Plank Sinatra

Fate/Shattered Dogma

<Snipped quote by Plank Sinatra>

You're not picking Hector are you? Or Achilles?

@King Cosmos

No, but he would have killed Hektor if Zeus wasn’t such a bitch

Fate/Shattered Dogma

Well this makes my pick even more metal already.

Fate/Shattered Dogma

>Ajax

A J A X

Fate/Shattered Dogma

Every class I was interested in has been taken (should have claimed Rider while I could), but I'll state my interest anyway. Maybe I'll make a Shielder.

@King Cosmos

Believe in Casters, bro! They can win wars too!

Fate/Shattered Dogma

Tentatively interested, depending on a couple of factors. Will check back in after I check on said factors.

@Krayzikk

Said factors reporting for duty.

I'm going to be aiming for a Lancer.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

La di da di da, motherfuck the law

@Write @Crimmy @NarayanK

Lauren's grin sharpened as her hand shook the Mistralian girl's confidently, but their moment of Jacobin female bonding was broken by the twin thunderclaps of an arriving airship and - well, arriving thunder. Ever the people person, Lauren's prediction of Estelle's duplicitous nature had come true before the eyes of the class. Leave it to a white bitch to come five minutes too soon.

"Weeeeell," Lauren drawled, stretching out her word and her limbs, back arching as she drew up to her full height and withdrew the folded weapon from beneath her jacket. Lauren drew her arms through the sleeves of the leather garment and felt the familiar, snug fit against her body with a grin. Whether they were in a sim or not, her jacket was endearingly real - and so was her new gat.

Lauren flicked her tongue along the tip of her thumb and held it up in the direction of the airship, testing the impending storm winds that tousled her hair with greater and greater insistence.

"I think that's our cue, friend-o mine. Hold onto something tight, and--"

Gratia, from behind Lauren, grabbed onto the con artist's breasts with all the finesse and passion of a fundamentalist's training bra.

"-wew, and let go when you think is best, yeah? We're not gonna have much of a timetable here, Grat, so wherever you think you can stick the jump you go for it. The hatch we're looking for will be near the bow of the ship, but the noses on these things are weirdly elongated, so once we're inside we'll need to take a quick stroll to the cockpit. Got it? A-one-fuckin' awesome. Testing, testing, Hautdesert!"

The package Lauren Negasi had been carrying under one arm for most of class, much like her team captain's, was an astonishing grower.

What had been a rectangular, beam-shaped wedge about the length of an arm had transformed twice - first unfurling into an exceedingly pretty one-bladed axe, ornamented in a jade color lighter than Lauren's eyes and burnished with brass and gold ivy leaves along the shaft, and then transforming yet again into an enormous projectile weapon that could only be described as a jumbo fucking ballista. It planted itself in the sands as they slowly turned to mush beneath the oncoming torrent, with a crank vaguely reminiscent of one of Ben's original tonfa jutting out towards the back of the weapon. Lauren, easily lugging the symbiotic, expressionless Gratia over her shoulders, planted her feet squarely along the center of the weapon, pulling the crank back and twisting it a couple times. Off in the distance, she saw a pillar of steam attempting valiantly to signal the airship. Lauren grinned. As long as Beryl could keep it up, she would have the perfect landing zone in a minute.

"Oh yeah, Grat, and the most important thing is to--FUCK--"

A large beam of energy was starting to glow from the back of Lauren's newly christened wave motion bolt thrower. Liftoff was inevitable now, whether either girl was beginning to silently have second thoughts about this arrangement or not.

The sands gave way into a pillar of their own as Hautdesert took flight for the first time, a screaming, jubilant pilot riding astride her as a normal twenty-one year old girl might ride a skateboard. Together, Lauren and Grat soared like the superheroes they had each always idolized, and there was not a storm god worshipped on Remnant whose fury could pluck the two Huntresses from the sky, nor could any of them match the valor of Lorena Negasi's hysterical cry.

Not even the wind itself could rip the volume from that cry.

"yyyyyyyeeeeeEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA H A H A H A H A H A H A H A Ｈ　Ａ　Ｈ　Ａ　Ｈ　Ａ　Ｈ　Ａ　Ｈ　Ａ　Ｈ　Ａ　Ｈ　Ａ　Ｈ　Ａ　Ｈ　Ａ　Ｈ　Ａ　Ｈ　Ａ　！　！　！　！　！　！　！　！　！　"

Record of UTX - Special Investigation Team [SRWOG/Mecha]

CORINNE SHOURICHI'S CATCH OF THE DAY! DEFENDING THE SHORES OF MAINE FROM DEEP CHOWDER AND ROLLING UP THE COMPETITION!

When Corinne Shourichi was young, she'd had a dream of Maine-1's violent death over the cerulean skies of his homeland.

...

Okay, that was a lie. But it certainly was certainly specific enough to sound prophetic, and were she to prevent that violent death in the next half hour, she would be able to bludgeon the team into accepting her as their Oracle from this day forth. In this technologically-advanced day and age, the traditional legitimacy of monarchs like those who had once ruled this very country was dead. The models for totalitarian legitimacy over the past couple centuries had been rooted deep in charisma and mysticism, born through the personality cults of vivid, idealistic, glorious visionaries who just so happened to be the military leaders who remained loyal to the people during military coups. As long as she remained loyal to her team and demanded their loyalty in return, their hero worship of Corinne would follow them to the afterlife!

Oooh, that was the good stuff. She would be the most benevolent military leader the world had ever seen, and she would harness the power of self-fulfilling prophecy as evidence of the divine lineage she was always certain she'd sprung from. If Maine-1's survival was to be the cornerstone of her team's unyielding adoration for her, then Corinne Shourichi would ensure that he would stand like the Rock of Cashel for centuries.

All she had to do was have a little faith in her uptight deputy - and trust Hazel was good for something besides playing in sims and lustful glances.

"Don't finish without me, hikikomori!" Corinne exclaimed. "Big sister will be back in a minute! Maine-1--"

The R-Blade, painted the distinctly beautiful shade of red that dripped from Aphrodite's wrist, had turned towards the haphazard lions. The majority of the homing missiles, designed to drive the Irish team into the clutches of the eastern team of Lions, were promptly eliminated by a spray of the Shourichi Special's Vulcans.

"--don't die. Your accent is a gift from an almighty God."

Inside the R-Blade's cockpit, a bright blue eye winked behind the blued steel of a butterfly mask.

Now, how in the hell was she supposed to keep a deaf-mute girl alive long enough for her to smash up the Landlions?

Anju was already focused on one Guarlion, and seemed to have a good shot lined up on the unit's Tesla Drive. She was loathe to whip out her beam rifle so early in the fight, too; she never knew when she'd need to save it for something bigger and cooler, which was Corinne's philosophy for all things in life except for her money and her virginity.

But she had a railgun.

That could be cool.

...

That could be pretty cool.

So she fired the railgun downwards and facing from the east, through the side of the Lions' formation as they zipped over the water.

It was pretty cool.

A Certain Variegated Pseudepigraphum [Toaru/Raildex RPG]

@Crimmy @Krayzikk

Brennan's giddy smile unfurled with catlike laziness - or, rather, with the deviousness of the cat that was about to shove some highly fragile family heirloom right off of the counter.

The teen's phone swept over the alleyway twice once he saw the shimmer around the waterlogged corpse disappear; he seemed, for the moment, satisfied that the scavenger had left its scraps unattended to. But he had only advanced three slow steps towards the body, tucked without grace into one of the sides of the alley. It seemed that the Irishman feared an ambush. And then:

fweeeeew-wiiip

The whistle was high and fierce, cutting nimbly through the sound of the spraying water.

"I don't give a fook about you," the student stated matter-of-factly, touching his vest and straightening it out as best he could. "Or least not whatever t'is you're on about tonoight. Now, I'm a reasonable lad. My only groodge here's me food, me vest, and me phone repairs. Other den dat I couldn't give half a squirt o'piss if you slept in yer own bed tonoight or in that dumpster roight dere wit' your clavicle broke in quarts. And I can't squeeze a lick o'cash outta dis broad, neither. So let's do some business, yeah?"

The thick-brogued devil appeared to be doing math. With a confident smile, he finished his calculations and stuck his left hand out, palm open and outstretched, his right hand in his pants pocket.

"Ninety thousand yen, tossed into me waitin' hand, and we can both call ourselves a lil richer for dis exhilaratin' experience, huh?" he cajoled, fingers tightening around an invisible stack of bills and then uncurling. "Academy City's all about the fookin' learnin'."

Heroes of Beacon - Contest of Champions

Old Maids

Valentines Day was textbook modernizing authoritarianism - a holiday that, bereft of other resources or interesting events in human history, was repurposed hastily by the arcane forces of capitalism to represent love. It was all stupid. It was all bullshit.

It happened to be one of the few things that would ever get Veronique Pressman to make common cause with Viv, though. Against the two-ton idealistic tandem of Iris Fouquet and Evangeline Sparr, their united healthy skepticism would be necessary for survival. Pressman was already counting on herself to do most of the work on the cynicism front today, anyway; Viv would profess her disgust for the concept of putting a saccharine face on your relationship for a day, no doubt, but as soon as Sparr started her Valentines Day crunches, the indomitable Godhead of Mistral would be drooling over Evan like an emperor-sized chocolate bar.

Pressman had no such romantic entanglements.

She had no time for boys who were born without the good grace to seek a girl out and thank her for cruise tickets.

Veronique sat up in bed, pushing her blood red hair out of her eyes and into bushy tufts that hung frazzled around her forehead. The room had gotten hot overnight. The thin pullover hoodie she'd donned for sleepwear was clinging to her skin; she rolled up the sleeves, and they inverted as they climbed up to her elbows. She looked around for any hint of her two degenerate teammates, but thankfully it was Iris - the normal one, or as "normal" as one could get as a seventeen year old, 6'7 mountaineer - that was awake, hoarding a small pile of gifts like a dragon at the bottom of a large whiteboard she'd dragged into the room and scrlbbled on. She could see four block letters spelling out the name of their ragtag unit: VIVE.

But not much else.

"What are you doing," Veronique asked, voice heavy with sleep as she rubbed her eyes, "or what have you already done."

Iris turned and beamed, her wide, sunny smile threatening to blind the simmering Veronique. It was good she had her hands before her face; too much contact with the girl from the moutnains would leave her grinning like an idiot too.

"Ah, good morning, Pressman!" she exclaimed. "And a Happy Valen--"

"No."

"--tines to you too, small fry!" she finished affectionately, undeterred by the grouchiness of her journalist teammate. "I have big plans for you today! But first you need coffee. Viv is on her way with our orders."

"I don't believe in patterns. They get journalists killed."

"I'm sure if someone wanted to kill you, they'd just get you while you were distracted by all the wonders of college broadband, eh, small fry?" Iris needled. "Enough pouting, enough pouting! I'm only messing with you, Pressman! We have big plans today!"

"I heard the first time. Trust me." Iris had a voice to match her stature. Honestly...she was a good friend to have. She had a golden heart, pure and gentle, but that gentility went hand in hand with her being a giant too. She was even cute, with bright blue eyes, spiky blonde hair, and a grin that inspired good cheer if you caught it full on, but it was hard enough to get guys interested in a girl who outstacked them in height by half a foot. Getting them to overlook a foghorn voice with a Mistralian accent made it even more complicated.

They really needed to just grab her a date.

"So, that's Evan in the bathroom..." Veronique mused, looking towards the sounds of the shower running in the adjacent room. A tank top and shorts were haphazardly tossed against the open door, and before Pressman could even pull herself out from the muggy space underneath her covers, Iris had already crossed the room - when you had legs like telephone poles, walking across the dorm was no big deal - and picked up each article of clothing gingerly with two fingers. They landed atop a mountain of similar garments in the red-colored laundry basket by the door, mere footsteps away from where Sparr had tossed them on her way into the restroom. Three other baskets were arranged in a larger square, like some geometry project - green, then blue, then black.

"And where's Scarface?"

"You be nice, she's five days clean," Iris admonished. "Viv was kind enough to go out and grab everyone some drinks to start the day! You just wait, we have big--"

"Big plans," Veronique said in unison with another girl. The other girl finished the sentence, just as snappy as Pressman herself would have been:

"How does someone as damned giant as you still have no room for secrets, Iris?"

Iris laughed that off, waving cheerfully at their returning team leader.

"Viv? Viv, you back yet?"

The sounds of water running from the other room noticeably stopped.

Vivianne Laurent was indeed back, in all her statuesque glory. She was shorter than Iris by a wide margin, as most human beings were, yet the authority still rolled off her in waves. The February breeze outside had made a mess of her coal-black hair, and she had recently cut it short (she was really inching closer to that closet door by the day, Pressman noted with a wry grin), so her short bangs stuck up in spikes like a quiff. Of course, it still looked perfect. Viv hadn't needed braces and a healthy smattering of freckles to look easy on the eyes.

Not that it even mattered. Ever since the disappearance of that idiotic southerner, Viv had withdrawn from the attentions of men, preferring to split her time inside a blanket fort with Evan watching movies, the way they insisted they'd done since they were young children.

It had to be a sin against God to commit who-knew-what kind of lesbian debauchery inside a child's blanket fort at the age of seventeen, but Veronique was far beyond questioning her disgusting teammates, and Iris was way too supportive of them to care.

Viv unfurled her leather jacket and produced a wrapped chocolate croissant. They were Sparr's favorites, and no doubt Evan would have been ecstatic to learn where Vivianne had been keeping it warm for the winter. Christ, Pressman was rapidly considering a murder-suicide by defenestration.

Cuffing Season! Budding Huntress Arrested, Called 'Public Menace' After Attempted Valentines Day Massacre!

"For Evan, we have a venti mocha with whipped cream and a chocolate croissant," Viv called out. "Get them while they're hot!"

Evangeline Sparr acceded to that demand happily, bursting out of the bathroom wrapped up in two towels, one around her body and one disguising her trademark purple hair. One of those towels had to belong to one of her teammates, and it wasn't a reach to guess who. Disgusting. Pressman clicked one of the colors on her Dust-powered fountain pen, wondering whether the sensation she got from ramming it through her own skull would be the same one that Viv experienced.

"Happy Valentines Day, Viv!" Evan said adoringly, towel butting into the side of Viv's head.

"Uh-huh," their team leader replied listlessly. "For Pressman, we have a vanilla bean-whipped cream blend frappuccino with chocolate syrup and a blueberry scone."

"...Merci," she said begrudgingly, reaching out for the foods.

"Extra-large strawberry-banana smoothie, no food, for Iris..."

"It's how I start my day with a smile!" Iris exclaimed, grinning widely. None of them bothered to point out that she hadn't taken a sip yet.

"--and a cafe au lait with a Mistralian yogurt," Viv finished, taking a sip of the only drink she hadn't dispensed to her team. "It's disgusting in the coffee house this morning. Hearts and cupids everywhere. The barista drew my name with a heart over the i. Dullard."

"Wow, yeah, fuck him, huh?" Veronique grumbled sardonically. Hearing hot girls complain about attention was one of the many things that she hated this holiday for. You didn't hear weathermen bitching when they chose not to bring umbrellas to work on rainy days, did you?

Vivianne fixed her glare on Pressman and rolled her hazel eyes dismissively.

"I'll take your opinions on my attitude into account when you crawl out of bed, Pressman. I paid for your disgusting fake coffee, too, by the way. If you're going to be a leech you could at least try not lying around like one."

"Hey, I just finished getting her to be nice!" Iris complained. "You be nice too! We all have b--"

"Big plans," the rest of the girls repeated in unison. Only Evan looked remotely enthused - but Iris made up for the general malaise of the team, motioning to her dry-erase board flamboyantly.

"I'm glad you girls brought that up!" she said cheekily, waving one arm at the board and displaying their team acronym to all the girls present. Pressman finally followed Viv's instructions and pulled herself out of bed, resting her bare feet on the floor and enjoying the touch of the cool wood. Evan was staring at the board curiously, as if she was trying to guess what the acronym could possibly spell out.

Like they hadn't already been through this song and dance before. Like they didn't already know what the hell they had signed up for just by virtue of being Iris' friends.

"Ladies, as you know, we're all still single this year--"

"Oh, my fucking God..." Viv groaned under her breath. Evan nodded at Iris sympathetically, but not before giving Viv the side-eye of an entire epoch. For her part, Pressman just hissed through her teeth; it was the closest thing she could do that wasn't a sigh.

She sat right behind him in Dust Apps and he never even turned around. She'd done all but light that damn hair strand on fire.

"--so, in that spirit, it's time to embrace the real meaning of Valentines Day--" (capitalism??? Iris never struck me as a class traitor...) "--and embrace our love for each other, as a team and as sisters! Ladies, welcome to our 5th Annual..."

Iris put her hand on the top of the dry erase board and spun it hard; the board flipped close to two dozen times before finally landing with its other face directed at the team, who could now see that the acronym stood for exactly what they thought.

"...Very Inclusive Valentines Eventapalooza!"

"You know, Iris, every year it's pretty fucking pathetic," Pressman mused aloud, "but I think counting the years makes it even more soul crushing. Is that just me?"

"Nope."

"No."

"No, small fry, but let's put that aside and have some fun today anyway, okay?" Iris trying to pump them all up was par for the course, but this year she seemed to have something else up her sleeve. She was still standing in front of that mound of heart-shaped boxes, trying to hide them from view; maybe it worked on Vivianne and Evangeline, but Veronique was still positioned near the beds, and could see them from behind Iris' legs.

"Now, this year is a special one for the Eventapalooza! As we all know, Veronique's in love this year, isn't that right, Veronique? Congrats!"

Iris directed an innocent look at the other half of their team, who seemed to catch the message.

"Congratulations, Veronique," they droned in unison, though only Evan looked enthused about it. She gave Vera a thumbs up and winked cheerfully at the glowering, freckled redhead.

"It's not so bad, Pressman!" she said encouragingly. It didn't help.

"But more than that, we've all been friends five years. Five years! Isn't that crazy?"

"It's also horseshit," Pressman interjected bitterly. "We've all been friends maybe one year, tops. Viv bullied me all through Sanctum for my braces, and Evan stood there and watched."

"You looked like a Battlebot," Viv said defensively. "It was all in good fun."

"I tried committing suicide."

"Oh, please, don't be dramatic. It was like an eight foot drop. You tumbled off the bleachers sideways."

Iris' stare was hardening as she looked at Viv; the team leader looked at the big girl sullenly and rolled her eyes.

"She fell, anyway! She had those ridiculous Chuck Taylors with the long laces and tried--"

Viv seemed to realize that the eyes of her entire team had now fallen upon her, and that there was no arguing her way out of this one.

"Fine, fuck it," she grumbled. "We've been friends for five years."

"Uh huh," Iris drawled, still looking at Vivianne skeptically. "Anyway, so in commemoration of a half decade as sisters in arms, I decided that a little gift giving was in order. Since no one wanted to bite on my Secret Santa idea at Christmas, I decided to take the liberty of setting up a Clandestine Cupid for Valentines Day. And, just to make sure there was no wriggling out like at Christmas, I contacted all your parents. Since, I'm sure you all know, they were all teammates, they thought it was a great idea to strengthen our team dynamic! That made it easier for me to convince them to transfer money out of your trust funds for use on presents this year."

"Wait, what?" Viv snapped. Evan's eyes just widened.

"Don't worry, Pressman, I paid for yours," Iris added with a sweet grin and a wink.

Pressman was quiet for a second before shrugging. She was the only girl who wasn't making out like a bandit through her parents in some fashion or another, so she wasn't vexed by the idea of someone embezzling funds from the spoiled princesses she shared a team with.

"Works for me," she said simply. "But wait, none of us made wish lists."

"Yup! I saved all of ours from Christmas and bought a bunch of gifts from there at random. Everyone has to go through the pile, pick out a box that has your name in the "from" section, and then gift it to the person you chose. You can pick one gift this morning and one gift tonight, and then everything else is getting donated to the less fortunate! Isn't that great?"

"Works for me," repeated the less fortunate, raising her hand impishly as if to ask an instructor a question. "Does that mean I can get all the ones marked 'to Pressman?'"

"Don't overdo it, small fry, we all know about your cousin the social media magnate."

Veronique's hand dropped slowly as her pout grew more pronounced.

"Okay, we all got it?" Iris asked cheerfully, rubbing her hands together for a couple seconds before clapping loudly enough that she could have caused an avalanche had she been mountaineering. "Aaaaand go pick your presents!"

The two teammates that scrambled for presents were exactly the ones that one would expect; Iris picked hers with abandon, only stopping once to focus on Evan and tell her that she couldn't pick more than one present for Viv. Sparr sulked back to her perch beside Viv, and Pressman heard some faint whispering from Viv that sounded suspiciously like something to do with putting on something besides her towels. From the way that Sparr's lip had almost puffed out to her chin, Veronique was willing to bet she'd heard correctly. Then Veronique herself broke the standstill between herself and Viv, getting down onto her knees to pick out a few presents for each of her teammates. Viv went last, reluctantly, with a baleful glare up at Iris as she lowered herself to the ground.

When all the girls were perched on their beds with gifts, Iris the Ruler-class took command of the gift exchange again.

"Okay, so how this is gonna work is each girl will take a turn picking one of the presents she chose to gift randomly," explained the tall blonde. "One person gets one gift per rotation - so Viv gifts to me, I gift to Evan, Evan gifts to Veronique, Veronique can gift to Viv, for example. And when they open it, we have to tell that person why we want them to be happy in the year ahead! Everybody got that? Good! I'll kick it off. This one goes to...Veronique Pressman!"

Instead of tossing the gift, Iris leaned over with one tanned arm outstretched and dropped a large, thick, red-and-pink-wrapped rectangular prism onto Pressman's legs. Vera looked up at Iris suspiciously, fully expecting to unwrap this and be met with a dirty bomb on a ten-second timer, and began to slowly open the present. When she did, though, she felt instantly guilty for doubting the generosity of her teammate.

"Iris, I..."

"Blu-rays!" exclaimed their referee. "I was thinking of ways you could impress a Shiroyaman, and I figured that you could brush up on a little anime knowledge! I know that you don't exactly develop crushes easily, so...I really want to do anything I can to make this one work out for you, you know? There should be three or four series in there, I uh, didn't really know what to pick..."

"No, this is..."

Veronique's voice was caught in her throat a little. She felt absurd for being emotional about something like this, especially since she was the one who was reacting first; that said, she was glad that now everyone else wouldn't be tiptoeing around getting her something, or that one of her moments of gratitude would be the grand finale of this first rotation.

"Thank you, my friend," she mumbled gratefully. A bashful smile crept up on her face. "These are great. They'll work great."

Maybe it would be worth giving that dumb boy a shot again. She could dazzle him with her patrician taste...

Unless he was seasonal trash...

"To Iris Fouquet! Iris, you're one of my best friends, and you've always been there whenever I needed to vent a little. I hope you like my Valentine!" Evangeline exclaimed, breaking her out of her thoughts. "Wait, Iris, did you choose your own gifts too? You know what I'm giving you already?"

The big girl giggled innocently, dropping her present onto her lap and tearing into the box with none of the grace that Veronique had. She popped open the box to cries of revulsion from the rest of the team.

"Cheater!"

"Wow, unfair!"

"Disgusting."

Iris giggled louder as she untied the ribbon that connected her two gifts, a large box of gold-label milk chocolates falling to the bed as Iris inspected the climbing axes that had been the larger of the two presents.

"I can't wait to hit a summit somewhere with these...thanks, Evan," she said cheekily. Evan had her arms crossed and was trying to look serious, but there was a giggle that was already winning the fight with Sparr's serious face. "Next up, to Vivianne Laurent! Viv, you're a hard girl to love, but when you get there, it's one of the most rewarding experiences of a lifetime. You're cool, charismatic, fearless, and there's no one else I would trust to lead us in the years ahead. Be my Valentine?"

Iris has all the advantage here, Veronique realized. She's the only one who knows what each and every present is. She's just playing around with us.

Viv's Valentines Day present was large and soft-looking; their team leader's long, elegant fingers were pressing into the gift through the wrapping. She unwrapped it and took a second to stare at the pillow that fell out, unamused, before spinning it to face the rest of the team:

CRACK IS WHACK

"Ha ha," Viv intoned emotionlessly, even as Iris and Sparr burst into giggles and even Pressman cracked a wide grin and a small chuckle. "And last, and less than fucking least...Evangeline Sparr. Here's where I come forth and admit that I cheated, too."

Evan froze in mid-laugh and turned to face Viv. She had developed a thick skin over the years from Viv's insults, and had stopped learning to take any of them personally when it became obvious Viv meant none of them. Still, she was curious to see what Viv had to say. So was the rest of the team, if they were being honest with themselves.

"I slipped a gift in while Iris was in the shower," she explained, a contrite look on her face. "I looked at the board and guessed how this entire tacky affair was going to go down, and I had been meaning to give this to you anyway. If it meant getting through with this sooner, all the better."

Viv produced a book-shaped present from her Valentines stash and tossed it, underhand, onto Evangeline's bed.

"You..."

Their fearless leader broke off, watching Evan's fingers trace the front of the present and slowly start to unwrap it.

"You are my only friend, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it," she said candidly. "You are a drooling, incoherent, emotional mess. You're a danger to society. You still can't really do basic geometry or algebra. You're so rich you've never learned to balance a checkbook. I've had to sit back and be subject to a quarter of a lifetime of you fucking up and dragging me down with you...and I hope for three quarters more. Enjoy your present, my Valentine."

Evan looked at Vivianne for a long moment and then unwrapped the present. It was, indeed, a book. Viv mumbled some quip about Evan not even needing to learn to read, but no one was listening.

Sparr's eyes were growing misty as she flicked through the pages. Each one was plastered with pictures - pictures of two girls, distinctive in their beauty and the unchanging, dual nature of their expressions. One was always smiling; the other was always cold. But the pictures spanned the course of twelve years, and the sheer number of them spanned dozens of pages."

"I had child labour make that scrapbook," Vivianne said hastily, in a voice only slightly louder than her hushed insult. "I didn't put in the effort myself or anyth--"

Evan tried to stifle a sniff, and she did it poorly. In the next second, she had launched herself over the space between her bed and Viv's, hugging her best friend tightly and burying her towel-shrouded head into the collar of Viv's expensive leather jacket. Viv opened her mouth to complain about the possibility of tears getting into the material...and then closed it, smiling up faintly at her subordinate and pushing a loose strand of wet hair back underneath the towel.

It was a sweet moment, and one which had left Iris and Pressman almost entirely forgotten. Neither of them seemed to mind.

Loose strands of hair...

It was turning out to be the least intolerable Valentines Day of Veronique Pressman's teen years, at the very least. She might try and make something of it later on. They could watch Blu-rays together if she didn't binge all of them in one go.

Or, she decided, watching Viv pull Evangeline down into a tight hug, she could do something about Luke Schwarz tomorrow, and just spend today with her friends.

There were a lot of presents left to get to.

A Certain Variegated Pseudepigraphum [Toaru/Raildex RPG]

bgm

@Crimmy @Avant @Krayzikk

Brennan skidded to his halt, the resultant screeching of shoes and black scuff marks on pavement only further loosening the bonds that tied the humans of the 21st century to their primal, knuckle-dragging ancestors. By now Brennan Griese, he of the black-and-gold hair and bloodied dress shirt, bore more in common with the violent Aurignacian culture of evolutions gone by than he did with the assumed human that he was chasing after. Were he in any fit shape to rationalize his anger at the figure whose violent mugging he lusted for so hungrily, he would no doubt have found it in him to laugh at the vast well of Cro-Magnon-esque rage that had welled up inside him. After all, it was he who had counseled Umeko to be patient, not let a little corpse get to her, leave things to the authorities. But that was before Umeko had fallen into the sinkhole; that was before he had started the chase. The thrill of the hunt was upon him now.

The scent of blood was stuck in his nostrils.

Perhaps it was more apt to call Brennan Griese a Neanderthal than a Cro-Magnon, for Neanderthals were a capable, hardy race, possessed of knowledge that the more primitive, angrier ancestor to humanity lacked. A Neanderthal might have been capable of dressing itself in the bloodstained Gucci that Brennan was sporting this evening; a Neanderthal had the hunting methodology and survival instinct that a Cro-Magnon may have lacked. In fact, humankind as defined today was actually evolved through the interbreeding of Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons - interbreeding which, in fact, was founded upon a mix of respect for the Cro-Magnon's violent natures and pity for their lack of comprehension in more social matters.

The same interbreeding was in fact taking place tonight in Academy City, between the Homo sapiens Brennan Griese and the doomed subspecies Homo sapiens otaku.

Or, interbreeding would have taken place, if they hadn't stumbled upon the goddamned corpse.

The hunt was all that separated Brennan from his apartment. The hunt had to end - in victory. He had to feel his teeth in the other esper's neck, and soon. Luckily, he was more Neanderthal than Cro-Magnon, and knew how to hunt with tools.

Having noted that the specks of blood and pus spraying from the mangled corpse were forming a trail, Brennan Griese was able to note that the trail had suddenly branched off the main sidewalk and out of the lights of District 15. They were in an alley, which made Brennan's bloody grin expand a notch. Alleys were the perfect places for a good beatdown, as any County Antrim boy worth his bloody knuckles knew all too well. He also knew that there were plenty of places in an alleyway to stop cold in your tracks, press against a wall, and let a lad outrun you before heading back to the main road. He needed visibility.

Luckily, in the 21st century, any fucking knob with a good phone in his pocket could lend you that. On top of that, Brennan knew enough of cities to know what was on the side of many a building that comprised an alleyway.

The labyrinthine pipes that supplied those buildings. Such vulnerable little faucets that stretched on for a block. Vulnerable little faucets with all that water...and all that pressure.

Brennan weighed using his hand, but that would smart even for him. A kick would be a safer bet, but...

Ah, fuggit.

Deez shoes are already well 'n' fooked.

Brennan Griese stood in front of the nearest faucet, his body stripped of fear by the thrill of adrenaline, and sang the first faucet in the alley some sweet chin music. Two related, and equally fortuitous, events occurred within a second of each other.

First; the water in the open pipes was pressurized beyond what the pipes were meant to handle, and as it traveled down the line of buildings, the pipe system began to pop off faucet after faucet, spraying the alleyway with highly pressurized water.

Second; Brennan Griese himself, standing at ground zero of the hosing down from hell, took not just the blast of water head on, but also the force of the faucet itself popping into his diaphragm at an unhealthy range of psis of force. He absorbed the force as fuel without complaint, even though the affected spot would probably smart in the morning with Umeko's snoring, drooling head balanced atop it.

If the force of the water that now sprayed through the alley in half a dozen makeshift geysers hadn't knocked the other Esper off his feet, the water would no doubt leave an outline that could be picked up again. And for that, Brennan Griese had just the thing.

Aforementioned good phone in his pocket, the glass on the back of the phone's surface cracked from pressure but nonetheless still containing a lens capable of flashlight mode.

With a beam of light now emanating from the device in his shirt pocket, Brennan Griese began to sprint through the water, down the alley, in the direction of his prey.