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Lightbringer
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Maximillian "Etch" Assassian | 22 | Male | Mentions: Open Zaira, a name he thought that he'd never hear again. As he looked out the bus, his mind wondered to his family. He could see his father now, being disappointed that he was an assassin - wishing his mother hadn't had such an influence on him. His mother was a well-known assassin, The Black Rose, as they called her, an assassin known for bother her beauty and wit but most importantly her affinity for poisons and getting the job done without a mess. He learned most of his ways from her, before being formally introduced into the profession that so many women within his family had taken up - it was strange for a man to be an assassin. It was a rather elegant and dainty job, one that a woman would usually do - a job, needing grace and poise along with intelligence and seduction if necessary. His mother had always prided that he was quite ambiguous in gender, his face being able to show his more masculine side and when he so wished a softer and more feminine side. Even the vocal exercises of changing the pitch of his voice to match "feminine" or "masculine" standards were useful - even if he had a rather neutral sounding voice in which you just couldn't tell the gender. Being able to speak in either pitch was useful was good for missions and cons. He sighed, and lazed back in his seat - eyes closing shut as he focused on the rumbling of the bus, and sounds of chatter around him. His head was especially sensitive today, and he wasn't feeling so well - but this wouldn't hinder his objective, he needed to get to his residence and then start looking around the area. Maybe even find somewhere to stop and eat, he was quite peckish at the moment. He checked his watch, and huffed a bit annoyed - the bus was a bit behind schedule for his liking, but he'd still get to the Inn in a reasonable amount of time. He wore shades to cover his eyes, but even with them on the headache wasn't letting up. As for the rest of his attire, he wore a simple white dress shirt and black dress pants, both pressed and crisp with a pair of heeled Oxford shoes. The cushions in the bus were surprising comfortable, and he slumped lower into his seat and crossed his arms - he had a good while left to go, and he was quite happy he hadn't had a seat partner to bother him and he could rest and hear himself think for most of the ride. However, it seemed that this stop held something different as he felt the seat next to him be taken. He kept his eyes close and didn't say anything, hoping to keep to himself as he wasn't feeling very social at the moment. He was drifting off at that thought, and then he felt a slight nudge - and he ignored it. It was probably an accident, and his seat mate didn't meant to disturb him. And so he yawned, to make his point more obvious and lean against the window side - and he closed his eyes again, and soon the call of sleep was drawing him in again. And that's when he felt another poke against his shoulder, and which he gave a soft grumble - and he turned to look at this rather rude man. He looked about to be in his mid fourties', old enough to be his dad - his skin was olive colored, and he had rich brown hair with an obvious greying streak in it. However, he was rather properly dressed - and there was something so painfully sinister about his smile and the way his pale icy blue eyes looked at him. And the man had the nerve to lean closer, as if inspecting him and Maximillian found himself growing increasingly uncomfortable - even if he was an assassin, this was not normal. He gritted his teeth in slight annoyance, and promptly pressed himself against the small window space that was his side in efforts to make distance between himself and this man. "You know, I've never seen such a pretty guy such as yourself," the man said coolly, eyeing Maximillian as if he was some type of display object, "such pretty skin, pretty lips, full cheeks - just a rather pretty face in general." The man spoke, getting a bit more closer for comfort, "You wouldn't happen to work for that one club, uh, what was it, Silk & Wine Discotheque - with the rather pretty . . . call girls," and the man had a mischievous smirk on his face as he leaned in closer, brushing his one of his hands against Maximillian's thigh and using the other to brush softly against his lips, "because , how much are they paying you for, because I could make it worth your time. After all, a cute thing like yourself shouldn't be wandering out here all alone with no one to tend to you." And, Maximillian gave an incredulous gasp at this rather unpleasant experience he was having. "How dare you." He said in a low voice, and he could feel his teeth grinding in annoyance, "How dare you!" He said this time, louder - with a firmness to it, not so loud as to cause a commotion but enough to draw attention. "If you do not remove your hand from my thigh this instant, I will make sure you have no hand to rude to relive yourself of tension - because certainly no woman could be endeared to a man who would be so crass and undignified to a stranger." And he watched in satisfaction as the man shrunk away from him, rather annoyed as if he'd been burned by fire or a new kid being deprived of their newest "toy" . Thinking that he had made his point, he gave a satisfied huff as he made himself back comfortable in his seat. But that's when he heard the man muttering to himself, "What a bitch . Was trying to make him look better. Damn bitch thinking he's better than me, must've had a whore of a mother to make him soft." And that's when his body went rigid and he could feel his eyes dilating from pure anger. "What did you just say?" He said, his voice firm yet, there was a certain calm to it as well. But one would have to be a fool to not notice the chill in his tone when he basked the question. "I said you've must've had a whore of a mother because you have no manners to not even be able to accept a compliment." The man said scoffing and rolling his eyes at the younger male. Gasps of onlookers could be heard, and murmurs of displeasure as well. But Maximillian wasn't hearing that, his ears were ringing quite loudly and his fingers were twitching with a burning itch to deck this guy. Oh man, he was about to black out wasn't he? And that's when his body moved before he realized what he was doing. He had punched the man right in the nose, and he could feel the vermillion liquid staining his knuckles - and he was surprised the man stood up, swaying as he tried to punch him back and he got a good one on his lip, and then had the audacity to try and pull his hair. "You goddamn bitch" spat the man, while Maximillian growled, quite feral in that moment, as he proceeded to give the man another solid punch , and then he proceeded headbutt the man, and knee him in the crotch. Causing the man to groan and fall backwards on the bus floor groaning. "Your ass better stay down on the floor, before I bury you." Maximillian aggressively hissed as he staggered over to the male, and that's when he felt something dripping on his chin - and putting his fingers to his lip he saw droplets of blood and frowned. "You busted my fuckin' lip, 'astrd " he said as he checked his face. Max wasn't one to curse or be prone to violence but this was an exception - the fucker had been talking about his mother. He mentally groaned for his lack of self control - how the hell was he going to play this off for his job? His looks was very important and it wouldn't be professional to show up to your first day of work with a messed up lip. This prick, ruining all his carefully crafted out plans for the next day - he gave an exhausted sigh and realized the bus had finally reached his destination. He aggressively grabbed his luggage, storming his way off the bus. Ignoring the calls and jeers of the bastard lying on ground - and he sucked in a deep breath as he entered the Elm Passage Inn. It was quite a nice hotel, and he sighed in relief as he entered the rather posh building. "Oh my stars, sir! Are you alright?" A worried bellboy came to him, and Max plastered his charming smile and gave a soft nod in response. "I'm fine, I just need to check in. You should see the other guy." He said with a cheery tone of voice, not holding back a giggle at the thought. And he made his way to the receptionist. Her manicured nails typing away at the computer, and he could smell her dainty floral perfume and he gave a soft smile saying, "Doctor Maximus Mallard, checking in." "Doctor Mallard," the woman said with a raise of her brow, and she typed something in and then hummed softly. Her chair creaking as she turned to get a keycard to a room, Room 312. "Thank you," he politely said as she handed him the key. And he was off to find his room. He soon found that his room was on the third floor, and so he took the elevator to the third floor - and afterwards took a right to where the numbers went to his room. And he sighed as he arrived at his door, he peered curiously at Room 313, wondering what was going on there but he was more concerned about getting out of his clothing and into something comfortable. He had this day to himself before he had to craft his identity. And so he swiped his card and made his way inside the room, and he began to look at the beauty of its modern colors with the dark greys, whites and black colors. And he unpacked his suitcase and took off his clothing while he went to the restroom. He was relieved to see a massive soaker tub, and some bath bombs - so the Organization did love him. And he proceeded to draw himself a hot bath, and the soak and relax in a citrus infused bath. After cleaning himself, he put on the white robe provided - enjoying the warmth it gave him. And he stared in the mirror, huffing about what he was going to do about his busted lip. But that was a problem for tomorrow, and so he placed a little vaseline on the wound and went to the bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed. He lotioned his legs with his favorite scented lotion, it held the scent of peonies and roses - and it reminded him of home and his mother's large garden. He sighed at the memory, and continued to get some clothes to put on - he put on some solid black dress pants and a white collared shirt on, but with a few of the top buttons undid for a more casual look. Afterwards he put on some black socks and the comfortable oxfords he had been wearing earlier that day. And he then his hair back in a pony tail, tied together by a piece of black leather and then his golden framed glasses. They were prescription, he just preferred to wear his contacts however his eyes were irritated at the moment, so glasses would have to do. And he looked around before finding his pack of cigarettes, now, he wasn't one to make it a habit of smoking when he had a job to do, but his nerves were already bad and he needed some type of stress relief. And so he grabbed the cigarettes and his trusty lighter and put them in his pocket, and made his way downstairs. He took in the crowd, they were talking and giggling without worry. He could feel eyes on him, particularly a gaggle of girls who were bashfully giggling as they watched him. He wasn't in the mood to enter them, so he sped up his walking before they could close the distance and interrupt him. He soon was back outside, and the cool spring air hit his face and he sighed slowly, he knew it would be summer soon and he was glad for it. His allergies wouldn't be messing up as much, and he paused and took in the breeze momentarily - afterwards he spotted a bench and made his way over to it. He slumped down on it, letting his body relax - these were the few moments he had to himself and not being on assignment, where he could just relax and not feel pressured to do anything else until he had a true lead. He fiddled with the lighter in is hand as he gazed up at the sky, not particularly looking at anything, and he stretched his body with a slight satisfied grunt - before what could be described as elegantly hunching over, ponytail hanging over his shoulder as he focused on getting a light from the match. The soft flickering light illuminating his face, his soft features enhanced by the fading light, and he gave a small pout and huff of annoyance at the fact his lighter was faulty. What type of crappy romance sitcom was this ? Guy trying to smoke can't take a light, so an attractive stranger offers them a light instead, what pure nonsense. And he wrinkled his face in thought, where was the nearest store? No, he didn't feel like walking that far it would be pure torture . And he didn't want to do a delivery for a single object, that would be just stupid. And so he sat there angrily staring at the sky, this wasn't just his day and it literally couldn't get any worse. "There is no god." He huffed annoyed as he straightened his glasses. |
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Neutral
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Arlo Nephilim “Vitro” 25 | Spy | Mentions: Maximillian (dir) Arcane (ind) As Arlo looked up at the sky, the gloomy, dark and oddly energising sky, a raindrop hit his left cheek. Although Arlo didn't quite like the rain, he also couldn't say that he hated it. Rain, for many people, represents sadness and similar feelings but for Arlo it has never meant that. For Arlo, it has always been a calm weather. Something that helped him focus or sleep, he quite enjoyed the soft tapping of raindrops hitting his window or roof. It became like white noise, easy to soothe you to sleep. It some cases it could be annoying, though. As he strides down the cities main street side walks, avoiding bumping into strangers as gracefully as possible, the rain picked up in pace. Puddles began forming and cars began splashing water onto nearby civilians, and Arlo was very unfortunate. A car sped by just as he was finishing the last stretch of his journey to work… and just in that moment his day was ruined. He looked like a drowned rat, a handsome one but still a drowned rat. He still had to trudge into work, watch as his coworkers tried not to laugh but they all wanted to. At least that was a long time ago, well… if you consider a week and a half a long time. That was the day he had found out why there seemed to be less and less missions for the top spies at his agency. As it turns out, they were planning to send their very best to Zaira City to protect the elite or gain information on them… both, if possible. Arlo had been assigned to work with Arcane, and he couldn't bring himself to like that. Arcane had always been regarded as the best, even though he was a whole year younger than Arlo. He felt like Arcane didn't deserve it all, but it's not like he would complain despite his only slightly burning rage. ♡ Arlo Nephilim was on his way to the big city. He was being driven by a colleague, a fancy older man who looked to be in his mid forties. Arlo watched the man carefully, studying every small movement, facial expression and tone when he spoke. Of course it all seemed like a normal conversation when looked at from somebody else's perspective, Arlo was just trained to do this with everyone. There was a possibility, albeit a small one, that the driver could be sent out to find information on the agency, a coworker of his or even take out Arlo. Nothing was impossible, and Arlo had to be on alert at all times. The drive was long, long enough one may consider sleeping through it. It felt like aeons before they even got half way! The agency was located relatively far away, about a New York away. Yes, we're measuring by states now. Trees upon trees upon trees. White spruce, Jack Pine, Oak of different varieties and so on. It got boring to count but that's all he could do to keep himself entertained. He feared the battery in his phone would run out if he used it for anything except answering emergencies. A piece of paper caught his eye. There wasn't anything about it that was special, just a regular ol’ paper, that happened to be a newspaper from yesterday. Now normally Arlo wouldn't bother to even check such a thing, but it couldn't hurt to see if he had missed something. He scanned over each page with nothing of interest popping up. There were a few things about not letting misinformation guide your ever move, some ads for just about everything a normal family would want and… a paranormal group telling a story about how they saw a demon and what “proof” they had. Arlo couldn't help but roll his eyes at that. He didn't believe in the paranormal. Karma? Yes. Ghosts and demons? No. Entities that weren't physical could only be figments of imagination, perhaps a shared hallucination. They always seemed to find evidence in groups, didn't they. Arlo put the newspaper back down where it used to be, making sure it looked picture perfect. He let his head rest on the pleasant seat behind him. The feeling of calm, boredom and tiredness must've got to him, because when the driver stopped the car and turned to tell Arlo that they had arrived - Arlo had fallen asleep. They were ahead of schedule so the driver let him sleep in a little bit. Arlo woke up in shock, and some slight annoyance though he wouldn't direct that towards the nice man who had driven him… as much as he wanted to for not waking him up right once they had arrived. “Go ahead and check in,” Arlo heard as he stepped out. “I'll meet you there and bring your luggage in.” “You don't need to do that, they have people who do that already.” Arlo felt a trickle of remorse for his past thoughts. This man didn't need to do anything more than what he had already accomplished, yet here he was, being nice. It turned out to be a very short conversation with Arlo not being able to stop the man from helping him which forced Arlo to retreat into the Inn. He checked in under his own name, only replacing his last name. “Arlo Lancaster, checking in.” He spoke politely, passively and without much emotion. It was much too early, or late for him to add in tone to his voice. It didn't sound bad but a bit rough since he was still not fully awake just yet. The receptionist took her time with checking him in, it felt like eternity standing there. He waited patiently while she got his key card and thanked her when he left. ‘Thank god that's over with.’ Arlo mentally let out a sigh of relief. He wound around people, weaving between them to get to the elevator. He admired the choice of wallpaper as he leaned forward and pressed the button to call the elevator. He stepped inside and thankfully there was no music. Too many times there was lame music playing and taunting everyone who decided to take the elevator. Arlo despised it. He walked down the third floor hallway, double checking what his door number should be on the way there. His eyes landed on his bags already at the door. “That's… oddly quick.” Arlo muttered. Either this was very good service or… ‘Nevermind. It's completely normal, chill out.’ He picked up his luggage, unlocked his door and made his way inside only to be hit with the fanciest hotel room he had ever stepped into before. Arlo set his bags down on the floor in front of his bed, his.. giant, fluffy, white bed. He took a quick tour of the “room”, exploring every nook and cranny imaginable. And then he did it again all in the name of making sure there was nothing that could be used to spy on him, such as cameras in the mirror. Luckily, there was nothing that would be cause for concern. Today had been a casual day, so far, so why not celebrate nothing going unplanned? It might seem simple but… any excuse for a drink. Comfort is key, and so he changed into a casual zip-up black hoodie over a white t-shirt. He put on perfectly fitting black sweatpants and his usual combat boots. Looking in the mirror to check himself over again, Arlo ran a hand through his hair to mess it up a bit and make it look more casual. With that, he decided it was good enough and made his way back to the elevator. He pressed the button lightly and leaned on silver railings that lined the inside of the elevator as he rode it down to the first floor. He made his way to the bar as soon as the doors let him out. Arlo sat himself down and ordered his first drink, a whiskey sour, and watched the bartender make it for him. He enjoyed the music that played, although it felt very much in the background compared to all the chatter he was picking up on. His drink was delivered and just as he drained the final bit of liquid from the cup, he was starting to get a bit irritated with all the bits and pieces of conversation he was getting from strangers just passing by him or sitting next to him. Before he could start a fight with a passerby, Arlo got himself out of the building. The fresh air was calming and almost immediately Arlo was back to being Arlo. It wouldn't do to have a fight start on his first day officially on the mission. At least waiting until the end of the first two weeks seemed like a good idea. Normally this wasn't his type of mission, but long term wasn't the worst to deal with. His gaze was drawn to a person sitting on a bench, seeming to have trouble with… a lighter? Arlo wasn't the type to smoke but he could tolerate others doing it and could fully understand why one might, since he had only recently stopped. Arlo approached silently, standing in front of but towards the right side of the stranger before he spoke. “Hello there,” Arlo looked down on the rather short individual. He hoped the height difference didn't come off as intimidating. “I'm Arlo.” He didn't bother with a last name, it didn't need to be a formal introduction at the moment. Arlo pulled out a lighter from his left hoodie pocket and offered it to the stranger, “I see you're having some slight.. issues. If you'd like you can have this.” Arlo didn't intend to take it back. By the looks of what this person had in his hands, they'd need it more than him. He could always go buy another one if needed too. ‘I hate to even notice such things, but I have to admit that this stranger looks… attractive.’ Arlo shook the thought out of his head, only trying to seem friendly in the moment. |
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Lightbringer
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Maximillian "Etch" Assassian | 22 | Male | Mentions: Arlo The young male was still fiddling with the lighter, giving a slight groan of annoyance about the lack of light he was getting and the sparks he was getting. This was ridiculous! He was about to throw the lighter down in frustration when he felt someone approach, and he looked up in annoyance at the person who dared to interrupt him - he was about to rip the person a new one, but he was promptly shut up when he caught sight of the tall young man before him. Whatever god he had cursed a few minutes ago must've been laughing at the internal panic he was going through. His eyes had shifted from irritation to mild interest and a bit of well curiosity, he looked to see that the male had offered him a lighter for his cigarette. He was looking quite dumbfounded at the moment, and he could feel the heat of embarrassment rising to his face, turning his cheeks to a shade of coral, and even his ears were gaining a more vermillion shade. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, and gave a polite smile as a thanks for the gesture of kindness that was being extended and he didn't think that he would find someone so interesting on the first day. He cleared his throat out of embarrassment, the males blush even extended to his neck and he looked at the other guy. "O-Oh . . . I didn't realize anyone else was out here." He had said earnestly, hopefully he hadn't made a fool of himself in front of this cute guy, wait where did that come from? He blinked owlishly consumed by his own thoughts, and gave another nervous laugh. "But, um, thanks for the offer - I hope it's not too much trouble." he said with a slight smile, his teeth showing - and he reached forward and gently took the lighter, not noting how his hands brushed against the other male's as he took the golden object. "You have no idea how much I need this," he sighed in almost relief, his thumb brushing against the lighter as he opened it and then used it to light his cigarette. The bruising on his knuckles more visible under the light of the lighter, and also the busted lip. The male placed the cigarette between his lips and took a slow and steady inhale, and then shaping his lip into an o-shape - he blew out soft smoke rings, the small clouds carrying the pleasant scent of a smoky dark chocolate. He took a look at the male, his head tilting and hair splaying against his face. Maybe it was the nicotine, the smoke or a combination of both, but he couldn't help but think the guy before him was sorta cute. "Your eyes, are amber colored - but the sorta look like honey." He said murmuring, and unconsciously leaning forward to get a better look at them. Smoke gently billowing from his nostrils as he took another inhale from his cigarette. And he gave a soft chuckle as he relaxed a bit, "you wouldn't believe the day I've had. Man, I need a drink." He said with a huff as he finished up his cigarette. "You care to join me for a drink ? " he said with a slight teasing lilt of voice as he walked passed him with an even more teasing grin, and he hummed to himself softly as he walked back into the Inn and found the bar. After sitting at the bar he gave a smile to the bartender, who came over to him quite quickly. "Can I have a layered ombré lemon drop? " he said drumming his fingers along the bar top. And the female gave him a smile and leaned forward. "Gonna need some I.D. on account of the baby face, sweetheart." She spoke, a slight flirtatious tone in her voice but he was distracted, and he reached to his pocket to grab what he assumed would be his wallet but found nothing. "Crap, I left my wallet in the room." He huffed rather annoyed, and looking to his guest he said, "now I have to go grab my wallet and phone, and possibly get out this stuffy fit - you don't go disappearing on me." He said, hands on hips and a bit too close to the male, but he didn't notice . He then made his way to the elevators and chose the third floor, there he walked down the hallway to his room. And he opened his door to find his wallet and phone right next to each other on the table, and he sighed slightly amused and annoyed by that information. Afterwards, he decided to loose the stuffy suit pants for a pair of form-fitting leather pants and as for his shoes, a pair of platforms that tucked neatly into the pants. He let his hair down, and messed around with it - letting it settle around his waist and then he went to put some black eyeliner on, and some lipstick as well. Afterwards he decided to put on a short shelved dress shirt with the top buttons undone for a more causal look and his chest being exposed a bit, one could see the beauty marks adoring his neck and chest. Once he was finally down, he made his way back to the bar. "Hope you didn't wait too long, the names Maximillian, but friends call me Ducky." A truth, his mother's maiden name was Mallard and so she had affectionately given him a nickname after said waterfowl. But he had a charming grin on his face as he showed the bartender his ID, and she slipped him his yellow and red drink, which he took a sip and awaited conversation. |
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Neutral
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Adelaide Verna "Begonia" Assassin | 23 | Female | Mentions: Katarina, Laceleaf, Rosella (indirect) Zaira City was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. Towering, sparkling buildings; elegant, opulent residences. And one of them is where I will live... Beautiful, yes. But that was nothing more than a mask. People tended to overlook everything else in favor of beauty. External beauty was intoxicating, but it was nothing. True beauty lay on the inside, and this city had none. Under the beguiling shine of Myre's capital city flowed an undercurrent of deceit and secrecy, conspirations and deception. And Adelaide was a part of it all. And she was here to kill. Or at the very least, help others to kill. She had traveled far and wide to arrive at this rose of a city, with its exquisite establishments and the hidden thorns of spies and assassins. People like her. No, not a rose, she mused. That is entirely too common a description. Maybe... ah. Adelaide smiled to herself. A few passerby stared at her oddly, perhaps wondering what she was so amused about. Crown-of-thorns. A lovely plant with delicate blossoms in shades of brilliant red and pink, glossy green leaves, and dozens of extremely sharp thorns. Lovely, but poisonous, and an absolute menace, often spreading and outgrowing its designated space. And yet, so many people take these plants into their homes, intending to care for them and tame them. A menace, ever spreading outwards, and poisonous, but beautiful. Yes, definitely the right way to describe Zaira. Adelaide walked along the streets, thinking over her new mission and the women she was to work with. Laceleaf and Rosella she was okay with, and as for Katarina... well, less okay with. But then, really, Adelaide shouldn't let her feelings compromise the mission. Eh. She paused under the guise of examining a sign to watch out of the corner of her eyes as a young girl- no more than six or seven years old- pick flowers in her front yard. Fragile yellow blooms, with six petals (The perianth, she mentally added) and bell-shaped coronas. Daffodils. The child was delightedly examining the flowers, twirling the sun-colored blossoms around and tucking one behind her ear. Adelaide smiled again, although this one was small and hardly noticeable, with a tinge of sadness. I bet she doesn't even know those are poisonous. When I was her age, I was learning to throw knives and where to stab someone to kill. The little girl bounced excitedly about the yard, squealing happily, most likely unaware of the toxin in the pretty golden flower at the side of her head. Lycorine poisoning. Symptoms: Nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, abdominal pain, usually not too serious. Contact with daffodils may cause skin irritation or rash in some individuals- She threw up a mental wall in her mind before her brain went off again on another trail of information. Sometimes, it was like her mind was too full and was leaking. However, she'd rather the information stay in her brain. Ah, she had better move on. She'd lingered here long enough. Adelaide walked on, movements lithe and fluid as she headed toward... what was it again? Oh, right, Elm Passage. Adelaide had memorized a map of the city, committing to memory the streets, the pathways, the alleyways. You never knew what kind of knowledge might come in handy, after all. Maybe my brain is too full, she reflected. Well, too bad. There's more to come, for sure. Adelaide strode on, till she was past Elm Passage and on Emerliers Pass and- Damn. Those are quite some large houses. She tucked a strand of stray scarlet hair back over her shoulder and took a quick glance around. No one in sight, no one visible in the windows of the houses before her, the only sounds being the bustle of the city behind her and the quiet melody of rustling trees and birdsong. Good. She did not want anyone to see her right now. Why? She didn't quite know. She simply did not want any kind of attention right now. And a strange woman walking onto the street where the city's most opulent properties- and most opulent people- resided was sure to attract some curiosity. Adelaide moved toward the middle of the street, where her new residence was to be. She looked up at the house. An immaculate, imposing snow-white building. She slipped a hand into one of her hidden pockets and whisked out a small ring of keys, closed the distance between the front door and herself, opened the door, and stepped inside. Should I get some extra locks? It was dark in the house. Adelaide took a moment to adjust to the lack of light, head cocked, alert for any sound that betrayed the presence of another, as she felt carefully along the wall for the light switch. She found it at the same time her ears registered the sound of a small swish of movement. In a split second, she had flicked the light open, and had a dagger in her hand, ready to strike out. When, after a moment, nothing attacked her, she relaxed slowly and looked around. A cat lay comfortably atop a couch, eyes slitted against the sudden brightness. His fluffy tail was waving slowly from side to side against the cushions, presumbly the source of the swishing. She rolled her eyes. "Stupid, Adelaide," she chided herself. The letter she had recieved had said that she would be caring for a cat. She'd burned the letter after she'd read it, scattering the ashes in the wind, but not before memorizing every single word. Adelaide slid the knife onto her belt and approached the cat slowly, still wary of any other sounds. "Hello, Kiko," she said quietly. The cat stared up at her lazily and permitted her to stroke his head. Adelaide sat down cautiously on the sofa. When Kiko didn't object, she leaned back against the cushions. "Well, Kiko," she said softly, not quite sure exactly why she was talking to a cat. "I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into." |
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Neutral
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Katarina / Celine | 24 | Assassin | Mention(s): Open
“Siberia” Having drifted off into a light slumber in the soothing hot waters of her new favorite bathtub Katarina would begin to stir the waters that enveloped her soft supple skin. With a newfound energy she would stretch her upper arms above her head and arch her back allowing her full breasts to rise to the occasion only to soon nestle comfortably where they usually sat perked. A smirk would soon spill across her mask as a growing hunger would begin to develop. ‘Perhaps lets have some fun tonight.’ She’d purr to herself peering over toward the mirror, soon slipping out of the tub and wrapping a plush crimson towel around herself for a moment as she pushed down against the device that allowed the tub to fill and now empty. Drying herself off she would slip into the silken midnight robe she had set atop of the counter and strut toward her bedroom to go find something suitable to wear for a pleasurable evening. Her pale azure gaze would shift over toward the black brindle canine as she could feel their judgemental gaze fall upon her. “Don’t you give me that look. I have needs just like you. I’ll bring back a steak.” She would state towards her furry companion. Cropped ears merely flicked in response as their head would slip back to rest atop of their forepaws. Rolling her eyes she would begin to unpack a majority of her clothing items, placing plain clothing on hangers and keeping her assassin gear neatly folded in her suitcase for the time being tucked away in her closet. She would have to purchase alternate furniture and build makeshift compartments to hide her weapons and alternate attire, a project for tomorrow or some other time within the upcoming week. Her now neutral mask shifted as she browsed her closet. A very tasteful shimmery long-sleeved burgundy bodycon mini-dress would catch the blue doe eyes of the vixen silently making her selection for the evening. The dress would have a deep plunging neckline that would end at her sternum exposing much of her bust and neck. Hugging her curves in all the right places she paired her dress with jet black mid-thigh high velvet booties. Hidden much higher up on her left thigh sits her black leather leg strap which typically houses two daggers, however, for tonight's outing she would opt to only carry one along her inner thigh. Should a gentleman become a bit handsy with her they would only feel the leg strap and ponder what lingerie lurks hidden beneath, that was precisely how she liked it. Chills would creep up her spine at the thought, soon taking a moment to sooth herself. For jewelry selections she would wear a thin silver diamond choker to compliment the dress and accentuate her tasteful neckline. Her first lobe piercings would shine with diamond starburst studs, second and third lobe piercings would adorn plain silver star studs, and on her three helices silver diamond rings. Adding some mascara to not only lengthen her already long and luxurious lashes but also darken them enough to accentuate her pale blue pools. To further draw attention to her pale eyes she would tastefully flick liquid eyeliner overtop. Debating whether to go for a rich vibrant red or stick to a more glossy and polished look Katarina would shoot for the latter rubbing her luscious lips together. She would allow her straight obsidian hair to be worn down in its natural state allowing for a left sided part to show off her alleged good side. Having made her finishing touches she would carry a small black clutch with her new identity and a few cards of plastic. Stepping out of the complex a rather handsome gentleman had replaced the female clerk from before and his lustful glance toward her had told her enough of what she wanted. The man was likely around the same age as her, had a well chiseled face, with short clean cut blonde hair, and a muscular build. Quite her type if she did say so however, his line of work had repelled her from seeking other opportunities. Feeling rather cheeky she blew the young man a kiss only to jump into a taxi and allow them to take her to their most popular and well recommended club. Finally arriving she had the capability of skipping the long line and merely slipped in with a group pretending to call after Caitlin who had managed to forget their purse, already allegedly drunk from another bar they had managed to stop by earlier. A rouse that never grew old for her to play. The music was tasteful for once, not the braziness of EDM nor the over salacious rap blasted against the walls. A casual mixture of the most recently released pop songs with an occasional slow burn song. The dance floor was full of people and she opted to find a seat at the bar. Perhaps after a few drinks she would go and join the rest of the party on the dance floor, better yet, with a partner preferably. Ordering for herself she would request to be given a whiskey sour. She would offer the bartender a gentle and warm smile seeing the garnish placed atop of the drink. She would now sit and observe like a wolf stalking its prey; she would shift her gaze from one possible suitor to the next. Most appeared to be either too old for her taste or were much too sloppy. Gazing on lazily she would continue to slowly sip from her drink her dainty fingers grasping lightly on the shortened thin straw within her drink. She would take in the ambiance and music. |
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Arlo Nephilim “Vitro” 25 | Spy | Mentions: Maximillian Arlo gave the stranger a soft smile when he saw the dumbfounded look on his face. As the flame grew, Arlo had a chance to study the stranger a little more. The first thing his eyes were drawn to was the male's lips, which seemed to be busted. Perhaps from a fight earlier on? His eyes went to his hands next, and there he saw the bruising. That all but confirmed it for Arlo, this man must have gotten himself into some sort of fight - and won, by how little damage there was. “Rough day, huh?” Arlo commented. His voice was low and soft, almost as if he hadn't intentionally spoken aloud. Arlo could feel a slight blush cross his face when the person across from him complimented his eyes. It wasn't every day he had someone notice them, and he couldn't help the small bit of pride he felt along with self confidence. “Same here,” Arlo nodded in agreement with the guy's comment. “I'd love to.” Arlo followed him back into the Inn, back into the bar and was happily thanking fate for letting the two bump into each other tonight. It was just what he needed. Arlo took a quick second while his company was talking with the bartender to just… admire a little. He couldn't do this for long, however, only until the man had to leave and retrieve his wallet. “I'll be here, don't you worry.” Arlo grinned, a flirtatious tone to his voice. ‘Hate to watch him go, but love to see him walk away.’ At this point, Arlo was just letting his thoughts go where they wanted to. Apparently, they were going wild. He turned to the bartender before she had time to leave. “Hey there, can I get a whiskey sour?” He decided to stick with what he knew they had, and what he knew he liked. It seemed they had switched shifts while Arlo was away, a new bartender was in the place of the one before so he couldn't just ask for the same thing he had ordered and had it be a very short conversation. Not that it was a long conversation this time either. She seemed to move on quickly. Arlo took a seat and watched her make his drink, waiting for his partner to show up again. Arlo hummed a soft tune after thanking the bartender for his drink. He didn't take more than two sips, yes he was waiting, before Arlo spotted him again. This made Arlo grin like the Cheshire cat. ‘Maximillian 'is a bit long for a name. Ducky? It gets even more interesting, huh.” Sadly, no interesting topics came to mind. Truth be told, he had to try very hard to get his mind back on track to something suitable for conversation. It wasn't as if he was best friends with this person so he couldn't go all out like that, but where he was aiming to go required.. something. Arlo couldn't take too long with his thinking, he had to be quick. Conversation only lasts so long before your turn is up, after all. “How'd you find it? Your drink, I mean.” Arlo settled on that. Wasn't the best, wasn't the worst. Maybe there was an interesting story accompanying it? “Was it your first? I know this was the first I'd ever tried. I know it's been a few years but it's a reliable choice. I can know it's good and it's common enough that everyone should have it. A bartender once got mad at me for ordering it, though.” With that, Arlo downed the rest of his drink. ‘Maybe the more drunk I get, the better the conversation can get.’ He sighed mentally. Even though he had a small story to tell about his own drink, he would have to order something else that would work it's magic faster on him. ~ ♧ ~ Arcane Camora “False” 24 | Spy | Mentions: Katarina Arcane sighed deeply, staring at his phone. He had just received a phone call from his boss and mother, if you wanted to call her that. It wasn't a bad phone call, just a really boring one that made him want to sleep or binge watch literally any show in existence to forget the boredom. His blue-grey eyes stared daggers at the dark screen. “I suppose I can't blame her. She has a lot of information to sit through herself but man, I wish she could shorten it a bit more.” Arcane huffed. He had been assigned a mission in Zaria City. More specifically: Arcane had to pretend to be a psychiatrist at the Bellflower hotel, find his target; find the best way to protect him AND keep up a thriving social life. That just meant he had no free time for his mission, how was he supposed to do that? Only yesterday he had finished a much smaller mission, defusing a bomb at the clocktower in his current town. “Looks like I'll be travelling..” False grumbled, picking himself off his couch and getting busy with packing. It didn't take long for him to jump into action. He packed his clothes first, and then spy gear. That was pretty much everything he took with him, excluding small things like his phone and toothbrush. He took his luggage with him, locking the door behind himself to secure the house as he left it. That house didn't need to be cleaned, the agency would send someone before the next spy took up residence there. Besides, Arcane didn't leave a trace of him being there at all. After years and years of practice he had only gotten better. His skills had never stopped gaining. ❖ Arcane checked in to the Bellevista Inn under his own name and was led to room 311. Well, not exactly led but he got there only seconds after the bellboy had so it appeared like he had followed behind the stranger. Camora took his bags from the door into the hotel room and as soon as he had comfortably fit them into the closet, he was exploring. After locking the door, of course. Only a rookie would forget that. Curiously, Arcane went up to the window to the left of his bed. Peering out lead him to see the beautiful orange that was the beginning of a sunset. “That's quite pretty.” Arcane mused. He only stayed a mere minute. He busied himself in finding bugs, or cameras. He only found one, in the mirror. He covered it up quickly. That would have to do for now, until he could take it down tomorrow. It wasn't a huge concern as the camera had no audio attached to it and now couldn't see anything more than darkness. He checked his phone one last time to see if there were any new notifications and immediately got hit with an ad for a nearby club. This made him groan in annoyance, but he couldn't resist that it was a convincing enough ad. ‘Fuck it. Might as well have fun before this pain in the neck mission.’ He changed into a plain black t-shirt that fit a little too tightly for his liking, but it showed off quite a bit of his muscles. He paired it with more black, ripped jeans that fit him perfectly and combat boots. After all, they were his favourite and it was a bit of a walk. He fluffed up his hair a bit more and messed it up a tiny amount before being satisfied with his look. It was… plain. But effective. Arcane unlocked his door, headed out and locked it again behind him. Travelling down the rather boring hallway and right into the elevator. He pressed the button for the first floor and headed down in silence. There was no time to regret this because as soon as the first regretful thought hit him, he was already out the Bellevista Inn's doors. The walk was medium length, long for a civilian but Camora was quick and didn't waste time. He was hit with waiting for a long line of people to enter before him no matter how quick he walked. Time passed ever so slowly, causing Arcane to look up at the sky in exasperation at one point. Finally, the bouncer let him inside. He wound around people and managed to find the bartender with relative ease. “Maple New York Sour, please.” Arcane ordered. He watched the bartender prepare the red and orange drink, taking it and thanking her when he was handed it. Camora sat himself down comfortably and looked around the club while sipping his drink. He wasn't exactly in the mood to go out and find someone, so he waited for someone to approach him instead. Hopefully someone interesting. |
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Katarina / Celine | 24 | Assassin | Mention(s): Arcane (Dir) "Siberia" Having lost herself in a good song her oceanic pools would fall upon a new possible contender. She had watched the blonde male in an all black ensemble slither his way around the mass of people and felt her ears perk upon his request for a sour. His drink of choice was not completely foreign to her alcoholic taste but did convey an interesting twist. Maple. A standard New York Sour was known to be a balancing act between a savory fruity red wine and smokey sweet bourbon combination layered tastefully in an almost summery dream mixture. However, the hint of maple would likely cause the taste of bourbon to become richer and be well complimented with the tinge of sweetness from the maple. An interesting choice in drink indeed. Having her eyes rove across his fit muscular silhouette once more as she would finish the remainder of her drink before gracefully sauntering over. Prior to her dismissal from her seat she would give the bartender a curt nod as if to signal her interest in receiving another drink, however shifted her gaze silently in his direction as if to say ‘another but over there please.’ The bartender understood the silent order and followed suit, supplying her drink upon her arrival to the males right side. “You seem a bit bored love,” she would chide warmly, glancing firmly at her drink and giving the male a blissfully wicked grin before gazing into his twin blue orbs. “Allow me to keep you company, that is, unless you are expecting someone else.” She’d add lazily, as not to seem too interested. She was used to playing all sorts of flirtatious games thus having to make the first move had entirely unphased her. Some men owned rooms and made their presence known; while others preferred a more mysterious approach that fascinated and entranced women to take the lead for a change. She had no preference for either role and enjoyed bouncing between being submissive to dominant only preferring to be submissive in more private chambers. Katarina was known to have a particular type. She favored blondes and redheads to brunettes and had an acquired taste for rather tall men given her relatively average height for a woman. With regard to musculature she preferred those that were well muscled over less defined frames. As far as social standing she truly could care less but would prefer the Average Joe rather than someone born of money and fame. They always tended to have too much arrogance for her taste. That and were always incredibly superficial causing her to grow bored rather quickly. “You will have to forgive my manners, my name is Celine Gallo.” She would add softly, giving him another warm feline smile. She would soon allow her dainty fingers to reach her straw once more and softly wrap her glossy lips on the little straw taking a small sip of her whiskey sour. She would soon shift her silhouette to open up more towards him allowing herself to warm up to him by sharing a mere glimpse of her assets.
For some reason there was something vaguely familiar about him that she could not quite wrap her finger on however she would ignore this probing instinct. 'It's your first night, work can wait for tomorrow.' She'd kindly remind herself, oceanic eyes glimmering with life as she peered into his gaze. |
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Lightbringer
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“Harby” | He/Him | 26 | Zara Spy Code Name : Inception M: n/a “Can I get..,” a yawn crept up on her before prying out her lips and escaping her, all while she raised her hand up in a silent apology, “an espresso?” The woman’s tired eyes crinkled as she smiled and quickly added a “please” to be more polite. Roger just nodded and grabbed a cup, twirling it for some extra flair as he popped a pen out of his WORDs. “And it’s Margrette, right? With two ‘t’s and an ‘e’ at the end?” Roger asked softly, only looking up with a warm smile once he had written her order down. The pale woman froze slightly, going stiff as he said this and opened her mouth to ask how he knew and- “I remember your order from the last two times you came here.” Roger could see a lump form in Margrette’s throat as her eyes darted across his smiling face. Taking in a shaky breath, she nodded slowly. “Yeah, yeah, that’s me.” ”Alright, your order will be ready in just a moment!” Roger gave a beaming, friendly smile, but Margette was well on edge from him remembering her name alone. Roger really could not blame to woman. When his back was turned, he could have sworn he heard all his coworkers murmuring close together that he had the makings of a spy with how he knew everyone’s names, faces, and orders- “spy” such a dirty word that almost had to be whispered nowadays - but really Roger was just had a good memory. Dates, times, faces, they all came easy to him. Take Margette, for example. Based on the card she had clipped to her jacket that Roger saw on her first entry to the shop, as well as the uniform she wore and how she always came to the shop before the sun even rose, Roger figured she was working in none other than Zara as some big offical there and that the reason why she still lives almost an hour away probably had something to do with how he saw her image in his highschool’s hall of fame with a faded image of her writer’s award. Roger sure was not a spy, but he damn well could be a good one. Not that he would because spies are terrible, but still. That was when he walked in. “Harby.” Normally, he wore a tight, white tank of some sort with baggy cargo pants, the smears and dirt of a car mechanic staining him. Roger, of course, would know because he saw this Harby guy working on his car about a year ago. Although, that was the issue. “Harby” was never Harby. The taller man, who was now wearing a baggy hoodie, black pants, and a black ball cap, always gave a different order or name and his visits were infrequent and irregular. “Ben” with a mocha, “Mark” with a Americano, and “Smith” with a macchiato. Paid in cash and was always giving short, punctual responses. He looked bored and disinterested frequently but rarely tired despite the time unlike the girl who followed him, her hand in his. She looked young, maybe eight or nine at most, and had dark brown hair which matched Harby’s tied back into a messy ponytail with some strands tucked behind her red ears that must have fallen out of the tie. The two looked similar but it was hard to tell if she was a daughter, sister, or some other relative (if they were related at all). The man looked almost forty with the beard so father might not have been far off. Whatever their relationship was, he only ever called her “the kid” so Roger doubted he would ever learn her name. She rarely came with him anyways and it was always when the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. He wondered about these two, honestly, what Harby did and who the girl was. Maybe he was more than just a car- “Excuse me?” Harby asked, his face not scrunched with anger or twisted with impatience with only a distant, unreadable expression. “You takin’ orders?” ”Oh, uh- yes! Yes, sorry. I was zoned out a little I think,” Roger replied with a nervous laugh, reaching for a cup and nearly fumbling to grab it with the man’s shadow extending over him. “It’s alright, no rush,” Harby just said, a small smile appearing on his face as he looked past Roger and up at the menu. “Can I get your order?” “Just a latte and hot chocolate today.” Harby glanced down at the kid, rubbing her bleary eyes before looking into the pastry container. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, illuminated by the light behind the glass while looking at the cinnamon rolls. Harby looked between her and the food. “Will that be all?” “No..” Harby sighed and placed a twenty on the counter. “A cinnamon bun for the kid, too.” “Gotcha! Can I have a name for the order?” “Jack.” “Alriiiighty!” Roger smiled to the man who gave him the most mystery in his job. “Your order will be ready in just a moment!” ~~~~~ “And he was all mean to Tiffany!” “Was she now?” Harby asked with a smile, just staring at road ahead of them as he leaned his elbow on the window sill of the old pick up truck and his cheek on his hand. “Yeah, so-” she took a large bite of her cinnamon bun, smearing frosting on her face- “sho ey shed-” she somehow managed to swallow her food down before continuing- “I said he was being a shithead!” “Watch the mouth, kid.” “He was being rude though!” Harby looked over at Fora, his little sister who just turned eight years old. She looked at him with this determined furosity, a spark and passion, with those little brown eyes of hers. Fora had yet to see much of the world at her age, but she just already had this sorta look about her that just left Harry sighing with defeat. “Alright, I’ll let it slide just this once. So you called him a shithead?” “Yeah, and you know what he did?” “What’d he do?” “Shoved me!” Fora through her arms up dramatically and huffed in an exastrabated tone. Harby looked over in time to catch her folding her arms. Instantly he sat up a bit and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “He shoved you?” ”Uh-huh.” ”What’d you do?” The girl smirked, kicking her feet. She giggling slightly, holding the remainder of the cinnamon bun to her lips as if to take a bite but it was only to hide her laughter. “I kicked him.” Harby raised a brow as a smirk slowly grew on his face. “Did you kick him where I told you to kick mean boys?” “Right between the legs!” Her laughter was uncontrollable and filled the car as they drew closer to her school. “Atta girl.” Her laughter died down after a moment before she huffed. “Mrs. Minor said I should not do it again though or else I will be sus-suspended.” She fumbled the world “suspended briefly but was good to correct herself. Before Harby could make a sound in reply, she continued. “I don’t get how that would be so bad though. I mean, that would mean I get to spend more time with you and mom today.” Harby paused and chewed his lip. “Hey, Fora… About that…” “You promised..” A look of disbelief on her face. “I know, I know.. look something just came up and-” “You promised!” Fora cried with a glare that he could just barely see out of the corner of his eye, her hands balling into fists at the edge of her skirt. “It was the anversery of her death today and you promised me that we could-” “Yeah, well, you know my job gets a little busy sometimes and I got called in recently. You can go with your aunt, but I am just not gonna be with you for a few weeks maybe.” Harby huffed before grumbling quietly under his breath. “Not like she even deserves us visiting her..” “Harby!” Fora delievered a vicious smack to his ribs, even causing him to flinch and glare in her direction even if it meant taking his eyes off the road momentarily. “How can you be so heartless! That’s our mother you were talking about!” ”Me? I’m the heartless one??” Harby laughed bitterly, pressing a little more on the gas pedal even as they pulled into the parking lot of her school. “She was barely even my fucking mom because she only ever cared for you and your goody-two shoes behavior and the fact that you were her perfect little angel!” The moment he said that, he realized that he said too much. The chair was silent as Fora’s eyes watered while looking at him. He covered his mouth and looked between her and the parking spot as he pulled in. Fora sharply turned away from him as she picked her bag up that was by her feet and pulled it to her chest. Harby opened his mouth to say something but closed it before he tried once again. “Fora, I-” “Don’t call me that,” she hissed, aggressively rubbing her eyes with one hand and smacking Harby’s hand that reached out for her with the other. “It’s not my real name and I hate it.” The air in the old car was still and tense before it was reinvigorated with shouting. “I hate the name, I hate the new school, I hate not seeing my friends,” each subject she said only added to her volume, “I hate the food you make, I hate how early you get me up sometimes, I hate that you don’t keep your promises on anything,” she turned and looked at him with a look that he would not forget, “and I hate you!” “Fora, please..” She opened the door, slipped out the car, and slammed the door as she left, leaving Harby stunned with his hand still reaching out in her direction. As his hand retracted, Harby sighed, placing his head on the steering wheel as he collected himself. The thought that his sister’s last words to him could be “I hate you” dawned on him. Anytime he went away, he always tried to get Fora up early and spend as much time as he could with her before he left, but the idea that he could die on this next mission after ending on these terms ate away at him. Threats of death were not uncommon in his line of work. He was a spy, afterall. Reynard Ferady | She/Her | 21 | Verna Spy Code Name: Cyclone M: Harby (Dir) “Thanks for helping me load up some of the car,” Reynard said finally with a sigh after placing a hand on her hip and wiping imaginary sweat off her brow. “Some of?’ I practically did all of it, shithead,” Harby grumbled with a playful smirk on his face before that smile fell away as his back made a sickening cracking sound as he stretched. “Sure, old man,” Reynard snickered, lightly shoving him in the process as she earned more glares from him, “let’s not forget to take your meds so you don’t get more delusional than you already are.” “Wow, you’re so funny and original,” Harby replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “In all seriousness, thanks for the materials. I kinda need them for the mission so-” Reynard reached up before slamming down the hatchback- “definitely in your debt right now.” “Don’t mention it. Plus, I needed a ride out to Zaria and my old trunk does not exactly blend in..” “Please, this is barely payback enough. I mean, how expensive was that crap?” Reynard climbed into her car, a small, sleek, cheap little thing that had fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror which swung when she shut her door. The car was clean enough- after a bit of cleaning on Reynard’s behalf- that a guest did not have to push aside trash just to find a seat. With a Reynard’s small suitcase, two backpacks, and Harby’s duffle bag in the back, it almost looked like the two were preparing for a fun road trip. Reynard never had been on a fun road trip before but she was definitely going to make this one, already pulling out her phone for a good playlist as Harby was still getting into the passenger seat. “Well, it was basically free. My aunt had stuff left over from some of her previous-” Harby paused as music started playing. “Is this ‘Eye of The Tiger?’” “Rising up, back on the streeeeet!~” Reynard pulled an imaginary microphone up to her lips after putting the car in gear. She tipped the imaginary microphone in Harby’s direction, expecting him to sing along, but he just smiled and shook his head. “This is going to be a long car ride, huh?” ~~~~~ Surprisingly, it was not that long of a car ride. Karaoke will make anytime seem short, even the hour and a half trip to Zaria. Plus, Reynard was still beaming after getting Harby to sing along to a whole two songs (two: that is a much higher number than she had been expecting)! Harby and Reynard had known each other since Reynard had started in the spy business and Harby showed her a lot of the ropes, but he still was hesitant to sing anything with her. Karaoke says a lot about people, in Reynard’s mind, but what did it matter? All that did matter was that Harby was smiling by the end of the ride as he got his things from the back seat of the car and walked into the inn. Meanwhile, Reynard had gone to the apartment complex for her mission but it was there that she ran into a problem: too many things and not enough arms. Reynard considered herself a fit woman. She was incredibly fit actually and proud of it. However, there comes a point when she realizes that maybe she should not have asked for so many things from Harby. Stumbling out of the elevator, Reynard clambered over to the door of her apartment and realized that she had no hope. Plastic bags dug into her fingers and wrists, her arms burned from holding so much fabric, and her suitcase was on the verge of slipping from her grasp. Without any other options, she resorted to doing something that brought the woman great embarrassment: calling for help. “Hey, uhh, c-can someone come out and help me? All my hands are full and I can’t get my room key in my pocket!” |
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Arcane Camora "False" 24 | Spy | Mentions: Katarina (dir) The music was a tad too loud. It felt like it was hitting his head a bit too much for it to be comfortable, if anyone felt like that was comfortable. Despite the loud music, he could stand it because, well, he had to admit it was pretty good music. If he wasn't used to being alert every second that he was awake, and asleep, he would have been nodding his head along to the music and enjoying it. He took a sip of his drink and noticed movement to his side, more specifically someone moving closer to his right side. “I wouldn't object to a bit of company.” Arcane flashed her the most charming smile he could muster in such a short time. She looked to be about 5'6, just around the average height for a lady but put next to Arcane could be considered pretty short. He looked her over in the most subtle way he possibly could, noting her shimmering burgundy mini-dress with appreciation. Her eyes seemed to be about the same colour as his, blue-grey. Arcane had decided a long time ago that blue, grey or a mix of both colour eyes were very beautiful. It was a bit of a self confidence thing when it began, but he had also begun noticing those eye colours in others. He downed the rest of his drink. He'd need another one in the next few minutes or sooner. ‘It's pretty sad that they'll never have a chance as much as they want it.’ Arcane almost smiled at that thought. It seemed a tiny little bit mean to think that but Arcane did have fun when it came to playing with women's feelings. It wasn't always women, it was also sometimes males. He wasn't exactly keen on males, only playing with them if they seemed particularly interesting unromantically, or when they were a target of some sort for work. Being aromantic meant that this woman would never be able to date him and only come home with him if she somehow wowed him tonight. Arcane was very hard to please, having such high standards regarding pretty much everything because of his upbringing. For Arcane, he had no romantic feelings. Not unless you've stayed interesting to him for multiple years and magically he thought of you as more than a friend. That would be a difficult task for everyone. “Celine? What a beautiful name,” Arcane mused. “Mine's Ryan Cross.” Arcane gave her a fake name, as he assumed she had given him a fake name. Why would anyone in their right mind give a stranger, especially a strange man like him, a real name? Even someone who wasn't a spy like him, a smart person should know that. “Not a very interesting name, I know.” Arcane set his drink down on the counter and called over the bartender. “An old fashioned, please.” Arcane ordered and waited for his drink while also turning towards the pretty lady taking up his night. He wasn't about to lead the conversation, for now. He wanted to keep the goal of the night, getting outrageously drunk, still his first priority but if he led the conversation he would say something stupid in the process. He wasn't entirely sure of it because nobody accompanied him when he did this but he always felt like that was the case afterwards. |
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Darkseeker
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Laceleaf Jensora “Carnation” 21 | Assassin | Mentions: Reynard The espresso machine’s set up… the rice cooker’s finally working… everyhing’s organized… what else do I need? She needed a breath of fresh air. Laceleaf was perfectly aware that she needed to spend more time outside, and she was also perfectly aware of the fact that she was actively trying to avoid doing so. Or at least, her brain was attempting to convince herself not to head outside the door - what if the enemy spots you? What if you don’t successfully conceal yourself as an assassin? What if they’ve already found you? But her body was itching for the wind on her skin. And, as previously proven, Laceleaf’s brain was never very reliable to begin with. She sighed and tried to separate her “brain” from her “desire” - a weird method, but one that worked occasionally. She asked herself, why not just go outside? If she had made it here, what was so hard about leaving the apartment now? What was there to be scared of? Everything, her brain replied. Brilliant. Her brain loved developing agoraphobia the moment she stepped into a new city. What’s the worst that could happen? she asked herself. Uhh… everything, her brain replied unhelpfully. “Shut the fuck up,” Laceleaf snapped at herself and turned the doorknob. She regretted it the moment she stepped out of that damn door. Laceleaf immediately heard a call for help and nearly decided to shut herself back in her comfortable cave. Hell, no. Absolutely not. No social interactions, no physical interactions, no nothing. It had been approximately five seconds and she already had sweat running down her back. She furrowed her brows. The call for help didn’t sound urgent, just reluctantly desperate. Maybe no one was having a heart attack after all, except for her. Another call, clearly a woman’s voice. Oh. So it wasn’t an emergency. It was just a woman who needed help with some bags. That was still very much out of Laceleaf’s comfort zone, but it was much, much better than some of the customers she’s served as a bartender. If she could handle goddamn clinically insane Dave, she could handle a woman’s bags. She stepped out of the door. Sure enough, there was a woman in the central lobby, holding what looked like a multitude of luggage, and Laceleaf was nearly impressed by the amount of bags on each arm. She wasn’t even sure how this questionably strong woman was even able to get that many bags on both arms to begin with. “Uh… you need help?” she asked tentatively. Oh, great, it took two seconds for her to screw up her interaction. Of course the woman needed help if it wasn’t painfully obvious enough already. Laceleaf wanted to dive back into her apartment again. Instead, she helped dig through the woman’s pockets for her room key and open her apartment door, before proceeding to help unload her numerous bags. Laceleaf did her best to avoid speaking, instead curiously scanning the woman and not quite taking the stranger’s repeated thank-yous to heart. The woman was quite tall, alright, and boasted a muscular build as well, which was unsurprising to Laceleaf, having seen the sheer amount of bags she’d managed to carry without assistance. She also had splatters of dark freckles on her face, complimented by her black dreads pulled into a messy but beautiful ponytail. Her high cheekbones, full lips, and stunningly vibrant makeup all created a lively yet elegant aura. She was beautiful and unforgettably expressive, with or without trying. None of this caught her attention, though. As the woman remarked about the weight of the bags, Laceleaf replied with a simple “mm-hmm” and took the opportunity to look into the stranger’s eyes. She’d initially believed that they were hazel from a distance, and then she’d thought they were russet, but upon closer inspection, they were red. Not redwood, bloodred. Crimson glittering with everlasting joy, delicate roses blooming in those bright irises. Laceleaf found that she was completely unable to tell if the stranger was sincere or not through the two scarlet suns that were her eyes, whether she was a genuinely cheerful and energetic individual or if she had knives in her sleeves, waiting for a target. Laceleaf decided to match the stranger’s lively attitude despite her usual lack of enthusiasm. As they continued to unload the countless bags, it didn’t take long for them to spark a conversation. Laceleaf just went with the flow of the conversation while also doing her best not to reveal too much and learn a little about the woman. “Where are you from?” she asked, hoping for a genuine response. Civilian or enemy, it always helped to know a thing or two about another individual. Only a fool would pass this sort of opportunity. Or maybe she was just overthinking again. “Have you heard of any good places to visit here in Zaira? Maybe a bar, or a restaurant, or a park… or something? I’ve heard of a good rice noodle place not far from here, but I’m not very familiar… are there any places that you plan to visit?” It was best to know the woman’s interests, and, perhaps, her destinations. Once the last bag had been unloaded and the sun had long since dipped past the horizon, Laceleaf bade her farewell with a smile. “ No problem. You can call me Ellen Rivers, or just El. I’m on the second floor, if you ever need me again.” |
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Spring 
Night Weather: 
Clear Moon: 
