@Alamantus Are the characters in the same room?
//edit: Also, should we attach an updated CS to each post, or keep editing the one in the CS tab?
//edit: Also, should we attach an updated CS to each post, or keep editing the one in the CS tab?
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Most Recent Posts
Armelle Roksana Vasiliev
Somewhere in New York || May 15th, Morning
Mel opened her eyes to the ceiling, glossing over it lazily. So she was at Pierre’s place again. With an expansive view of the upper east side, his flat was always a nice place to wake up in, though the man attached to it was a different story. Ever since she’d caught his eye at one of the soirees his wife held, he’d been smitten with her. Sure, she may have led him on a bit, but he was intelligent enough to understand what he was getting himself into the first night, especially when the fangs came out.
“Morning, Pierre.”
The man beside her on the bed flinched, opening his eyes with a peevish smile. “No fooling you, huh?”
“Not with a heart rate like that,” Mel said, turning onto her side. “Like what you see?”
“Yes,” Pierre breathed, pupils dilating.
Tugging at the edge of her lips, Mel rolled onto him, letting her weight sink down. As his breath hitched, her hair feathering over his chest, she kissed him, nipping and licking at his lip. She lapped up the slivers of blood she drew greedily, smirking as she avoided his attempts to deepen the kiss. Just as he leaned upwards, attempting to wrap his arms around her to get a better grasp of her, she pinned him down, grinding onto him.
“Stay,” she cautioned, drawing the word out playfully. Then, licking a trail down his jaw and onto his neck, Mel sank her fangs in, the salty skin giving easily to allow her to relish the warm essence of the life of the man moaning under her.
As she sucked away, she felt the tension drain out of Pierre, his strained muscles relaxing as the euphoria took over. While she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy having complete power—complete dominion—over another person, she didn’t reap much satisfaction from biting human, especially one she’s bitten so many times. This utter lack of challenge was why she accepted the invitation. After all, when Dmitri fucking Tepes sent someone an invitation, refusal was hardly an option, or at least not for Mel when the guest list was brought into question.
After she’d had her fill, she unlatched herself, licking her fangs as she observed the blissed-out man below her, eyes glazed over as he smiled with half the correct muscles. Too easy, too simple, too predictable. But, a nice wallet and contact list.
“Perk up, big boy,” Mel said, sliding down over the developing layer of soft tissue around his abdomen.
Somewhere in New York || May 15th, Afternoon
Mel’s phone rang just as she was stepping out of Pierre’s car for the fourth time that day. New York was busy around her, a mixture of casual, business, and high fashion around her as the day went on. Ahead was her destination: another street of high-end boutiques made accessible with Pierre’s credit card. So she was manhandling him a little, but hey, he’d had a good morning. The only loser was Pierre’s chauffeur, who was forced to drive circles in search of a parking space, not knowing if he’d find one before Mel finished her tour, and even he was getting paid.
“Hi Daddy,” Mel said, her voice sing-song and dripping honey.
“Dochurka.” Her father’s exasperation was clear across the phone, expressed in the minute strains and spaces in his voice and words.
“Yes Otets,” Mel said, pouting. That too was communicated, if her father was actually paying attention to the call. There was a difference there, with her father—as there often was. For the monarch of a family that touted black-and-white views, Semyon Vasiliev had an awful lot of grey about him, making him both easier and harder for Mel to deal with. “You called?”
“I am checking in with my second-youngest.”
“And she is alive and well, without the family fortune. Tell that to mother.”
“Armelle, dochurka, do not be too cross with her. She means well.”
“She means to marry me off,” Mel said, her smile dropping. “Otets, tell me you didn’t put her up to it.”
“I did not.”
The silence that followed wasn’t what Mel was looking for, and she let it stretch on until her father spoke again.
“Dochurka, are you sure you will not return to Russia?”
“Yes, Otets.” Waving off the lady attending to her, Mel made for the exit, her mood spoiled. The light air conditioning created a breeze as she exited, blowing her hair forwards. “And don’t bother reactivating my card—I don’t need it.”
Her father sighed, both of them knowing that she still expected it to be reactivated. This was how the game went: she would detach herself from her family financially for one, two, then three months, but eventually she’d fall back on them again. In a way, it was how she stayed a part of the family, even overseas. She’d contributed her fair share of the fortune, though mostly in the past, and nothing would change the fact that she was and always would be a Vasiliev.
This, however, was exactly the problem. ‘Dilly-dallying the days away’ was what her mother had called her current lifestyle, and Mel supposed she was right. Yet, she wouldn’t go back. She couldn’t, whether or not she was living on borrowed time; her younger sister was now receiving suitors, and it reflected poorly on the family if a younger daughter married before an older one, but Mel wasn't quite ready to settle down.
So, postpone she would, and as much as possible—or at least until after this weekend of fun and games at the Tepes’ expense.
“Anything else, Otets?”
“Armelle,” Semyon said, this time with a depth to his voice that wasn’t immediately decipherable. “I wish you the best.”
“Otets?” Mel asked, but a beep signalled the end of the call, leaving her to stare at her phone. Though maintained her pace, her heart was pounding: She’d rarely heard her father so conflicted. Did he know something she didn’t? She doubted it, especially considering that the Tepes event was so soon; her family wouldn’t dare interfere with her on Tepes property, and she was headed to the party later today.
She tucked her phone away, putting it down to paranoia. Rather than fretting over possibilities and inevitabilities, Mel was going to do what she did best: live in the present, and presently, she had a party to attend.
Tepes Private Island: The Grand Hall || May 16th, Morning
Mel was among the earlier crowd to the hall, having woken up at the same time she did every morning: early. At this point, her internal alarm was more of an incurable nuisance than a choice, albeit being helpful once in a while. Today was one instance she got to be thankful for the habit pounded into her by her upbringing, but her happy mood hadn’t lasted for long: Her bedmate, bless their unaging soul, was already gone. Though she wouldn’t admit it, Mel took a certain amount of pride in being the light sleeper—the person who woke first—and she was both miffed and surprised by the fact that she woke neither before them nor when they left.
This bit of annoyance, though, was what carried through as she arrived at the grand hall, taking a seat and watching the latecomers mill in behind her. Silently waiting as people were seated, Mel kept her eyes on the elders, watching their reactions as some drama unfolded at the royal table. While she understood their disapproval, she personally didn’t mind how the princes looked: clothing aside, there was hardly a problem. Besides, her own dress, low-cut and gold as it was, likely wouldn’t have made the cut for ‘royalty’ either, so she could partially sympathize.
A smile danced on her lips as she watched. Having accepted the invitation because of the Tepes’ guest list, she was glad to see that the Tepes had delivered: The previous night’s party, with its chaotic nature, failed to provide a comprehensive gathering of everyone of import, but Dmitri Tepes had succeeded. With the variety of people and power in the room, Mel had little doubt she’d stay entertained this weekend.
A royal throat-clearing started the entire affair off, and Mel listened, her eyes still ghosting over the family heads. Her attention, however, quickly fell on Dmitri alone as he reached the pivotal point in his speech. Suddenly, her parent’s actions made sense: Unable to convince her to rejoin them in Russia, they’d chosen to cast her out—or set her free, depending on which parent she was considering. But, somehow, Mel hated them even more for it; rather than letting her go, they’d tied her down with responsibility, with goals they’d chosen for her. Maybe she did want this, or maybe she didn’t. All she knew was that she didn’t want to compete on someone else’s terms. Her faux financial need for her parents had been her pledge of loyalty to her family, and if they thought she'd be helpless without them, they couldn’t be farther from the truth. While she spent her fair share of time for play, she’d been raised to spend the rest of it on work, and that she did.
That said, Dmitri’s challenge meant a lot more than just being fine financially. Allies and enemies, truces and rivalries—that was how houses were built. Now was the time to play her cards strategically and decisively. Who would she approach first, the former royals or the unlikely usurpers?
—Merja Aaltonen—
I'd be in too, if you're still taking!
@Alamantus Right, totally forgot about that. Would IC posts be allowed now?
@Alamantus Is there an estimated start time on this? Like when will an intro post go up?
I consider my gathered objects, looking for sturdy sticks to sharpen or stones with fire-lighting properties or sharp edges. Then, following my intuition, I retrieve the book from my possessions, hoping it would provide some sort of guidance.
Eryn Montero
Route 2: Outer Infested Woods || Late Afternoon
Eryn realized only after issuing the challenge that, because of her front as her mute doppelganger, she wouldn’t be able to issue orders to her Pokemon like she normally did. Still, she maintained her grin while freaking out internally, trying to figure out her best course of action. If the youngster’s team wasn’t too strong—which Eryn guessed it wasn’t, seeing as her double had beat him, and she’d beat her double—she’d probably be able to get away with just having her Pokemon perform their default moves. If the youngster wasn’t significantly weaker than her, though, and the battle needed a more than a hand wave and some pointing, Eryn was in trouble. But she’d deal with that when she got there.
The youngster called out his first Pokemon, a Shinx, which instantly worried Eryn considering the possibility of paralysis. The last thing she needed was being driven into a corner because of status effects.
Eryn turned to look at Kylie, pointing at her and waving her towards the field, remembering to mouth words after a second of empty hand motions. Thankfully, Kylie seemed to catch on quickly, skipping onto the field and waving at her opponent, who growled in response. Her lack of care encouraged Eryn to relax instead of obsessing about getting the right outcome, bringing Eryn back to a full grin as the battle started. Kylie looked back at Eryn, who mouthed ‘Bite’ as the youngster shouted his own command. Though Kylie likely had no idea what Eryn mouthed, Bite seemed to be her default move ever since she’d learned it, and she fell back on it now as she charged the Shinx, jaws wide.
To Eryn’s surprise, the Shinx seemed close to fainting after a single Bite from Kylie, telling Eryn that the youngster was probably a lot weaker than she was. This was supported by Dei’s easy one-shot of the Youngster’s Oddish and Zubat with Embers, which he’d defaulted to after multiple exasperated looks back at her. So, when the youngster called out his last Pokemon, a Purrloin, Eryn made the decision to call on... Tula.
After giving the Magikarp a reassuring pat, Eryn jogged back to her side of the field, waving her arms above her head and mouthing encouragements that the Magikarp could neither see nor hear. The battle was an arduous one, considering Tula’s hard carapace and the Purrloin’s lower level, but eventually, Tula managed to land enough Struggles to take the Purrloin out. Eryn jumped up and down in celebration, rushing over and picking up her Magikarp to spin her around. She even considered tossing Tula into the air before thinking better of it, mostly for the sake of her fingers when it came to Tula’s fins.
Then, realizing that perhaps she was celebrating a bit too much for a sure-win, Eryn walked over to the youngster and clapped him on the back, giving him a big thumbs up and a grin. Even without words, the message she’d sent was a universal one for trainers: Good battle.
After that, she stayed around for a bit longer, entertaining the kids with a few improvised tricks that she managed to get Dei and Kylie to do by sneaking in whispers while pretending to pet them. For Dei, a Smokescreen show punctuated with Embers was the plan, followed by an air-clearing Fairy Wind by Kylie. That Kylie burst into tears after surprised Eryn as much as Dei, who seemed positively baffled when Kylie pointed at him accusingly. But as it turned out, it was all fun and games, which Kylie revealed with a wide smile and cheery, sing-song cries as she danced around Dei, who by the second circle around had crossed his arms, snorting smoke.
With the sun now low in the sky, Eryn waved the children towards the path out of the woods, imitating walking motions with her fingers. After a lot of patting and hugging, she managed to send them along their way, giving her the freedom to finally—
“AGH!” Eryn yelled, then ducked and glanced back to see if any of the children had heard. She’d waited a bit after they left, but not being able to talk was way more frustrating than she’d originally imagined. Without words, she’d been limited to nods and shakes, waves and pats and some rudimentary miming when she wanted to convey actions. As an impatient person, she was just about at her limit towards the end.
“Well, hopefully I never have to do that again. Ever. Or I’m going to tell them flat out,” she said, sighing, then exhaling, then coughing to make sure all her vocal cords were still there. Then, reassured, she looked at her Pokemon with a wide grin, bending down to pat each of them. “Thanks, guys. Dunno what I would’ve done without you, miss smarty-pants,” she said, rubbing Kylie’s jaw, “and you, ya grump,” she said with a rub on Dei’s head. “And, of course, our one and only MVP, Tula! Arceus I’m so proud,” she said, hugging Tula against her. In her arms, Tula gave a strong wiggle, nearly dislodging her from Eryn if it weren't for Eryn's quick reflexes. “Woah there. You keep growing and battling and one day you’ll be the strongest of us all. Kidding, kinda,” Eryn said, winking at her other Pokemon.
“But, take a rest for now, Tula. I’ll see if I can get you healed up sometime soon,” Eryn said, returning her Magikarp. Then, looking around, she pointed in a random direction into the woods.
“That way, until we find my double!” she said, bending down to scoop up Kylie before setting off. Ducking to avoid a spiderweb, Eryn shivered, tightening her hold on Kylie. “Fingers crossed we find her quickly this time, though. These woods give me the creeps.”
@PlatinumSkink
Ferris Talese
@Pezz570@HokumPocus
The forest was a quiet rustle of leaves around Ferris as he walked, and in the distance crickets were readying their songs for when the sun sank below the skyline. Around him, the air was cooling to the slightly nippy nighttime temperature common to the border between the Lands of Taste and Sight.
Ferris adjusted his hat as a bit of wind leaked through the trees. He'd make it to the next town before nightfall, but perhaps it was time to consider upping up his pace a bit. The border woods weren't known for being safe after dark, and every now and then a corpse would turn up for one reason or another. While Ferris was secure in his abilities, he wasn't one to spend time and energy frivolously. So, resting his hand on the hilt of his blade under his cloak, he moved to speed up his pace, but a sound from behind—a throat clearing—made him whirl around.
Leaning against a tree was a black haired man who wore an easy, confident grin as he waved to Ferris. There was something unnatural about the scene. It was not just the man who acted as if he knew Ferris but the forest as well. The crickets were no longer chirping. The leaves had stopped their rustling. The air had gone still, and the forest... silent.
Ferris didn't react, instead watching the man carefully. The man hadn't snuck up on him because no one had. Not in a long time, and not in the middle of the woods, where leaves and earth were the only scents around. The other option, however, made both more and less sense; it was unlikely that the man teleported to or materialized in his current position, yet such would explain the utter lack of scent and sound.
Weighing his options, Ferris figured talking was his best course of action. If the man wanted Ferris' head, he'd just given up his best chance at it, and—judging by his grin—he was probably a talker. And, since Ferris had only questions at this point, he would play along.
“Who are you?”
"Who am I?" The mystery man repeated, rubbing his chin in amusement. "What an odd little question to ask me." The man turned his back to Ferris and gazed towards the night sky as if in thought. "To say I am a who would imply that I am someone. A someone forever is, and even after death remains forever who they were. Me? I'm forever changing, much like time itself. So a someone I am not. A who I can never be.
"But, what am I?" The man continued, twirling with his arms outstretched. "Now there's an interesting question! For a what I most certainly am. Exactly what, I shall not say. I fear the answer is far too much, especially for a mind as unhinged as your own.
"No, no." The man said with a smirk and a swat of his hand. "Simple. I'll keep things simple. I would rather have that mind remain uncracked, after all. Instead, I'll keep things down to a name. I tend to take my names by the person. For you? I'll go with... Hagan Talese..." The man pronounced the name slowly and deliberately. His lips curled into a calculated and knowingly grin. The kind that would put any man's hair on ends.
The mystery man locked eyes with Ferris. Looking as if he were peering into Ferris soul.
Ferris froze. It'd been years since he heard that name. Hagan Talese, the man who'd died fighting off assassins in a bid to buy Ferris enough time to escape out the back window of their cabin. The same cabin was a beacon of orange light when Ferris finally chanced a look behind him, easily identifiable in the night, and even now Ferris could recall the acrid smell of smoke.
Whether or not he'd actually smelled it was irrelevant, just as it was irrelevant how this man knew his father's name. Without warning, Ferris sprung at the man, drawing his blade and slashing it towards the man's throat.
Blood sprayed forth from the neck of the black hair man. The blade cutting cleanly through. The man who introduced himself as Hagan, collapsed to the ground. dying a pool of blood.
"Yikes..." Came a voice behind Ferris. It was the same as the one belonging to the man Ferris had just killed. "Now perhaps Hagan isn't the most hilarious name I've introduced myself as but there's no need to go making mess over it."
Behind Ferris sat the same black haired man which Ferris had just killed. He eyed Ferris with and sly look on his face. "Honestly, friend, you mustn't go killing every odd person you see. The even people? Sure! Go right on ahead! But the odd ones? Oh no, no, no! You see, it's odd ones who are the most interesting of the bunch!" The man smirked as if amused by his own joke.
Ferris stiffened, whirling around to put his sword between himself and the man who was and wasn’t bleeding out on the floor. ”What do you want,” he asked flatly.
His eyes flicked to the man on the floor, whose throat bubbled with his last breaths, to the silent forest around them that was suddenly devoid of the sounds of leaves and life. Then, his eyes settled warily again on the second man.
"Now why is it that everyone just assumes I want something from them? Maybe I just stopped for a good old chit chat, or maybe I'm here just to make a friend. What do you say, dead me? Why do you think everybody thinks I'm out to get something?"
The man, who introduced himself as Hagan, turned expectantly towards the dead version of himself as if expecting a response. He waited patiently with is hand to his ear. Nodding every half a second or so. "Uh-huh," The man said. "You don't say?" He continued. "Huh. I never thought of it that way. Gee thanks, dead me."
The man turned his attention back to Ferris "Dead me says I could use a bath. He also told me to tell you he said, hi."
The man gave Ferris an amused smile, knowing full well that he was being unhelpful. "Truth is, what I want is actually quite simple. I want a good cup of tea-" He said, raising his hand and snapping his fingers. A cup of tea materialized in his left hand. -and for the success of some convoluted plan which just so happens to align with a silly bounty hunter's quest for revenge."
The man took a sip from his cup of tea. "So tell me, friend... Do I have your attention?"
Ferris stayed silent as the man spoke, watching him carefully. From his magic, it was clear that the man was stronger than him, and perhaps even the strongest magic-user he’d had ever encountered. Unless this was all an illusion—which was possible, but still left Ferris in an unfavorable position—the man had literally summoned a flesh-and-blood copy of himself, which meant he likely couldn't be killed via normal means.
“Yeah.” Ferris let his bladed hand drop to his side.“You have my attention.”
Olfaccium was Ferris’ least favorite month, given his choice of clothing, but he’d never let it bother him. Having arrived in Shimmer Town at sunrise, he’d spent the morning walking around town looking for something—or someone—in particular. The information he’d been given was sufficient to help him locate his new targets, but it was a sizable town with a decent population. Stale scents were available, but Ferris needed fresh ones to track, lest he be led randomly around by the nose. Though the information he’d been provided seemed largely accurate, he disliked the idea of immediately trusting what he’d been told. Until he found the ones he’d been told about, until he’d spoken to them, gauged their goals and desires, he’d continue to be wary.
The town was a messy mix of scents in the morning, likely leftovers from fights from days prior. The fainter scents were only detectable if he focused, meaning they were likely old and past their use. Stronger scents, though, offered little information without a face to put them to, and a face was all Ferris lacked at the moment. A face and a location, but the latter provided the former.
However, given the state of the town—the dead lining the streets with mourners caught between celebration and sorrow—Ferris figured it wouldn’t take long to find his targets after they started moving through the town. If his source was correct, the group was still in town, so it was just a waiting game. This fact culminated in an uneventful morning as Ferris walked the town, knowing full well he wasn’t the only one looking but being unable to do anything about the fact. That he’d been pointed in their direction was proof enough of the group’s threat to the shadows of the town, and Ferris knew he’d be naive to believe he was completely safe roaming inside town walls.
It took a bit of aimless wandering after stray scents and a good bit of luck but after a decent amount of time following the fading pinewood scent indicative of Touch magic, a scuffle of sorts broke out in the square, starting with an unannounced crash. Those involved easily parted the meager crowd as the chased and chasing sped away from the scene, the sharp smell of fresh pine enough to incite Ferris to follow. With a scent trail to track, he was hard on their heels, though he maintained some distance as to not clue in the pursuers. When they turned into an alleyway, Ferris waited a beat, then ran over, pausing at the corner to access his vials and pull up his mask. In went dabs of fruit and earth in case things went south.
Then, drawing a dagger, Ferris rounded the corner and drove it into the lower back of the nearest man from behind before kneeing him, using the momentum of his fall back to push him off the dagger. The man’s pained cry was cut short as Ferris caught him, slitting his throat and dropping him. Blood welled out around the man’s fingers as he hit the ground, grasping at a lost cause.
“Chres. Octavio,” Ferris said, tossing aside his dagger and drawing his sword, the other thugs backing away from him with their weapons up and eyes wide. “Let’s talk after.”
With that, he lunged at the next closest thug, blade high to disguise his intentions to pivot a kick.
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