Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Requiem, Jan 31, 2014.

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  1. OOC Thread

    Our story, much like many of these stories, starts on a train. A train bound for the Fallen City Of Las Vegas, carrying the souls of many passengers, mostly grey faceless people, shuffling by in their day to day lives, unwilling or incapable of doing anything to change them. They are, thankfully, not the focus of our story. Our story concerns only a mere handful of passengers. The Gambler, The Silence, The Dark One, The Crow, The Biker, The Brothers, Shank, and Justice.These are the actors of our story, and so begins the play.

    The Gambler sat near the back flipping through the deck of playing cards he carried. The tournament was calling for him, and he knew he had to participate. One grand payout for doing the thing he loved, and was skilled at? There was no question about it. So he booked a train from cold Detroit and headed down. Nobody initially drew his eye, but a few stops down the line here and there provided new and intriguing people. He kept his distance. If anyone desired to approach him, that was fine, but he didn't go out of his way to meet people.

    Instead, he played with his cards. His 'quick hands' made most tricks quite simple, and so he had grown to do his own tricks. He added what he knew of cards and supplemented that with street and stage magic. Occasionally he'd had to rely on those skills to get by after losing rather miserably. He would usually offer to act as an entertainment act for a while to make some money before he began gambling again.

    It was all a cycle, one that couldn't be broken.​
  2. The Biker was, well, by her bike. The beast, after all, was her baby and she didn't know any of these folks on the train from Adam and Eve. Like Hell was she going to leave them alone with her baby. So, the brunette settled down on the floor next to the larger than normal bike and prepared herself for a long ride to Vegas. Boredly, she glanced around the interior, eyes landing on a man messing with cards. her interest peaked for a moment as she wondered what he was playing. But then she caught a glance of someone ogling her baby and just like that her curiosity dimmed. Her bike was more important than a card game.

    The woman stretched and shifter her position, eyes once again drifting back over to the man and his cards. Fine, so her curiosity hadn't actually died. but she would stay right where she was. She nodded to herself as an affirmation of her unspoken declaration. Unconsciously, she patted at the metal beast behind her in a fond, motherly manner.
  3. From the outside — light.
    From within — despair.

    And as light filtered through the train in quick, bright flashes, it shone on faces that were as different as snowflakes, yet all too similar in sorrow. The passengers slumped in their seats like an army of collapsed puppets, their strings slack, if only for a moment.

    There were, however, as always, exceptions.

    Take, for example, the young man by the door. Behind the red hood are eyes as grey as a brewing storm, and a mind as calm as a sleeping lake. He wasn't here for drugs. Or sex. Or money. He wasn't here because of some inane reason like revenge — or love. He was here because he was meant to be here.

    At this particular time.
    In this particular place.
    With this particular group of people.

    Like that man with his deck of cards.
    Like that woman and her beast of a bike.
    Like a few more others headed for the dusty streets of sin.

    He wondered whether striking a conversation now would later on prove to be wise. After all, he was a stranger with no ties, no connections, and at the moment — with the exception of the train's destination — no direction. Fishing a coin from his pocket, he readied it for a toss before launching it in the air with a flick of his thumb.

    Or Tails?

    He caught it mid-air and slapped it on the back of his hand. Counting to three, he looked at the coin and smiled slightly as the silver eagle gleamed at him. He scanned the faces as he remained in his seat, an observer once again.

    At least, for now.
    #3 Xan, Feb 1, 2014
    Last edited: Feb 1, 2014
  4. The Trickster was very much displeased. He liked to travel with class, in the highest quality; in luxury. Trains just don't make the cut for him. More than that, he wanted to smoke pretty badly but he sat rooted.

    He had a bit of motion sickness.

    "Aniki. How much longer?" He huffed. "I hate this. Stupid train thing."

    He ran a hand through his already slicked back hair and took out some mints. He offered it to his brother. "You think any of these people are worth collecting? That one with the fast hands, that one with a bike, that one with the hood?"
  5. The Crow sat within a more shadowed and isolated area of the train, her eyes as black as charcoal fixed on the book in front of her. The pages were a brownish yellow and each one held a slight crumple around the edges. The text itself was in Latin, an ancient language the others in the train probably didn't speak. The dull red, leather hardcover of the book matched the age of the paper, suffering from slight odor from being older than even herself as well as cracking. The book was ancient and near death, like her personality. It was written by a great ancestor, being passed down generation after generation. She loved the book more than a certain brown haired woman in a leather jacket appeared to adore the large motorcycle next to her.

    A pale slender middle finger pushed her black wire framed glasses back up the bridge of her nose. Typical.

    Her reason for coming to the ruins that was Las Vegas was simple, the Tarot cards had promised her benefits if she went. Normally, The Crow would not be caught dead in a city like Las Vegas, but the Tarot cards have never lied to her before. She had even heard stories before where women would appear caked in make up on a glamorous stage, dressed as skimpy peacocks, and dance around for your entertainment. In which people actually paid to see. Lilian closed her eyes for a brief moment in disgust at the thought before returning her attention to her beloved book. How foolish could humans be to throw away their money on something like that? That was a question she would never find an answer to.

    The people around her did not poke at her interest, and so she did not spare even a second glance at any of them. She most certainly was not going to get up and make her way around introducing herself. That would be idiotic, and not in her 'to-do' list. For all Lilian knew, she was never going to see these people again. Why bother making friends if they were just going to disappear?
  6. A slender figure sat at the far right corner of the moving vehicle that could hold up to at least fifty people in each cart, her head hanged down from her shoulders while her eyes stared at the musical instrument that laid on her very lap, the black coating and delicate strings ran from underneath her soft fingertips as a small smile spreads across her gentle face. How could one live there life? that answer was pretty simple to understand. One could live their life by showing how amazing and talented they are, at least that is what she did. She let out a sigh as that smile disappeared while she reached her right hand to her eyes and placed it on a black patch while rethinking of the events that resulted into getting this patch over her eyes which made her slightly disappointed with herself.
    Just then she removed her hand away from her patch and looked around silently trying to take in the people and her surroundings. A man with cards, a man in a hood, a girl with a death trap, a girl with a book, and a man with a distasteful look. Why did only a handful of people picked at her interest. . .Was it because that way they acted or simply because of their looks?. . .She smirked and looked away by placing her attention back on her lead and thinking silently to herself while feeling a bit odd but she shrugged it off her shoulders and continued on living with her one life. Her left hand contained something written in ink on her palm but it was hard to make out since it was a bit faded during the time. Only a few times people could make out the creative writing skill but many never got a closer look. She stared at that hand and smiled while remembering what exactly she has written that night when she was told that her and her band were going on their first world tour.
    The Dark One was what she has written.​
  7. Among the mundane sat a woman strangely garbed in wrappings. She stared forward and took no notice of the other passengers. Her gaze was distant as if her soul had departed her body, yet she sat upright. She blinked suddenly and looked around to see if anyone was staring. No one seemed to notice. She sighed then allowed herself to relax back into the chair. She wore nothing but the wrappings as a top but appeared to not be bothered by the cool air coming in through the open window beside her. Her troubles lied elsewhere. Where? Even she was unsure of that. O a whim she had taken the trip and boarded the train as a single person. It was only weeks earlier that she had tasted death on the tip of her tongue. Now her path led her to Las Vegas, the last place she had ever expected to go.

    Shank, the title awarded her, stared out the window now. Flashes of the past played behind her dark eyes. "What in the world am I doing..." If only there were someone to ask. Someone who could answer that question. It had been such a strong need to leave for the city of sin that she had thought little of the venture itself. She was not a big city woman and yet here she was. A moment was spared to gaze intently at the ticket i her hand. Would it be worth it i the end? What was awaiting her in this foreign place? With a sigh Shank put the ticket away and glanced at the passengers. They were always so... mundane.

    No matter where you go there will always be the mundane. That was something that bothered her to no end. There was far too much offered in life for one to pass it up for some day-to-day job. Another stranger in a hood caught her attention as did a girl with a bike who sat stroking it as if it was the head of a child. Just as there were the mundane, there were the peculiar as well and those were the ones who made life worth worth living. She considered herself one of these people. She had tasted death...and survived. There was nothing but life left to live. Perhaps there was something valuable in this city of sin to calm her growing worry...
  8. The Protector sat, invisible beside his brother; The Trickster. He let out a heavy breath as the other whined about being staying in the train. His younger brother demanded that he'll be fine with the train ride. Giving him a hard glance, he rolled his eyes. Of course, he wasn't.

    He took the mint offered and sat silent as he pondered the others around them. They seem like a very disorganized group of people. They seemed interesting enough, but that really wasn't his place to say. That, and the fact that they weren't really worth his time. They weren't his brother after all.

    "The answer won't change asking five seconds later, Brother" he replied with boredom and pondered on how to answer his other question.

    "Interesting enough" he stated indifferently. "The one with fast hands...he seems dangerous." He told his brother, as his eyes directed over to them.

    "On second thought..." he paused. "They all seem dangerous."

    The Protector folded his arms as he leaned back, he narrowed his eyes as he surveyed each person. "Don't anger them, brother. I mean it this time." he warned with a dark glare to his companion. "Don't."
  9. The Trickster's lips slid into a characteristic devilish grin. "Aww. Their abilities, their worth...it only comes out when they're tested." He leaned back on the chair, trying his best to make himself poised and cozy despite his dizziness. "We should get some of these." He said, casually waving a hand to the other passengers. "They'll come in handy. I don't trust that woman we'll be arranging deals with so it's mostly precaution."

    "What do you think?" He nibbled on his lower lip, a rather juvenile habit he never grew out of. It happens whenever he can't smoke. "Everyone has a price."
  10. Glancing at the other with half lidded eyes, he sighed. "You know I'll follow you through." he replied and stretched his limbs a little. His brother was right though, the train was not the most luxurious thing on the planet. Sitting straighter, he's gotten used to luxury, and he couldn't allow that.

    "Try the biker-girl" he stated to his brother, knowing full well he was planning on doing something stupid anyway. "The one with fast hands would be better...but his price may not be something you can afford." he informed the other.

    The Protector gave his brother a glance before reaching out to clutch his jaw tight. "And stop chewing your lip." he warned. "Where's your nicotine gum? You'll get moody when they bleed."
  11. Living up to her name, not only does her technic of work is like that of a cat, so was her personality. Like most cats, she sat by a window lazily yet ladylike in a way.

    The two brothers, or so they said, sitting nearby had piqued her interest. They spoke of taking in people. What did they meant by that? She didn't mean to eavesdrop on their conversation but as she overheard and overhearing became eavesdropping.

    True as one of them said, they all do looked dangerous. One who didnt look quite that dangerous would be herself. She wore a kimono, her sword hidden by her side and against the wall.
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  12. Shadow sits in a corner by a window, leaning her head against the glass pane watching the landscape rushed past in a blur of muted color. She shifted slightly in her seat, one hand lightly tracing the faint outline of her butterfly swords against the fabric of her pants. Most of the passengers on the train were faceless masses to her, unimportant, ordinary, but there were others there too. The stood out like splashes of color against the gray of normality, the card player, the biker, the brothers, the one covered in wrappings, and the one in a kimono. They haven't noticed her yet, she was just another shadow to them. She turned back to the window.
    #12 Lannis, Feb 4, 2014
    Last edited: Feb 11, 2014
  13. Swish. Catch. Flip. Swish. Catch. Flip. Over and over again did he slide his blade over his hand, catch the blade by it's tip, toss it in the air and finally absorb the impact using the laws of physics to curve the blade just enough to have it slide over his palm and repeat the process. He did this as he eyed the heads in front of him. A kimono-wearing lady; she'd die first. Two brothers, they'd be next. A girl and her bike. He'd use the motorcycle to run her over Over and over and over and -- Clang. The blade falls on the small table in front of him, the very tip dug into the wood. A faint smirk painted itself over his features as he wrapped his lean fingers over the handle, easing the tip of the blade free. He resumed what he'd been doing. He continued with his small game, intrically imagining each and every person on this bus' death. His fingers itched with the mere thought, his eyes seemed to grow a shade darker as he ripped his gaze away from the beating hearts and toward the window.

    He was thrilled no one had noticed him; he'd been the first on the bus, hidden in the very back of the vehicule, shoved into the window seat, hidden from most eyes. Regardless, Caius knew that this was no time to go on a killing spree, his odds weren't properly calculated. No. He'd wait for his opportunity, maybe earn a few bucks here and there because Vegas was the perfect city to hire an assassin. He had a pair of brass knuckles in his pocket, and a butterfly knife in the other, not to mention the handgun tucked away inside of his boot. One could say Caius was armed to the teeth, but his hands were his deadliest weapons. The things he'd accomplished with them... well ... they were things that were better left unspoken.

    In fact, it wasn't Caius who did the killing, it was Sixx. Sixx did all of his dirty work, Caius was simply Sixx's body, that's what he'd convinced himself. Sixx was the darkest side of the seemingly normal man. And not too long ago, they'd finally become friends; since then, the internal duo had even managed to make a name for themselves in some parts of the city. Though he wasn't sure if these strangers were aware of him, never mind his current precense.

    Swish. Catch. Flip. Swish. Catch. Flip.
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  14. The train rolled forward. Whatever machinations and plans the people onboard had were of no concern to it. It existed only to move them from one place to another. Even as the clattering of the tracks sounded off, the ride was nearly finished. The city of Vegas was just ahead. The train's destination was Lost Vegas, which was simply one of the districts within the place. It remained as a middle ground between the bustling hub of casinos, bars, and brothels, and the underbelly with its gangs, and drugs, and exceptionally high levels of violence. Lost Vegas was considered the safe zone. It was also where territorial disputes were settled. Where gangs could challenge The Gardner.

    As the train pulled into the station, The Gambler flashed his cards into the air, and raised his right hand, the cards disappearing down his sleeve neatly. The man made his way towards the doorway, and when the train stopped, he climbed off. The air was considerably worse in condition than what he was normally accustomed to, but it was tolerable. Once he'd made his way away from the station, he noticed a clash going on in the streets. Men in green fighting against a group of men in what appeared to be jesters. It was a humorous sight. There were bodies on the ground of Jesters, but no green men.

    He didn't stop to finish watching the fight, but as he turned to leave the area, he bumped into a man in green. The man glared down at him, and The Gambler apologised quickly, moving around him. He didn't want to start a fight this early on in his visit to the city. He needed the payday, and while he believed he could have taken the green man, he didn't need the trouble following him around.
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  15. "Ran out." The Trickster told his brother, a slight tinge of annoyance in his voice. "It's like chewing goddamn tires."

    "I think I like Kimono-oneesan there." He continued, eyeing the lady near a window. He nearly caught her looking, but he let his eyes linger. "Classy. My type."

    As he watched her, he caught sight of the city in her window. They were nearing the stop and he sighed in relief. "Can I take her with me?" He said, looking at his brother. It was both a question for advice and permission. The answer was an obvious no, for they had an appointment with the Dream. He tried, anyway.
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  16. The Protector gave a heavy sigh as he rolled his eyes. "Your types usually suck." he told his brother as he noticed the train stopping. He grabbed his brother's bag and his own and stood up.

    As he watched the other's go down, he'd rather wait for everyone to go before they did. It was a pain to try and protect his sometimes stupid brother in the crowd. As he walked ahead of his brother, he scanned everything and frowned.

    There were a lot more people than he thought. More danger.

    He turned back to his brother's cheeky smile and sighed. "Where were we supposed to meet your Nightmare?" he asked his brother before glaring at the commotion around them. He touched his nose slightly, trying to get used to the air around them. His eyes followed everyone's movements and narrowed them.

    Las Vegas. Seems more dangerous than any other place his brother conquered. They needed to be extra careful here. He turned back to his brother. "Where to, Brother?"
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  17. Shank had been lost in thought until the train came to a full stop and she realized the other passengers were making their way out the doors. She looked solemnly back out the window, content to wait for the end of the crowd. She stood and followed the crowd out into the intoxicating air of her new home. It took a moment but the wrappings over her nose made the process of getting used to the air a little easier. The scenery was noting like what she had known. It warranted some sight seeing, in her opinion. Se had to get to know the terrain, the field she was playing on. Her true intentions were still a mystery but that didn't mean she could find something- or someone - to waste time on. Her movements were fluid, purposeful, as she walked through the streets. Not a single thought was spared back to the others she had seen on the train.
  18. Shadow slipped into the river of gray exiting the train, just another face in the faceless crowd. Her nose twitched slightly as she left the train, the only reaction she had to the air. She was met with more gray inside the train station, more normal. She would find no work here. She let the stream of people carry her, neither actively going with it nor against it. It eventually led her to the outside of the station.

    There was color in the streets, muted color, not as bright as the splashes she saw in the train, but color nonetheless. The colors were fighting, the green of men who let the color control their lives to the point they showed it everyday and the red of jesters whose red blood would decorate the streets. The dead had no color. They were simply dead.

    There was a flash in the corner of her eye, bright colors briefly tangled with muted green. Shadow turned to see one of the people who had been on the train with her, the card player. He was a swirl of tones and hues to her eyes, ever changing. She didn't know his color. Not yet.

    He was un-normal. He was interesting. Shadow followed him.
  19. It stopped. The train stopped. Gracefully, she stood with the katana by her side tightly tied around her waist.

    She glanced back at the brothers noticing how one had looked at her. She smiled and winked then piled into the crowd to the exit. It wasn't wrong to flirt now, was it? It wasn't as though they'd meet again in such a place. And if they did, he'd just be a face among the crowd, no different from the others. A stranger, a victim of of her katanas.

    Off the train, the familiar scent of Las Vegas was nostalgic. It was a fairly nice feeling to return knowing it wasn't long until she could meet the old lady she missed so much. Not much further, she could see the land of jesters with a handful of green men. Easily distracted as she was, she had her eyes glued to the clashes only to turn back to bump into a man in green.

    "I couldn't care less when a man bump into me. But it seems that I got a good catch this time" said the man in green and grabbed her right arm.

    Too soon she thought. She had yet to meet the old lady. She promised not to get into a fight. At least until she had met the old lady.

    "L-let go! I'm sorry. Let me go! Please" She hoped that he'd let her go simply, but knew he wouldn't just let her go so easily. Oh well, if worse comes to worse, she'll have to fight them anyways. By means of self-defending.
    #19 KukkiMonsuta, Feb 12, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 12, 2014
  20. The Trickster walked a bit away from the crowd exiting the train. Nothing around interested him, all he thought of was lighting up a cigarette- which he did. Then he caught sight of something. "Oh, oneesan is in trouble." He said, eyeing the Kimono lady again. Intensely.

    They should be leaving by now. It was time to see the Dream. The Trickster looked at his brother again, not saying a word. He looked at the woman again. "Come on, brother. She's pretty."

    Not so far ahead, The Dream checked her watch. She cursed mentally as her bubblegum popped. "Damn businessmen." She adjusted her headset and raised the volume a little. The sound of commotion was seeping through and she hated it.
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