Starlance

Wizard Mafia (Harry Potter Organized Crime RP)

Alícia Correia

Alícia Correia

Picture

Age: 24
Birthday: 12th February
Height: 178 cm (5'10")
Body Type: Athletic
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Raven
Pronouns: She/Her
Orientation: Heterosexual

Voice

Lillie Flynn (Sirris of the Sunless Realms, Dark Souls III)

Magical Specialties

• Transfiguration (Transformation, Human Transformation and Conjuration)
• Animagus form (Carrion Crow)
• Charms (regular and dark)

Biography

Born in 2001 in Manaus to Sérgio and Maria Correia, a Full-blooded potions master and a Muggle-born Witch, and leading an uneventful life for the first few years until 2003, when both of her parents went to a fancy, moonlit dinner at a restaurant out in the rainforest, a decision that would shape Alícia’s life forever as Sérgio and Maria were mauled by a werewolf. Sérgio succumbed to his injuries, but managed to save Maria’s life with Dittany and silver before doing so. She kept her lycanthropy a closely-guarded secret, but she and her daughter fell on hard times.

The day Alícia’s magic manifested at seven was a massive relief, as living at the school would lessen the financial strain and she was sent to Castelobruxo at 11. Unlike the Castelobruxo stereotype, Alícia never cared much for herbology, her interest in plants ending at their Scoville rating and THC content. She instead displayed a natural knack for Transfiguration, also showing interest in Charms due to their usefulness. Her transfiguration talent has endeared her to her Transfiguration professor, an elderly Wizard named Rúben Sauza, whose help and patience allowed her to learn the process of becoming an animagus by year three and complete the ritual in secret the year after during the summer break, considering her animal form - a Carrion Crow - an absolute win.

For her sixth year, Alícia’s grades qualified her for an exchange program to one of Europe’s magical schools, spending that year at the Durmstrang Institute where she got her first proper introduction to the Dark Arts. Unfortunately, it was during her time at Durmstrang that her mother’s lycanthropy was discovered, costing her her job and bringing the Correias’ finances from “shaky” to “crashing down”.

Alícia was thrown a lifeline by Mateo Pareja, a talented herbologist from Colombia with a shady reputation one year her junior. Turned out the reputation was well deserved, as Mateo was selling drugs made of magical plants to Muggles and suggested she start using Transfiguration to get muggles things that are otherwise hard to get for them and helped her get going along that path. That helped some, and with her Transfiguration talent at least they weren’t going hungry, but acquiring Wolfsbane for her mother remained a serious problem. But fortune may have turned toward her at least a little in 2023, when the New York partners of the Cartel mateo had joined needed someone with her experience. Her Transfiguration talents and status as Animagus must have made an impression, as the temporary job turned into a permanent offer. Alícia moved to New York full time with her mother, now working as an associate of the Serpeverde Crime Family hoping to carve out a piece of the pie for herself and her mother.

Edited to fit the mold.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Outflaw
Fireteam Viking
Solveig Theta Mine, Tasiusaq, southern Greenland
0600 Local Time

---

She managed to keep her composure initially, but boarding the hovercraft was the straw that broke the hacker’s back. Her breathing grew rapid and strained. Her stomach was desperately crying to get rid of the army eggs and bacon she ate last, but her brain overrode it as her throat didn’t have the bandwidth for that and the amount of air she needed just to stay conscious. The suggestion - Or was it an order? She couldn’t tell. - barely registered before her brain threw it in the bin. ”I can’t. Someone else take it.” She whispered barely loud enough to be heard over the engine’s roar.

She instead reached for the magic laptop. She thought she’d call it ‘Rosetta Stone’ because it allowed her to talk to pretty much any device in range. Connecting it to the hovercraft’s transmitter, which in turn connected to the datalink between the fighters, helicopters and even the supporting ships they launched from, giving her a big brother-esque view of the battlefield. Just like the high rise raid, except with better information. Oh, and the world at stake. Enri took a few seconds to get situated on the map while also taking quick mental notes on how the ships’ and fighters’ systems worked. Because one never knows when that might be useful in the future.

Linking with one of the Lightning IIs equipped with an EW pod - an attachment in the centermount granting the already formidable plane limited offensive EW capability, nicknamed ‘Growler Can’ by pilots and ground crews alike and going for 750 000 USD on the black market - she promptly ignored the fact the pilot was likely swearing up a storm that someone was touching his plane and sunk into the stream of radio communications it was detecting. Sending a request through the datalink to leave several marked AA emplacements alone for a few minutes and setting three separate AIs loose on it, within 30 seconds Enri had the communication protocols figured out and asked the pilot to heat up the jammers.

Within ten seconds, six autonomous AA guns had a small heart attack from the sheer amount of gibberish they began receiving, assumed something had gone wrong with their control center and automatically reset. Because ‘Turn it off and back on again’ worked, even for cutting-edge military gear. And it would’ve worked this time too, had Enri not been ready to send false data with the fighter’s EW pod electronically masquerading as the guns’ control center. As soon as they rebooted, they loaded the altered targeting parameters and all six guns turned around and opened up on any and all units tagged with an Artemis IFF. The men in the control truck likely would’ve easily fixed that issue had they not been one of the first things shredded to ribbons by one of the rogue guns

”Won’t last forever, but the South side has a hole in the defenses.” She noted to Javier, ”Giving it five minutes before they figure out how to shut them down and switch to manual. I’ll see if I can do something sneaky to their comms without physical access.” And with that she zoned out again as she and and her three noncorporeal helpers set their sights on figuring out a way to listen in on Artemis comms. Maybe sneak in some conflicting orders if they could get away with it, depending on where lady luck would be standing.

Boraro
Fireteam Poseidon
10 Nautical Miles west of La Palma, Canary Islands, Spain
0700 Local Time

---

He was still reading the SDV manual when Vincent called out to him. ”I prefer Europe over Africa. Must be the running water and indoor flushing toilets.” He grinned back at the madman at the stick, poking a bit of fun yet at the same time being completely serious. He understood patriotism, but Africa has been nothing but trouble for his family and could therefore go fuck itself and the horse, donkey or whatever other animal it rode in on as far as he was concerned. Just not in this way.

Whoever does this for a hobby must be fucking mad. That was the thought on Ebrima’s mind as he plunged into the water, cold and dark in the early morning hours. He tried to turn face down and spread his arms and legs as if skydiving to slow his descent, but the personal flotation device stubbornly insisted on keeping him in the upright position, making him sink like a brick. Whoever thought to put handholds on the outside of the SDV was a fucking legend. ”I think the cooler’s leaking, boss, there’s water everywhere.” Ebrima replied to Adam’s ‘VolksWagen Polo’ comment as he worked his way into the driver’s… captain’s seat? Pilot’s seat? What the fuck was he even?

At least being underwater meant the waves weren’t an issue. Two dozen meters below sea level, the water was calm, though the headlights were more wishful thinking than an actual asset. The SDV lurched back and forward for a few seconds - almost like an actual car if someone had trouble launching and kept stalling it - while Ebrima figured out the controls, the submersible struggling with the depth changes a little. ”Someone packed too much luggage. Alright, I think I’ve got it. Everyone holding on?” He waited for everyone to sound off before easing the throttle forward, making an abrupt stop after a minute to figure out the braking distance. Not impressive. Awful, actually, like stepping on a baking sheet. Unaware of the platform’s defenses and sensors, he left the sonar off and drove- sailed- piloted, whatever, by the lights and inertial navigation system.

Pretty much just the INS until one of the platform’s legs appeared out of the inky blackness in the floodlights’ cone some 20 meters ahead. ”We’re coming up on the platform, North-East leg I think.” He said as he stopped the SDV after around fifteen minutes of monotony, the stationary submersible sinking a few meters until it reached equilibrium. ”Dismount here?”

Wizard Mafia (Harry Potter Organized Crime RP)

A: "Man, I'm so excited to see the best safe cracker on the East Coast at work."
B: "Right? I can't wait to see what advanced charms he's going to use."
C: "Bombarda Maxima!"
A: "..."
B: "..."
C: "What? Safe's cracked, isn't it?"

Wizard Mafia (Harry Potter Organized Crime RP)

I was gonna go with a crow if that works.

Wizard Mafia (Harry Potter Organized Crime RP)

I like the idea of starting small and growing.

As for character, I'm toying with the idea of an illegal Animagus just getting into crime to support their family.

Wizard Mafia (Harry Potter Organized Crime RP)

I'll throw my hat in as well.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Enri Uemura
Briefing Room
02:20 Local

---

For her part, Enri sat in the briefing room looking like a lost kid in a shopping mall. And what a sight she was: A bespectacled whirlwind of color among the military greens, grays and function over form. When Tahlia asked for questions, Enri raised her hand. ”Ummmm. Is this the part where you’re told I’ve never fired a gun? Like, ever. Or has someone told you before?”

---

Armory
0300 Local

---

If someone thought Enri looked out of place before, it was time to reconsider. The vest didn’t fit her right, the plates doubled her weight. The helmet on her head was like a pot, requiring additional padding to sit secure and they had to look among the Blue Sword staff to find someone with small enough shoes that Enri could borrow.

And she was absolutely miserable.

She’d worked for Shalev long enough that she could rattle off the basic specifications of most of the equipment employed for the operation, including the BGM-109P Land Attack Missile - Conventional. The most recent in the venerable Tomahawk family, a 6,35 meters long angry telephone pole with over a 2000 kilometer range, reduced radar cross section and capable of carrying the W80 five to 200 kiloton nuclear warhead (sold separately, additional charges may apply). But the mere thought of using a weapon, much less on a living being, made her wonder how quickly she could take the helmet off in case she needed to offload her last meal. The fact that the man indirectly responsible for her nearly getting shot in the face would be the last line of defense between her and a bunch of angry morons with too much tech for everyone’s good wasn’t helping her situation in the slightest. Yes, the pale bastard left her there to die, but this guy was part of the reason they had that problem in the first place.

She tried to clear her mind by checking the two bags - yes, she had to outsource carrying some of it to someone else in the team - but she’d done that several times already so her mind kept wandering. Come to think about it, Kitsune was kind of a shit customer all things considered. She’ll be charging a premium next time. At least she’d get to play with some highly experimental hardware Raven provided, the device looking like a heavy duty laptop connected to a sizable multispectral antenna she carried on her back that would let her wreak absolute havoc.

Boraro
Briefing Room
02:30 Local

---

Water. Ebrima loved water. He was made up of the stuff, after all, rain offered a welcome reprieve from the Sun’s searing heat and you couldn’t make brandy without the stuff.

But Ebrima also loved bacon and naturally-aspirated V8s, yet too much of them would increase cancer risk.

So why on God’s green Earth did they have to go into a damn ocean? Maybe that was wrong. It was God’s blue Earth, wasn’t it? Strictly statistically speaking it was a miracle he’d spent his entire life on land, though that would be ignoring a big influence on the sample pool, namely that humans had no damn business being in the ocean. He was no thalassophobe - or at least he was pretty sure, he’d never played Subnautica to check - but… too much bacon.

Maybe reading scale model building instructions would allow him to understand rebreather instructions quickly, but something told him he shouldn’t hold his breath about it. Or maybe he’d have to, worst come to worst.

”I’ve heard enough about Vasquez when I was in Colombia. There’s places in that country where people are afraid to till the land for fear of finding another mass grave of her making and unleashing some curse she’s placed upon it.” Ebrima said with clear disdain, having never had to deal with the woman before. Were the stakes not so high, he might have actually looked forward to that fight. Killing her was just public service. ”With the toxin on the platform, can we risk using air support at all?” He continued with a question of his own. He was no chemist, but if any vapor was bad, surely sending a Hellfire near it couldn’t end well?

---

Armory
0300 Local

---

With no civilians expected, Ebrima prepared accordingly. Six full drums of slugs and two of flechettes for the shotgun for when things went loud, three magazines of subsonics for the rifle for the sneaking before on top of the two magazines for his sidearm. Smoke grenades stayed home, instead making way for a total of four flashbangs. Seeing the effect it had in marrakesh, he did bring a magazine of stun grenades for the launcher, as well as a magazine of frags, but with the threat of the toxin he instead loaded up four magazines of thermobarics. He would make Canada proud.

Lastly, the contentious blade. He might even start calling it that. What legendary sword didn’t have a name, after all? Scanning the armory for who might be the most durable person on the team, he settled on Chuck and approached, holding out his hand for Duke to sniff before speaking. ”Should I not return, will you please see to it that this gets back to Purna?” He asked, tapping the holstered kukri with his knuckles. Might as well go out on a kind note if the dice were to fall poorly.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Premiere

18th March 3027, 19:36 - Sartu system, Sartu c - Federated Suns

“Alright, Half Pint, post up on that hillside over there and let that PPC rip. Ghost, IRIS will call out targets to you, focusing on the ‘Mechs. Giggles,” Her callsign cut through the noise like a foghorn, “prioritise the VTOLs and then combat vehicles. Once those are done, coordinate with Ghost. Wait for Alpha to give you the go. I’ll be ahead of you, looking out for trouble.”
The three Bravo Lance pilots each found a place they could comfortably shoot from and waited. Two minutes later, Alpha Lance reported contact and 30 seconds after that, Bravo was given the fire-at-will order.

Alpha reported good initial effect as Warriors started falling out of the sky and a PPC and two LRM 15s began tearing into the enemy ‘Mechs, forcing them to take cover from two directions. As Marit focused on the battle raging hundreds of meters away from Bravo Lance, she completely missed small figures moving along the ground. She only noticed them when one of them soared through the air and headed straight for her cockpit. Turning the torso was a completely instinctive reaction, like when a ball is thrown at your head and you swat it aside. Unfortunately for the infantryman, Marit was right-handed so the reaction still worked as the unusable SRM launcher hit the jumper’s legs, sending the man tumbling toward the Dervish’s canopy. The impact was marked by a faint thud and left a red streak across the ferroglass.
Around the same time, the machine guns of Deadstick’s Locust woke up. “Infantry and jumpers at three-one-zero. Handling that.”
Marit turned back to the sensors readout, finding that the remaining combat vehicles had already been decimated. She was about to ask her mother to call out her current target to focus their fire when a sudden flash of light and spike in cockpit temperature drew her attention to a nearby jagged rock. As she hauled the Dervish around to make herself harder to hit and peered through the canopy to identify what the Hel was shooting at her, something weird about the view kept tugging at her eye. Something had changed. The bloody smear was gone. That could only mean the laser vaporized it. A cockpit hit. Bastard! The other medium laser carving into her right torso was just an insult on top of it

Perhaps it was her inexperience, perhaps the way she was raised, but Marit subscribed to the same way of thinking as fighter pilots ever since the rise of flight back on Terra: That theirs was a different, cleaner kind of combat, machine pitted against machine, free of the mud and blood of regular ground war. Of course it wasn’t true and there were about as many ways one could die horribly inside a BattleMech as there were reasons to hate the Draconis Combine, but it was one thing if an accident happened and a whole other can of worms if someone went out of their way to make it happen. SHe’d been stationary for crying out loud.

The offending BattleMech turned out to be a Cicada, gunning straight for them. No doubt sick of being pelted by LRMs. “Bravo, Cicada, dead zero.” She cautioned, firing off her only medium laser and turning to run behind some sort of cover, aware that she couldn’t outrun it. The Cicada was drawing mercilessly close when a flight of missiles slammed into its side, rending the armor on the left leg and torso and ripping off the left arm wholesale. The Cicada stumbled, leaning over precariously before its pilot regained his balance. Seeing the ‘Mech turn to her once again, Marit raised the Dervish’s arm to cover the cockpit and kept hauling ass into cover. Both of its medium lasers found her ‘Mech and Marit was able to feel the Dervish’s weight shift as the rest of her right torso armor ceased to exist. Fortunately, the right side LRM rack was empty to offset the weight of the missing arm. The Cicada’s stumble fortunately allowed Marit to gain enough ground to fire her missiles, sending everything she had at the enemy BattleMech.

The laser carved out a piece of the right leg armor while the missiles - Marit somehow landing all 20 of them - wrought havoc upon the Cicada, making the center and left torso armor look like Lunar surface, stripping the right arm completely and breaching the already weakened left torso. The hail of fire was joined by four medium lasers from the Cicada’s left, two making contact with the leg and torso as Idun’s Catapult rounded a rock, coming to the rescue.

The Cicada’s pilot realized which way the wind was blowing, took one last potshot at Marit as he turned tail and ran, the medium lasers taking a decent chunk off her center torso armor. Using the right arm to try and shield her now exposed internal structure, Marit hastily sent out a volley from the left torso launcher, three missiles making contact with the rear armoring of the Cicada’s center torso, joined shortly by two more lasers and a volley or LRMs from the Catapult, stripping the rest of its back armor, mangling the left torso and even striking the head. The fusillade pelting its back and a poorly timed dip in the terrain sent the fleeing medium ‘Mech face first into the ground, plowing a short trench in the soil before tumbling over its head and coming to rest unmoving, the MechWarrior likely unconscious from going 130 to zero via lithobraking.
“Alright?” Her mother simply asked.
“Lost a piece and running dry, but moving.”
In the commotion, Marit hadn’t even noticed that Half Pint and Deadstick had taken down a Locust that accompanied the Cicada and the rest of the infantry.

“Bambi here, need help, I’m-” The call for help was cut off mid-sentence. Looking in the depot’s direction, Marit was treated to the horrible sight of a Panther engulfed in LRM explosions. The stricken ‘Mech took one last, wavering step backwards as the shaken Diagnostic Interpretation Computer carried out the last command given to it before all inputs from the pilot ceased and the ‘Mech fell limply flat on its back as when the smoke cleared, it became apparent there was no longer any cockpit to send commands to it.
“Bambi’s gone.”
“No!”
“Did she eject?”
“No. Negative punchout.”
“Xerox? Xer- Aili! Snap out of it!” Marit could see IRIS’ Grasshopper backhand the now-stationary Locust as the realization that Xerox had just witnessed her twin sister get vaporized in front of her hit her like a freight train.
“Bravo Leader, Bravo Two, missiles running low, recommend we get in there and get physical.”
“Agreed. Alpha Lance, we’ll be with you in a minute, hang in there.”

The site of the skirmish was bloody. In addition to Bambi’s Panther, the downed Warriors and wrecks of several ground vehicles, she could see a wrecked Blackjack and Commando. The Sons didn’t have any of those, good. As they arrived, Marit also caught the tail end of a Panther - Charlie Lance’s last working BattleMech - and half of Ångström’s Assassin, down to just its SRM 2 launcher, tearing into a Trebuchet they isolated from the rest of its Lance and determined to keep doing it until the noises stop. Given what they all just watched it do, she wholeheartedly approved. Bravo’s own Locust busied itself with harassing a Quickdraw as it tried to disengage and landing some good shots by the looks of it, but it was only one mistake from getting stomped into the ground. All was not well though, as IRIS’ Grasshopper was facing off a Locust and a godsdamned Guillotine. The only way he was holding on was the depot behind him forcing the enemy ‘Mechs to take care with aiming while he had a clear shot and the fact the Guillotine was missing both of its arms by now.

“Half Pint, Quickdraw. Ghost, Guillotine. Giggles, Locust.” Deadstick ordered, a hard edge rarely present in his voice indicating how many enemy survivors there wouldn’t be. Marit could see her mother firing everything she had save one LRM launcher and did the same, her medium laser missing, as did half her missiles. She would’ve felt embarrassed to miss a ‘Mech that had its back turned to her and likely had no idea she was even there aside from a lock on warning were it not for the fact that Deadstick failed just as bad as she did. At least the Locust turned to look for what the heck was shooting at him and stopped trying to circle around IRIS’ Grasshopper, who took advantage of the shift of his attention and scored a hit to its legs with his large laser. One leg buckled under the weight of the machine, the other one getting flung away as inertia won over the tumbling ‘Mech’s remaining structural integrity. Any jubilation was quickly ended by a bang as the Assassin’s right torso was ripped open by an ammo explosion, struck down by the Trebuchet’ final laser volley before being itself destroyed. With the remainder of the Sons barreling down on them like a ton of vengeful bricks, the Guillotine and Quickdraw didn’t last much longer, despite another attempt to break off and flee and Jolt’s Panther succumbing to prior damage and forcing her to shutdown and eject.

And just like that, it was over. No proverbial mist clearing, no serene silence, just the same ambient noise of the Dervish beneath her and the thought of four lockers in the ready room without a master. As status reports from the other MechWarriors started trickling in and orders to check on Jolt and RTB came from the Kalevala, Marit could hear the relief in her dad’s voice.
“Mari?” Idun asked when Marit lagged with her check-in, using her regular nickname to give her brain a push for some traction.
She took a second to recompose herself before answering. ”I’m alive.” She stated flatly with a hint of disbelief, the situation yet to fully sink in.

Rise of Rasalhague

”Boring!” Karel teased in response to Sulser’s ‘teetotaler’ comment before acknowledging Ulrik’s order, turning the Mongoose’s torso toward the Raven. ”Race you there.” He joked, matching the slower ‘Mech’s pace as they headed back to the DropShip to pick up a load of crunchies of their own. Hardly a surprise to Karel they’d done this well. Given the pirates’ equipment and tactics, the bar was so low it was a tripping hazard in Hell, The League could’ve mopped them up. Well, okay, (un)SAFE would still probably swear up and down the moon was uninhabited, but that was just a fact of life one accepted and moved on.

---

Not feeling like clearing out pirate bunkers - if he wanted to do that, he wouldn’t have spent years training to be a MechWarrior - he keyed his mic. ”I’m staying outside. Don’t get turned around in there in case you need to scram.” He continued the role he’d been filling thus far, circling the base in search of trouble, or perhaps some stragglers who saw the writing on the wall and tried to surrender. Not that he expected anything of note, given the amount of scrap the company has left in their wake as they charged up the valley. Not unless the VTOLs fancied round two, which would’ve been straight up suicide. They got their shit kicked in when they had jumpers and a ‘Mech, alone they’d be headed for a slaughter. Maybe they could go look for them later, a few intact VTOLs never hurt.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP)

Boraro
Camp Hannula, Pöyrisjärvi National Park, Finland
2000 Local Time

---

“Well, you can't just go rogue when the world's hunting anything that has your face.” Adam moralized, eliciting a chuckle from Ebrima as he let go of his weapon again, visibly loosening up. ”Evidently she can.” The Cameroonian shrugged, ”And if convention was followed in Raven, there would be no Raven. I’ve learned that much in my brief time here. Welcome back, Major. I trust a dog’s nose.” He stated plainly, a mischievous smirk growing on his face. ”Correct answers, sure, but: Dog.”

”We’ve agreed to postpone the fight to the death until after the current world ending crisis is resolved. One might say we are balancing on a knife’s edge.” He followed up on Purna’s comment about their little situation. Ebrima wasn’t in the least surprised Raven knew a lot about a lot, and if Raph had indeed taken part in the Shalev operation then it only made sense he’d have shared what he knew about the boxed crook they were supposed to trust with their lives in a fight. He’d have to do some digging later, figure out just how good Raven’s homework squad was. His work for Shaelv was hardly a secret, Enri having been one of the behind the scenes crew while Ebrima had been Avital’s pale shadow wherever the arms dealer went, but if they had somehow managed to dig up his childhood, he’d be officially impressed. Also mad as fuck.

But something Skye said caught Ebrima’s ear. ‘Enri’. A name was just a name, familiar or not. Once is a happenstance.
A Japanese woman named ‘Enri’ in her late twenties, short, thin. It was a Japanese woman’s name, and half of that country needed a few burgers to bulk up and platform boots to see a bus over a proper dog. Twice is a circumstance.
A Japanese woman named ‘Enri’ in her late twenties, short, thin, and a superstar hacker of loose morals. Thrice was deliberate action.
And then the full name. A ghost from the recent past, soil barely settled on the figurative grave in Ebrima’s mind. No wonder he didn’t recognize her standing there, even if he’d known she was alive. Comparing her then to now was like if he grew an afro and painted himself his biologically correct skin color.

---

Enri Uemura
Camp Hannula, Pöyrisjärvi National Park, Finland

---

Enri, on the other hand, was shocked by Skye’s knowledge, or at least an aspect of it. ”Hang on a fucking minute: You knew we used to work together, you knew how that ended, you probably then knew the specifics, you work with this coke-faced, spineless, backstabbing, shameless fuck and you didn’t fucking tell me?” She gave Skye a face and a wide shrug with her hands, an expression and gesture practically yelling ‘What the fuck?’ almost as loud as Enri. It was a good thing that woman dragged Ban away so she could break decorum and speak her mind without concern. Not that anyone would really care, every single person in that room could bench her and call for more weights doing it, the big ones with just one hand. She was like a chihuahua yelling at a Belgian Malinois in the presence of German Shepherds and Saint Bernards.

A few paces away, the coke-faced, spineless, backstabbing, shameless fuck was visibly confused on several levels, wondering how she was there, where all of this was coming from and how and when to start unpacking this issue, all the while trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the scene and the fact Enri was somehow alive. There was enough fuel in the dumpster fire already without pouring gasoline on top of it. ”I have no clue how you survived that, but it’s clear that we’re both missing critical pieces of the puzzle that is the past two months. I’d-”
”Fuck off and don’t even breathe around me, you know what you did.” Enri jabbed a finger in his direction and turned to storm out, stopping halfway when she remembered that door didn’t lead where she was going and quickly making her way to the correct one.
”Talk later I guess.” He sighed with a big, dumb grin on his face.