Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current Weak tea is for weak people
1 like
3 yrs ago
Finals are finished, clouds disperse, CHRISTMAS COMES FOR US ALL
1 like
3 yrs ago
Finals begin, black clouds gather, fridge is empty, need a rez
3 yrs ago
Exams initiated, self-destruct protocol next in queue


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Most Recent Posts

If you have a little more room, I'd be interested in popping in. I've got an idea for a magical char trying to figure out the logic behind the massacres managed to happen, could be a fun time. Prolly on the guild sides.
Seconding @Fetzen, but definitely interested.
If you're still accepting, I've always loved the old Norse mythology and think this could be loads of fun to write. I've a few ideas to do with Hodr. If not, that's fine too, just'd like to know. Cheers.

Definitely interested, I've got an idea for an older human interested in the vampire perspective, maybe maintains a hold-out or two for friendly supernaturals.
Fremont Lundgren

@Raineh Daze@TheFake@PKMNB0Y
Fremont tilted his head, scratching behind an ear. This entire situation was much, much less professional than he had been led to believe. He was fine with that. “Y’know Cloverfield, I think you’re right. I was well and truly wrong. Nice switchblade, I’m sure it’s as impressive as a big rabbit. Feel proud, you’re the regal knight who, through their best efforts, might not embarrass themselves in front of the convict.”

The convict patted the leprechaun on her tiny shoulder, stomach growling as he nodded to Fan. "Noted. Anyone else?"

One good meal and several hours later, the resident colossus walked in the motley crew drifting towards the party. “Same question as the rabbit girl. ‘No casualties’ is a noble goal and all, but if someone shoots me I’m not gonna politely ask them to wait in the police car.”

Fremont Lundgren

@KoL@Raineh Daze@VitaVitaAR.@TheFake@RolePlayerRoxas@PKMNB0Y

Lundgren stared at the little chinese girl, eyes forlorn as she wolfed down the meal set before her. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t been glaring at him as she did so, almost taunting him as the source of that wonderful, beautiful smell disappeared before his eyes.

It was honestly starting to feel like Soulflame was some kind of sick, unusual punishment for his past. Slick Rick in the corner over there really pulled the “food for the mind card,” and continued reading to himself. Like an asshole. Meanwhile, the Incredible Irish Preschooler was harassing him about not using her proper name, One Sale Dale was still trying not to wet himself, Lynch had shown up, the place was getting too crowded and then... Fan was talking about a raid.

His teeth throbbed. There was a fight in his immediate future, with heavily armed strangers that he was allowed to break in half. Slowly, the hackles settled back, his lips closed. Fremont relaxed, ever so slightly, then turned to address his new, assorted coworkers. No more bullshit, no more fake manners. Time to be frank, starting with the beanpole leaning against the corner.

“Slimjim. ‘No’ would’ve worked just fine. I get the feeling we shouldn’t kill randos on the street, probably bad business. Maybe you’d realize that if you remembered we’re supposed to be helping people and stopped quoting dates out of history books and snickering to yourself like a Bond villain.

Pint-size, you introduced yourself, unironically, with 'greetings,' and you are, by mass, a third of me. I literally cannot take you seriously. The other smallest person here can pull rabbits the size of a Buick out of her hat. You just speak like a German nun.

Sister rabbit, I’m not gonna eat your dinner. I'm jealous of it, but I'm not gonna. Calm down. I like the big rabbit, by the way.

Lynch, Fan, I’m bad at sneaking and good at everything else. Put me in the middle of the clusterfuck. I call dibs on the biggest one.

Little John, nice to meet you. I’m sure you're good at whatever it is you do that isn't deadly combat.

"That's outta the way. Now, we can all get on like one big, dysfunctional family. With that in mind, my last meal was 16 hours ago, and we have a fight coming up. I’m ordering take out before I eat this table. Anyone else want something?”
Fremont Lundgren

@Raineh Daze@VitaVitaAR@RolePlayerRoxas

Fremont blinked back at the lupine beast. Horse-sized hare, small girl with rabbit ears. Magic shit. “...Right, that checks out.”

His ears twitched. Behind him, a stuttering mess of a man seemed like he was about to piss himself, and a straight-backed Irish preschooler was saying something about introductions and working together. Lundgren tried to ignore it, but they were close enough that she seemed to be talking to both the cringing wreck and the convict. Which meant he would get to work with an uppity girl scout and a businessman with the spine of a claustrophobic oyster. Great.

He glanced over his shoulder, expressionless as he gave each one of them a long look, assessing what he saw. Magic existed, and appearances could be deceiving. Probably. Still, it wasn’t impressive. The girl was damn near a dwarf, unarmed, and had just used “greetings” as a serious greeting. In real life. What a loser. At least the girl in the shop had shown obvious signs of competency, by having a giant rabbit. That probably meant she was good at magic, or… well, he didn’t quite know how to respond to that, but surely it meant something. This red-haired one just seemed to think she was important. He grimaced ever so slightly as he turned his attention to the suit beside her.

The man was even worse. He was sweating like a whore in church. He was a beanpole, pretty, more of a boy than a man. His eyes were dinner plates, and his posture screamed panic. Ordinarily, Lundgren wouldn’t mind. As the team’s official tough guy, at least in his own head, a little fear in people around him was good. Problem was that, apparently, he was gonna have to work this guy. Who was terrified of him. He might need to do something about that at some point.

The colossal man shook his head with a disgust. Regardless, there were more important matters which required his attention. He was still starving, and the smell of chinese food was all but overpowering.

He opened his mouth, displaying his sharpened teeth, glistening with drool. He still wasn't sure how to deal with these people, it was... fuck, the pen was so much simpler. There you could just punch a man and deal with the consequences. Hell, that was how he had made most of his friends in the later years. Now he had to be civil. He spoke falteringly, failing to completely hide his concern about the newcomers. "Sure. Nice to meetcha, girl scout. You and uh... This guy. Right. I'm Lundgren. Fremont Lundgren."

The convict stood in the doorway for a few more moments before deciding to continue towards the source of food. Lundgren shouldered into the building, his head almost scraping the door frame. It was... cozy. Stacks of books were piled all around, and a carpeted interior, counter intuitive to the amount of animals that seemed to live here, contributed to the atmosphere well. Still, it seemed clean. Maybe they were trained? Magic? Probably magic. He was gonna go with that.

He closed the door behind him.

The entirety of the shop was nice. That was the problem. This wasn't prison. The chairs looked comfortable, it was cool inside, and the food smelled palatable. He wasn't in Kansas anymore.

Lundgren glanced between the rabbit-eared girl and the cool guy reading in the corner, like an asshole. All momentum was lost. He knew no one here, no one was trying to kill him, and he still hadn't fought anyone in a month.

His teeth ached, the anklet chafing. The Wolf was always louder when the man was hungry.

Trying to focus on anything except for his rising hackles and sense of paranoia, he found himself once more lost in the hypnotic gaze of the giant rabbit. How the hell did they get the damn thing in here? Was there another door, did they teleport it? Could the girl teleport rabbits? Was she a rabbit?? He had so many questions, but he reigned it in for now.

“So uh… Do you guys sell food then?”
Fremont Lundgren

Who do you want me to kill? ‘Oh, you’re not allowed to know.’ Fan-fucking-tastic. Lundgren stopped beside the car, watching Fan walk away. Now that he had spoken with his ‘legal representative,’ everything was so clear. Of course they wouldn’t tell him who he was supposed to kill, that would make life simple. That, and days without lifting or reading, he was gonna go fucking insane.

Lundgren growled to himself as he entered the old, grey apartment high-rise before him. He growled at the attendant at the front desk, a bored looking teenager wearing a uniform. He growled when he reached his room, and opened the door to find… it was actually pretty damn nice. The interior was nothing too special, but there was a bed big enough to accommodate his hulking form. A few chairs, ceiling fan. There was a small bathroom, a sorta… closet type deal? Freestanding though, he wasn’t sure what to call it. And more than anything else, what caught his eye was a small countertop with an oven, a stovetop, fridge, and a dishwasher. He had a fucking dishwasher in the middle of town!

“Well I’ll be goddamned…” Fuck, a helluva lot better than he had expected. Maybe it was the only place they could find that would fit him? That king bed couldn’t have been cheap...

...Or maybe it was meant to throw him off his guard. There was no way this place wasn’t bugged to all hell. Fremont was dangerous, they were hiring him to beat up fucking demons. A small potted plant in the corner caught his eye, one of two. He strode up, shoulders back, teeth bared, and lifted the tiny thing. It fit in the palm of his hand.

A close inspection revealed nothing obvious. Ever so slightly, the curling snarl on his face relaxed. Lundgren set the plant down. It was slightly wilted.

Lundgren took a glass form the pantry, watering the pair of houseplants, then turned to the closet. Nothing QUITE big enough, but there was a check coming his way at the end of the week. He’d fix that soon. The former inmate turned, heading towards the door when his stomach growled like he had earlier.

The fridge was empty, save for a pair of icemakers in the freezer.

There was no mess outside the pen.

An absolute monster of a man exploded through the front of the bookstore, slamming the door open with a manic gleam in his wild eyes. A small amount of drool was leaking from the slit edge of his mouth, wiped away by a well-scarred hand. His clothes were tightly wrapped around his body, a pair of surprisingly clean steel-toed boots on his feet. The sleeves of what was once a relatively nice plaid button-up were missing from the shoulders down, along with a good portion of the front buttons. A wifebeater preserved his modesty.

“Alright kids, I smelled this joint from a mile away, and I got 20 bucks to my name. Fan told me this was a bookstore, but so help me if you sell food you're gonna be my best goddamn... Why are there rabbits everywhere?”

Current Objective: Mission Prep

@Kaithas@Driving Park@Nevix@NaraK

Blaine snatched the ring with a deft hand as he sat, listening to Professor Rowan address the team.

A simple mission. Eliminate threats as they arose, sneak as best as they could. In theory, combat should be sporadic at worst. Quiet, sneaking. Just like the mountains back home.

Team Leader Iona was glancing about the room, doubtlessly assessing the team. Blaine would not disappoint. His weapons hung about him loosely, prepped and ready. In his hands he held his new quarterstaff, a simple lever, varnished and prepared to the proportions requested. Nothing too special, but it would serve him well, along with the few pieces of basic armor he had acquired. Ceramic and a weave of some kind meant to stop firearms, strategically placed around important organs. Between the staff in his hands, armor encasing his body, Leonids draped from his shoulders, and stilettos in a bandelier around his chest, Blaine wondered for just a moment if he was bringing too much… then remembered that his teammates were all carrying weapons which transformed into firearms.

If anything, he was carrying too little.

Still, the mission wasn’t what bothered him. He sat, eyes burning a hole in the wall immediately next to the new member of the team. He wore his most neutral expression, brow furrowed. A single bead of sweat traced the edge of his face. Once again, proper introductions were in order. He could be redeemed. This time, he would do things properly!

There had been no time to make a gift, but it would not be expected. This Yun had joined the team in the last few days, unexpected to most anyone. They were on even terms.

Noticing her glance his way, along with her obvious enthusiasm for the mission, Blaine made eye contact. He flashed a brief smile, sharpened fangs peering out from behind thin lips, eyes unchanging. This was a good sign of moral support, and a precursor to a true introduction. Good job, Blaine. Preliminary friendliness achieved.

With the first steps of a good foot forward, the mission was all but upon them. Focus was needed. His gaze shifted to the two leaders of men, allowing his lips to fall from their grimace, voice rumbling like a freight train. “I have two concerns, Professor Rowan. Firstly, how long will data extraction take? Second, Team Leader Iona. I trust your judgement, but think I should not carry these devices. I uh… have not used a computer prior to this weekend. I think this fair warning.”
Fremont Lundgren

In the backseat, Lundgren’s ears twitched, papers held loosely in an oversized hand. With his legs across the seat and his back pressed to the door, there was almost enough room for him in the back, but it was too tight. Clothes they gave were too tight, too. Made him tense. He picked at the ankle bracelet. A tracker. Another chain, different day.

Fremont grunted in the affirmative, a low growl from the back of his throat. Papers held a lotta good info, but nothing he hadn’t expected. He needed a little more, though. Fan didn’t seem like a bad man, but he acted soft. Didn’t mean much, but could be an issue down the line. Didn’t mean the lawyer didn’t know his shit. That courtroom felt like a fucking formality. Soulflame’s legal team was that damn good, or he was getting roped into a group with a little more pull than the old gangs. Either way, he was out of the slammer. Maybe the damn wolf would finally shut up.

The former inmate waited long enough for the pause to likely be uncomfortable for the driver, sharp eyes shifting to the reflection in the rearview before he responded. He'd been new to a system before, meant he had to establish his place quickly. They wanted a scary motherfucker, he had to act like it. “Few things.”

He moved to set the papers on the floor before leaning forward, steepling scarred fingers in front of a well-worn face. The car groaned, metal complaining at the shift in his weight. Good. “Who do we want dead? How long until I’m… fuck, deployed? Deployed. I haven’t cut loose in literally years. 'Sides, my teeth ache if I don't fight.” The ears twitched again, curling fangs shining through the open scar as he spoke. “I also want a gym membership and a library card. Nearest places to my pad would be good. Don’t have a vehicle. Last,” A scarred hand clapped over the back of the passenger seat’s headrest, pulling a face like a warzone into the gap between seats. Lundgren hadn’t blinked since the start of his speech, and his predator eyes rushed from the mirror to the driver’s actual face. He wasn’t close enough to be a threat, but close enough there wasn’t a difference between his space and the other contractor's. Lundgren’s expression was neutral, scanning the driver for any emotion. “We’re alone. I’m sick of dancing around it. Level with me, Fan. You're twitchy. Your people are pulling me out of literal prison for this. Nothing in these papers on who we’re fighting. Just how outgunned are we? We have other fighters. How many, who are they, and how soon can I meet them?"
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