarded small baggie of something white and powdery. Was it Christmas already?

“Oh, Esmé. You naughty bitch”, he says to himself before placing some ‘snowflakes’ on his tongue to determine the purity.

Esmé was shocked, mostly by her rather gruesome appearance rather than extent of her injuries. He thought he specifically told the Herb Hooker to verbally tell him of any disfigurements before letting him gaze upon her. He was about to chastise her about it, but that is when she lunged at him. Caught up formulating further critiques of her unsightly countenance Esmé had no time to offer up a proper defense. He was certainly surprised to say the least.

As he felt her hands wrap around his neck Esmé felt revulsion at the fact that a woman was touching him, worse yet a woman with such filthy hands. He always presumed that cleaning under one’s fingernails was a given, but the depravity was the underclass apparently knew no bounds. And the less he thought about her open wounds oozing in his general vicinity the better. Oh, god did the filthy degenerate want him intimately. He knew he was rather irresistible, but he was way out of her league. He would have let out a scream if he was not being strangled.

He attempted to struggle against her grip, but it was unsuccessful, a pathetic display really. She had him pinned down and there was little he could do. As he slowly lost the will to fight back as the oxygen depleted, he felt a righteous frustration. How dare this plebeian insect dare attack him. He was her rightful better, she should be in awe of his majesty. Well, at least he would make a beautiful corpse on such a nice day. The birds were chirping and the Sun was shining in through the hole in the wall. Sun…Light. Oh, right he had powers.

Using his little remaining strength. He focused on an area between his face and his attacker's. It was his last chance before he suffocated. Manipulating the light would temporarily blind them both and hopefully she would let go of his neck in shock. And if that failed at least he could die not seeing her haunting visage. He smirked as the light between them erupted like a silent flash bang.

Esmé suddenly found himself ungracefully positioned on the floor of the bathroom; his ringing ears and pounding head told him that there was some sort of explosion. Oh, God these bloodthirsty morons are going to get him killed. “Typical Americans, always looking to make every single confrontation into the Alamo. It is like they never heard of gracefully making an exit.” Esmé muttered under his breath as he shakily rose to his feet.

He felt relatively unharmed, but upon closer inspection much to his horror he chipped a nail on his left hand. “Merde Merde Merde”, he swore in anger.

Where was he going to find a skilled beauty technician in these trying times. This was truly the most grievous injury received in this conflict for sure. Savages, the lot of them. The thought of the bunch of barbarians killing each other outside over some petty disagreement that they could barely comprehend only slightly improved his ever-souring disposition. Now would certainly be an ideal time to slip away before the rival gang of brutes associated him with these delta-human dummies. He secretly stashed away a Comme des Garçons overnight bag just for occasions such as this. He swore to himself he would only take the essentials, but who was he kidding everything he owned could be considered essential. It would be a heartbreaking process to sift through his numerous possessions again and only keep what he could comfortably carry in his luxury overnight bag. Esmé vowed to burn what clothes he couldn’t carry as to protect them from the less fashionable. He was sure even God couldn’t tolerate the unfashionable and there was a special spot in damnation saved for them.

Before he could slink to his woefully dismal quarters and start the tedious process of packing. He felt a tinge of morbid curiosity coupled with the uneasy feeling regarding what the group of degenerates would do him if he was caught deserting in a time of conflict. He peeked his head out the bathroom and once assured of his safety made his way down the hall. He peered in the rooms he passed guaranteeing that they were indeed empty. He pauses when he gets to near a room that looks like it has certainly seen better days. Looked like it was torched and bullet riddled, probably one of those ingrates’ meth lab exploded. Now which of those dullards occupied this room. He crouches down outside the charred entrance to the room ready to run back to safety a moments notice.

“Umm…Mademoiselle…Uh…Plant Person…Vine Vixen…Weed Wretch…Hollyhock Harlot…no, let me guess your name is probably something pedestrian like Rose. Ha! How droll. Well, anyways regardless of your uninspiring name I am just ensuring that your dea…okay. Just checking your condition before I the others. If you’re not dying and need assistance, make some kind of noise. No, no sweetie I am not an angel just your bett…teammate. Well, ‘teammate’ probably elicits a stronger connotation then we have, I would say ‘associate’ is a better word in this case. If you think that your current situation would make me ill fellow associate, please also indicate that. Like I do not handle hideous deformities well. I mean, to be perfectly honest I normally find your fashion sense and looks to be a peg or two above absolutely revolting but compared to the rest of the reprobates that populate this establishment you are stunning. You don’t hold a candle to me, but then again who does. What I am saying darling is when you put in the effort you certainly look decent. I consider myself a bleeding heart when it comes charity cases such as yours, so if you want you could certainly hit me up for some fashion tips if you’re not dead that is. Shame, we can’t do anything about the height, though it could be a hidden strength in the right hands. Oh, listen to me prattle on. You’re probably dead though. Here I am talking to a corpse or a soon to be corpse and wasting all my good advice. C'est la vie. If it is any condolence my nail was chipped earlier, I find our two regrettable situations to be comparable. Well not really.”

Esmé was engrossed in a trashy romance novel when the shots rang out. Slowly inching towards the window he mirthlessly smiled as he observed the confrontation between the garishly dressed individuals from the relative safety of the rundown room he currently occupied. Usually he wouldn’t be caught dead in a flop-house such as this, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He winced as he heard one of the drug addled derelicts that he was forced to share this shack with roll out of bed. Typical delta-human junkie. As he listened to her pass he briefly considered scoping out her room for some cocaine for himself to ease his ennui, but decided against doing so while she was still alive as not to trigger the intrinsic animalistic violence that he presumed existed inside any lower class person. He heard the clamor of others jumping to action and assumed if he lived such a miserable existence as of the lot of them, he would have a death wish as well.

He audibly sighed as he ruminated on the past few months. When, the crisis hit the first few days were a haze of drug inhalation and intimate encounters; it was like a holiday in pagan Rome for Esmé and his well to do cohorts. Despite the loss of his club in the disaster, social order hadn’t collapsed yet. Though a lot of people lowered their inhibitions, he even managed have a tryst with of all people Issac Crawford; which if you travelled in Esmé circles was a huge accomplishment because supposedly the only man in Issac’s life he was intimate with was Jesus Christ. He bit his bottom lip; those were good times indeed. It was a shame that the poors had to ruin all of fun. It was natural for the lower classes to be jealous of the opulence of the rich, but the police were supposed to maintain social order when all else failed. Esmé thought the LAPD should have used more force to ensure the groveling masses returned to work and ceased rioting. Because of their incompetence he was stuck in this decaying city until his parents found a way to get him out. He was more than willing to call this American experiment a bust and return to France; the first thing he would do when he returned to his homeland would be to go to Paris and start the arduous process of rebuilding his wardrobe.

He looked around at his numerous possessions. All things considered he managed to accumulate a sizable selection of outfits living in the hovel much to the chagrin of the others. It is like they all expected him to exert himself in gathering things for communal use. As if. Why put in effort in providing for inferiors, he is indispensable while they are not. Though he learned not to verbalize such thoughts, lest he get a tongue lashing from one of these deviants. He decided to show restraint and hold his tongue with these degenerates, until the moment a better opportunity with more civilized individuals presented itself.

Being careful to keep his head low and make as little noise as possible he managed to pick out an outfit that summed up his mood as of late. Ivory Slim-Fit Tapered Wool Suit Trousers, Wyatt Suede Chelsea Boots, a 14-Karat Gold Diamond Bracelet, and a pink Cotton-Gauze T-Shirt with the phrase “Let them Eat Cake” printed on the front in white lettering. He made his way to a bathroom and changed clothes. Despite the situation clearly requiring urgency he was taking his time not only perfecting his look, but clearly stalling so others could deal with the potentially messy situation. He thought about snooping around some of the others’ rooms again. One of these lowlifes were bound to have some cocaine hidden away or coffee. Oh god, he missed a good espresso. The group needed to acquire him an espresso machine. He looked at himself in the cracked mirror for longer than is healthy and once done admiring himself wondered if it was worth the risk to go back to his room and pick out some lipstick.

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