[System]
Flight Gear Armor
Codename: Blitz
Color Scheme: #003471 #9e0b0f
Age: 27
Gender:
Personality:* Private
* Rebellious
* Nihilistic
* Callous
* Casual

Short Biography: Ian was a Criminal. Smuggling, theft, fencing(of the illegal variety), and arms dealing were all within his domain. Of course he was eventually caught. It would be wrong to say that he was ever sorry for anything that he's done, but Ian does regret being arrested. Especially by those Policus guys.

He was released eventually and with some luck most of his hiding spots were untouched by both law enforcement and those that he did business with. After some time he found a new line of work, something where his name wouldn't be widely known. Ian found hunting nightmares as a cleaner to provide enough of a challenge to keep him interested. An old contact of his directed him towards Cafe Thaza and the rest, as they say, is history.

Magic Style:* [Speed]
Ian can propel himself quite easily up to the Arcane Limit, flying in a bubble of air at supersonic speed.
* [Speed Break]
Velocity is measured from a frame of reference relative to something else, like passengers moving around a train. Ian, to work around the arcane limit bases the frame of reference for his magic around himself, accelerating objects moving with him to up to twice the limit. Likewise, he can also accelerate himself beyond the limit by accelerating a bubble of air around him at ever faster speeds. The upper limit of this is just above mach 4, or twice the Arcane Limit with the help of his armor in resisting the aerodynamic forces.
* [Speed Shot]
Ian can launch up to six projectiles up to a total mass of a pound at different targets with a velocity approaching the Arcane Limit.

Membership: 2 Months
Equipment:
Flight Gear: Ians armor, repurposed from a stolen military grade flight suit and aviation tech. It's purchase had set him back quite a sum of money but Ian had been unable to let it go. It protects him from small amounts of damage and helps lessen the stress that his flight puts on his body while providing valuable flight data.
Darts: Custom machined projectiles that he can throw with devastating effect. Being an convicted criminal, he must make do with simple metal objects as weapons. Ian usually carries a half dozen on his person with three dozen carried on his armor.
Relationships: TBA
* End: Dangerous, but who among us isn't?
* Voice: A sad story but someone I can trust for the moment.
* Doc: I don't trust here. Nobody should tinker with a body like that and those things of hers creep me out.
* Warthog: One of those lawful types and he used to be a Policus officer too.
* Zer0: Potentially useful
* Runner: Great, another lawman.
* Hex: Quite the unknown. Could be fun to be around.
* Arsenal: What an ability. Should see if she can carry some extra gear for me, would have come in handy while smuggling.
* Echo: Too overbearing.
* Diva: Way too young for this nonsense. She doesn't seem to be a front line fight and is useful however.

Theme Song:

[User]
The sound of tires screeching and gunfire broke the silence. Whatever the negotiating team did, it went wrong. One way or another, at least. Thankfully, the van was somewhat out of harm's way. He swung open the back of the van, stepping out.

"Stay here," he said to Zer0. After all, it would be rather dangerous for a young girl to participate in an urban firefight.

He quickly walked towards the fight. Five cars. Bullets raining from all directions. Advent's... things scampering around. Overgrowing plants. Warthog walked into the middle of the war zone. Bullets tore into his ragged cloak, leaving nothing left but strands and patchwork. Upon colliding with his now-exposed armour, the bullets were destroyed - either rended into dust or crushed into metal pulp.

"Warthog, I'll leave the walkers to you."

He had heard End speak to him, vaguely. The two of them always did work well together. Rather slowly, Warthog pulled out Jörmungandr. The heavy gun pointed towards the people unfortunate enough to be on the ground.

"I'm not really a pious man," he said to himself, his gun winding up, "but I suppose I should ask for forgiveness."

The gun roared out ferociously as lead spewed from the barrel of the gun. He didn't fire at the fastest his gun could, but whoever didn't run was sure to be hit.

[Assistant]
Runner simply grunted an assent at End as he took her place in the driver's seat, immediately gunning the engine. His eyes widened from behind his helmet as a heavy machine gun swiveled towards their position.

"I'm going, I'm going!" He roared back up at Arsenal as he furiously yanked the wheel, slamming down on the accelerator. The armored van began to erratically twist and turn around the outskirts of the combat zone, minimizing its profile to enemy fire while still giving the turret gunner up top as clear of a field of fire as possible.

"Do we leave or do we keep helping the Wireforts? This isn't our fight." He asked into their comms, drawing his pistol and leaning out the window to plug a few bullets into the heads of several assailants.

[User]
— Wirefort Manor —

After End so casually jumped out of his arms Blitz continued upwards for a second, stopping well above the surrounding rooftops. High enough that even the heavier weapons would have trouble hitting him, let alone seeing him with the naked eye. He picked out targets with eye movements and mumbled commands to the operating system inside of his helmet. It wasn't as if the assailants were nice enough to use military grade IFF or anything like that.

"I'll get the other side I suppose. Let luck determine if we get anyone to talk to."

And he bolted off with a supersonic bang that rattled windows and woke anyone that hadn't already been by the gunfire. An inverted Immelman turn brought him down to street level where his path lined up up on the front side of the cars where there attackers not being shot at by End were taking cover. Blitz drew a handful of darts out with one hand, giving them enough of a nudge to barely deviate their path from his, enough to direct each into the engine blocks of each car before the smuggler pulled back up into the sky.

The steel projectiles struck through whatever the cars were armored with and utterly destroyed their engines. Lethal fragments caused by the impact were carried into whomever might have been taking cover on the other side.

[Assistant]
Slowly, as the retreating Wireforts had disappeared behind the cover of their brick front gate, fire was shifted from them to the remaining targets; that of End's party bus, End herself, and the darting Blitz. The fire power from the left side was heavily dampened as Warthog's suppressing volley forced enemy combatants to run for cover or spontaneously explode over the streets. Together with Advent's bioweapons, Warthog, Blitz, End, and Runner's firepower, the forces on the street had been cut down severely within mere minutes. A dozen or so remained as Echo pulled up from behind on the left side, squaring him up against the 6 or so hiding behind the trucks that protected them from Warthog.

On the right side, as each armored vehicle had been rendered inert by Blitz's pinpoint eradication of their engines, the remaining fighters turned and ran, well aware of the clearly turned tides. All that was left, then, were the six sandwiched between Echo and Warthog. Gunfire subsided for a moment as vision between the parties was lost. The final crack of a bullet exiting Warthog's weapon rang out alone in the crisp cold air.

Silence was interrupted by a loudspeaker booming across the city block.

"Citizens. Lay down your weapons or face immediate execution." The message was simple, direct, and stern. To Echo's left, and perhaps within sight of End from her vantage point, a big rig lurched to a halt on the street. Where sonar had revealed only the size and shape of the vehicle to Echo, seeing it in person revealed far more.

A yellow and black symbol across the side of the big rig revealed its origin; a Policus vehicle. The armor too revealed that the big rig was beyond their firepower. The thickness of even the tires looked as if they were built to withstand salvos from main battle tanks. Despite the warning, the vehicle seemed uninterested in actually granting mercy. Like claws, the body of the rig's cargo split aside to form virtual ramps onto the street below. Contained inside were a uniform line of machines that promptly shuddered into life. Four-legged robots with long, slender rifles situated atop stirred and began to file down onto the streets. Though they were only 6 in number, their formidably was made immediately aware to Echo.

With little more warning than a quick swivel of the turret and millisecond pause, one of the robots fired a shell at Echo and pelted his helmet dead-on. Their accuracy was, for all tends and purposes, perfectly accurate. The armor forming his helmet instantly shattered to reveal a portion of his face, though he was left unharmed. Where the bullet wasn't powerful enough to penetrate his armor, the rifle of the robot was of the smaller variety; two of the six featured far larger weapons, clearly meant to penetrate armor.

[User]
Diva stopped singing the moment the announcement boomed throughout the area. "Ah...shit," the young girl hissed out the swear quite emphatically, to anyone inside the vehicle. Just about anyone would know what that meant. It was...ok, it was only probably Policus, she couldn't see anything that would confirm it. But either way, it was NOT a good sign. The only sorts who'd make that sort of announcement were he ones who rolled in able to back it up and that was not good. This would, in point of fact, be the ersatz idol's first encounter, however indirect, with a Policus urban suppression team.

"Are we...gonna cooperate," she asked, sounding less than hopeful. She was, unlike most of the Cleaners, more of a law-abiding citizen than not. She didn't come from some dark past as a Painstaker, or otherwise do anything to already run afoul of the law, but that didn't make her want to start, either. Nobody would hire an idol with a criminal record, unless they could make that into her entire gimmick.

"Or, are we just gonna run?" She didn't advocate a direct fight, at least. Was there even a reason to stick around, though? Maybe they wouldn't give chase if there was no actual battle left to stop. "I can cover our retreat, if you need me to. Or...something. Still, uh, getting used to this part of the job."

[Assistant]
As Echo's voice echoed within her earpiece, End put a final bullet into the unknown assailants that were entangled by Advent's freaks of nature, before turning her eyes towards the surrounding streets. She was on the highest building at this point, and though she would have preferred to at least have a scope, it wasn't too difficult to pick out the large vehicle blazing through the streets.

And, it was for that reason that End was the first to curse. Policus warbots, huh? Though she could rest assured that these things weren't reinforcements backing up the ragtag gunmen the Cleaners just decimated, their presence meant that the fight was over. She counted her bullets, considered switching to armor piercing rounds, before shaking her head.

AP bullets were more expensive than normal ones, and she couldn't generate those types of bullets with her reassembly spell. She wasn't going to waste it on things that didn't die even with a full clip inside them. The Punisher EMT was holstered, before End walked away from the edge of the roof. She may be faster than a normal grunt with her Valkyrie Suit, and she could practically tear them apart with her Disassembly…but against their perfect aim, she wasn't going to risk it.

"I'm pulling out. Blitz, this is a good chance for you to snatch whichever goon's still alive and scram. Runner, I'm collecting your life insurance if you don't make it out with my van in one piece. Diva, cover for Warthog. His own van isn't going to survive the Policus's arsenal."

End paused for a moment, before letting out a deep breath.

"Let's meet at the Rash's base. Good luck."

With that, she walked off the edge of the building, a burst of jet-flame sending her airborne, away from the Policus vehicle.

[User]
— Wirefort Manor => and upwards —

"I'm inclined to agree."

It only took him a second to loop back and grab one of the fleeing attackers. A burst of acceleration and a sharp turning climb was enough to force the man to pass out while Blitz's suit kept him conscious.

He would have been confident in his ability to take one a single one of these murder robots, even one of the larger ones but four was too many. They weren't here to fight anyway and the information he could get from this one individual could make or break this whole case.

Once he was clear of the megafoundation that loomed over the Wirefort estate Blitz climbed sharply, zig zagging sharply to both throw off the aim of anything that might still be tracking him and to continue to keep his captive unconscious. He continued rising until the vehicles below were mere specs and not even the traffic below could be heard.

And then he waited for his unfortunate guest to wake up, holding him upside down by the foot.


[System]
Age:
18

Gender:
Male

Appearance:
Kazuki has a fair complexion, slightly paler than the average citizen of the Fire Nation. He is noted to have some 'good looks' stemming from his fathers side. He dressed his clothes lazily, his robes usually draping over his hands as he doesn't fasten them and buttons are usually left unbuttoned. His hair is also usually messy and disorganized and is left to hang freely.

Height:
5'8"

Weight:
160

Combat

Element:
Fire

Weapon(s): (Optional)

---

Personal

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Personality:
At first glance you would never actually guess Kazuki is the avatar, his pose is usually lax and slouching, a shiftless expression always seeming to rest on his face. Many are actually surprised whent hey find out he is the 'famous' avatar, but Kazuki doesn't mind nor care at their exasperated reactions and apologetic tones. He never really was one for notoriety and being well known, honestly he didn't think that the spirit would choose him to be the avatar, nor did many others expect to.

His indolent nature comes from the fact that after Korra's time, everything has been quiet and peaceful. Despite this, he still tries to take the duties of the Avatar seriously, even when there's a lack of it.

However, Kazuki at his very core is selfless, humble and hardworking, he goes out of his way to help out individuals in need, despite how mundane or small the issue is. And he also prefers to help people, in such a way that they don't notice they were being helped in the first place. He believes that people should be self-reliant, as he wouldn't always be there. He is also humble in a way that he actually doesn't believe he deserves to be the Avatar, and is still doubting why the spirit actually chose him. He can usually be found pensively thinking about himself and his role as the Avatar, usually having thoughts in the back of his head about many people who could actually become the Avatar better than him.

Skills/Hobbies:
Despite his laziness, Kazuki has untapped potential. He was easily able to grasp the three other elements, Air, Earth and Water, albeit taking a little more time to understand the workings of the element of Water, and with the help of the greatest tutors at the time. He can easily understand the intricacies of things, despite the difficulty of said thing.

Background:
Kazuki was simply, and lazily 'practicing' his fire arts. Fists thudding against a training dummy filled up the silent air, until elders of the nation entered the training room. They all were silently whispering amongst one another until his father stepped into the room, hs clothes draping all over the red bricked flooring, much like the elders.

It didn't take a genius to know that he had been chosen to become the Avatar. His father's countenance mirrored Kazuki's, one of confusion and perplexity. He had many siblings who were more diligent than him, siblings who would better fit the role of Avatar. The people around him wore masks of congratulations and praise, however they hid contempt and jealousy. Mostly because Kazuki has never actually made an effort to do anything that would grant him such.

The role of Avatar being handed over to him forced him to become more studious, more suited to actually being the Avatar. He has traveled all over to practice under notable names. They found it surprisingly easy to train Kazuki, him grasping the foundations easily. He was in the middle of advanced training to bend Lava, but was called off and had to leave to give assistance to a new uprising threat.

Other:
Likes Gardening.

[User]
Book 1: Equality

"New growth cannot exist without first the destruction of the old."

---

---

The sound of boots connecting with uneven floorboards echoed throughout the hallway. A door creaked open, allowing a dim light to flood into the hallway. "Evening, ma'am. You'll be glad to know that we successfully gathered the five Waters, ten Earths, and twenty Fires that you requested. The guards are ready to use them at a moment's notice," a voice called into the old, decrepit room. Inside, the only light source was a dusty lamp sitting on the edge of a wooden desk, whose legs had rotted to a musty green color. Sitting at the desk was a woman, no older than 30. She reached for a syringe resting on the desk, its contents white and nearly translucent. She flicked the tip of the syringe, allowing the air bubbles to travel to the top.

"Perfect. Tonight is the beginning of our revolution, Zhen. It's the moment our ancestors had waited for so long to see, only to have the Avatar bring it all crashing down. Speaking of which, have you confirmed that the Avatar will be present at the theater? She, above all others, must be there." The woman squeezed the syringe in order to remove any excess air.

"Yes, ma'am. The Avatar is confirmed to be present at the theater tonight. Everything is in order, all you have to do is say the words, and we will execute your orders."

"Thank you, Zhen. That will be all. If you'll excuse me, I must prepare for tonight." She dismissed him with a simple hand gesture. He bowed his head before leaving the room. The woman twirled her hair around, staring deeply into the mirror in front of her. "After all these centuries of plotting, I am finally the one to do the honors of bringing true equality to the world. If only you could be here to see me, father." A single tear rolled down the woman's face. "I will not fail you."

---

---

Rinzen

---

"Step right up! Get your tickets to the vintage premier of 'The Adventures of Nuktuk: Hero of the South'! At a price of only 25 yuan, you can see the very first mover to ever be created! This showing is sponsored by Cabbages Incorporated."

Rinzen walked up to the man who was seemingly on autopilot. He started into his rehearsed line again, but cut it short as Rinzen approached him. "I'd like to buy a ticket, please."

"Why, hello there, little lady. The ticket will be 25 yuan." Rinzen handed him the money, in exchange for a ticket. The ticket had a picture of Nuktuk and Juji printed on the front.

Rinzen thanked the man and walked into the theater before her. She found a seat near the back, sitting at the very edge of the row. The room dimmed until the only light being produced was from the projection screen in the front.

"Whose gonna fight for friends and freedom? Nuktuk!" The mover began playing, causing a wave of silence among those in the theater.

---

---

@jumpadraw@Aquaknight@Raijinslayer

[Assistant]
Jian

Jian was already inside of the theater, dressed in rather casual clothes as he watched from near the back of the room, shaking his head with a soft sigh.

These things are so cheesy. . . I'll never understand why people still like watching stuff like this.

He was only here because his mother had come over to his apartment and told him to, wanting him to get out of the house and do something besides rotting away in his house. 'It's not good for you, physically or mentally. You need to go out meet somebody, make friends, do something else' and so on and so forth. His mother didn't seem to get that, thanks to the papers, the radio, and even these goddamn movers, he was basically hated where ever he went. It had been around two years since the incident, and since he had stopped doing anything to draw attention to himself, people had begun to finally leave him be, but he doubted that anyone would ever want to be around him without spitting in his face. Already he'd gotten a dirty look from one of the ticket people, and just walking through the crowd had been an ordeal, as he just figured that someone would come forward to scream at him, call him scum, a degenerate, and so on and so forth. Every venture outside into the world was immensely draining due not only to what people say or do, but also anticipating the hatred from nearly everywhere he looked. He could never let his guard down, lest one wrong word cause him to breakdown into either tears or anger-fueled attack.

Li always loved these stupid things . . . wonder if he'll come by or not.

[User]
Chen

Chen approached the theater, a feeling of actual relaxation flowing through him for the first time in weeks. True, he was here officially to document the proceedings of the night for the United Daily News, but that didn't stop the mover from being fun. The last several articles he had written for the UDN had been covering rioting and violence between Nats and Arties, but for once he had been given an assignment that wasn't all doom and gloom. In all honesty, he could hardly wait to see who would show up tonight. Besides, he had always been a sucker for the classics.

Chen approached the man selling the tickets to 'Nuktuk' happily paying for one and exchanging a nonchalant greeting. As he entered the the theater, the excited chatter of the crowd filled him with anticipation. Chen sat as close to the center of the theater as he could. He pulled out his notebook to take notes, and as the lights dimmed and the crowd began to quiet down, Chen cast one last glance around the theater for any VIPs before locking his gaze on the screen

[Assistant]
Anik

Anik approached the Mover Theater with a relaxed smile on his face as he walked past all the excited Mover goers lining up to get their tickets to see a Mover Classic. Nuktuk. Its still a classic even if it was propaganda at the time it came out. When Anik walked up to the Mover Ticket stand he had to stand on his toes to look the seller in the eyes without the stand blocking half his face.

After getting his ticket Anik sat himself close to the front but not to close so that he would need to crane his neck to watch the mover. While Anik waited for the mover to start, Anik's thoughts went back to all the stories about the conflict between the Arties and Nats. Anik himself is squarely on the side of the Nats since he is one, but he wondered if his dear sister would ever side with the Arties, he would like to think not, but you never expect somethings until it happens.

Anik's morose thoughts were cut short when the Mover Started, so he instead of focusing on current events he decided to focus on the past of Mover.

[User]
Kazuki eyed the rather grandeur theater, a sense of distraught plaguing him. During his traverse to the theater, his clothes were prim and proper, tightly holstered all over his body. When he arrived though, everything had mysteriously come loose and lazily draped over him. He was never really one for discomfort, so now he looked like a normal person, unbefitting of what the Avatar should look like.

"Crap." he thought outloud, "I think I'm late."
Kazuki had also gotten a bit lost during the commute, and had to ask a random passerby for directions, who then pointed opposite of where he was actually meant to go. With an embarrassed expression, he bowed and started walking the opposite direction.

Standing infront of the ticket vendor, howling at the people in the hall to buy tickets to the play. Kazuki patted his clothes, and with a raised eyebrow, he actually forgot his 'VIP' pass. With another exasperated sigh he walked up to the rebroadcasting man,

"... Ticket please." he said, now fishing for 25 Yuans in his pocket. As soon as his money was handed in, the man eyed the money, as if he thought it wasn't real. After glancing back and forth towards Kazuki and the Yuans, he handed him a ticket whilst giving him a stink eye, saying

"Enjoy the show."

Man was Kazuki not suited for things like this.

As soon as he entered, he accidentally closed the doors a bit too hastily, the resounding thud making a few heads turn back at him. A bead of sweat flowing down his forehead, he bowed once more,

"Sorry."

The once quiet theater was replaced with some light whispering,

"That guys is so rude."
"Doesn't he look familiar?"
"Is that the Avatar? No way, he would be in the VIP seats."

Unfortunately I forgot to bring my pass, Kazuki thought to himself, slightly embarrassed again and now trying to find an open seat. He eyed an empty seat near the edge, with a woman taking the edge of the row. Fighting himself, he finally lightly tapped her shoulders,

"Uhh, hey, is this seat taken? he whispered, giving her a light, fraught smile.


[System]
Age: 26

Gender: F

Appearance/Description: Taller than an average female, Czi has always had a slender body, small breasts, and stocky thighs, taking after her mother. A few tribal tattoos adorn her neck and shoulder, something she some regretted having done, but aren't going away anytime soon. Her clothing is generally simple and comfortable "street" clothes, taking jeans and a t-shirt, over anything more extravagant. Her auburn hair was always changing, tending toward a shaved undercut look, allowing one side to stay longer and straight.

Height: 6'1
Weight: Approx 150lbs

Personality: Czi has a tough exterior, and is even harder to please, making it a challenge to get through to her at times. She tends to come off as pushy and impatient with most people. Although if she considers you a friend, then she will have your back no matter what.

Occupation/Skills: Her Ruska Roma ("Russian Gypsy") heritage is full of musicians, dancers, artisans, and general tinkers, and Czi is no different. Her love of music has kept her financially afloat for many years, focused mainly on the fiddle or violin, you would find her performing in public squares, or private events if the money was right. In addition, she is trained in moderate self defense techniques, namely Krav Maga, which her grandfather passed onto her as a teenager and something she has continued to develop.

Bio: Czigani's early life had been relatively normal and uneventful, not much different than most children growing up in Boston's lower income neighborhoods. Her parents, both of whom were Russian immigrants of Romani heritage, moved to the United States just before their daughter was born, where they lived and worked a handful of jobs to make ends meet. Her father also played guitar in the surrounding pubs, sharing traditional Roma music fused with modern current jazz influences. It was a love of music that carried over to their daughter, as she took comfort and joy in stringed instruments, focusing on the violin.

In her late teens, both of her parents were brutally beaten and murdered by a hate mob, and the tragedy altered her life and general disposition toward society, causing her to climb into herself, shying away from the world for years. It wasn't until her grandfather, who had already lived in America, came to visit Czigani and re-awakened her spirit once again. He taught her how to defend herself, so she would never become a victim to the wretch and prejudice of society, like her parents had. Her grandfather also shared a history of her Romani lineage, which stretched as far back as the eighteenth century, and were filled with mystical and supernatural secrets that she only thought of as folklore and children's bedtime stories.

Her time had come eventually, that all cards would be laid out on the table, and her fate sealed for an eternity. On a cool fall evening, Czi held an impromptu performance on the patio of a small Russian-American restaurant she was acquainted with, flawlessly playing many cultural favorites to a large crowd, many of whom had immigrated from Eastern Europe. What started out as a peaceful time of good food, drink, and music, ended in a swift and violent stroke of confusion, as a team of undercover police officers stormed through every entrance and opening, brandishing assault weapons, yelling out commands, and pinning random people down onto tables and against walls. Czigani didn't run, as many had, but rather stood her ground, protecting many of the children from the raid taking place. She had no idea what was happening, but at that moment, the fear that kept her heart pumping wildly, was replaced with a rage that she could not control. Her face and body burned with a passion and adrenaline foreign to her, and the realization didn't hit her until she'd suddenly snapped from whatever spell she had been under, and stood with several weapons pointed at her, and the bloodied remains of an officer at her feet. The violin that once produced beautiful music only moment prior was broken into countless pieces with remnants of shiny darkwood stuck in the side of the dead officer's skull, and the bow was lodged halfway into his brain by way of his eye. The tools of her happiness had ultimately become weapons of her destruction.

Czi fell to her knees without even being told to do so, as the horrors of the evening came flooding in all at once, and she sobbed uncontrollably. Tears that, since that terrible night, had never been shed for anyone...or anything.

[User]
"Eighth Street Diner" Czigani snorted as she looked up at the sign above the front entrance. "I wonder what genius came up with that novel name."

Both women strolled into the quaint diner, being hit by the multitude of smells emanating from the kitchen, some good, some not so bad, but as both were hungry they didn't care much. For mid-morning on a weekday, there were quite a few customers, mostly older couples in booths and a few stray fellows sitting up on the barstools up at the counter. Classic rock, circa 1970s, was playing in the background and two waitresses -one looking to the be in her early twenties and the other who could have worked there at the turn of the twentieth century- busily went back and forth from the dining area to the front counter with food and empty dishes. Czigani scanned the room, picking up on various conversations, some of which were nothing more than idle chit-chat as they waited for their meals.

"Seat ya'selves ladies." The older woman's voice carried boldly across the room. "I'll be right with ya."

The booth near the window seemed fine for them of both, as it gave them a pretty good vantage point to keep an eye on the small "Palm Reader" business a block up the road. The fact that it was part of a strip of stores facing the main road made it easier to keep track of anyone coming and going. A middle-aged dark skinned man sitting in the neighboring booth nursed a tall orange juice, and simply stared for a moment through his thick glasses at both women before turning his attention out the window.

"Hey Kel." Czi paused for a moment, a slight smirk formed on her lips. She never thought she'd address her new friend with a nickname already, which caught her off guard. "Um, I really need to use the restroom so...please order me whatever you're eating. Oh, and keep the coffee coming. " She gave Kelly a wink before heading toward the restroom.

[Assistant]
"I'll be right here," Kelly replied with a smile, grabbing the menu from the stack at the far end of the table. She glanced through the limited options they had, but she wasn't paying too much attention, not with her mind distracting her away from reality with intrusive thoughts of the hospital, Dr. Zvikas, and Jimmy.

"Excuse me, miss? Would you like some coffee?" The young waitress had approach the booth, pot of coffee in one hand and two white mugs in the other, without Kelly noticing.

"Yes, please," Kelly replied, watching as the young woman poured the hot beverage for her and Czigani.

"So you ladies out for the day, taking a break from your husbands?"

The question caught Kelly off guard. "No, we're not married. "We're actually dating," she replied, slightly exaggerating their relationship status. She noticed the waitress making a face, and that's when Kelly figured that the woman was more than likely a bible-thumping bigot. "Does that bother you?" she continued, annoyed by the waitress' reaction to what she had just said.

"No, it's just that—"

"You don't approve of same-sex relationships, is that it?" Kelly interrupted.

"Well, I…I don't think it's right—"

"Because of your religion?"

"Yes, exactly. Jesus talks about it in the bible..."

"Oh honey, that's all bullshit."

The waitress was visible shocked, as if the insult was aimed directly at her. "You have no right to speak of our lord using such language!"

Something within Kelly snapped.

"No, you have no right forcing your beliefs down everyone's throat!" she replied as she pointed an accusatory finger at the waitress after standing up to be eye-to-eye with her. Kelly didn't realize that everyone had stopped eating—or doing their job—to stare at the women. "Stop treating people like—"

Kelly stopped when someone placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled.

"That's enough, miss."

She turned around only to face a uniformed police officer. He must have walked in after her and Czigani as Kelly hadn't noticed any cops when she entered the diner. But Kelly knew better than to do anything stupid.

"My apologies officer. I'm gonna go get my friend in the restroom—"

"Actually, you need to come with me," he demanded, "I have to take down your information and then you can get your friend and get out of here." Kelly looked in the general direction of the restroom, then put her hands in her pockets.

"Alright," she sighed, "let's get this done and over with."

[User]
Her leg was cramping again, just as it had a few times during the car ride to Boston, but she hid it well. Why worry her new friend Kelly? The pain came and went like a light wave starting from just above her knee, then building as it surged up through her thigh, and stopping just short of her pelvic area. The bullet was still there, embedded in the center of her thigh same as when she had first been shot by that goddamn truck driver.

Why did he have to interfere? Why couldn't he have just let me leave with Kelly?

Czi gritted her teeth as she made sure the stall in the restroom was latched before reaching down into her pocket and pulling out a small clear baggie containing a dozen or so white pills with a label that read "OxyContin". Peeling open the seal, she poured two into her palm and quickly popped them into her mouth before turning on the faucet to gather a handful of water to swallow. The woman stared at her face in the mirror for a moment, as she felt the pain killers slowly washing down her throat, and would -within several minutes- begin to dull the pain that continued to pulse through her wounded leg.

"You fuckin' disgusting bitch…" Czigani mumbled, commenting on the dark circles under her eyes, the tired expression, dried lips, and general unhealthy feeling that she couldn't shake.

She stood up straight and unbuttoned her jeans to examine the wound that never really went away and slid the copper zipper down, exposing pubic hair that used to be much shorter and trimmed, back when she had a life and a reason to take care of herself and respect her body. She'd barely ever noticed the small scratches and scars along her inner thighs leading upward toward her vulva that was since obscured by the mess of dark hairs, covering any signs of sexual abuse at the hands of corrupt and debased prison guards, and -to an extent- hospital orderlies. There was nothing she could do, no where she could go, and the only way to survive where she had been was to simply allow it to happen. Allow pieces of her to be torn away by men who cared nothing about her as a human being, but rather a means to an end, seeing her as a "cop killer" and nothing more. Not a woman defending her people, not a girl lost in a sea of chaos, not a daughter of a family who was murdered by an unjust and prejudiced society. No. Murderers like her had no rights, not even to their own body.

Just as she slipped the tattered blue jeans further down her legs, both ears perked up from the abrupt and muffled sound of a female's voice emanating from the far side of the dining area outside. A voice that seemed angry as it tossed a barrage of words toward another.

"Kelly?" She whispered, quickly pulling her pants up in order to fasten them again.

The restroom door opened, it's squeaky hinges echoing through the small area, causing Czigani to flinch as she fumbled with the button on her jeans, followed by greater concern in her mind when she heard the lock on the door slide shut and sounds of heavy footsteps outside the stall she stood in.

"Come on out, girl." The male voice was low and husky, with a slight accent of unknown origin. "We need to talk…"

"How about you fuck off. Clearly you're in the wrong restroom dude, so keep moving." As bad luck would have it, the silver button popped off her jeans and went flying against the wall before plopping into the dingy toilet.

"Oh for fuck's sake…" She mumbled angrily, turning to the stall door to unlatch it and give the asshole on the other side a piece of her mind. But almost simultaneously, the large man kicked the now unlocked stall door inward, cracking Czigani square against the face and causing her to fly back against the adjacent wall, blood oozing from the gaping wound across her bruised forehead.

The man lunged at the girl who was now sprawled out on the floor dazed, his large hands grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her against the filthy tiled wall. She caught a glimpse of his face, which was chubby and rather pale, and his dark clothes -a business suit of some kind- seemed old fashioned and worn.

"I said we needed to talk." The fat sweaty man's heavy breath was like death to the girl's heightened senses, and even his tone of voice didn't altogether seem normal

"And...you want to talk...here?" Czi slurred her words, partly from the blow to the head and the other from the onset of the Oxy slowly creeping through her bloodstream. "What if I had to piss?"

"Then I guess you'd have to wet your pants, so listen up mahrime..."

Who was this man to call her such a name? She only ever heard her own people use this Kalderash term, a word she'd heard more times than she wanted. But she had no idea who he was, or why he came. Czi couldn't move, even as much as she tried, the man's iron grip against her neck and sheer weight was more than she could handle.

"Who the f-"

A sharp heavy hand flew across the woman's bloodied face. "I told you to 'listen', which means I talk."

Again, the woman tried to push against a force that was clearly greater than her own, and yet all her attempts fell short, until she finally allowed her muscles to relax and give in to her assailant. Her tired eyes finally met his dark and unreadable ones, which seemed more like windows into another dimension than physically normal eyes. The man's chalky and expressionless face was mere inches from her own, and what should have been body heat generated from such a large and robust person, was cold and clammy.

"You need to leave this place. This City. Go back to where you belong and stay far away from the affairs of the unclean. Stay away from those who are not like you..." The man's voice was heavy with an underlying sadness, subtle, but still there nonetheless.

"You have been warned mahrime."

[Assistant]
[ This RP has officially ended due to unexpected circumstances.
My apologies to those readers who were fans. ]


[System]
Age: 65
Nationality: American
Profession: US Marshall
Apperance/Clothing:

Combat Skills: Bill is a skilled marksman, either with his rifle or revolver, and is also very capable in a fist-fight or brawl, tending to fight very pragmatically with little regard for 'fair play'.
General Skills: Horseriding, tracking, and wilderness survival from his youth. He's also acquired a fair talent for investigation and information-gathering from his time as a Marshall.
Languages: English fluently, can communicate in Sioux.
Weapons: An 1873 Winchester rifle that he wears on his back, an 1875 Outlaw revolver at his belt, a knife in his boot and brass knuckles in his pocket.
Possessions: His old horse Daisy, his broad-brimmed hat, and precious litle else.
Personality: Bill is, above all things, a determined man, full of elderly grit and weather-worn toughness. He's not quite a no-nonsense guy, having a penchant for sarcasm and dry humor, and he can show a softer side around friends, especially those much younger than him. Finally, he also displays incredible personal courage in the face of danger, almost bordering on a lack of self-preservation.
History: Extensive, though I'll just provide the basics here. He was born 1819 in Virginia, and on the day of his eighteenth birthday traveled west to grow up with the country. He's had a great number of occupations on both sides of the law, fought for the Union in the Civil War, and has spent the last decade and a half as a US Marshall in the Dakota Territory. He has little in the way of family, except for a niece in Central City, Colorado.

[User]
Town Main Street

 The sheriff came storming back out of his office, his hands at his face and rubbing vigorously as he drew a deep sigh. This was too much to deal with Angpetu was going on about some guy that could apparently escape death, he had a body on the ground being watched over by his inept deputy and now as he stopped in his tracks he saw a face he did not know carrying yet another body. Grabbing his hat off his head he tossed it in the ground and stomped on it.

 "God blast it, mother loving, dagnabit. I'd beat the devil around a stump to pass the buck on this here damned blowed up situation!" he exclaimed out of frustration before yanking his hat off the ground and swinging it through the air. "Now what in tarnation happened to this here bloke? You know what, dun't care a continental. Fuck it, this burg done gone to hell in a hand basket and I am apparently yur' tour guide through the boil on the butt of humanity known as Brogden," he snapped before he actually took note of the newest arrival and grumbled.

 "Marshal, yeah, well he be gone. Up and flew the coop. I guess he didn't want ta' wait for no burial and the formalities. He figured he just go ahead and stroll on down to hell of his own accord. You want answers, you can talk to Ang in the office cause I am washing my hands of the whole situation. I just jail them I don't have no need or want to go chasing those that won't stay dead," he said as he waved his arms around like he was half crazed.

 "Sean, you take that body and the lead this here, who were you?" he asked Twain before waiving the question away. "Know, what, don't care. You follow Sean and take them bodies to ol' Seamus and get them nailed in a coffin before they decide to join the last bloke and have a good ol' fashion hoe down in the middle of me town!" he said before pushing passed the group and heading towards the saloon. "I need a drink…."

 Sean didn't know what to think or what to say he just stood there confused and nodded quickly as the Conner told him what to do. "Right boss, see right to it," he stammered before grabbing the body and lifting it over his shoulders. "Yeah. Um, this way," he said towards Twain and began slowly trudging off towards the undertaker.

The Sheriffs Office – Back Room

 Angpetu looked around slowly, shaking her head as she heard the sheriff start yelling in the street. She had warned him he didn't want to knot but he didn't listen and now he was doing what several had done in the past. Gone to have a drink and pass off the information as only a drunken dream from the night before. Rubbing her temples she looked at the two new additions in the back room and rolled her eyes. Having to bring one into the fold was enough, now two more on top of this Cyrus character?

 "Yeah, swifter than you can imagine," Angpetu muttered under her breath before turning her attention to Cyrus and nodding at the information he gave her. "Actually, yes, very helpful," she said. Her eyes narrowed and she went over the information both in her head and verbally as she began to walk in circles.

 "Okay, not damaged really by lead, so that could mean any of them. Too damned dry out here to be an Asrai. Went down but was back up in an hour means not an elder but old enough to know what he's doing. Didn't move out of the way of the bullet, so ain't no Daemon(pronounced Day-mon). Inuits be friendly, especially out in these parts. Pengallen would have left their body and just went off with their head," she muttered as she continued to walk.

 As the sheriff quit his rant the place got quiet and Angpetu could hear a whistling sound coming from out back in the darkness. "Nakani, son of a bitch," Angpetu growled as she stopped in her tracks. "Okay, you – go find me a couple of bottles of liquor and some rags. Then follow us," she said to the woman that was there in the back with them.

 "You," she said to the Sioux. "Follow the sound of that whistling but don't attack him, trust me, just ready a knife or ax" she sad in Sioux before directing her attention towards Cyrus. "Next time you fire, aim for the knees. We gotta keep him from running," Angpetu quickly said as she loaded with rifle with an oddly colored cartridge that looked like it was made out of some strange metal composite. Grabbing the handle of the back door she flung it out to open and looked around slowly as she brought the rifle up, stepping out slowly.

 "Do not let him touch you, no matter what," she warned as she began to walk slowly out the back door towards the sound of the whistling. The moon was high in the sky and it was a cloudless night, she hated hunting at this time of the day but they didn't have much of an option at this point. She just hoped they listened to her because she didn't want any more dead on her hands than the one she was after. It would take a bit to find Westbrook but once they did they would find him with his back to them pummeling a man with his fists in the chest as he had him pinned on the ground: straddling him. A soft glow would come from his hands every time his fist connected with the unconscious mans bare chest where the shirt had been torn away. The sound of the whistling growing louder and louder as they got closer. It wasn't coming from Westbrooks lips but seemed to be swirling around him as it did.

 "Hold it right there Nakani!" Angpetu called out as she took aim with her rifle. Westbrook held his hands up in the air and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes glowing like his hands were a moment ago and a deadly grin coming over his features as he slowly stood up and turned around to face the group fully.

 "Well my my, if it ain't a Kin Bane," Westbrook chuckled. "Out of your league here girl," he added as his fingers fanned out and from the tips of each finger bone seemed to grow out of the flesh and slowly curved into sharp claws.

 "Well, let's just about that Nakani," she said as she held her position.

[Assistant]
Mark Twain let go off Paul Blake, and the dead man toppled over onto the sheriff's floor. He jutted an accusatory finger at the night chilled carcass and complained, "I had found this man dying without a license, not paying his taxes, and swilling copious amounts of gin."

 "I went to confront him about it, but found him quite handicapped, so I figured it was more of this uniforms forte," He nodded slightly not talking to anyone in particular. He perked a dark brow of recognition and cocked a thumb over at Maeve, "oh and my nurse over here can confirm my story and sign any more of the legal papers should it come to that."

 When Twain saw that nobody was really listening and were rather preoccupied with a low whistle, the doctor fit his hands into his trouser pockets and stood upright, "well I'm glad we have this settled then!"

 He watched silently as the group quickly hurried off to take care of something else. In the back of Twain's mind he felt the itch of curiosity, and the urge of adventure. With a glance to the left, and then a stare to the right, he spun on his heel, patted Maeve a good luck pat on the shoulder followed by a sly grin, and exited the building.

---

 The chill of the moonlit night contrasted the day's sun, and the gentle breeze bellowed under Marks dark city clothes, sending a wild energy down his spine and perking the corners of his sly smile. After what seemed like a short journey, he surrendered his shoulder onto a large grey rock and leant on it as he observed the group that had left the sheriff's office.

 His blue eyes released its gaze from the shadowy group momentarily as he scanned the otherwise wild grass of the flat lands he now found himself in, the silhouette of the town backed by the moonlight in the distance.

  Only devious things take place at night so far from home, He thought to himself as he turned his attention back onto the group.

 Sure enough soon the pounding struggle of an aggressor was made known by shouts and taunts, and even the pointing of a gun. The words of the people in question were blurred by the soft breeze in Twain's ear, but otherwise understandable.

 A soft spot in Mark's heart suggested to leave this scene for a quieter one by the warm glow of a lantern next to a hot bath and even more pleasant company. However, the thought was quickly rebuked by a vulpine grin and the sense of adventure that so often swelled in the Doctor's chest.

  After all, Mark thought to himself while he continued to watch the scene unfold before him,  You only live twice.

This is probably one of my laziest and terribly written posts in a long time, I apologize.

[User]
Bill raised his eyebrows as the sheriff blew through the office like a hurricane. The lawman was obviously having a stressful day, but this talk of men who wouldn't stay dead? That was confusing. Clearly, the bounty hunter's killing shots hadn't been quite as lethal as they all would have liked. Would have taken a real clever man to play opossum and fool so many people, though, and Bill found himself wondering just what kind of town the sheriff was running here.

Well, nothing for it but to talk to this Ang person, whoever that was. This whole business was crazy, but he had nothing else to go on, and he'd be damned if he'd give up his hunt now after coming so close. The marshal stepped into the back room to find it empty.

"...Huh." Whoever Ang was, they seemed to have left through the back door, seeing as how it was open into the night. What was more, there was a sound coming from that direction - a queer sort of whistling. Something about that noise sent a chill down the old man's spine, and a thought pushed its way to the front of his mind: That ain't natural. He pushed it back down just as fast, took his rifle from his back, and stepped through into the moonlit night to follow the noise.

Bill had seen a lot of things in his long life: a lot of death, pain, and misery. He'd had a lot of long chases, a lot of bad scraps, and a lot of hungry nights. He'd heard wolves bay for his blood and stared down the barrel of Confederate rifles. But something about that night, how big the moon was in the sky, how twisted all the silhouettes of the buildings seemed, how shrill that godawful whistling was... it spooked him.

He wasn't following long before he arrived on a disturbing scene. A small group of people were facing down a solitary figure - one of them, the woman he'd seen earlier, was pointing a rifle at him. At the figure's feet there was a man, unconscious, his shirt torn away. Whatever the strange man had in mind for that poor soul, Bill was prepared to guess that it wasn't wholesome. The whistling was coming from nearby, though nobody seemed to be making it - more like it was just emanating from around them.

All these things were more minor details, however, compared to the two things that grabbed the Marshal's attention. One, the figure's face was unmistakably Westbrook, and two, he was armed in a way Bill had never seen before. There was something on his fingertips, long, sharp, like claws. The old lawman didn't much want to see what the killer could do to a person with those.

Bill took aim at Westbrook's center of mass, steadied his rifle, and announced his presence with a shot. What happened next, nothing on this earth could explain - Westbrook swerved away from the bullet, faster than any person should be able to move. Cursing, Bill loaded another shot and yanked the bolt back on his rifle, taking aim once again. Something queer was going on here, and Bill would find out what it was just as soon as this murdering sonofabitch was dead - not one second sooner.


[System]
Ansgar seems to keep finding copies of his attire that fit him, or making them, something that people tend to note on a routine occasion. These thing are not as hard as one might think, however, he has reached the end of his growth spurts and will likely not grow much taller through natural growht. However, he loathes the fact that the gift of magic has Tainted him, and routinely covers every inch of his body as to prevent this from being shown to the outside world. Under his mask is a rather serpentine appearance, green eyes narrow and reptilian in form and face lean, with a predatory look that is at odds with his normal way of acting. From the neck down, he has a great deal of scales covering his body, a dull sort of iridescent that, despite the normal glean such color has, does not shine if exposed to light. Beyond these scales, his gloved hands are rough, almost dangerously so if forcefully applied, hence the gloves.
Age: 15

Gender: Male

Background:
As far as Ansgar knows, he has always been at the Orphanage with Old Man Fritz leading the way, not to say that Ansgar always got along terribly well with his caretakers. Not to say he disliked the old man, not by any stretch, but the boy always preferred his own methods and flexibility towards happenings, unwittingly taking after his biological father, who's fate was hidden from the boy. Despite being told little and growing up alongside other orphans, Ansgar knew things were awry. He never seemed to excel in any field he applied himself to, unlike many of his peers, yet never seemed to be abnormally weak either. However, two key things seemed to drive him, and prevented him from leaving the Orphanage since he was convinced of his ability to do so already, despite his early years. As such, he tended to hold himself to a standard of maturity above his peers, wearing a mask of hand crafted design to hide himself, from what was as much of a guessing game as anyone could guess. Yet, every morning he had not left, despite mutterings during arguments or disagreements of having no good reason to remain.

Despite the stand offish nature, Ansgar will go and help those around him, often times tending to clothing, injuries, or miscellaneous things that seem to be often forgotten. He prefers to keep himself busy, oddly focused on work for his age, keeping himself focused on one task or another. During his free time, he often practices his Gift, or his needlework, repairing his clothing or mask with needle and thread. Quite the busy body and needlessly serious, are two very good ways to describe the lad. What humor most do hear from him is often an early form of gallows humor, poking fun at things that really, really are not funny at all, which creates dubious amounts of response from peers. He does mean well by it, it just rarely comes across as such.

Equipment: Sturdy old Cane, personal locket, sewing kit (needles, thread, bobby pins, small rusty scissors)

Level: 1

Attribute: Fluid

Skills:
Intuitive - Ansgar is not necessarily the smartest person in the world, some might even mock him for being below average. However, what no one can argue is that he has a natural knack for feeling out a situation or problem with people, not literally mind you, and just seems to know things at times, though the explanation of such is often beyond him. Deception seems to not be as effective as average, Ansgar picking up on tells on an instinctive level, and either calling them out on it or otherwise not bothering to believe a word coming out of their mind.

Dexterous - When it comes to fine motor skills, whether it be needle work or handling delicate materials, Ansgar has a naturally precise, steady hand. The lad seems to take a great deal of pride in his deft, steady handiwork, even when it is benign or otherwise simple things such as stitching up someone's torn clothes or putting together a broken toy. He even has some basic locks figured out, enjoying the challenge of getting into places he should not be rather than merely trying to get into places he isn't allowed for ulterior motives. Often times, he confirms he has it unlocked and leaves it, much to the chagrin of any who have found their things unlocked but undisturbed. Mostly others who also don't have terribly sturdy locks.

Slippery - Not in a literal sense mind you, but in a figurative manner. Ansgar is hard to pin down, and harder to catch when he doesn't want to be. He has this way of worming his way out of someone's grasp, evading others that try to catch him at games, and just seems to be right infuriating to catch. This is further compounded by his intuition, which leads him to instinctively avoiding trouble he is trying to evade, ducking and dodging when others are getting grabbed. To be fair, he has no qualms with brisk cheap shots to unmentionable areas to get out of someone's grasp, but who's counting, honestly?

Affinity: Water

Gift:
Ansgar has a knack for mending the wounds of others, but not in the traditional method of focusing himself on the injury and closing the wound. Rather, he finds himself able to manipulate blood, specifically the water content of blood, his own most naturally but, if he were to lay hands on someone else right now, he could tweak their blood. Most of the time, he can convince blood, whether his or that of someone within his grasp, to be more cooperative towards the healing process, not so eagerly rushing away from its container or aiding in the binding process more easily. He could theoretically do some damage with this, or even reach out farther, but for now, he is limited to one person at a time, and they have to be within his reach.

[User]
Fritz's Room, Dirt Town Orphanage

Nim stood off against one of the walls of the room, watching carefully from the shadows. She wasn't the type that liked to be right up with the crowds of other people. As much as she would have liked to see Fritz before he passed, or even as he did, it hadn't been worth pushing through the other children. Now that they were wailing? Definitely not.

It wasn't that Nim wasn't sad. Tears ran down her cheeks, her emotions clearly readable for once. She was still only eleven and unlike some of the older kids didn't need to keep up appearances and didn't care that anyone would see her crying (though she was hidden well enough). She wasn't about to break her normal quietness by wailing, however. That just seemed futile. Fritz was dead and it wasn't going to bring him back.

She wasn't looking forward to being on the streets again. It was undoubtedly what would end up happening – as young as she may be she knew the gangs wouldn't respect this area as an orphanage anymore. The streets would probably be safer than just staying here.

Nim noticed one of the older orphans speaking to Mary, Zahn if she recalled correctly, and strained to hear what he was saying over the wailing of the young children. When she couldn't catch more than a word she shrugged, giving up. It was time to leave the room anyway, she was beginning to feel just a little bit on edge with so many people around.

Keeping to the edge of the room Nim made it to the door and slipped out, still staying in the shadows. Outside she found three more of the older children and moved slightly closer to them – to listen to what they were saying, trying to stay unnoticed. It wasn't that she was feeling particularly nosy but if they managed to organise themselves, or even any of the others, she'd tag along.

As much as she may not love other people's company Nim knew it would be better for her to stick with others.

[Assistant]
Thames tapped rhythmically at the side of his trousers with his right index finger. Every six taps the minute hand of his pocket watch ticked up by one minute. He stared, watching mostly quietly at Mr. Fritz who began what were very much his last words, as spoken of by himself. Concepts of things such as "future" were a trivial matter to Thames. After all, his dominion was over time itself! Little did he care for what this man had said. Indeed, when he finally passed, in spite of emotions running high in the room, Thames looked toward the decrepit corpse of the old man and the girl crying over him, feeling no more worsened by such turn of events. Thames had never taken the man for granted. After all, Mr. Fritz was the first human being he had spoken to ever as far as he could remember. Sentimentality, however, was not something Thames cared too much about.

Thames's eyes wandered around the room, not wanting to focus so much on the dead body. The first person he noticed was Senna, who Thames had always regarded as a crazy person. Judging by her pent up body language and her facial expression, the particular positioning of her muscles as seen by Thames, she was evidently angry.

The next person was Ansgar. Thames always hated him, though he could never really fathom any particular reason as to why. He hadn't expressed it openly, though had many a time "accidentally" left an ice cube or two out of his drink, or left a particular spot uncleaned if he knew Ansgar was the next person to clean after him. This was not out of spite though, at least not as far as Thames was concerned.

"Oh. And they're talking to one another." Thames grimaced, wanting to spit if there weren't so many people around, instead swallowing his saliva as he watched scornfully as the two interacted with one another. When a third person; Sai, who Thames also disliked; joined in the conversation, he looked away, not wanting them to drag him in as well.

After them, his focus was turned to the distinct cawing noise which he had associated with Dodo, who like Senna, Thames believed to be a crazy person, though for different reasons. Even if he had the mind to approach her, she had already left the building. Thames rolled his eyes. It wasn't as if she'd have anything substantial to say anyways.

Then, starting a commotion, Zahn. For whatever reason, he felt the need to rally everybody together as if his words had any weight to them. Thames certainly didn't care. Thames didn't quite like this person either. He thought him stuck up. Plus, Thames didn't like cats. He always thought them unnerving and disliked the way they glared, and Zahn was certainly cat-like, up to his pompous attitude.

Nim was not someone Thames ever bothered with, in fact he had hardly even bothered to remember her name. After all, time was a precious thing for Thames and he didn't want to waste it on such a person.

The boy, not wanting to be in the room any more, fled quietly through the window, the same place that Dodo had made her exit though in a different manner. Thames, after all, didn't have all the handy bird features at his disposal. Using his powers, he slowed his fall enough to grab onto a pole, turning around it burn off the extra energy before dropping to the ground.

"Hmph" he thought, hands in his pockets as he wandered off in search of nothing in particular.

[User]
It seemed that either Senna's sense of humor was as off as his was apparently, or perhaps it was a necessary evil, given the oppressiveness and general dark mood that seemed to be around the place right now. Understandable, given the situation, but certainly a dark mood none the less. Ansgar, lacking the ability to utilize facial expressions to respond, seemed to shrug idly, head cocking slightly to his left with his response following, blank as ever. "Those that lose their ability to laugh, even in the face of grim truth, have lost their ability to fight. To laugh, is to be unbeaten yet. To answer, though, it is a rare humor for a rare situation, no harm assuming no such thing was around." Whether that was an indirect jab at the sharp exhale from the approaching boy, Sai he suspected the name was if memory served him well, or a more general statement was well and truly up to interpretation. However, things would present a rather interesting train of thought, brought up despite the flirting manner that Senna decided to engage Sai with. While thankful such attention was not on him, distracting as it no doubt was, thought continued none the less.

Both of them brought up good points, in their own regards. Larger group did mean a larger target, to put it in a shorter set of words. Yet, he recalled an old phrase he had heard at one point. United we stand, divided we are conquered. Opposing arguments, pushing for greater purchase in his mind. Certainly, it would be easier to cut and run, go their separate ways and defy the wishes of the dead. Yet, such things, he had this feeling, would not bode well for those defiant in regards to that mentioned wish. So he had his options, run and try to make ends meet on his own, or stand his ground and see what happened. The gangs would be descending soon, intent on scavenging anything worth a damn before leaving the rest to rot. Focusing on the problems of now were good, he could put off his guilt and regret for a more appropriate time. Right now, he needed to focus on a plan. Whether that was stand with the orphans, or cut and run like Senna had suggested, was yet to be seen. He was, as they say, on the fence regarding the matter. Both had their merits, and their flaws, and had to be treated as such.

"Though indirect, she makes a valid point. Not all of those here are team players, and even those that are may prove to be less than useful. Whether we work together well or not, has nothing to do with anything except the will to do it. And that is in dangerously low amounts, Old Man Fritz's passing saw to that. It will take either charisma, or good manipulation." Ansgar had gone into thinking mode, fully shutting away his emotions now that he had a problem to work with. Part of the reason he held himself so needlessly high in regards to maturity, in comparison to many, was his thinking. Always working, always learning, couldn't be acting like a child then, right? Thinking on those present, having missed their hidden listener due to his own thinking train going far too fast, he could see both Sai and Senna leading. The former, willingness and, possibly, determination enough to see this done. The latter, manipulation, she was a trickster as far as he understood, and decieving and conning people took either talent in charisma, to pull the wool down, or manipulation to make them believe the wool. Both ways would work, and he brought it up idly, as part of his looking at the problem.

"First issue, leadership. Likely needs to be an older orphan, more experience and all that. Two approaches, deception or charisma. Brute force won't work with either, forcing heart broken kids won't be easy. Might make them more easily controlled though, especially if results are accomplished or promised. I would guess either of you two could pull off leading, or if anyone is trying to organize that screaming mess back there, if they succeed, could do it too. Besides that, how we intend to make ends meet. I am not aware of how the Old Man funded this, but we will need to either keep funding this place, or find someplace new to squat." With the thinking and considerations, Ansgar drummed the handle of his cane with two fingers, tapping out a steady rhythm while he thought. Where it would go, well, it would depend on how the others bothered reacting to his thinking out loud, as it were, and burn the bridges from there.


[System]
Age: 32
Gender: Male

Nationality: Russian

Occupation: Gun for hire

Branch of government worked for: He was hired to do some dirty work on the DL, but when the media found out about him, the government claimed that he was just a rogue and that they had no connections to him.

Personality:

Described as intense and driven, Sasha is not a guy you want to make an enemy of. He's intelligent, level headed, collected, and when he sees fit, unnaturally cold. With the heart of a soldier, Sasha will stop at nothing to complete a task he's set his mind on. His sheer will and determination make him a valuable ally.

The softer side of Sasha isn't something many people get to see. For one, he doesn't have many people to show it to, outside of his very small friend circle. Afraid of getting too close to other people, lest he be jaded, Sasha doesn't associate with others a whole lot. But when he's decided that your his friend, a warmer, gentler giant begins to emerge. He values close bonds above all else, making his friends the most important things in his life. He doesn't have many, but those he does have, he'd protect with his life.

Appearance: Sasha is a very large man. He stands five inches short of seven feet tall, solidly built and muscular.
He has pale skin and dirty blonde hair that is kept in a neat buzz cut. His eyes are a gray-ish blue, and cold as ice. He wears mostly old military pants and shirts, in drab green and tans.

Other: Sasha speaks with a Russian accent. He speaks several European languages fluently, Russian and English being his best of course.

Skills: Your usual military training applies. He's proficient with most guns, but is particularly skilled at hand to hand combat. Has been known for one punch knock outs. He also has some experience in leadership.

Likes: Gardening, traveling, cool weather, reading, tinkering with electronics

Dislikes: People who are general assholes

History:

Sasha grew up in Kazan, Russia. His mother overdosed when Sasha was 5. He was left to be raised by his father, who fell into depression after the loss of his wife. His father wasn't the kindest, and often times was abusive. After Sasha's mother had died, he had essentially lost interest in being a father. He would often invite his loud and obnoxious friends over to watch soccer games, drink, and play poker while Sasha hid in his room and pretended not to exist. Sasha wanted to get out of the house as soon as he could, and joining the military seemed like the best option. However, Sasha had something of an authority issue when he was younger. His father's poor job of raising him had turned him into a rebellious punk.

After six years of service, Sasha slowly lost some of that punk kid attitude. He was eventually promoted to a second lieutenant and given his own, small platoon. They were deployed to Ukraine, where Sasha and his men were given orders that went against his own set of personal morals. When he refused to carry them out, he was threatened with everything in the book: treason, discharge, prison, the works. Instead, he just quit. Sasha and several of his men went AWOL. He picked up work as a mercenary, doing things that he knew he wouldn't lose sleep over. Most of the time, he did dirty work for various governments who didn't want to wait around and get things done the 'diplomatic' way.

One such mission sent him to Mexico to gut a base that served as a drug lord haven. The mafia style group had made several threats to attack the lowers US border, and government officials had good reason to believe that they meant business. The base was located right in middle of a ghetto, and any move against the drug lords risked injuring civilians, and thus pissing off Mexican officials. So Sasha was hired to lead a 'rogue team' to destroy the base. They were successful, but when a civilians was, indeed, injured, the media caught wind of mercenaries working for the US government.

Sasha was on his way out of dodge when he was captured by Mexican special forces. He threatened to sing like a bird if the US didn't get him out, so they did. He then conveniently 'disappeared'. Sasha was shipped out to the island a little over a year ago.

[User]
Sasha read his book for about another hour before he finally got too antsy to sit any longer. He needed to get up and move around before he went to bed, or else he'd never sleep. The man stood and took his tray back up to the line, where he dumped the trash off and set it with the other dirty ones. As he left, Sasha noticed nurse Nancy coming in with one of the guards. He was glad that she was feeling better, at least.

He passed them and headed out into the hall. Sasha wandered a little, pretty aimlessly, around the hallways. He found a nice window to stop at and look out for a while. The sun was setting and the moon was slowly raising into the sky. He watched for a while until he got bored with it, then strolled off again. He ended up at the common room where a lot of the patients came to play games or just socialize. Sasha liked to come here because it was one of the only rooms that had a deck of cards. He had his various skills at card games: poker, black jack, spades. But his favorite to play here was solitaire. Mostly because it didn't involve another person.

He walked in, acknowledging the two other people in the room with only a nod. He sat down on a couch with a table in front of it, the cards neatly stacked there. Silently, Sasha began to lay out his game.

[Assistant]
@unfallenangel

As the huge Russian entered the room Xander's head perked up. Looking at Jo briefly before his head returned to Sasha he said, "Hey Jo if it isn't the biggest baddest son of a bitch this side of the Iron Curtain." Shooting his hand up in the air with a slight wave he hollered, "Sasha my boy have you crushed anybody's skulls recently for the good mother Russia? If you haven't I take back everything I said and would hope you would spare my head for another day."

Xander had noticed the larger Russian wandering the halls. If he remembered correctly a few words, grunts, and what not had been exchanged between the two of them. However, he had a feeling that he liked Sasha. It was just the aura around the man. Strong, simple type, that was the kind that he could get along with. Even with Xander's babbling brook of a mouth he could always show respect to the right people.

[User]
There was something about the smell of a fresh deck of cards that took him back in time. He remembered the day he learned to play durak, which was a lot later in his life than most would think. It was also an Afghan that taught him.

Amid was, for all intents and purposes, Sasha's best friend. If his team was his family, then Amid was the closest thing to a brother he had. They had picked the Afghan up during a tour in the middle east. After storming and laying waste to one of the many bases of a nefarious extremist group, they had found the pitiful excuse of a human being in a cell towards the back. He had been tied to a chair, obviously beaten and tortured, and left there to die. Rats had taken several large chunks out of his ankles, and they seemed eager for more. When they entered the room, Sasha had been sure they had found a gruesome murder. But yet the man was somehow still alive.

Sasha was known to have a soft spot every once in a while. He couldn't stand helplessness, and this man was definitely helpless. He convinced his team that it was a good idea to take him with them back to their base and fix him up until they could get him somewhere safe. The team medic, a Frenchman named Bernard (he was a story for another time), hadn't been too thrilled to be given a lump of flesh to work on. A good "shut the fuck up" and a "do what I say" got him a little motivated.

Several days of around the clock care and Amid had made an amazing come back. He spoke fairly good English, and told them that he was a member of the Afghan army who had been part of an attack on the extremists. That attack, obviously, hadn't gone as planned. Sasha offered to take him back to his people, but Amid found their group more interesting. He wanted to join them and repay them for saving his life. In long run, Sasha was glad he did. Amid proved his worth time and time again.

He was a bit on the short side, standing at 5'5" if you included his curly hair. He was muscular, but the lean kind. He was, overall, a pretty unassuming looking man. People tended to look past him, which gave the mercenaries an upper hand when they didn't want to draw attention to themselves. He was very smart, and better yet, good with a gun. A few years down the road, and the Afghan was something of a right hand man to Sasha.

It had been Amid that taught Sasha how to play most card games. Sasha had never given them much thought before, but after Amid would walk into a casino and walk out considerably richer, he thought he should maybe give it a try.

 The day he learned to play durak had been a darker one in his life. They were in Brazil, hunting a big time crime boss who's bounty had recently doubled. The man, who went only by "Rusco" had near militia-like forces under his command. He'd bought the police, he practically owned the city he lived in, and he ran drug and trafficking rings across the world. How one guy got so much power was a mystery to Sasha.

Their mission had been the usual golden plan: get in quietly and leave as loudly as possible. They had captured one of Rusco's lower goons and convinced him to give them a rough layout of the mansion this asshole lived in. It seemed to serve as a base of operation. The amount of people guarding it was ridiculous. Sasha and his team managed to get in without much trouble. They were working their way towards the game room where the man supposedly played poker every night at 7pm. Then all hell broke loose.

They were spotted by one of the guards and the next thing they knew, they were swarming like angry hornets. They were too close to just give up, so Sasha insisted they fight the numbers off. There were a lot of soldiers, but his team had much better training. They managed to get backed into the game room. They procured Rusco, but now found themselves trapped. Amid threatened to cut Rusco's throat out if he didn't call off his dogs, which worked pretty effectively. They inched out of the room, the air tense, with a very large knife held to the crime lord's neck should anyone decide to try some shit. They were out of the base and shoving Rusco in their vehicle when the guards started swarming again. Sasha, who had been bringing up the rear, told them to get in the van and get the hell out of there. He jumped on the back bumper and held on for dear life, using his other hand to spray bullets at anyone who got too close. They were almost to the main road when Sasha was hit. The bullet went straight for his gut, slipping perfectly in between the plates in his vest. He fell off the van and hit the dirt hard enough to knock the sense out of him.

The van stopped, but Sasha yelled at them to keep going, lest they all get roasted by the soldiers. Sasha vaguely remembered getting up on his knees and putting his hands on his head in surrender. He remembered looking down and seeing the blood quickly soaking through his armor. He barely remembered being dragged back towards the base before losing consciousness.

When he woke up, he found himself in a very uncomfortable position. His arms were tied above his head, chained up to a rafter with his toes barely scraping the ground. His ankles were zip tied together. And for some reason, he was naked save for the bandaging over his bullet wound. Rusco's second in command, Liam, stood before him, waiting for him to fully come to and realize how badly he'd fucked up.

They went back and forth cursing and shouting at each other. Liam wanted to know where his boss, and his paycheck, had been taken to. Sasha told Liam to stick a rifle firmly up his ass and pull the trigger. The torture that ensued made that remark slightly less worth it. He was beaten like a pinata until his pale skin was almost completely purple. When Sasha still didn't tell them what they wanted to know, they mixed together some boiling sugar and water and poured it all the way down his back. The pain was indescribable. His skin blistered and melted almost instantly, and when the sugar dried into a hard coat, they ripped it off and did it again. When the puddle of blood and boiled flesh beneath him grew to a considerable enough size, the torture finally stopped. They would give him a few hours to 'think about it', and they would be back. They left the last batch of sugar napalm dried to his back, effectively stopping him from bleeding out.

Sasha spent most of that time unconscious. He didn't remember much about his rescue. He remembered a lot of shouting and gunfire, and the white hot pain that came went he was taken down from the chain. He spent most of the ride back to their base, which had been moved after Rusco had been turned in, crying with relief. They didn't talk about that part.

That night hadn't been a fun one. Bernard and Amid tended to his injuries. Amid took a warm, wet cloth and slowly dissolved the dried blood and sugar on his back. The flesh was raw, with several chunks missing out of it. Sasha was pretty sure that Bernard had given him some kind of intense narcotic to keep him from waking the dead with his screaming. When it was all over and Sasha was dressed in fresh clothes and several miles of bandages, they sat down to play some cards. It helped put his mind at ease. He didn't remember, but Amid had later told him that he'd spent the better part of the night trembling and looking over his shoulder.

He didn't sleep at all, even though he probably needed it desperately. It was after everyone else had gone to bed and Amid was the last one staying up with him that the Afghan brought up durak.

"What do you mean you don't know how to play durak? Just what kind of Russian are you?" Amid had said incredulously.

"Not a very good one, I guess," Sasha said, managing to find a smile. They had stayed up until dawn playing, until Sasha was slumped over in his chair asleep.

As Sasha sat in the game room at this hell he now called home, remembering the days when he had friends and a family to look out for him, he was overcome with a crushing feeling of grief. Was all that gone now? Where was his team now? Was Amid still looking for him? Did they think he was dead? Would he ever see them again before this place made him disappear for good?

He was pulled out of it when Xander, the local smart mouth, spoke to him from across the room. Sasha looked up.
"No," He said, his tone sounding pretty serious, but his statement sounding otherwise. "I'm not a very good Russian."


[System]
Personal Information
Age: 17
Sex: Male
Date of Birth: 21/03
Grade Level: Third-Year
Griffith is large, in part from his height of about six feet. The genetic lottery has supplemented his above-average height with a bulky frame, and through concerted effort he has filled his frame out with musculature to match—though he has avoided excessive bulk. His lips are almost always upturned in a massive grin, and his eyes shine with mirth. His dark hair and eyes contrast his skin, which is paler than most.
Born in Aberffraw in north-western Wales, Iorwerth grew up speaking his native Welsh and, in accordance with UK laws, English. When he was six, business required his parents to move to Japan. While initially temporary, both work and pleasure conspired to have Iorwerth's parents settle in the country permanently.
Gruffydd proves a match for the mirth found in his eyes. He is warm, and amicable to a fault. His deep, echoing laughter is always bubbling beneath the surface, waiting to burst forth in response to some good natured ribbing of one of his friends, or even of himself. It is a rare day where he is angry, but when it does happen, it's like he's a completely different person. His joyful eyes turn hard, and it almost always ends in a fight—but to his great fortune, said fights have always been off campus. His capacity for great anger is something that he is deeply ashamed of, but to his dismay not something he has been able to do away with. He finds solace in the stories of his homeland, having great fascination in the tales and beliefs of pre-modern Celtic peoples. Secretly—that is to say, while his parents know, he has hidden it from his peers—Gruffydd is a Reconstructionist—a person who is practicing a long-defunct religion using what little knowledge can be gleaned from scholarly ventures—of the pre-Roman Britons (who lived in what is today England and Wales).

Combat Information
Main Arcana: Moon
Compatible Arcana: Hanged Man, Hermit
HP/SP: 92 HP / 98 SP
Mask: A Stag
Weapon Type: Two-Handed Swords (Slash)
* Weapon: A Shovel – An old shovel. The shaft is chipped and the head is a little rusty. Deals 22 Damage to one foe.
* Armor: Dress Shirt – A simple long-sleeved dress shirt. No Effect.
* Accessory: Analogue Watch. No Effect
* Clothes: Default Clothes

Initial Persona
Name: Herne the Hunter
Arcana: Moon
Origin: The Legend of Herne the Hunter

Cleave
Cost: 5% of HP = 4
Effect: Deals 42 Slash Damage to one foe

Zio
Cost: 4 SP
Effect: Deals 45 Electric Damage to one foe

Garu
Cost 4 SP
Effect: Deals 45 Wind Damage

Rakukaja
Cost: 12 SP
Effect: Increases one ally's defense for three turns. Damage dealt to selected ally descreased by 20%.
* Slash: --
* Strike: --
* Pierce: Str
* Fire: Wk
* Water: Str
* Ice: --
* Electric: --
* Earth: Wk
* Wind: --
* Light: --
* Darkness: Nul

[User]
HP:40 SP:80

---

Her first swing a miss, Yamada quickly took the chance to grab her, trying to rip off the masque glowing a fierce purple. Natsuki would have retaliated by smashing an elbow to her side, but Yamada mentioning her first name stopped her dead in her tracks, allowing Yamada to release her unscathed.

The moment she was free from Yamada's grasp however, she quickly moved away, outside of Yamada's reach, but still well inside her range, utilizing her longer limbs and weapons to her advantage.

Giving a side glance at Saito, she moved suddenly to the side, thrusting the stick swiftly towards Yamada's torso. Should Saito move to attack as well, Yamada would be facing a two way attack.
~Center of the mind~

Dry leaves crackled incessantly as she ran through the autumn forest. Her lungs was burning, and her legs was starting to feel as if red hot barbed wires was running through it.

"Nacchan~ I liked you soooo much~ Do you like me too~?"

The voice echoed through the trees, ephemeral and dissonant. Natsuki stumbled, falling face first into a pile of leaves.

"Ah.. I just cleaned that up too."

Startled, she looked up, only to find herself back at the shrine, with Tsubaki grinning at her with a broomstick in hand. Her red and white shrine maiden outfit was starting to grow more red, blood gushing out from a large wound in her chest, slowly soaking into her white haori.

A huge gust of wind suddenly blew a torrent of dry leaves into Natsuki's eyes, obscuring her vision. When she could see again, Tsubaki was nowhere to be seen, and the shrine was in ruins. The radio came on suddenly, as a familiar voice started singing a familiar song, though distorted and filled with static.

usagi oishi ka no yama
ko-buna tsurishi ka no kawa
yume wa ima mo megurite
wasure-gataki furusato

The song mocked her as she sprinted down the steps, never seeming to fade away regardless of how far she ran.

[Assistant]
Shinku: HP: 90/90 SP 30/30
________________________________

Shinku took a blow from Natsuki. Not specifically powerful, though there was a problem if Saito decided to come and fight at the same time. She could probably easily remove Ito from the fight. . . But this was still her, albeit not in her right mind. The girl never seemed to be very sturdy in the first place, she probably couldn't take much. Saito Keiichi on the other hand. . . He could be a threat in this fight. That pipe looks painful. "I know it's not good to beat up your friends, but this is a certain case right?" Shinku said to Ito and Saito. "Not exactly what I want to do." Then she rushed to Saito and socked him well in the face. (24 Strike) "You're a man right, you can take a hit can't ya?"
________________________________
HP: 75/90 SP: 30/30

[User]
Dai flinched as Haruto accused him of mockery, of taking this whole situation too casually. That miscommunication will cost him dearly as Haruto roared once again. Dai was still hesitant to attack, but as Kazuo explained, it might not be a matter of choice to beat these guys back into sanity; although, there was a small problem with that plan. With only sharp objects to use as weapons, these people might become swiss cheese in an early grave. Urgh, if only he chose a rock.

"Oh, sorry. Are you saying that you don't have enough brain cells to comprehend reason?" Dai spoke; his steely gaze clashed against the dark yellow eyes beneath the lion mask. Unnerved, his grip on the bow readjusted itself. "Every little thing has consequences. I might as well roll with it if I'm just gonna get my ass kicked either way."

His opponent stalked toward him with a grace of a predator, his muscles was tense. Instincts blaring, as fast as he could muster, Dai tried to brace for impact with his bow. But the lion was too fast. Dai was caught off guard by an attack from below; the hard-soled shoes dug deep into his stomach, creating a burst of pain. He buckled when fire ran through his belly. For a second there, white spheres danced around the edges of his eyes.

"Shit…" Dai took a deep breath as sweat began to form. Already, he knew, his sane teammates made a decision to fight. Kazuo can't save everyone by himself; how rude was it to make him carry the weight of beating up his classmates all by himself? Ignoring his pain, Dai stood and simply stared at the lion-masked student; his breath was now steady as he took a stance and nocked his weapon. He aimed. He fired.

[Rolled 5]

Close. It was oh so close to missing, but his arrow managed to hit its mark. However, instead of hitting Haruto, there was another target in Dai's line of sight.

Saito would suddenly be struck by an arrow from the side, colliding into his shoulder as the projectile suddenly dispersed into static upon impact. The attack dealt a total damage of 20 points to the young man.

Dai couldn't be more relieved. Instead of metal piercing through flesh and bones, the arrow had just disappeared, replaced by fizzy lines that are similarly seen in television sets. Okay, that made things a little less awkward. Questionable in terms of logic and moral, but it lessened his guilt nevertheless.

As soon as his shot was released, Dai winced in pain as he grabbed a certain object from the ground and slung it over his unoccupied shoulder. It was Saito's bag he caught sight of when he had buckled over from the previous dolphin kick. It must've been dropped during Saito's assaults and somehow ended up being kicked around before it neared Dai's feet. That was a surprise. Nevertheless, Dai drew his bow and arrow once more.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dai
HP: 40/65
SP: 55/55

[Assistant]
HP: 47/68
SP: 52/52

---

The blast from the fire knocked that which once had been Gruffydd to the ground. There was a wail of pain when the fire struck, and a grunt on impact with the ground. Somehow, the shovel had not been knocked away. Standing up again was slow, but it was done.

"Well, that was enlightening." Great amusement could be seen in sickly yellow eyes. "But to so readily play with fire? You might burn yourself. Or me." That which once was Gruffydd approached Kazuo, now much more slowly. "So calm. So collected. And all the while you play with fire. A deep chuckled echoed from beneath the stag's face. "You could kill someone like that, you know. Do you even care? Maybe you do belong in this Den of Monsters after all. But even if you do, I don't take kindly to people trying to kill me."

[Roll: 16! 11 Damage dealt to Kazuo!]

The swing of the shovel was fast, and hit Kazuo solidly in the body. "I simply must return the favor."

---

"What are you talking about? I have a home. I have a family." Gruffydd was upset at this random bartender's assertion, but was doing his best to remain calm.

"Sure, you have a family. They're good people. Your parents don't force you to leave home, or deride or degrade you. But come on Gruffydd, you know better."

"And just what the hell does that mean!?" He snapped. The song and dance in the tavern had died. Everyone there, from the Giants to the Rats, was staring at him, and the people close to him backed away.

"Quite simply, Gruffydd, you don't belong. Not there, not with them. They're good people, after all. Hell, they're people."

Gruffydd was unnerved by the silence and the stares, but he pushed beyond that. "And you're implying that I'm not?"

The Innkeeper chuckled. "It's quite simple, really, only Monsters kill."

Gruffydd flinched. "It was in self-defense"

The Innkeeper's laughter reverberated throughout the room. "Yes, because that makes it all better. You ended human life. Living, breathing, thinking people. The law may make exceptions for self-defense, but you know as well as I do that nothing can morally justify what you did. There is no ethical exception. It just proves what they were saying about you in the first place. That you are an animal." The ground beneath Gruffydd vanished, and he fell through. He landed hard on the cold ground, a sharp contrast from the warmth of the fire. Looking up, he could see the hole he had fallen through, the light from the fire streaming down.

The hole in the roof vanished, and the light of the fire with it. But the room was not dark. There was a faint glow emanating from behind where Gruffydd fell. As he stood, he heard the breathing of a very large creature behind him. He slowly turned around to find a large beast, covered in white fur, with long proud horns, and unblinking, piercing green eyes. Gruffydd jumped back with a yelp, landing on his behind. The beast move, and he heard the clanking of metal. A second look revealed that the beast was shackled to the wall with great iron chains, and it was the source of the faint glow in the room.

"So stay a while in the cage, where the animals belong."