Elle Joyner

I guess...
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day
My Usual Online Time
8:00 AM - 4:00 PM
Writing Levels
Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Probably a mix. When I GM I tend to prefer mostly aggressive, but with input from my players. I like to offer ideas and receive them. I don't like when people just take the reins and run with it though...especially in a 1x1.
Favorite Genres
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Genre You DON'T Like
Anime. Ever. Just not my jam.

Smut. Romance as a main plot. Horror. Grimdark.
There was frustration... certainly, in losing. Luca had plans that would never come to fruition now and the disappointment clawed at him now and again, a pinching uneasiness in his chest, that he'd failed her. But after his conversation with Chloe, albeit less informative than he would've hoped regarding her small slip, and after the heartwarming reunion with River, he was feeling marginally less hopeless.

Still... It was strange. Sitting around the table at dinner, looking forward to the grey colored slop and the irritable looks from inmates who had lost bets on them. His natural instinct was to threaten to give them something new to stare at (the inner lining of their collon), but with Chloe beside him, her fingers curling in and out of the hair at back of his neck, he couldn't find the urge.

Not everything born from the Dog Fights was bad...

"Oi, where's Hana?"

Looking up, Luca spied the duo from the first fight, the unlucky pair who had been forced to surrender. Chiko was no stranger to their group - but Amit had always been a bit of an outsider... Yet they were all united in a way. The other side of the Fights.

"Probably in the infirmary." Luca answered with a shrug, trying to fight the urge to answer passove aggressively. His anger there, at least, had not entirely abated, but there was no sense being ugly, "You two joining us?" He asked, gesturing to the empty spaces at their table, "That was some sick work today, Chiko... With the boomerang. Sorry 'bout your ankle. Feelin' alright?"


After their odd conversation with Gram, Pandora's mind has not stopped spinning. Things were moving in a direction she wasn't entirely sure she dared to trust, but also didn't dare doubt. They were in the thick of it, now, and whatever she might've anticipated following their victory in the first fight, particularly where Gram was concerned, escape was too damn important to let little things like someone trying to blow her up get in the way.

But it was also not the only concern smacking around in her brain. Switch, like clockwork, appeared at their table, an uncharacteristically sheepish aor about her as she asked to sit with them like an anxious kid at a new school. A brow raised, arching up towards her temple as Pandora's lip twitched in a smirk.

"Well, gee. I dunno Switch..." Idly, she looked to Abe, then back to Switch again, "This is the cool kid table. You sure you can handle it?" Without waiting for an answer, she kicked out a chair for her cellmate, "Sit, baby girl. How you feelin'?"


It was always awkward when one let slip a secret. Wicker had made a grave error in showing vulnerability that day, but it was something, she hoped, that might not haunt her indefinitely. Fritz's side, at least, seemed settled. Their incident in the infirmary played out well enough, and what had been a fun experiment, it seemed, had begun to shift into a genuine alliance... Her feelings were clear, and whether that served her greater purpose later was a matter of fortune's favor. Either way, the real issue was The Crybaby.

River had proven himself that day in spectacular fashion. She hadn't known until she'd viewed the recap what he had done, but knowing it now was damn near chill inducing... For all his shockingly violent twists and turns, however, there was still a twinge of a flaw in plan... And she needed to ensure that was dealt with, swiftly.

Looking to Fritz as he spoke, she reached up to give his hand on her waist a gentle pat, smiling fondly, "I feel like a whole damn princess, my darling." They were briefly interrupted and Wick's brow rose at the guard's words, but she didn't ask for clarification. Her king would tell her if it was important...

Instead, smiling, she gestured ahead of them, "Find us a table, would you? I'd like to go say hullo to Puddles and make sure he's prepared to deliver tomorrow." Leaning up onto her toes, she pressed a kiss to his jawline, and with a wink, separated herself from his side.

Her steps carried confidence, even as her heart gave an unconscious, uneasy throb. Poise...

Pausing at the slightly crowded table, she leaned down near where the young felon sat, "Little Lamb. A word... Por favor?"
 
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CloudyBlueDay

consistently inconsistent
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I check as often as I can.
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Realistic/Modern, Magic, Scifi, Romance
Genre You DON'T Like
I am generally not a huge fan of RPing Fandom, but it can depend.
The Wicked Witch Arrives
with Elle Joyner Elle Joyner

River could feel Wick’s presence before she had even cleared her throat. He sat close to Chloe, mind spinning with the events of the first round, before and after. All the hungry looks that prisoners had shot him, the conversation with Bah, Chloe, Luca, and then Hana. There was turmoil in his gut, but being close to his friends, his family… made it less. Wick, in her sauntering over, brought it right back.

But he did not shrivel, taking a deep, angry breath, glaring at his barely touched prison gruel. “Puta.” He hissed under his breath, before standing up abruptly. “Just leave them alone, okay? We’ll go.”

“Tisk tisk, Puddle…” With a small smirk, she straightened as he did, “Such a dirty mouth for our little pup. Your friends will be fine. I just need a moment.” Gesturing, she nodded towards the edge of the cafeteria, away from the crowded tables, “We'll just be a moment.”

Gnashing his teeth together, River glared daggers at Wick, almost wishing they could be real. He gave the others what was supposed to be a reassuring nod, but the distaste in his expression was too prevalent to ignore. He followed Wick to the edge, fists balled at his sides. “What is it?” River muttered. “What else do you want from me?”

Still smiling, Wick shook her head as she tucked her hands behind her back, “So brave, aren't we… But then… you're a killer now, aren't you? Not our little weeping willow, anymore. So brave. It's charming.” Turning to face him, the smile faded and her eyes honed in on his, fixed, cold, “...Heading to the infirmary… when the fight ended. You may have overheard a certain… name. A mistake. I assure you, a rare occurrence. What I want from you… is to forget it. Immediately and permanently. Understand?”

“I a-already was a killer.” River hissed, eyes glassy. He hated the way her eyes glared straight through him, but refused to look away no matter how watery his own were growing. “And if I don’t?” River said, voice on the edge of a threatening whisper. “C-Cameron, huh? Y-your ex-lover? Your b-brother? Y-your… whatever? Cameron C-Cameron C-C-Cameron!”

“I'm sure you were, sweetie.” Wick answered, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. As he went on, however, her amusement flickered away. Stepping close, she kept her eyes locked to his, voice even, too even, “If you don't, the first one to go is the pretty blonde. Maybe a knife in the back during arts and craft… maybe an unfortunate fall. Hmm… a pillow over that darling face. After her, her little lover boy. Then the addict. The giant…” Pausing, she shrugged, “I think I've made my point.”

There was an obvious amount of fear in River’s eyes, but it was not the only emotion swirling evidently beneath his brown orbs. A fire, a determination, even if misplaced still raged within him. At first all her threats drained the color from his face, and yet, the rage didn’t leave.

“Y-you’re… a… liar.” He decided, without stepping down an inch. “You’re not a r-real psycho, r-r-remember? Y-you told me s-so. Y-you won’t. Y-you… d-don’t… own me.”

“You aren't wrong, Precious. I'm not. But one does not need to be crazy… to kill.” The smile inched back, and Wick tipped her head to the side, her eyes twisting casually over to the table they had walked away from, “And I will, Puddles. I will rip every single one of them from your hands and make you feel their ends.” Looking at him again, she shrugged, “Now… What was that name again?”

Instinctively River stepped in front of her, blocking her view from the table, steam pouring out of his nose and ears. “N-no. Y-you won’t. Because you can t-t-try, but I’m a killer too. And I’m really good at it.”

Almost shaking out of pure anger, River parted his lips. “Cam. Er. On.”

Laughing, faintly, an oddly icy sound, Wick shook her head, “So do it. Go on, Puddle. Kill me. Because I swear to you… I will end each and every one of them…. And I won't hesitate.”

River searched Wick’s gaze, hoping for her to break. Hoping for his act of bravery to somehow stun her into submission. But it didn’t happen. He took a step back. “I-I… w-w-won’t hesitate e-either.” River mumbled, trying to regain his confidence, but lacking the earlier conviction. “D-don’t touch th-them.”

“I won't need to. Don't you get it, River? I own more than you can imagine, and all I need to do is tell him what I want and it will be done. So let's try this one more time.” Meeting his gaze, her own steeled over, “What was the name?”

Another step back. River’s eyes darted between Wick and the table ahead of her. “W-why a-are you d-doing this? Wh-what good a-am I to you if I j-just remind you o-of someone y-you want to b-b-bury?”

“Don't…” Eyes narrowing, Wick took a small step back, but her expression barely shifted as she recovered herself immediately, “Don't you pretend to know anything about this. Just… play your part. That's all you have to do.”

“W-what p-p-part is that?” River growled, seeing that pause, the crack in her armor. He stepped forward, resuming the gap between them. “S-so h-he’s someone d-dead then, huh? S-someone you want back? S-someone you want to hurt, s-so you’re doing it to m-me?”

Hand lashing out, Wick grabbed the front of his collar, fist tightening around the gaudy orange fabric of his jumpsuit, eyes flaring, “What did I just say?! One more stupid question and you are gonna regret it, am I clear.”

River barely even flinched, even though his heart leapt in panic. So many times Dante had bent his will, made him so pliable that he was barely a person at all. Not anymore. Not anyone else. And he could see the cracks in Wick’s facade. Something had broken, given. He’d made a dent. And with that knowledge, River was not ready to give up. Not when he finally had something to fight for.

“You might think y-you’re special, Wick,” River said through a hiss, staring into her eyes as they flared, “B-but I’ve been living in hell l-long before you came around… only difference is… t-this time.. I’m n-not r-ready to break.”

Smoothing out his collar, Wick's expression shifted. A sudden indifference. Not cold. Not angry. Blank. Empty. Hollow. Stepping back, she brushed the front of her own uniform, “Then you'd better say your goodbyes. Because if you aren't going to heed my warnings, apparently, you require a demonstration.”

The sudden shift in Wick’s eyes sent a chill down River’s spine, but he had come too far to crumble in front of her again. “If you t-touch them… I-I’ll bury you right next to wherever the hell C-Cameron is.”

“There is no 'if’. You had one part in this and you've failed, Puddle.” Smiling faintly, the edges of her gaze still void of emotions, she shook her head, “You gonna bury me you'd better do it fast, because I promise you… I won't hesitate to destroy every single one of them. You struck a match, little pup. Watch me burn.”

River growled, but said nothing, even as his fingernails dug into the palms of his clenched fists. “Veta a la mierda, Wick. Fuck you.”

“You'll regret these actions… I promise.” Smiling a crooked smile, she back up from him, “Now if you'll excuse me… I've got to speak to Fritz. We have so much to discuss.” As she turned, her finger rose and pointed towards his table, dancing in the air over those present, “Eenie, meenie… miney mo…”

Anger rolled off of River in waves, fumes billowing out of him. It felt like he had just had a brush with a touch of control, something he had never had in his entire life. But as Wick turned around, her hungry eyes scowering over the table, threatening to take everything from him, his heart sunk.

“W-Wick… s..stop.” River stuttered, paling. “Stop, j-just… st…” He couldn’t be responsible for their hurt when he’d already been responsible for so much. “Wh...what… name?”

So close. So damn close. But he wasn't ready… not yet. Soon. But not yet.

Without looking at him, lip twitching up, her hand dropped to her side, “Good boy. Rest up tonight, Puddles. Tomorrow's fight is sure to be eventful.” Turning on her heels, she crossed the room to where Fritz sat, sinking down beside him with a pleased expression. After a moment, slowly, deliberately, she leaned close to the red haired man and whispered something into his ear.

River’s posture crumbled. He stayed frozen in position, even as she sauntered away, trembling. There was no way out of this. No matter how courageous he felt… she would always crush him under her thumb like a bug. That little whisper in Fritz’s ear… was she taunting him… or making his worst nightmares come true?

Every step back to the table felt like he was sinking deeper into some abyss. Quicksand. Shaking head to toe, River sunk beside Chloe once more, staring blankly into space. No way out. Never any way out.
 
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Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
DF: Freezer Burn | Location: Cafeteria/Kitchen | Interactions: Jumbo & Guard


The blisters upon his face had migrated. All in one direction. Towards a single point in the upper right of his cheek, near the sensitive edge of his ear. Most days, during the full length of those days, they burned and throbbed. Never in sync, always in chaotic and mocking dissonance. The pain scared Jumbo.

It terrified him.

He’d never experience such a sensation before. The seering of flesh against hot metal, the grill peeling away crispy trenches of his face and leaving behind exposed, cauterized tissue… Never. He’d never known such a feeling. Why did he have to know it? The cannibal didn’t know a lot of things--he barely knew how to speak right. Couldn’t write, nothing comprehensible. Couldn’t read good enough to avoid Fritz’s wrath… But he could draw. Sort of. Well, not to the point of where others could tell what he’s going for.

Sometimes that made him angry. No, sad? Both? A feeling that he didn’t know the name to and would probably never understand it to be frustration. Helplessness. Lost. Swimming in a ever-moving mosaic pool of sensory overload--colors, feelings, noises, loud and horrific noises that coated his innards with ice, anger, anger from his master, screams from the people around him, confusion, confusion, confusion, hunger, confusion, fear, confusion, confusion, confusion--

“Out! Fucking ape!”

Light pierced the darkness and the first thing Jumbo saw was his breath condensing before him, a sluggish glob of white. Then, an inky black silhouette framed by the illuminance spilling in behind them. Next, its hand shot out and viciously yanked him forward by the collar. Jumbo whimpered, stumbling out of the freezer before falling to his knees before the guard. His grip upon the cannibal’s jumper remained and the angle wrapped his neck in coiling fabric, on the verge of cutting off his air supply.

“Up!” the guard snarled. He gave another pull, this time cutting off the prisoner’s oxygen completely, and all he received was a choked sob. Frigid tears coated a freckled face, some flaking and hardened against Jumbo’s blisters. The rotund prisoner shook his head, nails digging into his collar, prying, trying with every bit of his dwindling will to loosen the pressure.

An annoyed scoff. The guard’s boot swiftly slammed into Jumbo’s gut, lips twisting into a lop-sided grin as a groan hit his ears, before forcing him onto his feet. Dragging. Dragging and dragging and pulling and demanding and ordering and obeying--Jumbo wondered if that kind of stuff ended. Did things end? He knew some things did. Sort of. He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t think straight. So he continued to exist in that limbo loop and struggled to follow, before finding himself shoved into a seat. Metal chair. And it wasn’t a neat toss, let alone a neat landing.

He smacked into it with a sharp clang before tumbling, the cheap folded item biting into his body as it landed atop of him. He groaned, failing to move an inch at first, before clumsily setting the chair upright. He plopped into his, peering up at the guard through thick and chilled eyelashes.

And then his personal space was invaded, suddenly, harshly, and the cold meats of the guard’s breath wafted into his nostrils. A demented glee twisted his features. “Five minutes, ass eater,” he cackled before slapping a firm hand to Jumbo’s shoulder, making the cannibal flinch, “Five… Minutes.”

Jumbo didn’t know how much five was. But it was more…? Higher? Higher than the third time he was told this. Five minutes. Five minutes of sitting and waiting and thawing.

Before he was ripped from his seat and tossed back into the freezer.

Jumbo hated discipline.



Tags: KatSea KatSea , CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay , Elle Joyner Elle Joyner
 
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Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Flashback: Thank You For Everything | Location: Earth

His spine smacked into cold, hard tile. Wind rushed from his lungs, his diaphragm and stomach heaving with every ragged cough. Iron stained the back of his tongue and streamed past his lips, the curvature of his bruising jaw--

“You think you can take him away from me? Huh?”

A swift kick to the ribs. There was the echo, the agonizing vibration of a something snapping. It rippled through the cavities of his chest.

“My prize? My moneymaker?!”

Another kick, this one harder than the last and forcing him onto his side. A pained gurgle bubbled up his throat, threatening to drown him in his own blood. His eyes burned. The world could burn, for all he cared. It didn’t deserve to live. Didn’t deserve a single damn thing after all it had done to…

Slowly, he tried to crawl away. Further and further into the kitchen, his eyes landing sluggishly on the counter where a knife rested.

“Where the fuck you think you’re going…” An arm scooped under him, shoving broken ribs against vulnerable organs, and he bit back a whimper. The other first curled into his dark hair, dragging him back. Hopeless. Weak. Why did he have to be so fucking weak? He just wanted to be stronger. Just strong enough to save him from all of this.

He was failing him.

“Mommy and daddy’s money couldn’t protect your nosey ass forever…” His breath, hot and putrid, rolled into his ear. No--invaded. Slithered. Until a violent shiver raced down his spine and back up again. Fingers dug even deeper into his aching torso, nails scraping away at bloodied clothes. “I’m his only master. I’m all that he knows. And I’m not letting you fuck up all of my hard work--

Crack!


A blood curdling scream.

The man released him, crumbling to the floor and hands trembling violently around the exposed, jagged stub of his femur. “You… y-you son of a bitch!” he howled, seething in absolute rage and pain as he glared at the figure looming over him. It lowered, slowly, with the motions of someone teetering on the precarious edge of sanity. Or was it freedom? Both. It had to be both.

And both hands curled around the man’s throat.

His voice was fragile and softer than the beating of a butterfly’s wing, yet it somehow boomed over the gasps and strangled garbling. And yet, even as he spoke, his gaze landed on the boy, who stood frozen in shock.

Snowman smiled at Gram. “I can do it… I… I refuse to make you a killer.”

Gram shook his head. “Don’t…” His hands curled into trembling fists. “Don’t you fucking… dare do it…”

Snowman chuckled again, but it could’ve been sob. His grip increased tenfold, all eyes on Gram, not a single glance spared at the writhing body underneath him. “Thank you for everything that you’ve done for me…” A tear rolled down his pale cheek. “Now I get to repay you.”

Gram rushed forward. “Don’t!”

Snap!

...



Tags: CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay , Elle Joyner Elle Joyner , KatSea KatSea
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Flashback: Four Stomachs | Location: Earth, Russia

“Kroshka…” An extensive sigh escaped, long and wrought with a playful breed of exasperation. He reached over the table, not at all bothered by the clanging of expensive silverware against fine china, and wiped away crumbs from the corner his little brother’s lips. “Manners, yes? You’re aware of them.”

“Nooo!” The boy flailed, his rosey cheeks puffed up with an exaggerated pout. However, his efforts were useless in the face of Adrian’s fretting, so he quickly gave up, arms flopping like stubby noodles. A low string of Russian syllables flowed from him, disgruntled and nonsensical. “Adriaaaaan, I can do it myself!”

“I fail to see that,” Adrian chuckled while settling back into his seat.

The royal dining hall was empty, devoid of the overwhelmingly pompous aura of the Fitzgerald family. Of course, it was to be expected. This vicinity of the castle was usually vacant outside of scheduled meals; however, Adrian took advantage of their strict ways. Very often, at that. It proved beneficial for him to practice in the kitchen without any eyes judging his every move and even more so to have the painfully honest tastebuds of his youngest brother posing as a judge for every dish he made.

“Well?” Adrian urged, a hint of amusement coloring his freckled visage. Nicolas had yet to say anything, although he had already ripped his way through half of the roast duck. It was achingly hilarious, to be honest. The comically narrowed eyes, the stubbornly pinched lips, the baseless humming under his breath--he was adhering to the role so intensely, that he’d forgotten to fulfill his job in the first place.

“Iiiiit’s…” Nicolas gave pause, trying to pile on the suspense. Then, he beamed. “Good!”

Adrian tried to feign pleasant surprise, but his acting skills weren’t of top priority. Besides, it was never terribly hard to convince Nicolas otherwise. The elder brother heaved a gasp of delight, hands clasping together once with a resounding clap. “Ah! Yes! Wonderful! I must admit, Kroshka,” he wagged a finger in the boy’s direction, “You had me dangling by the edge of my seat, really! Don’t do that to my weak heart.”

In response, Nicolas’s smile twisted into a goofy snarl, bits of duck and sauce splattering his teeth. It was a disgusting sight but the glee radiating from him helped to soften the blow. If only a little. “Adri, can I get more?” he asked.

Adrian scoffed in disbelief. “You have not even finished your first plate.”

“I willlllll!”

“I have my doubts.”

“Then don’t!” Nicolas mustered as much fortitude as he could in an attempt to crank out a miserable groan, but he, similar to his brother, was also a terrible actor. The last of his exclamation shook with a giggle, his button nose scrunching up. “I’ve got, I’ve got…! Um… Two stomachs! So I can do it.”

Adrian cocked his head, clearly unimpressed. “Oh? So you’re a cow now?”

“Yes!”

A grin pulled at Adrian’s lips. “Incorrect. Cows have four stomachs, not two.”

“Cheater!” Nicolas heaved a groan of annoyance, his head meeting the table with an audible thud.

A beat of silence.

“...I still want seconds.”

“Yes, yes,” Adrian chuckled. He stood, looping around the table to ruffle his brother’s hair before waltzing towards the kitchen, “I’ll look into making some more, Kroshka.”

Nicolas’s cheer echoed throughout the chamber.

}:{

“Wha… W-what did you do…?”

Silence. Deadly. Unmoving. Suffocating. Nothing but the shuddering sobs of his father filled the bedroom. It still smelled of Nicolas. Still reeked of his musk after spending hours playing with the steeds and wallowing the grass of grandfather’s golf course.

Adrian pounced, seizing his father by the collar and barreling forward. His back smashed into the dresser, glass shattering against his back, piercing the fine cloth of his suit.

“What did you fucking do?!”

“What I had to!” His father’s wail was one of anguish, of a seething regret that he had no choice but to accept with open, crippled arms. Spittle flowed down his chin, mixing with mucus and tears. He clamped around Adrian’s fists with his own boney, trembling fingers. Liver spots. So many liver spots. He’d seen so many years. “You… are the heir. The rightful heir.” His bloodshot eyes glistened. “A-and I had to do… what was right.”

“You’re… fucking filth!” Adrian reeled his fist back, knuckles trembling and white, taut with a fury and pain unmatched. However, trampling feet stopped him in his tracks and a female figure burst into the bedroom. Mother.

“What’s going on in here? I…” Then she froze. And she paled, far paler than any of the Fitzgerald’s have ever been in their history of existence. “O-oh gods… Oh gods…” Her gaze fell upon the blood seeping through her husband’s clothes, then to the shattered glass, and finally to Adrian’s fists.

Her legs threatened to give out then and there.

“My son, w-what’re you…? And on this day!” Her voice cracked and crumbled with agony, hands slapping over her pounding heart. “Let your father go! You! Y-you! You’re disgracing Nicolas’s name! T-take your petty fights elsewhere! Now!”

“Petty?” Adrian released his father, blazing eyes now trained on the woman. He advanced slowly, nearly staggering from the waves of rage bubbling through his veins. The audacity… The damnable audacity! He loomed over her, a dark rage twisting his features until he resembled the red-haired Devil himself. “There’s nothing petty about the vile stench on this family’s name. The only redeeming quality about us…”

He glanced over his shoulder, setting his father aflame with a glare embodying the utter essence of hatred. “And you erased it.”

Wham!

He slammed the door frame next to his mother, drinking in her yelp and violent flinch. Soaking up the nervous sweat gathering above her brow. Utterly gorging himself upon the fear filling his little brother’s bedroom.

His voice escaped like the hiss of a snake. “You want your heir? I’ll give you the worst one you’ve ever laid your eyes on.” His arm lowered, pure disgust painting him from head to toe. “Maybe then you’ll understand remorse…”

Adrian paused. Basked in the moment of ground-shaking silence. Basked in the memories that clawed at the cusp of skull with every skimming of the room. Exhaling shakily, he rushed out of the room, leaving his parents to marinate in their own pool of bullshit.

It was time to raise some hell.



Note: Kroshka = Breadcrumb

Tags: Elle Joyner Elle Joyner , CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay , KatSea KatSea
 

KatSea

Edgepeasant
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day
My Usual Online Time
Generally online in the afternoon eastern time
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
More passive but am decently comfortable with leading.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, mystery, magical, modern,
Genre You DON'T Like
Dystopian, Survival stories,
An Immaculate Conception

"Alright alright...I gotta do something that's gonna knock all of you bitches out of here..." A peach, freshly manicured nail clanked against the thick skull of the woman across from Chloe. God. It was four in the morning. Chloe was exhausted, her stomach was throbbing and bloated, despite having been well concealed by the lace blouse she had borrowed from her own mother. But, there was a sense of relief in the basement of good old Rosemary Picard, having taken the gaunt and stammering Chloe under her wing as an act of charity (or humiliation, it really wasn't clear). In all, Chloe did feel safe under the roof where her own personal Creeper did not reside. She recalled naming him after the Scooby Doo villain who used to plague her screen, the sluggish, devilish villain a representation of something she saw everyday. She didn't understand why those hippie teenagers feared him so much. Even with the mask. He was just an overall dick messing with a bunch of high teenagers (and in a way, she applauded him for it. It sounded like a fun afternoon).

"Mmm, well, most of us have four fingers up, Rose~ Shouldn't be too hard." Another squeal emitted from beside Chloe, a metal clad young teen with a grin as wide as the divide between the Earth and the moon. However, Chloe did find the taller, awkward teenager endearing. You and I have one finger up Jenna. I think its gonna be a battle royal between us. Never have I ever gone without food for a couple of days? Oh! Maybe for you I should do never have I ever cheated on alll, and I do mean all, of your bio tests. Its okay. Human anatomy is a gross subject anyway, babe.

"Hmm, well, lets see, we've all seen a boy naked...A lot of us have gotten wasted. I feel like we are missing a very important question. Ah yes, I can't believe I am saying this, and it's only because I'm still waiting for Henry S to get over his own shit and ask me out...Never have I ever lost my virginity."

Oh fucking hell...Oh! Sorry Sorry!! I didn't mean to think that word! Oh God I hope my little guy didn't hear that...Sorry sweetie, sorry...

"Er..." Words escaped Chloe before she even had a chance to silence herself, her demeanor a cream white mask. Horror tried to seep into her eyes, but a simple smile merely pulled at her lips instead. "W-w-w-well...e-e-er. E-everyone I think h-has..." Swallowing as words lingered in her throat, her cheeks soon erupted into flames, pink inflicting the entirety of her neck. "D-d-different, er...er...I-interpretations?"

"Oh?" Rosemary's once cheery, blissfully ignorant visage soon twisted with confusion. "Well, er, what do you mean? Virginity is when you have sex for the first time, isn't it?"

"Well, maybe Clo has a point! Some people see virginity as different things. Traditionally it used to be like, I guess like, when the guy does his thing? At least that's what I used to hear all the time. I dunno, actually. Now there are all forms of sex, or at least I've rea-...heard. So I've heard."

Sweet baby Jenna reads smut? Oh God, why does anyone think this sort of thing is pleasurable or pretty? The only beauty of it is with you, little dude. Or dudette. Didn't mean to assume your gender, my love.

"Fair enough, I guess, why do you ask Clo?" Mischief gathering at her smudged red lips, Rosemary quirked a brow in Clo's direction. Despite having been splayed comfortably against the couch, Chloe's entire body tensed up.

"I-I d-don't k-know...G-g-guess some g-g-girls might h-have d-d-different e-experiences."

"Hell, she ain't wrong." Another girl, a quiet blonde peeped up from across the way, green eyes skimming past both Jenna and Rosemary. "Well, I suppose, to clear this sort of thing up, my interpretation of losing one's virginity is the act of any sort of sex that involves each party's consent. Doesn't matter the gender of the participants. Is that what you were gettin at Clo? Think some of us may have had partners of the same sex?"

Yes. Yes. That's exactly what I was thinkin. What? You don't expect me of all people to be a secret lesbian lover? No, it has to be other people at the circle. Makes sense, at the very least. I at least think I'd do better than some men...

"Y-yes. S-s-sorry. I-I was n-never r-really e-e-educated...o-on t-this, I-I mean." Bullshit. Unless you mean consent and actual pleasure...Oh sugar biscuits I swore again! and I was thinking about lesbian sex with my baby here with me! Oh God, I'm gonna need a filter with this little guy! Im sorry sweetie...Mama gonna get better at this. promise.

Her hand hovered to her stomach.

"Alright alright, since Clo so politely asked..." Rosemary cooed "Never have I ever participated in an act as mentioned above."

Four out of seven girl's raised a finger. Chloe's remained safely clutched into a fist, a hesitant smile on her face.

How does one have a miracle without losing their virginity? I...I don't know. I'm still a virgin, yet a mama. I wish...I wish I could still have you without the prior...But. I cannot complain. It's weird...I think I'm one of the only virgin mamas out there. Like Mary...Except, not quite. But for right now, I'm considering this an immaculate conception. Oh, little guy, I promise to go to sleep for you soon...and yeah. I can tell you are hungry for an omelet. At least I think, at least food wise, you and I are gonna get along just fine.
 
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CloudyBlueDay

consistently inconsistent
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I check as often as I can.
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Realistic/Modern, Magic, Scifi, Romance
Genre You DON'T Like
I am generally not a huge fan of RPing Fandom, but it can depend.
Two's A Pair, Three's A Family... Kinda
with Mobley Eats Mobley Eats and Elle Joyner Elle Joyner

Switch couldn’t tell if she was on the verge of vomiting because of her piss-poor excuse for a brain or because of the incredulous smile plastered across Pan’s face. Either way, she felt sick. And she wasn’t used to this anxiety--at all. Especially not around her cellmate.

But the guilt lingered. Hell did it linger and she almost toyed with the idea of spilling everything just to feel normal again--

But then her worries were assuaged. The sweat on the back of her neck cooled. And, above all else, she took back everything she was thinking a mere moment ago. Screw that; Switch would rather chew off her own damn foot than to bring anymore bullshit into Pan’s life.

A hand shot out to catch the chair, her lazy grin making a grand comeback, before sinking down with a plop. “Hell yeah I’m one of the cool kids… I’ve got dibs on the pothead hippy,” she chuckled, eyes briefly straying over to Twitch before forcing them back onto Pan.

There was a lot rattling around in Abe’s head right now. The deal they’d settled with Gram, the shit with Switch, the next round of the fights… There was so much potential for disaster, too many corners he couldn’t see past. One hand running through his hair and the other drumming against the table, Abe blinked back to reality once Switch reached their table.

He shot her a nervous smile, sitting up a little straighter to keep both the women in his view, exhaling slightly as Pan welcomed Switch without any reservations. Abe rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a small laugh. “Why of all things would you want to be the pothead hippy?” Are these two gonna talk to each other or am I just going to have to pretend I don’t know shit for the rest of my life. How the hell were they going to tell Switch about the plan? Was it even safe to tell Switch about the plan right, here in the open?

“...Maybe pothead hippy isn’t so bad.” Abe muttered gruffly after a moment of introspection.

"So…" Pan started, looking down at her tray of slop, "In the effort of avoiding the most awkward dinner, ever… Whatever you've got goin' on, don't care. Don't need to know. You're family, Switch, and family doesn't nag for answers you don't rightly wanna give. So long as you know I've got your back…"

Glancing up, her eyes shifted between Switch and Abe, "I didn't want half the ship knowing my name… But thanks to the Demon Queen, they do. Secrets are secrets for a reason. You're entitled to yours."

Smiling dryly, she shrugged, "Now… with that out of the way… We uh… had a chat today, with our favorite little serial killer psychopath. Turns out we have a common enemy." Tapping her chin, her smile grew, "Course… we can't just chat about it out in the open. No clue who might be listening in on every little thing we do."

“See?” Switch gestured plainly to Abe, the onset of a lazy smile tugging at her lips, though it didn’t have long to live… Oh. Fuck. Wow--screw you too, brain. I mean really? My thoughts seriously had to go there? If Switch wasn’t currently conversing with her friends, she would’ve rolled her eyes. “Twitch here gets it. Hippy potheads got it good.”

However, whatever nonchalance she had fought tooth and nail to gather shattered the moment Pan spoke and she found herself flailing for words. Her mind was shooting blanks. Thus, all the prisoner could do was pick at her fingernails under the table while nodding, shooting her cellmate a grateful look. “Thanks, Pan… Seriously.”

Annnnnnd now she was confused again. For fuck’s sake.

A pause. Then, Switch sat forward, taking a moment to clean out her ear. “Uh… I’m sorry, you spoke with head honcho psycho and didn’t come out of it with an instilled fear of murderous clowns? How?” she asked incredulously, “And what did you even talk about? And why… Just… I could really use some hippy weed right now.”

Abe exhaled slightly. At least Pandora wasn’t gonna press for the secret to come out, but Abe couldn’t understand why Switch wouldn’t just spit it out already. Now it was stuck like a lump in his throat.

“He made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.” Abe said quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. The hand placed comfortingly at the back of his neck twitched and tremored. There was so much that could go wrong. Was he really supposed to believe that Romana would just… stop paying attention to those at the top of the leaderboard? Hell, it was still hurting his brain to think about the fact that they were a goddamn reality TV show.

“I… don’t think we should talk about it here.” He huffed, finally peeling his gaze away from the surrounding area and back to the two women. “I’m a little worried Archer will kill us before we even make it happen.”

"That dick? Only thing he's gonna kill up here is a hell of a lot of time. He looks at any of you funny and he's gonna be seeing what it's like to talk out of his ass, less figuratively. I'm not worried about Archie. But Twitchy's right… not the place to chat about our benevolent dictator." Frowning, Pan leaned back, arms behind her head, "When's the last time you thought about home, Switch?"

“An… offer…?” Switch echoed unsurely, gaze switching back and forth (pun intended) between them and analyzing them for any hint of doubt, any sign of a joke peeking over the horizon. However, she failed to spot any and with that realization came a heavy weight crashing over her shoulders. The actual fuck is going on here? “Well, I can at least agree that you’ve got nothing to worry about with Archer. He’s all mind games, to be honest, and that shit’s never bothered me in the past.” She almost snorted at the bittersweet irony, but chose to bite it back.

At Pan’s question, Switch stiffened, pure disbelief running up the shoots of her veins like magma. Her nose scrunched up with a subtle grimace. “Never… Why’re you asking?”

Even though the question wasn’t directed at him, Abe’s stomach turned uncomfortably at the mention of home. It was a horrifying thought. No, if he was getting off this damned ship he wasn’t going home, because it didn’t exist. Some other side of the planet sounded nice.

“Think of home as… Earth.” Abe offered, sitting up slightly. He knew Switch’s family life was less than desirable. “Think about finally leaving this hell hole.” Don’t think about how bad it’ll be if this plan goes down the bloody toilet.

“Just… you know… hypothetical, and all. If you could get off this damn hell-ship and go home. What would you do? Guess I’ve been thinking a lot about it, since our chat with ol’ Gram Reaper.” At that comment, Pandora looked up, her eyes focused on Switch’s with a sudden intensity - it was as close as she dared, at the moment, to get to the point.

“O… kayyyy?” Switch said cautiously. “I’ve honestly been thinking--no, dreaming of that since I stepped foot on this hunk of space metal. So… what about it--” But then she locked eyes with Pan, the sudden intensity diving so deeply into her soul that her fingers curled into fists on the table. They… Were they being fucking serious? And with the top serial killer of Hagur? She squirmed a bit in her seat, feeling almost helpless from the onslaught of absurdity, of a terrifying fantasy teasing the cusp of reality. “I… So… Hypothetically,” she started slowly, “If that were the case… A private place to talk would be good.”

“Chava.”

If it was any new voice, Switch would’ve jumped out of her skin while scrambling to shove her soul back into her body; however, that wasn’t the case with this one. It was male and even more so than that, a familiar and heavily accented one. Bungee plopped down next to her, not at all awaiting permission from Pan or Abe. “I never had the chance of word trading with you in the infirmary,” he said lowly.

“Oh… Bung, don’t worry about that,” Switch said, her form relaxing instantly and a teasing grin pulling at her lips. She nudged the man. “Or me. I’m all good, yeah?” Bungee grumbled in clear disagreement, but didn’t have a real response to her stubbornness. “Ah, the grumbles of wove. Music to my ears,” she chuckled before focusing on Pan and Abe again, “Uh… Shit, wait. This is actually a bad time, isn’t it?”

Abe grinded his teeth together. The tension was palpable, especially with all of Pan’s intense stares towards Switch. He sunk into his seat slightly, wishing he had a better hand to play in this mess of a situation. He was about to suggest they move when Bungee sat down.

Abraham very audibly groaned, dragging a hand down from his hair over his eyes. “Yeah, it’s a bad time. Bungee… my man… would you just… you know.” Abe gestured to the direction he’d come from with a head tilt, which didn’t really mean much because his head was twitching anyway.

"Yeah…" Pan agreed, with a grimace, "Not the best timing…" but she wasn't thinking solely about their conversation. She had caught the tail end of the last fight, and she was pretty sure sitting cozy with an enemy of the Red Haired Devil and his psychopath girlfriend wasn't a great position… "Bold of you, walkin' around after that fight."

Bungee cut a glare in Abe’s direction, toying with the idea of shooting back a scathing remark; he never really had patience for any prisoner aside from the woman sitting next to him but, as always, he stuck true to his methods and ignored the reactions altogether. Grumbling, he gave Switch a quick look up and down, scanning her with a critical eye. “You are the still in stock?” he asked lowly.

Switch shrugged, humming casually as if she was mulling over the question. “Sure.” However, she cringed somewhat at her cellmate and friend’s response to Bungee’s arrival. She couldn’t really blame them, though. Bungee wasn’t exactly the likable type. “Uh… Shit, Bunge, hate to say this but they’re kinda right. Now’s not a good time.”

Bungee’s eyes narrowed. He remained stubbornly where he was. “Sure is not the good enough of an answer,” he said, “And I walk wherever the fuck I of please.”

“Ah, somebody’s extra grumpy today.”

“Not in the mood of jokes, Chava,” he growled. “You need to do the restock, don’t you? Do not the lie to me.” In response, Switch focused on her food, his words going through one ear and out the other, though she gave his knee a comforting pat under the table.

Abe looked between the two, aggravation building. His twitches were growing a little more rapid, more violent, and the thumbnail he had jammed between his teeth was having a hard time staying there. All this small talk, Switch’s dismissive jokes. He knew what restocking meant. He knew, and he could tell by the way Switch was avoiding Bungee that it was damn necessary too.

Fuck, fuck it all. He shot Switch a look before turning to Pan, teeth grinding. “This is fucked, Pan. It’s fucked. There’s no way it’s gonna go right. No way in hell.” As much as he hated to admit it… it would be especially true if they involved Switch.

"Hey. Keep it together, Twitch." Shifting, the was an uncharacteristic softness to Pandora's expression, as she looked to Abe, shaking her head, "Little optimism, sugar. We can't afford to think that way." Fingers curling around his, she looked over to Bungee and the softness was gone, "She'll take care of herself, tall, dark and irritating. We'll make sure of it. Now quit pushin' her around before you end up in the infirmary twice in one day. We're all a little on edge and I don't think any of us can be held accountable should we have an unfortunate reaction to stress. Besides… Pretty sure old Fritzy's lookin' your way."

Bungee shot Abe a suspicious glance, his obvious paranoia not quite settling well in his stomach. Twitch was known around Hagur for his occasionally explosive behavior, but the sheer amount of frantic agitation oozing from his words was a tad unexpected. Unusual.

Regardless, the glare returned upon hearing Pan’s not-so-subtle threat. “She clearly the hasn’t been taking care of herself,” he hissed while pinning Switch with a glare, who avoided the look at all costs. The casualness behind the action just annoyed him further. His nose scrunched up, looking at Pan as if she grew a second head. “You actually the think I give fucks about that? This!” He placed a hand upon Switch’s shoulder. “This idiot is the all that matters! Especially if the idiot has to re. Stock.”

“Bunge, come on… You’re gonna pop a blood vessel,” Switch muttered, the playful tone persisting, yet weakening as his worry continued to wash over her. Fuck… She’d forgotten just that quickly that he, along with all of Hagur, had seen her seizure during round one.

“No,” Bungee growled while leaning forward, forehead meeting the right of her skull while palming the other side. Switch didn’t flinch from the gesture; she merely let it happen. It usually helped to calm his nerves anyhow. “You the fucking come on.”

“...That was like the equivalent of I know you are but what am I,” Switch said.

Bungee grimaced, but did nothing more than scoff in response.

“Pan.” Abe growled, eyes widening as he registered the calm threat she’d thrown Bungee’s way. A little optimism. A little optimism, right? A little optimism and then they’d all fucking die, but god did he wanted to feel the sun again, he wanted to kick up some grass. But not like this. Abe knew It wouldn’t happen like this.

Scooting forward in his seat, trying to block Pan from Bungee, Abe looked the other man in the eye. “Listen.” He said firmly. “You saw me. In the round. You saw me, right? You saw her but you saw me. I’ll make sure she restocks. Just give us ten. Damn. Minutes.” So I can tell them how bad of an idea this is.

"Switch ain't gonna keel over on my watch, Bungee." Pan sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose, "So maybe quit acting like you're the only person who gives a damn. We need a minute. Pretend you've got some damn courtesy in you and beat it…"

Bungee and Switch visibly twitched at the “keel over” comment, but the latter recovered rather quickly, her indifferent mask set back in place like a professional. Whatever eye contact the agitated had established with Abe was lost, his thoughts once again clouded over with annoyance, vaguely wondering why Chava was close to this bitch in the first place. Especially now that she was on sight…

He shook off the thought and merely shot Pan a sneer. “You ask the courtesy in prison?” A low scoff. “Chava, why you the waste your time with this bitch--”

“Ooookay,” Switch interrupted, a hint of nervousness in her tone as she placed a hand upon Bungee’s shoulder. She loved this idiot like family and because he was family, she’d rather not have him break any bones from talking too much. Giving a gentle squeeze, she whispered to him, “Listen, just… cool it, alright? Yes. I… I gotta restock, alright? Happy?”

Bungree frowned. “Not in the slightest…” His gaze fell on Abe and Pan once more. There seemed to be a slew of venomous words on his tongue, but he just barely held back. For Chava’s sake.

Abe cringed at Pan’s vicious bite back, still leaning forward protectively in an attempt to act as a barrier. “Pan.” He hissed under his breath. Damnit. This was supposed to be smooth.. they didn’t need to make enemies, especially out of Switch’s friends, and he’d almost had the situation under control. Now, Abe could feel the anger radiating from Bungee, and if Pan wanted to act like a loose cannon..

“We’ll revisit this later.” Abe muttered, giving Switch an apologetic look before standing up, abandoning his uneaten food. He lightly wrapped a hand around Pan’s arm and nudged her to come along with him.

"When, Abe? We don't exactly have a plethora of time to discuss things." Irritation rippled through her words, but Pandora made no efforts to shake off, nor did she move to stand, "Maybe instead of discussing things around her like she's a damn child we can just ask Switch what she wants to do? Cause hell if I let anyone make my decisions for me."

“Uh…” Switch shifted uncomfortably, her brain scrambling for the right thing to say; anyway to diffuse the tension piling more and more by the second. “Err, listen, we all just need to… cool down for a sec and woosaw, alright?” She didn’t know how to feel--about anything. Again, she loved Bungee, but at the same time, no one could really understand nor put up with his attitude like she could. She appreciated his presence, she always would, but his negative energy seemed to be stirring up aggravation in the others. Biting back an apologetic sigh, she copied Bungee’s earlier action of resting her forehead against this temple and muttered, “I hear you loud and clear, alright? We’ll talk more tomorrow. Promise.”

Bungee stiffened a moment, his jaw proving to clench even tighter. His glare switched among the trio critically, before he finally heaved a huff of annoyance and disgust. He hated Hagur and nearly every prisoner on this space metal from Hell. “Fine,” he growled. Shooting Switch one last warning look, he stood with his tray in hand, and pinned Abe down with a meaningful glower. “I did the see you… Keep it up and you the might not piss me off so much.”

Without sparing the squabbling pair another glance, he left. Well, stomped off.

“Welp…” Switch cleared her throat awkwardly. “That happened.”

Abe ground his teeth together, taking his hand off of Pandora as he sat back down, watching Bungee leave. He ran a twitching hand through his hair, letting his gaze fall back on the gruel in front of him. “Didn’t mean for it to go like that, Switch.” His gaze settled on Pan, fingers drumming nervously on the table.

“We aren’t discussing anything around anyone.” He muttered. “That was unnecessary, Pan. Bungee was just…” Abe shook his head. Nevermind. “My problem here is… I don’t think we should go through with this plan at all. I know we agreed. But, listen, my whole gig down on earth was plans, and I know this one isn’t going to go right. I know it.” He made sure his voice was kept low, eyes roaming the mess hall, but tone still pouring with intention.

“Bungee was just, what? Trying to help? Taking care of Switch? Yeah. I get it. Apparently I’m the only person who doesn’t get to do that for some damn reason. You wanna keep me in the dark about everything that’s going on, that’s fine. I get it. Loyalty or whatever the hell it is. But you can’t expect me to understand any of the crap you people wanna discuss around me, if that’s the case. I said I wasn’t gonna ask, but don’t lecture me about the way I deal with Bungee when I’m the only one at the table who doesn’t get clued in, okay? You can’t blindfold someone and get pissed when they stumble, Abe.”

Frowning, Pan rose to her feet, fingers driving through her hair, “If you think we’ve got the luxury of saying no, you must’ve been in a different fight today. You think the next freak explosion or accident is gonna go so smoothly, Abe? You remember which one of us was holding that damn staff? “I can’t stay. You get it? I stay, I’m dead.” For a beat, just a second, there was a flicker of doubt in her gaze, of something Pandora never allowed anyone to see. There was fear. Uncertainty. And then just as quickly, it was gone, “So do what you want, but I have to at least try. Gotta do something.”

Switch merely grinned at Abe, letting the apologetic tone roll off her shoulders like water. “Nah, don’t worry about it, Twitch. Sometimes his rays of sunshine tend to give others sunburn.” She shrugged. “It’s no biggie… Uh… Oh boy.” And then tension piled up between him and Pan--and now Switch herself felt unease from the secondhand awkwardness. Jeez, gotta love a lover’s quarrel. Am I right?

She was wise enough not to voice that thought.

However, she reeled back a bit as Pan’s emotions started to climb more and more by the second. This entire conversation had been a damn rollercoaster ripped from the guts of Hell itself--on a Black Friday. What the hell were they going on about with this whole “staying or leaving” fiasco? Smoothing back her wild mane of waves and heaving a tired sigh, she did all she could to ignore the pounding in her skull and said, “Listen, guys. I… Sounds like we’re all stumbling in the dark right now. And it’s clearly making us a little crabby. I don’t wanna fuel any of the rage energy here and I got a gut feeling that I already am. So, uh…”

She grabbed her tray and stood.

“Just… Sorry for starting shit, I guess.” She flashed a strained grin. “I think I oughtta nap soon anyhow.”

Fuck. This was a mess. Abe opened his mouth and closed it over and over again, not sure what to say anymore. Pan was climbing hysteric mountain and Switch, classic Switch, took the high road and skedaddled. He took a while to respond, combing his hands through his hair as every part of his body spasmed with anxiety. Finally, he reached a hand out to Pan, pulling gently and tenderly at her arm, guiding her to sit back down.

“We’re gonna do something.” He said softly. “Switch’s business ain’t our business. It wasn’t even supposed to be mine, and I’m not gonna make it yours. This plan is bad for all of us. All. Of. Us.” One hand rested tightly on hers despite jittering every second, the other laying on his stomach. Pan had seen him undressed enough times to know the scar that lay beneath.

“I remember what happened today. And I’m not about to fucking forget it. But listen to me when I say, whatever shit Gram’s messed up in is a one way ticket to hell. We’ll find. Some. Way. Else. This is my shit, okay? I’m supposed to be good at this. I’m gonna figure it out and then we’ll figure it out.”

"You didn't start anything, Switch. Just… been a long day. Get some rest. We're cool." Sinking into the seat again, Pan frowned in thought, quiet for a moment, before looking up to meet Abe's gaze, "You're right. I know you are. But Abe, how the hell are we supposed to… We can't just tell him we changed our mind. This is Gram we're talkin' about. The guy who tried to turn you into mulch for touching his boytoy. Who, I don't think I need to remind you, ain't exactly Shirley Temple, himself…"

“Y… Yeah,” Switch muttered, grip tightening ever so slightly on her tray, “Good to know we’re cool. I’ll see you guys when I’m back in the land of the living.” Ah--that was a poorly framed joke, wasn’t it? Well, either way, she could take her words back. Not now. With a casual salute, she left the couple to handle their own… disagreements. It really wasn’t her place to butt in.

She just hoped they would reconcile soon.

Abe’s gaze followed Switch until she disappeared from his view, and then he bowed his head, brows scrunched together in deep thought. Every fiber of his being jumped with anxiety, lips pressed together, only to open when he had at least something worthwhile to say.

“We’ll give him someone else. Someone else who wants to jump head first into an idiot plan.” Abe muttered. “There’s always someone.”

“Plan’s in motion, Abe. Even if we could find somebody stupid enough to do it… someone Gram would accept, that we could throw into that blackhole… There’s not enough time. Not enough. You know as well as I do, it’s not something Gram is gonna sit on for long.” Turning to him, she frowned lightly, but her fingers curled around his, nonetheless, “I’m with you, whatever you wanna do… But you gotta be ready to have one hell of an enemy on our backs, if we decide to dick Gram over, right now. And if that happens… and we go into that second round of Fights? We might not get lucky, twice… You know?”

He squeezed her hand briefly, just for a moment, but for the rest of the time his fingers twitched and jumped in between hers. “I know,” Abe echoed, his voice now a broken whisper. “Fuck, Pan. Fuck.” There was no way out, was there? If what Gram was saying was true, if Romana was only turning a blind eye to high profilers, then… there was no one else to take their place. Not enough time to come up with something different.

“We’re just going to have to fucking… hope for the best.” It physically pained him to say that. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t, I fucking swear it. Hopefully… he wants out as bad as we do… hopefully that gives us the luck we need.”

Smiling dryly, Pan shook her head, “If it’s any consolation, Twitch… I don’t think we had a choice the minute we won that fight. Pretty sure that’s what Gram was banking on, one way or another.” Meeting his gaze, she nodded, an uncharacteristic softness to her eye, “...Just like it was in the fight though, we’ve got each other’s backs. That’s all we need to worry about. I don’t care what the hell happens to Gram or Snowman or Archer. This goes south, we let them burn.”
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Collab: Awkward Family Dinner KatSea KatSea , Elle Joyner Elle Joyner , CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay | Location: Cafeteria | Time: Dinner Period


“Oh.” Chiko blinked, confusion fluttering across her visage, before the brightness returned. She shrugged and plopped down at the table with everyone. “Mmkay then! I’m sure she’ll pop up whenevs. Heh!” The smugness that filled her threatened to spill over, her smile practically doubling in width. The tiny prisoner raised one arm to flex, though it wasn’t much underneath her baggy jumper. “It was nothing! Really--all that welding biz doesn’t go to waste, ya know? Bossed all over ‘em!”

Nevermind that they were tossed around like ragdolls from CWE explosions, Pan’s fury from Hell, and their overall shitty luck.

Details, details!

At Luca’s mentioning of her ankle, Chiko blew a raspberry and, with a grunt, raised her leg to drop her foot onto the table. She gestured to it with both hands as if she was presenting a prize. “Look at that! Lookit! Good as new, man. It’s wild what the nurses around here can do. Like some voodoo magic shiz!”

“You two joining us?”

The question pumped cement through Amit’s veins. He froze, the panic fluttering to new levels, though his expression remained stubbornly stoic. Of course, the look could’ve been helpful if it wasn’t for the nervous shifting about, fretting over whether to stay or leave. Gods… Gods! He didn’t like these people, not in the slightest. But he knew that Chiko was currently… unstable. If he left her now…

Shakily sucking in a gulp of air, Amit sat down next to Chiko, movements slow and rigid, even as he gently nudged her foot aside to make space for his tray. His gaze was locked onto his food, refusing to speak. Despite his attitude, Chiko seemed especially pleased and did a little jitter in her seat. “Awesome! Glad to have the whole crew here!”

As he opened his mouth to answer, their table was met by another arrival, and Luca frowned at the skinny brunette as she leaned over to address River. He had a few choice words prepared for Wicker but before he could say anything, River had risen and uttering a word that, frankly, surprised the other Latino man, he wandered off to talk to his fight partner.

Shaking his head, Luca looked to Bah, almost a silent plea for the mountain of a man to keep an eye on their smaller companion. With his own eyes half focused on River and Wick, he reached down to take Chloe’s hand beneath the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze, before he looked up to Chiko and Amit, “...Hell of a round you had… That explosion at the start. Odd, right?”

“G-glad t-t-to have y-you.” Chloe stammered, voice cheery despite her gaze being strictly averted towards River’s departure. Offering both Amit and Chiko(particularly her, there was always something of optimism that brought a little warmth to Chloe’s chest), a ghost of a smile, Chloe found herself patiently skimming her thumb along Luca’s wrist. Her focus, however, was on the young man across the way, heart fluttering with each little misstep the willowy brunette hopped to. There was a moment of pride as he returned, Chloe’s hand coming to the side of the table to pat a seat for him. Her arm delicately looped around his shoulders and, with a gentle squeeze, she gave him a reassuring ruffle of his locks. “P-proud, l-little c-carino.” Releasing him, she offered a cheeky grin and little wink before returning the squeeze to Luca’s hand. Prying her attention from River, but still keeping an attentive gaze from time to time, she redirected her sights to Chiko and Amit.

“K-kind o-o-of c-c-cool though. H-had t-t-to admit. S-s-show s-s-stopper. W-w-well, s-starter, I g-guess.”

River’s gaze was glassy and far off, and even at Chloe’s coos and head pats, he hardly moved, staring into a nonexistent abyss. After a delay, he looked up at her, tired eyes innocently confused. “Proud… of what?” He asked genuinely, tone hollow. Of his inability to stand up to Wick.. to keep them safe? There was nothing to be proud of. It didn’t seem he even expected a reply, as his gaze settled on the same point in space again, head bowed slightly and making no effort to include himself in the conversation.

Amit stiffened at the mention of Pan’s bomb, only to force himself to relax immediately after, biting the inside of his cheek so hard that he could’ve sworn he tasted blood. What was done was done. Wallowing in the regrets of past actions wouldn’t do him nor any of the others any good. He focused instead on Chloe’s… somewhat blinding sweetness and gave her a brief nod of acknowledgement, then snapped his gaze back down to the tray of slop.

He shoved a spoonful into his mouth, sweat collecting in his palms by the gallon.

Chiko’s brow pinched, taking note of her cellmate’s sweating and silence, before giving him a nudge. “Oi! You all good over there, Ami?” Amit didn’t give out anymore than a quick nod, in which Chiko answered with a shrug. “Mmkay, as long as you’re sure! Oh! River, my dude!” She bounced jovially in her seat, literally bathing him with the radiance of her smile. Perhaps more radiance than necessary. “Good to have you back! And don’t act like we didn’t watch you,” she cooed. Then, her arms jutted forward at rapid different angles, accenting each movement with a “pow”, “boom”, or “kablow”. “You were badass, man! Way cooler than my little snow eating ass,” she snorted.

“You were cool too…” Amit muttered under his breath, a tad too low in volume for anyone to catch. He continued eating.

Her fingertips brushing his wrist, Luca suppressed a pleasant shiver, before his gaze glanced over River, frowning lightly at the boy's shift… He imagined that most people would feel that way after having a private chat with Wick… but River was generally much more receptive of Chloe's gentle nature than that. Whatever had happened inside of him, during the fight, it wasn't improving.

"You did your team proud, Chiko. Really… Hell of a mess, these fights. Damn impressive, just comin' out in one piece."

Despite the desire to let self consciousness flood through her at Amit’s sudden glance, she offered him a soft beam in reply. Something told her that the discomfort truly may have come from her and Luca’s words. Whatever mischief that may have curled at the corners of her mouth were stifled, River’s response somewhat unexpected, yet not all that surprising. “H-hey h-honey...N-not a-a-a lot of p-people c-c-could s-s-survive t-this like y-you do. W-why wouldn’t I-I be?” Chloe hadn’t entirely dedicated the response to the Dog Fights, nor to the Wicker encounter. It was simply a reminder that she had been prideful of his ability to still keep his eyes open and head up in his condition. The first few weeks were hard, and it just reminded her how strong he had been. Even if he didn’t think so. “Y-you a-a-are p-pretty badass, k-kiddo. I-I’ll s-sucker punch a-anyone who says o-otherwise.” She whispered, low and teasing towards River, swallowing hard in hopes to have rekindled his spirits. Even just a little bit.

“N-Not t-t-to mention Ch-ch-...chiko. Y-you had t-t-to h-handle a p-psycho t-t-teammate. Y-you d-d-did very w-well a-all things c-c-considered.”

River looked up at Chiko as she began to dramatically reenact his round of the fight. Despite the radiance of her disposition, River’s expression only grew colder. He was retreating into himself entirely, gaze heading farther and farther into the distance. “Badass…” He echoed groggily, shuddering. Badass? He was a murderer. That wasn’t badass. Chloe’s next round of compliments seemed to phase right through him, and he barely even looked up at her. There was a delay in his acknowledgement, and only at the very end, even a few moments after she finished speaking, did River force himself to smile lazily. It was strained, in a way that it seemed plastered on.

He forced his attention back to his food. There was a spare moment of clarity in his eyes as discussion continued, and he looked up to Luca, a response on his lips, before he quieted any intentions of opening his mouth and returned to eating.

A deep blush dominated Chiko’s features, growing flustered by the support and praise all around. “Gah, dammit guys,” she gushed while scratching the back of her head sheepishly, “Wasn’t no big deal! Seriously! Y’all were just as cool and shiz!” However, she sagged a bit with confusion at the mention of a psycho and she blinked several times.

...She was failing to place a face to the label.

“Err,” she turned to Amit, “Ami? What’re they going on about with, like, a psycho and all that? There was you. Me. Archer. And then… I think that’s it?” She ticked off each name with a finger, staring at the three digits as if they held the answers to everything humanity ever inquired about.

The terrorist heaved a sigh while rubbing his brow. “They mean Archer…” he muttered.

A brief pause.

Further silence.

Chiko uttered a long syllable of realization. “Oooooooh…” She grinned, perking up instantly. “Nah! I don’t believe that. He was cool enough to me!”

“Because you lack danger sense,” Amit whispered while rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well--anyways!” Chiko was quick to redirect the topic back onto River, eyes beaming in equal parts curiosity and oblivious radiance. Without asking, she crawled closer to the terrorist and made herself comfy in his lap, pushing aside his untouched food to drape her arms along the table. Amit seized up, a grimace twisting his face as he resisted the urge to strangle her right there on the spot.

“...Chiko,” he growled.

He went ignored. “What everyone said, River my dude! Total badass! We can, like, start a squad and shiz. Pups only, am I right?”

“Chiko!”

Still ignored.

"Just good to know you two can take care of yourselves." Luca noted, though his eyes hadn't shifted from River, who was still more mopey than usual, especially considering the praise he was reaping in, "Ain't just the fights we gotta worry about, round here, and it's a relief knowing you get cornered you ain't goin' down easy. Keep that fight in you and you'll do alright."

Noting Chloe’s sudden drop in demeanor as River refused to reply with a beam, Bahram’s brow creased. Nope. Nope. It was a hard enough day as it was. He refused to see any more strife or grief on this clusterfuck of a family that he had. Slowly lifting himself from his seat, he placed a gentle hand onto Chloe’s shoulder, nearly engulfing the entirety of it. “Aye, lass, I’m warnin ya ahead of time, but I’m about to scoop ya.” Without waiting for any protest or confirmation, he placed his arms around her waist and gently lifted her into the air, shuffling beneath her and sitting underneath. Placing her back onto his lap and trying not to laugh at Amit and Chiko, he could barely feel Chloe squirm in his grasp, and in the next moment he felt her slump against him without restraint.

“Ah...b-body p-pillow.” She replied with a little laugh, tucking her feet underneath her and cautiously readjusting herself as to not hurt her friend.

“Aye, Amit my friend relax, I think she’s right. She and River be the squad of string beans here.” Bahram commented affectionately, glancing over at the boy. “Oi, buck up chump. Get onto Luca’s lap and join the party.”

“T-t-this is t-t-the worst.” Chloe stuttered again, cheeks engulfed in flames. “W-w-why didn’t w-w-we think o-of this s-s-sooner.”

“Big body, small head.” Bahram mused with a chuckle, slamming his knuckles into his chest like a caveman. “No think good.”

River did stir at Bah’s attack on Chloe, but he seemed somewhat startled by this sudden intrusion of personal space that both Bah and Chiko were thrusting upon their tablemates. His brows were tilted in an endless, sad, puppy dog look, and at Bahram’s request for him to “join the party,” River reverently shook his head, shooting Luca a look that said please no.

Chiko instantly exploded into a round of laughter while slapping the table, nearly jostling over her own tray of slop. “Hahah! Man, this is fucking great! Bah, you’re a genius!” Seriously--why didn’t they think of these seating arrangements before? Chiko had half a mind to beg and plead with the group to make it a weekly tradition. No, a daily one!

Fuck yeah.

She mirrored Chloe and leaned back into Amit, grinning despite the annoyed growls radiating from her cell mate. However, any further rebuttals were usurped by Bah’s comment and the terrorist’s brow pinched; whether it was from agitation, confusion, or a mixture of both sentiments was unclear. In the end, all he could mutter was a single word under his breath, “Friend?”

The hell was this giant beast going on about--

“Riverrrrr!” Chiko whined loudly, slamming back into Amit a tad harder than what was necessary and completely missing the pained huff that escaped him. “Come on, dude! You’re seriously missing out!”

As Chloe was suddenly and rather unexpectedly displaced from beside him, onto Bah, Luca nearly smacked the mountain of a man. If it had been anyone else… literally anyone else, he might’ve done just that, too, but for all he was enormous and strong, Bah was also incredibly smart, and breaking the tension seemed to be exactly what their ragtag crew needed in that moment.

Grinning, shaking his head, he sighed, “...I dunno why Blacksheep gets my girl, but hell if I’m gonna argue right now.” Patting his lap, he looked to River, “C’mon. It’s only right.”

“Fuck ya right lass, I am a genius. I landed meself in prison for a decade, but at least my skull ain’t that thick.” Drumming his fingers against his temple, he felt a light tickle as Chloe’s body rumbled with laughter against him. He could tell she was trying her best to suppress it, her cheeks exploding into a blinding red at the action.

“D-d-don’t b-be s-such…’ A giggle escaped, causing her to pause once more as she swallowed down the chortle “G-g-grouch, A-a-amit C-c-chiko j-just l-loves y-ya…” Another giggle escaped her like a snort, her hands immediately flying up to cover her mouth and nose. What seemed like groans and chortles barely made their way forth, her rumbling still quite amusing to Bahram as she settled down. “A-a-a-as if m-my s-s-stammers c-c-c-could g-g-get get w-worse.” Turning back towards Bahram, she pouted heavily. “Y-you did k-kind o-of k-kidnap m-me f-f-from him.”

“Mm, less kidnapping, more surprise adoption lass.” He gently ran his fingers through her locks before getting a gentle hold, beginning to hum and inspect the possibilities. “If River prefers me over Lucky Luca I can toss ya over. Although you’d miss out on great hair and a comfortable lap.”

“M-mm...Mmmhm…” At that note, Bahram thrust all of Chloe’s locks over her face, blinding her as she scrambled to fix the sudden mess. “M-mean!”

“Ah, aye, tis true. But it looks cute on ya lass.” He ruffled her hair over again, grinning at his accomplishment.

He wasn’t in much of a place to argue with all the pressure their seemed to be around him getting into Luca’s lap. This was stupid. Vulnerable. They looked like babies, open to attack… he was scared. All the time. Without rest. And… he had not… ever really enjoyed the experience of sitting in someone’s lap. It only lead to bad things.

But he succumbed. Squeezing his eyes shut, River inched himself towards Luca as if he was on top of a skyscraper. It seemed to scare him just as much. And he kept his eyes closed the entire time he moved into Luca’s lap. And continued to keep them closed as he sat there.

“Hey, hey, heyyyy~,” Chiko cooed while drumming on the table and wiggling her eyebrows at River, “Now that’s more like it, bro! Hot damn, I know we were like, a big ole family before, but now? Now it’s grand slamming kumbuya! Making all the other prisoners jealous, I bet!” The last of her words climbed in volume until her holler traveled through the cafeteria, face set in a certain direction.

A beat.

Then an echoing, “Fuck off, Chiko!” traveled back.

“Wove you too, Fuckyard!” she laughed.

Amit’s brow furrowed. “...Fuck… yard?”

“Yep. The dude across the hall from us?”

It took a few seconds before the realization dawned Amit and the terrorist’s eyes couldn’t help but roll in exasperation. He couldn’t understand for the life of him why his cellmate found so much joy in harrassing that damned weirdo. He did his best to keep an eye on the man; despite being labeled as a “harmless joke inmate”, he was still an inmate. Anyone on this ship was potentially dangerous.

“Don’t provoke him,” he grumbled while slowly reaching up to flick Chiko in the back of the head. She gave a soft yelp in response, rubbing the abused spot and puffing up her cheeks with an exaggerated pout.

“So violent, Ami!” she whined. Amit simply scoffed in response and ignored her complaints.

Slowly reaching her hand out to River’s shoulder and giving it a hearty squeeze, Chloe flashed him a beam “Y-you k-know y-y-you dont h-have t-t-to stay there...i-if you a-a-are un-uncom-comfortable.” Chloe slowly removed her hand from him and nestled comfortably into Bahram’s grasp, humming as he continued to mess and reconstruct her hair…”F-f-fucky-y-yard?” She repeated slowly, her eyes fluttering open at the name, somehow familiar and foreign all at once. Nausea seeped into her stomach as her eyes flickered in the direction of where Chiko spotted the prisoner. Christ She forgot he was here too. Most days she forgot he had even breathed the air she did but now...Was she breathing hard? S-shit. Bahram’s grasp seemed rather tight now and as safe as he made her feel...trapped. She felt trapped again and oh God oh God oh Christ...Tap out. Three taps on the forearm. Bahram had taught her this if she felt uncomfortable with him, and without a moment of hesitation Chloe slid out of his now loosened grasp. “I-I n-need a-a s-s-s-second, bathroom.” She clarified, concentrating on exhales and inhales, before sliding away from the group without another word, checking behind her every few seconds or so.

Bahram blinked at the sudden reaction, knowing that whether or not letting her go had been a good thing, he was glad she did. “Ah, poor lass must have just needed a breather.” He paused, clearing his throat. He glanced towards River and gave him a gentle nudge. “Come on and slide down from there, I can tell ya ain’t very cozy.”

"Him? Imagine how I feel. Kid's heavy as hell for a skinny pup." Luca chuckled as he shook his head, but the amusement faded from his expression as Chloe suddenly removed herself from the room. His eyes glanced across the room and looking to Chiko, a brow raised, "Who is he? That guy?"

The moment he was given permission River scrambled off of Luca’s lap. He slid closer to Bah, trying to take comfort in the man’s large and protective presence, prying his eyes open and taking a steadying breath. He watched Chloe leave, brows tilted with concern. “I-is…. Is… she okay?” River whispered, barely audible, for fear that if he spoke any louder his voice would crack.

“Err…” Chiko’s brow furrowed with bubbling concern, watching Chloe scuttle off suddenly. She wasn’t the brightest prisoner around but if there was one thing she recognized on an intimate level, it was the failure of trying to smother the panic. Your own skin straining to keep the toxicity in. All it took was a sharp turn of the heel, an inhale taken too quickly, a word misspoken--and you break. That was the end of it. Regardless, Chiko maintained face and shrugged in response to Luca’s question. “Fuckyard’s Fuckyard! He’s pretty chill. Just a guy across the hall from Ami and me’s cell; he’s damn funny to, like, piss off and stuff.”

As Chiko spoke, Amit’s gaze remained glued to the direction that Chloe fled, his jaw tensing and relaxing with thought. He knew of the woman’s squirrelly nature and her tendency to snap under the pressure at times, far too timid for life on Hagur… but something seemed off. His instincts said so. Screamed it. If the terrorist was in her shoes, he’d want someone to check in on her…

But that was not his place. He’d likely worsen her situation with his presence alone.

Thus, his gaze landed expectantly on Luca, a silent and subtle urging behind his eyes. “Are you not… romantically involved?” he inquired lowly before snapping his mouth shut. Was that perhaps crossing the line? Was that considered invasive in accordance to American societal nature? He was unsure; years of avoiding contact with all forms of humanity aside from Chiko had placed him in his own grave. Immediately, he found interest in the back of Chiko’s head, figuring that he’d said and done more than enough. Too much.

“Don’t know too much about fuckyard, but er, as the name implies, he’s sort of a creepy old fucker. I wouldn’t worry too much about him.” Bahram’s best guess was that Chloe’s presence in his lap could have easily triggered a panic attack, or even the suggestion of some old weird pervert sent her to a place she’d rather not be in. Bahram usually let her stew, or if she specifically asked or showed immense fear, would go and make sure she could conduct the little break without harm. Right now he was just uncertain, drumming his fingers lightly against the dinner table. The moment River scooted up beside him, he felt a little more secure, and he soon gave River’s hair a quick tussle. “I don’t blame ya for being afraid lad, Luca’s lap is a scary place to be. Ask Clo later and she’ll tell ya…”

“She should be alright, I don’t know if she wants to be crowded for right now but if you or Lucky there want to go check I don’t think she’ll mind. She gets skittish sometimes, my guess is she’s just over stressed and the term fuckyard upset her. I don’t know why, I imagine a man who can fuck a yard is something to laugh at.”

"You're just jealous I never let you sit there, Shepherd." Rising, nodding faintly to Amit, Luca looked off in the direction Chloe had gone, "But yeah… That's my girl. See you kids around…"

As he pulled his legs around the bench, his eyes shifted to Bah again and he smirked lightly, "Disfruta durmiendo en el pasillo, hermano…"

Giving Bah a pat on the shoulder, knowing full well the man wouldn't understand him, he turned and followed in Chloe's wake.

River was content to sink into Bahram’s embrace, listening dully to the conversation surrounding him, trying not to feed his worry for Chloe and the prisoner who seemed to have scared her. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Luca rose to follow her, and the tiniest tinge of a smile reached his lips.

“Uh,” River murmured, looking up at Bah, “He said thank you, brother.”



Translation: "Enjoy sleeping in the hallway, brother..."
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Collab: Boyfriend? Meet Bestie! KatSea KatSea | Location: Cafeteria | Time: Dinner Period

Snowman absolutely beamed at the hair ruffle, his smile so prominent that his eyes briefly closed. He couldn’t remember ever receiving attention like this aside from Gram, but this act of affection was a platonic brand. Almost family-like. And if the white-haired man was being perfectly honest with himself, he used to wonder what that felt like.

Good thing he had Archie there to answer those questions.

At his question, Snowman merely waved his hand in the most ridiculous motion possible, dismissing his worries. It would turn out just fine--he knew it would! Nodding to himself in determination, he seized Archer by the cloth of his sleeve and dragged him over to one of the circle tables.

One person resided.

Gram sat there with his arms folded and head tilted back, eyes closed and seemingly trying to find his center. Two trays rested before him, one holding the usual slop while the other was steaming with a hefty helping of Lasagna and two breadsticks with a garlic-buttery coating.

“Hey,” Snowman signed as he plopped down noisily next to the serial killer. Gram didn’t seem perturbed by the noisy arrival, more than likely used to his loud antics, and cracked his eyes open lazily. At first, he was prepared to hum in reply and dig in, but then his glassy gaze slid over to Archer.

A brief pause.

Gram’s arms lowered, vision cutting back to Snowman. “You… didn’t.”

The mute shrugged. “I did.”

“Stop throwing gang symbols at me snow nerd, gonna be worried you throwing me into the dog pit again.” Bouncing his shoulder with Snowman, Archer felt tension leave his body as soon as it had bundled mercilessly in his nerves. If Snowman had requested him to even step close to one of the harlotins in charge, Archer would feel no anxiety about the matter. He trusted the man, despite the short time that he had to bond with him. What could he say? Nothing says like friendly bonding when you run over guards with a big ass cart and plotting the release of several dangerous criminals. But hey, it meant Archer could breathe genuine oxygen for the first time in months. And he had least had someone to look forward to the return with.

But now as his attention snapped back into reality, free of the delusions of his near hopeful future, his gaze drifted over to the familiar, tattooed serial killer. Ah, yes. The dreaded “meet the new guy” conversation. No, Archer was not gonna slit Snowman’s throat. No, Archer was not gonna try and molest the snowbird (in Snowbird’s own words, not his type). And yes, Archer was happy to be here.

Shuffling uncomfortably to the other side of the table, taking in the new couple with just a twinge of jealousy, Archer let his lips curl upwards. “He did. By the way, you two dorks have my blessing.” Wiggling his fingers playfully, perhaps in a gesture to suggest the sprinkling of sugar, Archer leaned back into his seat and looked at the mop of sludge on his tray. This would have to do.

Snowman rolled his eyes dramatically, trying to slap on an air of annoyance, but the soft smile and fondness in his gaze spoke otherwise. The motion was then followed up by him extending a hand forward, rolling it in tandem with a small bow of “gratitude” for gaining Archer’s blessing. Satisfied, the mute then snuggled up into Gram’s side, his head falling to the serial killer’s shoulder.

There wasn’t much of a reaction.

Because Gram was entirely focused on Archer. A glazed sheen of contemplation coated his eyes, burning twin holes through the fellow prisoner. He failed to say anything for a handful of seconds before finally shattering the silence in a drawled hum, “I see… How much do you… know. And,” he held a hand up, eyes narrowing, “Be as vague as… you can.”

A brief and very subtle jab taunted Archer’s stomach as he watched, intent, as Snowman’s head fell to Gram’s shoulder. His fingers crawled up to meet his own collar, drumming his nails against the tattered fabric in a foolish fantasy. That her curls would rest beside him, tickling his skin, the warm of her mouth encasing his ne- “How much I know in general or how much I know about Snowbird’s torment towards human beings?” Flashing him a quick wink that was coated in trauma (go karting, never again), Archer planted his cheek into the palm of his hand. “I know that my soul is gonna be sent free because our lord and savior.” Under his breath he muttered “The little trinkets Snowbird hid around for you to find. Little love things and the such. Sorry for spoilin that, Snow.” Think that’s pretty vague. At least it’s not, Gonna blow up this bitch, can’t wait to see it burn from the prettiest place on Earth.. “That, and for some reason, I’ve heard that Archer, you know, the cartoon from God knows when, has become much more popular in recent months. Maybe it’s just his rugged good lo-for a cartoon character I mean.”

Gram hummed, seemingly with disinterest, as she peered into Archer’s nonchalant gaze like a twin molten rays of plasma. Searching. Digging. Prodding. Roaming without regret nor pause nor need of permission for any hint of deceit. The look lasted a handful of seconds before his shoulders visibly relaxed, which earned an semi-annoyed pout from Snowman due to his comfy position being disrupted. “I see. Good, then… You know to keep your… mouth shut. And…”

He leaned forward. Slowly. Mechanically. And yet, a fire lit behind his eyes. “Stay by Snowman’s side… no matter what. Do… I make myself clear?”

Snowman’s brow furrowed, clear bafflement painting his features while trading his gaze between Gram and Archer.

Archer was surprised to feel a small trickle of cold slam across his back at the blaring gaze Gram had shot his way. Malcolm Archer had never felt the need to present any form of fear or sheepishness towards a fellow prisoner, however, a brief stare sent his way made him squirm in his seat. “I’ve been married, Gram. Even if for a short period of time. I know how to keep my mouth shut.” Finding purchase in his words, some ground for him to safely land on, he slouched back into the palm of his hand and smirked.

It vanished as soon as it had appeared. “Hmm? You sayin this like there is a reason to leave his side...He’s pretty much got me held hostage with his goddamn puppy eyes.” Folding his cheek upwards and safely engulfing one eye in hearty skin, his shoulders lifted in a shrug. “You’ve got a promise, tough guy.”

“I better…” Gram leaned back, the intensity of his gaze decaying until the signature mist of indifference returned. There may have been another emotion swimming beneath the surface, some akin to gratitude or approval, but it was nearly impossible to decipher. When he looked in Snowman’s direction, he just barely caught the tail end of his confused grimace before he slapped on an easy grin.

“Married?” The mute’s grin widened with mischief while nudging Gram. “We could use some tips for the future~.”

Gram shot Snowman a look. Flat but speaking a thousand words at a million miles per second. He settled for a simple grunt, gaze straying elsewhere.

“I value my life and Snowbird’s here, Gram. I hope you know that. It may be one of the most honest things I’ve said. Next to “I swear I didn’t kill my wife.” Eyes glazing over in confusion at Snowman’s hand gestures, which he assumed did not consist of “We can shank him afterwards”, Archer let a little smile go along his lips. “You trusted the best killer out there. Even if uh, wait, let me start over on that.”

“...I’ll believe it when… you show it,” Gram said, the skepticism not terribly clear in his tone, but not impossible to pick up either. His head fell back, the action akin to his neck turning into rubber. “He wants marriage… advice,” he muttered before giving the mute a warning nudge. “Ignore him.”

Snowman pouted before signing in separate letters, “N. U.”

“Ha! I am not giving you marriage advice cause I want you two to last...Go ask the crazy ginger or something. I was only married what, a day and a half and it did not last. Do not expect me to be able to give you...appropriate answers to certain things.” Archer blinked as Snowman signed to him a very childish variation of “no”, Archer’s eyes slowly taking a roll. “Believe me, snowbird, you don’t want to hear what I have to say on the matter. Just...appreciate your partner. That’s all.”

Snowman didn’t seem terribly convinced, if his persisting pout was anything to go by, but a gentle nudge into his side and longways glance from Gram seemed to shutdown any further protests. Huffing, he settled for shrugging in an, “If you say so” fashion and leaning back, settling his weight into the serial killer’s side once more.

Lazily, Gram’s arm looped around Snowman’s shoulder; rather than going for a cradle of some sort, his index finger prodded at the man’s cheek and his head followed the motion. It devolved into a sluggish back and forth, neither man bothered by the act. “You heard him, Snow… man. No advice… is best advice,” Gram muttered. His dull gaze fell on Archer. “But mine is best… spoken.”

The poking slowed but continued; instincts had taken control of the wheel by now.

“Tomorrow… As I said, stick close to him…” A faint nod to Snowman. “And keep your… allies even closer. You’ll… need it.”

They all would.



Tags: Elle Joyner Elle Joyner , CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Year: 2813

Location: Hagur-343 | Cage Control Room

Time: 4:30 PM | Free Period




Three raps against AM’s door. Clinical. Measured. But domineering all the same.

Any other knock pattern and AM would’ve tuned it out, rolled her eyes and kept her attention glued to the poor saps rotting away in their tubes. However, she didn’t. She had absolutely no authority, right, nor jurisdiction to ignore this visitor. “Fuck me sideways with a spiked baton…” the ginger grumbled before spinning around in her seat and trudging towards the door. With a press of her thumb to the pad, the door slid open.

Revealing Romana.

Expression as indifferent as ever, the lanky woman welcomed herself inside AM’s sanctuary. Her blazer seemed extra immaculate, a homage to how much effort the Warden applied into presenting herself accordingly for each round of Dog Fights. A thin stack of folders rested between her even skinnier fingers. “Be sure to hasten yourself next time when you answer me,” she drawled.

AM grimaced. “Whoops. Sorry. Got a limp going on.”

“Shut down the sarcasm and soon, Miss Biles.” The ice in Romana’s tone aloned crammed a ball of nerves down AM’s throat. Begrudgingly, she obeyed and snapped her mouth shut, settling for a single nod.

“Sorry.”

“Ration your words,” Romana muttered. The Warden had yet to spare AM a single glance; instead, her attention was drawn to the monitors, soaking in the pathetic groveling of her misbehaving dogs. Pathetic. Weak. Some were even crying… Sometimes, she wondered if this job was far too easy on the ginger. “Less pleasantries and more updating. Is everything ready and in order?”

Grumbling, AM plopped into her beloved wheely chair once more and folded her arms. She tossed out a half-hearted shrug. “Yeah, you know I do. Pods have been reset and cleared, coordinates for today’s venue have been configured, though I gotta say, it was hell trying to stabilize the molecular feed on those things. Tributes might get even worse than nausea this time around.”

Romana shot AM an incredulous look. They both knew very well that the torturer would further the Tributes’ suffering, no matter what. Her definition of “stabilizing the molecular feed” equated to “scrambling the channels even further until they felt like their insides would corrode into strawberry jam”. Regardless, Romana had little care for pointing it out, so she continued, “...Good enough. Entertainment is entertainment, even if it involves decorating the floors with just as much vomit as there will be blood.”

“Amen to that--”

“Rationing words, Miss Biles.”

AM swallowed back an annoyed groan. Fucking bitch. “Yeah, well, anyways.” The ginger folded her arms atop the back of her wheely chair, chin resting atop them as she peered up at the Warden with an expectant look. “You know what day it is, Cap, but I haven’t seen that old fart,” unfiltered venom seeped into her voice, “Waltz into a Cage yet. What gives? We got an agreement, remember?”

Romana’s response came immediately. Without a pause of hesitation nor consideration. “We’re postponing again.”

A stretch of silence.

AM’s nails curled deeply into leather. “...You’ve got… to be fucking kidding me.” Red filled her face, a hue so rich and deep that her freckles disappeared. “Again?! The actual fuck I gotta do to get my hands on that little--”

A clicking back of the hammer.

The torturer froze like a statue, words and oxygen jammed deep within her lungs as the chill of steel spread between her eyes. Romana prodded the barrel deeper into skin, her head tilting with the onset of cold amusement. “Watch yourself, Miss Biles. This is my ship. These are my rules. You’ll get dear daddy when I see fit, no sooner or later. Understood?”

AM’s throat stretched with a gulp. Features smoothed over with numbed nerves, she rasped lowly, “Un… Understood.”

A beat.

Then Romana stowed her gun away and flashed the ghost of a smirk. “Wonderful.” She looked to the monitors once more. “Well, once I receive the confirmation from Cargo and the Ascension Team, you know what to do after that.” However, before AM could respond, there was yet another knock at the door. Not much motivation for snark was left in the physics engineer, so only an urging nod from the Warden was enough to make her grant access. The door opened again and a guard stumbled inside.

He was dipped head to toe in bubbling panic.

“M-ma’am! Warden!” A shaky salute was tossed out, which Romana ignored.

“State your business,” she said icily. “You’re cutting into preparatory period, idiot.”

“A-apologizes, Warden! But…” His breathing, for the slightest fraction of a moment, stuttered and caved with a wheeze. “I’m reporting from Cargo. The supplies for round two, ma’am… they’re gone!”

Romana stiffened.

With it came a deadly blanket settling over the chamber.

“Wait… the fuck you mean?” It was AM who muttered this, brow furrowed with confusion. She shoved her hands into her pockets, releasing a snort of disbelief. “Don’t be fucking stupid! Shipment should’ve been here by yesterday; no one’s got access to it except you and the other dipshits down there.”

“I-I…” The guard faltered, brain scrambling for the right words, but his system could barely function while in the presence of Romana’s unnerving silence. All traces of life seemed to have evaporated from her person, as if she was a misplaced stone statue. “I’m unsure. My partner and I saw it come in. But then it was gone and we couldn’t spot it for the rest of our shift. I tried to report to you as soon as possible today, Warden--”

Bang!

Crimson and bone splattered the walls behind the guard’s corpse.

“FffffUCK! WHAT THE FUCK!” AM yelped as she scrambled back and tripped over her own feet, spine smacking into metal painfully as she gawked at the mess. “You can just fucking KILL PEOPLE! AND IN MY TORTURE CHILL ROOM AT THAT JESUS CHRIST!”

Breathing. Unsteady. Shallow. A step below rapid. Romana heaved a hollow chuckle between the gasps and turned to face AM, the barrel of her gun tapping peevishly against her temple. “You listen to me and you listen well, you waste of sperm, space, and air…” A manic thirst for vengeance swam beneath her words, one that existed on a plane so subtle and stealthy that AM could’ve sworn she was dreaming. No, trapped in a nightmare. “Take your daddy issues, your never closing yap, and quantum physics… and be useful. Hm? Send out the announcement to every single employee lounge. Every single goddamn guard. And start a search. We. Need. That. Shipment!”

Trembles invaded AM’s body. “But… that’s not my jo--”

Steel cracked across the ginger’s jaw, sending her on her back once more and cradling her throbbing face. Tears stung her eyes, though they refused to fall, and she glared hatefully at the Warden towering over her.

“It is now. No more talking. Just do it. Yeah? Good talk.”

In the blink of an eye, Romana was no longer there. She approached the door and with another twitch of the twigger, a hole ripped through the recognition pad. Electricity crackled angrily before light evacuated the contraption completely and the door opened. It remained that way after the woman was long gone.

Slowly, AM sat up and hissed as she pulled her hands away to study the blood staining them. “Great, a busted lip…”

Fuck. Damien wouldn’t find that cute at all.

* * *

Location: Hagur-343 | General Prison Halls

Time: 4:35 PM | Free Period




Man, this was one heck of a fancy do-hickey majig.

Snowman had been fiddling with the touchscreen for a few minutes, stationed right where Gram told him to be.

The hallway located smack dab in the middle of Hagur-343. It was simple, just one of many platforms that connected the left half of the ship to its right, but all that mattered was that the mute was literally in centerpoint.

Of course, there was yet another significant aspect to this hall.

Unlike the others next to it, this one filtered trafficking between a straight path into the ship’s Briefing Chamber and, well, more cells on the other end. One couldn’t see the entrance to the Briefing Chamber from Snowman’s position; definitely not. Beyond that threshold was a pair of steel slabs, which only opened with a specific key code, and even then, they merely lead into an extensive hallway after that. Either way, following that route would take someone to the command center eventually.

Command Center.

The actual freaking top dog core of Hagur… This was really happening. Holy shit. Anxiety filled Snowman’s gut like a wildfire but somewhere deep in that chaos resided a spark. A flicker of excitement. No, even more accurately than that--hope.

This would work. It had to. If not, then this ship… Then Gram…

He refused to let his mind walk down that train of thought.

Shaking it off, he forced himself to focus on the touchscreen once more. Everything was ready. He had the settings reconfigured and customized the functions just as Gram told him to. All that was left was a simply press of a button. Just waiting for the signal to push it. Heh… No pressure at all. None whatsoever.

The mute glanced over at Archer, his smile not quite reaching his baby blue eyes. “This’ll be fun, huh?” he said, utilizing his fragile speaking voice once more. It had a tad more strength than yesterday but he still felt like a toddler behind the wheel; it would take some getting used to.

Snowman intended to say more, but the abrupt crackling of static resounded overhead and it was followed by a female voice. He couldn’t help but notice how… bitter she sounded.

”All available staff hands, call to attention. All available staff hands, call to attention. This is a Code Blue. I repeat, this is a Code Blue. All units launched into search parties immediately. Crate #ZH450. Crate #ZH450. I repeat. All available staff hands…”

The trampling of boots. Many of them. Pairs upon pairs upon more pairs after that. Guards seemed to pop into existence, emerging from doors that Snowman had no idea even existed until now, a baton swinging in one hand while their other was palming their waistbelts. Staff jogged past Snowman and Archer, not seeming to pay their existence anymind.

But there was a tense energy buzzing about. The mute could tell.

It was starting.

“I stand corrected,” Snowman giggled while grinning at Archer, “This’ll be lots of fun.”

“Hey!” Oops. So much for being ignored. Two guards crossed the platform towards him and Archer, their eyes narrowed with suspicion. “The hell’re you two doing out here? It’s Free Period. You know where the fuck you’re supposed to be!”

Wow, they didn’t even bother to take note of Snowman’s “spoiled status”. The mute couldn’t tell if he was wallowing in awe or worry; probably a mixture of both. Silently, he shot Archer a look. They couldn’t afford to leave. They absolutely couldn’t. Gram said so.

* * *

Location: Hagur-343 | Hallway Leading to Briefing Chamber

Time: 4:35 PM | Free Period



”All available staff hands, call to attention. All available staff hands, call to attention. This is a Code Blue. I repeat, this is a Code Blue. All units launched into search parties immediately. Crate #ZH450. Crate #ZH450. I repeat. All available staff hands…”

That was Gram’s cue.

He, Pandora, and Abe were currently traversing the lengthy hall that would lead them into the Briefing Room. Getting through the first threshold wasn’t a problem in the slightest, since Romana was dumb enough to lend him the code. Ballsy enough to call him on his bluff. To believe that he was too spineless to cross her.

What he wouldn’t give to see the surprise and anger enshrouding that bitch’s face right about now.

Beforehand, Gram had lead them to the hidden crate full of… supplies. Each of them had picked their weapons of choice; any leverage against the guards and their Blazers was necessary. With those advanced death-bringers in their hands… Gram had faith that they could handle covering him just fine. The serial killer adjusted his grip around his own weapon, the sleek design and feel of the Push Gun beyond impressive, he had to admit.

“Stick close to me…” he said as they walked along. “They’ll suspect us soon… enough.”

Hopefully not too soon.

* * *

Location: Hagur-343 | Courtyard

Time: 4:35 PM | Free Period



”All available staff hands, call to attention. All available staff hands, call to attention. This is a Code Blue. I repeat, this is a Code Blue. All units launched into search parties immediately. Crate #ZH450. Crate #ZH450. I repeat. All available staff hands…”

“The heck?” Chiko squinted up, listening to the message blaring through the intercoms with confusion. What in the world was going on? She could pick up the chaos of guards flocking about, marching all out of order and barking at each other; some seemed to congealing into small teams but, for the most part, it was a crazy house… but in the halls.

Well, either way, Chiko wouldn’t worry too much about it. Besides, she was ready to seek avenge and finally whoop Bah’s butt on Battleships! She would win today, goddammit! “Okay, okay! Uhhhh…” A pause. “D15!”

She had him now!

Amit, who was seated opposite of Chiko and glancing at Bah’s board, had to bite back a sigh.

She was way off.

* * *

Location: Hagur-343 | Therapist’s Office

Time: 4:35 PM | Free Period




”All available staff hands, call to attention. All available staff hands, call to attention. This is a Code Blue. I repeat, this is a Code Blue. All units launched into search parties immediately. Crate #ZH450. Crate #ZH450. I repeat. All available staff hands…”

Damien removed his reading glasses, files upon his desk completely forgotten. “Code Blue? Oh… Oh dear.” His stomach plummeted at the same speed his heart leapt into his throat; that level of panic rarely graced the ship and was only ever issued by Romana herself.

Something was wrong and to have this happen mere minutes before the beginning of the Dog Fights’ second round…

The therapist paled. “...River.”

Immediately, the man shot from his seat and ran for the door, only to curse loudly as a red light beamed from the pad beside it. He wrangled the door, pulled and pushed and kicked with all his might. “Hello? Hello! Anyone! Override this! Please, anyone!”

The marching and barking of soldiers from outside.

Yet no response to his pleas.

Damien was stuck.

* * *

Location: Hagur-343 | Hagur Infirmary Center

Time: 4:35 PM | Free Period



”All available staff hands, call to attention. All available staff hands, call to attention. This is a Code Blue. I repeat, this is a Code Blue. All units launched into search parties immediately. Crate #ZH450. Crate #ZH450. I repeat. All available staff hands…”

Nurse Patrov could’ve been nervous. Could’ve been slathered in cold sweat. Could’ve paced down the halls hastily, each clack of the heels biting sorely at her feet. She could’ve done all of that and succumb to the anxiety filling her gut.

And she did.

Code Blue… A damned Code Blue.

If she remembered correctly from orientation, lockdown would ensue immediately and guards would flood the halls, which they already have. Either way, she had to hurry; the last place she wanted to be was caught out in the open and trampled by a stampede of lunatics--

Beep! Click!

“Are you ser… Shit,” she hissed under her breath. All entrances to the infirmary locked in sync, thoroughly banishing any hopes she had of taking cover from the bubbling chaos. Patrov looked around, mind scrambling for a backup. Backup, backup, backup…

Dear God, she hated herself for this, but that was literally her only option.

Swallowing back nerves, she set off for her next destination, squeezing through the endless sea of guards.

* * *

Location: Hagur-343 | Prison Cells

Time: 4:35 PM | Free Period



”All available staff hands, call to attention. All available staff hands, call to attention. This is a Code Blue. I repeat, this is a Code Blue. All units launched into search parties immediately. Crate #ZH450. Crate #ZH450. I repeat. All available staff hands…”

Hana peeked up. Vision bleary. Mind fogged over with grief. A lack of care.

She couldn’t bring herself to be scared. To fear for her own life. Why would she worry for something of little value? Of none whatsoever?

Silent as Death itself, she curled back into a bed on her mattress, face hidden within her knees. None of this mattered. Come the apocalypse or something far worse…

She didn’t care.

* * *

Location: Hagur-343 | Kitchen

Time: 4:35 PM | Free Period




”All available staff hands, call to attention. All available staff hands, call to attention. This is a Code Blue. I repeat, this is a Code Blue. All units launched into search parties immediately. Crate #ZH450. Crate #ZH450. I repeat. All available staff hands…”

The announcement almost veered Fritz away from his task at hand.

Almost.

Of course, he didn’t block out the warning completely; he would be wise to let it simmer in the back of his thoughts, allowing dual functionality of his mind to shift through it for later deliberation; however, all that mattered to him was the groveling idiot before him.

Jumbo seemed to have forgotten how to learn. At first, it was a mere nuisance for Fritz and one that he hand no issues dealing with via the usual discipline. And yet, more and more failures emerged, more and more idiocy from Jumbo, as if his brain couldn’t bare to absorb anymore simplistic facts. And thus, the annoyance within Fritz had grown with the ferocity of a forest fire.

This rebellious streak needed to end. Promptly.

“Dear Jumbo…” Fritz sighed tiredly. He hefted the cannibal up from the ground, ignoring the slick sound of blood smearing between boots and tiles, and forced him into a sitting position against the wall. The portly prisoner heaved a groan, faint and weak and discombobulated, one eye swollen shut while the other followed his master sluggishly. “You’ve been grilled, flashed frozen, and now tenderized… By this point, I’d dare say you’ve been prepared like a five star meal. And yet!”

He released Jumbo and stepped back, pacing back and forth while brushing back flyaway strands of ginger. Neat. Immaculate. Presentation always mattered. “Yet… you continue to defy me. What has brought on this rebellion, hm? Who has planted these… preposterous seeds in your head?”

“I… Iiiiii do… don’t…”

“Shut up!” Fritz snapped, only to immediately reel himself in. Composure. Composure. Patience… Smiling serenely, he turned to his queen. “My Queen… Do you, perhaps, have any suggestions on how to deal with this troublesome lad? Or any theories as to where this series of behavioral upheaval!” Jumbo visibly flinched, a wet whimper rolling past his bloodied lips. “Came from?”



Tags: Elle Joyner Elle Joyner , CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay , KatSea KatSea
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Collab Post: At Least We Can't Go to Jail Twice... | Interactions: Gram, guards, Abe CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay & Pan Elle Joyner Elle Joyner | Location: Command Chamber

Moses would've slapped the skin from her face, and Pandora couldn't really judge the man for it. It was sixteen types of stupid, and a one way ticket to a space walk… and for what? For the opportunity to be hunted down like discount Harrison Ford? She was better than this. Smarter. She planned better. But desperation had made her weak minded… the bomb in the first fight had spooked her, set her off her game. And now they were in too deep. Too far down the rabbit hole to realize the damn caterpillar was a pot smoking weirdo.

She hadn't slept much, but she'd been taught how to compensate well enough that it didn't shake what tender resolve remained. Still, the wicked weaponry Gram had secured them didn't give her the warm fuzzies… Maybe they had the equivalent of flamethrowers… but it hardly seemed to matter given they were marching into Hell.

She'd maintained composure, despite the knot in her stomach, managing only a quirked brow at the announcement overhead. Code Blue. No sense wasting conjecture on what that meant…

Looking briefly to Abe, she gave a nod to Gram, "Yeah, well… what's new there. Romana suspects all of us."

Abe’s heart was hammering. On a well-thought out mission, he would barely harbor any doubt. He had faith in himself; his own abilities to plan and execute. But without so much as a mental picture of what they were walking into, the nerves were clear in his exceedling twitchy posture.

He forced out a small laugh at Pan’s comment. Strained, definitely strained. He curled his fingers, getting a feel for the metal that encased them. The weapons were certainly nice, but it didn’t make Abe feel any better about this plan, but it didn’t matter anymore.

The tiniest of smiles that had arisen at the laugh was gone in an instant. He nodded to Gram. “Let’s just… get this over with.” He muttered, gaze set straight ahead as his hand closed and unclosed, veins jumping.

“Fair enough…” Gram drawled, though it was unclear who he directed the response to. He tapped the side of his Comms one last time, double-checking that the audio and video functions were functioning, before picking up the pace ever so slightly. This had to go perfectly. Any mistakes on their end could prove to be… nothing short of catastrophic.

A few more seconds of jogging finally brought the next door into view straight ahead. Two guards manned the entrance, who immediately noticed the trio’s presence. Initially, their expressions smoothed over with begrudging acceptance as they recognized Gram, only for frowns to crease their lips as the weapons registered a beat later. Immediately, their hands flew to their Blazers.

“Halt! This area’s restricted!” One of them barked while the other pulled his gun free, aiming at the prisoners. “Those two stay outside. You know that.”

Gram merely grinned before stealing glances at Abe and Pan. “Mind doing the… honors?” he said simply.

Mind doing the honors...

They were the ones getting their hands dirty, then. Figured. Rolling her eyes, Pandora shifted her weight to her heels, eyes dancing between the two guards. This was it, then… So much for not having to fight today.

"You take the left…" Pan muttered to Abe, and without another word, she charged forward towards the guard on the right, the shield sparking to life as she slammed it in an upwards hook to cut the man across the jaw.

Abe kept his jaw tight, eyes focused. No, he hadn’t meticulously planned this revolt, but that didn’t mean there was no chance. At least, that was what he was telling him. Pan was as good as a one woman army… Gram, well, Gram better have something good up his sleeve… and him? At least he had some fancy weaponry.

Damn it, sometimes he wished he was some kickass assassin. Now would be one of those times.

Not enough time for a career change though. Nodding to Pan, Abe shot the guard on the left a toothy grin as he ran forward, swinging his hand towards the man’s chest, palm extended to send an electrifying shock right through him with the lovely gauntlet. “Whew, I’ve been waiting to do this a long time.” Abe announced through his smile. You know, if they were going to be put in the cage, at least they got to make a few guards hurt.

Gram couldn’t help the pleased smirk that graced his pale face, no matter how minor it was in size and existence. However, he had no intentions of hidden his satisfaction as the guards’ eyes widened with shock, clearly not expecting the prisoners to take them head on.

Pan’s target fumbled wildly at his waistbelt, trying to rip the Blazer free, only for his vision to explode in a world of white and spotted lights. He stumbled back from the blow and smacked into metal, the pain ripping up his spine smothered by the blanket of unconsciousness. Meanwhile, the guard handling Abe raised his Blazer but didn’t have a chance to pull the trigger. Electricity crackled through his system like a million geysers of lightning setting off at once, his eyes rolling into his skull and thin wisps of smoke billowing from his form. His body convulsed and shook, but the Blazer trembled even more. The gun’s blue grow doubled in intensity. Then tripled. Quadrupled. Until it exploded in his hand and shattered, decorating the floor in charred bits of steel.

He collapsed.

A long and impressed whistle filled the hall. “Wow…” Gram waltzed up, arms crossed as he examined the unconscious guards with morbid fascination. “That was… fun. Now then.” The serial killer rummaged through the pockets of the one Abe fried and retracted his ID badge. With a single swipe across the scanner next to the door, it flashed green and emitted a beep, followed up by the entrance sliding open.

God--Gram always felt an innate wave of agitation rise to the surface whenever he entered this place. He walked in, completely overlooking the sights in purchase of locking onto the command board. Without looking Abe and Pan’s way, he waved a hand dismissively in their direction. “Keep watch of the… door. I’ll work… fast.”

"Nice work…" Pan noted, with an edge of affect, as she glanced over to Abe. For a moment, she wanted to suggest to Gram that one of them go with him for protection before it occurred to her that she didn't rightly care what happened to the man. Instead, twisting back the way they'd come, she trained her eyes on the door, "Eyes sharp, Twitch. This felt too damn easy."

Abe’s eyes widened as the guard he’d assaulted practically went up in flames, shaking and twitching nearly as bad as he himself did. All the so-called enjoyment he was supposed to be getting out of this vanished the moment the Guard started smoking like a barbeque. He took a few tentative steps back as the Blazer the man had been holding began to convulse, rattle… and explode. On reflex his arm jutted out to shield his face, inviting a few painful pieces of metal to leave traces on his arms. Abe gritted his teeth.

“...So fun.” Abe echoed, tone hollow as he flicked a shard out of his arm. He took position on the side opposite Pan guarding the door and nodded at her words, allowing the gauntlet to charge up again. Not like he wanted to do that a second time, but… It didn’t matter what he wanted. But his attention was drawn by the contents of the room, all of the ship’s inner parts laid out right in front of him. A map of the very prison itself, right before them, and beyond it… Earth. He was lost in the sight of it for a moment, blue and green and giant and… so far away.

Abe shook himself out of his stupor and instead turned his attention to the projection, a puzzle piece he had longed to see ever since being thrown on this hell hole. Lifting a finger to the comms he wore, Abe took a few photos from every angle. Maybe it’d come in handy.

As Abe and Pan busied themselves, Gram walked up to the familiar set of monitors before him. He could recall the times Romana summoned him to his very spot, plotting away triggers and events like a twisted mastermind, all while expecting him to play his part like her loyal puppet. The mere memory made nausea and annoyance stir in the pit of his gut.

It would feel so good to cut the strings. Finally.

Hands flying to the keyboard, he trained his attention onto the central screen and logged into the security system. It was surface level access, a level that any higher employee or staff could enter with Romana’s permission. And the evil bitch trusted me with the code anyhow, he thought, a frown rather than a grin gracing his features. The sheer smugness and audacity behind that move alone was insulting. Either way, Gram had a ways to go before he could crack confidential areas of the program--

”All available staff hands, call to attention. All available staff hands, call to attention. This is a Code Blue. I repeat, this is a Code Blue. All units launch into search parties immediately. Crate #ZH450. Crate #ZH450. I repeat. All available staff hands…”

Ah… And so the real fun began.

Choruses of trampling feet and voices echoed around the command chamber; just from listening alone, Gram could guess that more guards would show up in a minute or so. Perhaps less than that… But then he could hear them with stunning clarity. Close. Worrisomely so. Three more guards emerged at the end of the hall he, Pan, and Abe came from, and started sprinting towards the entrance with their Blazers raised. A bulky vest covered their torsos, while items of similar fabric were wrapped around their legs from the knee down.

“Fucking wonderful…” Gram growled. His tapping away at the keyboard sped up. “Don’t let them get… past the door!”

"Called it…" Pan half-growled, as a trio of guards pooled into the hall. Too easy, "Stick close, Abe!" The shield would, with hope, do its job (provided it didn't randomly explode on her), but it wasn't going to hold the guards off for long.

Death was a difficult thing… it generally wasn't something Pandora took lightly, even when it involved people she greatly disliked. The idea that they'd get out of this mess, let alone Hagur without dirtying their hands had never seemed likely, but it wasn't a decision that had come entirely without agony…

That and the idea of killing for Gram made her stomach turn.

"Aim low if you can…" She muttered quietly, "Ready?"

Bloody hell. That wasn’t long at all. Abe gritted his teeth, tearing his gaze away from the view to rush to Pan’s side, feeling the electricity that crackled between the gauntlet’s fingers. “I’ve got grenades, but we should save ‘em for when there’s more. Take out as many as you can, and whoever gets past you, I’ll handle it. Got it?” It was the best he could think of. Pan was the best front liner in both skill and weaponry. If he made sure no one got past the both of them, almost an assembly line of kick-ass, it should work until the swarms were too much… then he’d throw the grenades.

Abe slid behind Pan, close but still playing backup. Giving her a nod, he prepared for the worst. Fuck you, Gram.

Only a few feet remained between them and the guards when a bolt of electricity was unleashed. Two of them rocketed towards Pan, only to sail wide and miss her entirely, leaving behind large scorch marks on the walls. A third bolt smashed into the scanner next to the door, and it short circuited in an explosion of sparks.

Two of them swarmed Pan, flanking either side of her, while the third tried to sprint past them in pursuit of Abe.

As Abe moved to her six, Pan only nodded, eyes trained on the guards with clarity. There was no flinching, no surprise as the blazer charges slammed just shy of her, and she didn’t turn her head to see where the third rocketed off to. Fingers curling tightly around the hilt of the Katana, she waited… waited, until they were just feet away, and then she moved.

In her training, Moses had first taught her dance. It seemed wasteful at the time… A senseless, obsolete art in their business, but the grace and fluidity it lent to the other skills that he had taught her were elements she would trade for nothing. With a sweeping motion, Pan arced the shield down towards the first guard, while letting her foot slide closer to the second. Weight balance, shifting, she swung the Katana towards the unguarded meat of the guard’s thigh.

To keep it short, Abe was in no way as graceful as Pan. Not a chance in hell. But he didn’t need to be graceful to back her up or carry his share of the fight. Abe took a firm stance behind her, jaw clenched tightly as the third guard clambered towards him. It wasn’t terribly hard to get the upper hand on his opponent, because he was running straight forward without much creativity. Abe was a bit better about that aspect of things.

Just as the guard rushed towards him, Abe swerved out of the way, sidestepping whatever attempt of an attack the guard had wanted to make, and brought his gauntlet clad fist up into his jaw.

The shield smashed into one guard’s skull so hard that he could’ve sworn the ship shook, vision briefly doubling. However, he planted a foot stubbornly and willed the dizziness away, raising his Blazer once more. Another bolt fired and grazed Pan’s leg, energy crackling around the limb.

However, the triumph was short lived as a pained scream ripped from his partner, whose thigh peeled under the swing of Pan’s katana like hot butter. The man tumbled and cradled his wound; the gash ran deep, but the heat of the sword was so hot that it partly cauterized the flesh. Breathing shaky and shallow, he tried to shoot at the woman as well, only to miss her entirely and scorch the ceiling above her. Cursing, he rolled onto his stomach and tried to crawl away.

The guard who tried to descend on Abe was blindsided. A swift step and misdirection led to a family of sparks ripped through the nerves of his face. His head snapped back from the blow and stars exploded in his vision. Beyond the sea of blinking white spots, he managed to nail the inmate in the torso with a bolt while scrambling back, trying to put distance between them. Clearly, being in close range with this one was bad news.

The searing heat that grazed her thigh was unpleasant, to say the least, and grimacing, Pandora’s eyes flashed with anger as she spun on the guard that had managed the hit. Swiftly, and not entirely unintentionally, anger dissolved with a small smirk, as she clicked her tongue. More swiftly, mercurial almost, she moved, hands snapping out to grasp just below to the body of the blazer, where the man’s grip held firmly. She yanked as she connected, and in one flowing motion, pulled his arm close to her side to unseat the gun from his grasp, while, turning so her shoulder collided with his chest. Using that leverage, she hoisted the guard up and over in a flip that would send him dog piling onto the guard crawling away from the fray.

Fire erupted along Abe’s side, his free hand rushing to where the Blazer had left its mark, tearing through his jumpsuit and singing his skin. Great. At least it didn’t rip through like a bullet. He’d take a Blazer any day, and the guard had only hit him out of pure dumb luck, and that electric punch still had to have him dazed. Abe took the chance to try and lunge at the guard, grabbing his shoulders in an attempt to bring them both to the ground. But, clearly he hadn’t dazed him enough, his grip firm on the guard but not enough to bring him down.

One moment, he had his gun. In the next, his world literally flipped upside down and he smashed into his partner with a thud, pain rippling up his spine. However, he knew it paled in comparison to the agony the man underneath him was dealing with--if his coughing and wheezes were anything to go by. He scrambled to his feet, falling rock still with hesitation as he tried to size up Pan.

This inmate was damn dangerous, that much he could tell now. Shakily, he retracted his baton and steeled his nerves as he closed in on her again, weapon swinging overhead and preparing to come down on her skull like a hammer--

Fwoom!

A wave of plasma energy smacked into him from the side and sent the man tumbling, though he didn’t go far. He held his bruised ribs, wincing from the pain while glaring at the direction it came from.

Gram lowered his Push Gun and went straight back to the computer. He was making progress--in fact, he was almost there. Only a few firewalls were left and they seemed to be weakening with every passage he smashed through. “A little longer!”

Just a little longer.

The guard wrestling with Abe matched him in strength, neither men willing to cave. However, clumsiness was an entirely different matter; combining that with the sharp pain that bloomed up his back as it collided into steel desks and chairs, he found himself tripping and falling backwards. He clawed at Abe’s jumpsuit, trying to drag the inmate down with him and force a punch in.

With the guard on the ground, Pandora wasted no time. Feet propelling her forward, she leapt upwards and with the momentum, carried herself into a flip, one leg catching the weight of her landing as the other cracked into the downed guard’s solar plexus. Pressing onto the ball of her planted foot, she drove a punch for the man’s face, but as he canted his head just far enough, her fist hit the ground by his ear.

“Stay down!” She hissed.

Abe felt that he was close. Felt that it was almost over. But he couldn’t let it get to his head too soon… that was what had done him in the last time. What had gotten him stuck in this wretched place. He attempted to grip the guard’s vest and slam him into the desks and chairs behind, but his grip was weak, jumpy, twitching. Sweaty and loose. He couldn’t successfully throw the guard with enough force to do any damage, but he held out just long enough to hear the familiar crackle of electricity run through the gauntlet. A wicked grin erupted on Abe’s face, tired but malicious as he sent the current running through the guard once more.

Agony ripped through the guard’s torso as Pan’s leg came down on him like a vengeful hammer. He lurched, flashing teeth as he tried to free himself, only to fall frozen with fear as her fist smashed into the floor beside his head. “Y-you back down!” he yelled back, voice betraying his bubbling intimidation. Usually, inmates went down or gave up from a single grazing of the Blazer, but this band of criminals was bat shit crazy. His gaze rolled over to his partner with the sliced thigh, who had pathetically crawled over and sat himself up, using the wall as leverage. He’d been out of the fight the moment the flesh of his thigh was exposed to the air. If he didn’t get medical attention soon, he’d contract something, and there was no way the Warden would help them if they came back as failures…

The guard glared up at Pan again, breathing labored and driving pain through his diaphragm. “Let me help him,” he rasped, “Please--”

“Auuugh!!” Another gurgling wail emitted from the third guard in Abe’s grasp, snarling in a mixture of pain and annoyance. Twitching from the aftershocks, he clenched the prisoner’s collar with both hands, reeled back, and slam his forehead into Abe’s with a resound smack!

Meanwhile, Gram’s fingers continued to work vigorously, clicks and clacks filling the chamber and intermingling with the noise of combat behind him. But he couldn’t let any of that distract him; every second towards the goal counted. He refused to let all of this be for nothing--

A siren pierced the air. The whole ship.

A single bulb emerged from the ceiling and flashed a bright red light, bathing everyone in crimson.

Security Breach… Security Breach… Security Breach…

Gram grinned. “I’m in!”

At Gram’s exclamation, and the man’s desperate plea, Pan pressed her palm flat to the floor, eyes narrowing down at the guard, “You wanna help him, you get on the comms and tell the rest of your buddies this area is secure. You and he both can walk away from this, but it won’t happen if you don’t cooperate.”

The taste of blood rose on Abe’s tongue, trickling from his nose at the harsh impact of the headbutt. He stumbled a few steps back, world spinning in and out of focus. The flashing red, the droning alarm system… the adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain was seeping in. But to collapse so close to victory.. And to lose to one pathetic guard? No. Hell no. Fuck no. Gritting his teeth, Abe trudged forward, a last spike of energy pumping through his veins as he threw his metal-clad at the guard’s head, and threw it with as much force and strength as he could possibly muster.

The guard slumped to the ground, unconscious, and Abe’s heaving was audible and labored. Still he managed to shoot a smirk to Pan and her new friends, a hand protectively resting over the wound the Blazer had inflicted. “Unfortunately, this one won’t be joining you on that walk of shame.” Abe snarled, and then turned to Gram. “What now?”

Pan’s conditions struck the guard like the bitterest sound in existence, making a grimace pull at his features. It was hard enough admitting defeat to someone as crooked and lowly as a Hagur dog, but to submit to their demands… It was downright sickening. At first, he didn’t speak and just glared up at the woman, jaw shifting around as if he was building up a loogie to spit into her face.

“...Fine,” he grumbled. Without ripping his gaze from Pan, he reached for his walkie-talkie and raised it to his mouth. “This is Watson reporting in from Command. Watson reporting in from Command. Cease backup.” He inhaled deeply. “...We’ve contained the hostiles. Fall back.” There was a confirmation that buzzed through the speaker and the guard merely let himself flop under Pan’s hold, gaze dulled with annoyance. “Can I please… help my friend now,” he muttered.

Gram shot Abe a smirk, slight and barely there. “Now…” A final tap of the button, which was followed by a low and whirring hum, decline sharply in volume until it died with a bleep. A section of lights located to the left of the monitors cut out, along with the feeds as well. “Romana’s blind. No more Eve Bots. And now,” Suddenly, abruptly, yet as smoothly as the coiling of a venomous snake, his features darkened, “I get to fry her… brain.”

Click!

Gram’s brow furrowed, the unfamiliar sound hitting his ears and his alone. He looked down and immediately noticed an odd item emerging from the desk before him. It was round and had a single protrusion from the front. Almost as if it was barrel--

Bang, bang, bang!

Three bullets ripped through his abdomen.

As the serial killer crumbled with a shocked wheeze, one hand cradling his stomach and eyes wide, a computerized and sickeningly familiar voice filled the chamber.

“My, my… The puppies wanted to rough house today. Such inconvenient timing on your part.” A deathly pause. “And mine.”

The door slammed closed.

As Pan opened her mouth to answer the guard, the sounds of shots rang out and for a second, just a second, panic swelled in her stomach, her eyes moving rapidly to Abe. Seeing him standing, whole and relatively unscatched, her gaze twitched instead to see Gram, blood pooling, pumping through his fingers like sand through a sieve. Swearing, she raised a hand and with the side of it, struck the guard adjacent to the Adam’s apple, Scrambling upright, she dashed to the injured guard, and bending, she snatched the blazer from the man’s lax grip.

“You don’t move. You don’t think about moving. You wanna live, you sit there and do nothing else.”

With the blazer in hand, her eyes skimmed the door, and with a glare, she rose, heading towards Gram, “Abe… you’re gonna need to finish what he was doing…” She started, as she tugged the zipper of her jumpsuit down, “You… Sit.” She gestured to the desk chair behind Gram.

One second. That was all it took for everything to go shit. They were home free one moment and the next… Blood. Door slamming shut. Bodies rolling. This was so horrifyingly familiar, chills crawling up his spine. Even with Romana’s voice echoing in the room, cackling over their failure, Abe still jumped to action. In one, twitchy movement, he had ripped his undershirt out from under his jumpsuit and was at Gram’s side, pressing the fabric against the man’s abdomen, while simultaneously making sure they were out of the line of fire in case Romana decided on a round two.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Abe hissed, eyes wide and darting around, veins jumping but hands holding as steady as he could keep them to Gram’s wounds. “..Me? I-I don’t… even…” For fuck’s sake. Abe, get your shit together. “Okay. Okay. Pan, you… you hold the c-cloth. Fuck. Gram, you w-with us? Tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do.”

The guards obeyed silently, refusing to move a muscle while in the face of Pan’s obvious agitation. The fight in them was long gone, leaving behind nothing but a bitter hopelessness. No matter which way they turned, Hagur was slithering with corruption.

Gram… couldn’t comprehend what happened. The pit of numbness spreading through his stomach was abysmal, forceful. It was there against his will, a feeling so invasive and foreign that he couldn’t figure out where to look. What to do. Luckily, he didn’t need to mull over it as the guidance of Abe and Pan found him plopping into a chair, shaky wheezes rolling past bloodied teeth. He winced at the sudden pressure, life flaring back up and wroughting his nerves with pain, climbing more and more in intensity by the second.

He’d never been shot before. He never thought it would happen to him. Him. Was all of this bullshit with Romana even worth it?

...But then he remembered why he came onto Hagur in the first place and reaffirmed that yes--dying was an expected option. A possibility. And he had accepted that wholeheartedly. As for Snowman… He refused to think about it. At Abe’s panicked words, Gram tried to shake off the creeping cobwebs and gestured weakly towards the screen. “It’s… It’s still open,” he said, “Escape pods… Un… Unlock…”

Romana’s giggles pierced the air.

“Don’t waste your final breaths like that, Gram. All you’re doing is setting up the dogs for disappointment… Access to those are long gone.”

“F-fuck you!” A cough rattled Gram’s lungs, another globule of crimson rolling down his chin and staining his jumper. “I got in!”

Romana clicked her tongue.

“You’ve got in to nothing. Hear me, dogs? Nothing.”

“Wrong, Bitch…” Pandora echoed, her eyes not leaving Gram as she narrowed them just slightly, “...And that’s about enough out of you.” With a flicker upwards, she caught sight of the intercoms scattered about and raising the blazer, fired shot after shot at each speaker, before dropping the gun to her side.

Curling her fingers instead around the sleeve of her jumpsuit, Pan ripped at the seam to tear one free, holding it out to Gram, “...I’m sorry, cause this is gonna suck… bite down on this.” When he’d taken it, she plucked up the katana and with a steadying breath, she pressed the plasma blade to the open gunshot wounds.

However annoying and depressing Romana’s little broadcasts were, Abe wasn’t so swayed by her taunts. Why was she wasting her time teasing them over the speakers when she could just… stop by and fill them all with bullet holes? Why’d she lock the door instead of swarming them with guards? Nothing about this made sense. Even the fact that she’d given Gram the keys to the safe… nothing. Made. Sense. But they were here… and Gram was dying… and even though Abe had no clue what Romana was playing at, there really didn’t seem like much left to lose.

So he decided that the Unlock button on just the Escape Pods was a little lackluster. Blood stained fingers swiping over the touchpad, a glint in his eyes, Abe clicked Unlock All. “Let’s see how Romana likes this one.”

Any further comment from Romana dwindled into static as the Blazer bullets utterly destroyed the speakers. In that beat of silence, the guards’ sighs of relief could be heard, incredibly grateful to block out the Warden’s voice for once.

Gram didn’t realize at first what Pan was planning, but his glazed eyes did widen as the katana blade neared his stomach. He instinctively tried to squirm away, but his fate was inevitable and an agonized scream ripped from his lungs, loud and strained even with the cloth muffling his voice. His flesh sizzled against the hot blade, immediately cauterized and the blood flow staunched. The serial killer deflated with exhaustion and vaguely wondered how in the hell he was still conscious--that was worse than getting branded with a Leash.

Tiredly, his gaze fell on the monitor once more, following Abe’s actions… Unlock All. This crazy fucker just clicked Unlock All. That…

That was damn brilliant.

Soon, the distant roar of inmates sprinting from their cells could be heard. It clashed and melded in dissonance with the shouts of panicking guards, likely failing spectacularly to keep them in check. The discord. The disorganization. Now, they could just override that door and make a mad dash for the Escape Pods--

Error… Error… Option Unavailable…

“Wha…” Gram tried to lean forward, though his vision blurred with the onset of fatigue. His consciousness wouldn’t last for long, he could tell, but all that mattered in that very moment was the error popping up on screen. There was nothing but a blank white space behind it, the Escape Pod section completely wiped clean. Gram’s nostrils flared. “That bitch… Th-that… fucking bitch!” Did she know that he would try to escape? Of course she did! That was… That was why she freely gave him access to them, because there was nothing to gain access to.

They were stuck.

They were stuck…

They were stuck!

Gram’s breathing grew erratic, eyelids drooping as darkness shrouded the corners of his vision. Hastily, he whipped out his Push Gun and pointed to his right, pulling the trigger. Another concussion wave ripped through the air, this one blasting the door right off its hinges. “Go to… To Snowman!” There was one last thing he could do. Just one. And it was damn desperate.

With Gram stabilized, Pan’s eyes darted to Abe, watching as he worked, first with an uneasy tension, then something akin to shock… and with the error display flashing like a neon sign, pointing their route straight to Hell, pure disappointment. The pods weren’t functioning…

They had given up everything... and there was no way out.

Standing upright, jaw tightening, Pan looked at Gram as he made his next request, “...Abe…?”

Abe was still, even as the screen flashed error. The pandemonium outside told him some part of this had worked. It also meant that Romana had expected this from the beginning, and frankly? He wasn’t surprised. His heart was already in his stomach. A flicker in his eyes was the only shred of emotion that escaped him.

His gaze fell on Gram, worn. He took a step back from the control center. “You want him to kiss you goodbye?” He muttered lowly, half joking, half deadly serious.

Growing impatient with the pair, Gram shook his head. “I said… go!” He shot the Push Gun again, this time ramming into Pan and Abe and forcing them out into the halls. He dropped the weapon, the last shred of reality teetering precarious on a cliff. He crawled his way over to the monitor again and typed. No, his sluggish movements were nothing short of slapping fingers to the keys. But it was enough. Just barely.

Everything. Absolutely everything--open. Full access to the entire ship, minus the Ascension Chamber.

A shaky finger raised to his Comm, the channel latching his own with Snowman’s. “S… Snowman…” The mute’s voice babbled through the feed, overflowing with worry the moment Gram’s exhausted voice registered, but the serial killer talked over him and pushed on. “Stop. Stop! Listen… Do it now. R-right…” He slipped to the floor. “Right now.”

A pause.

Gram chuckled. “Yeah… I’m gonna be there. I don’t… I never lie to you. I’m alright.” He’d told many lies in his life and this one made his insides burn like the planes of Hell.

On her list of favorite things… the push gun was definitely not getting a spot. Technology was a bastard, sometimes, and for all she generally wanted to punch Gram’s face from his skull, she found herself surprisingly hesitant to leave the man behind. But their part wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. They weren’t off the damn ship, and Romana knew who they were. Rescuing Gram wasn’t an option. Not when it meant potentially sacrificing their own lives in the process.

Swearing, she gripped Abe’s arm, “...We gotta go. Abe. We have to go…”

A pained hiss fell out of Abe as the push gun blew them back, but now that he knew there was no option left except retreat… Abe was surprised that Gram was pushing them to go. Likely, Gram had some other ideas in mind, but at this point, Abe couldn’t ask much more of the man.

There wasn’t anywhere really they could go, even though Pan tugged at his arm. His gaze stayed glued to Gram for a moment longer than necessary, before giving the man a farewell nod. He wiggled his fingers within the gauntlet, wondering just how long they could try to fight their way out before being thrown in the Put Down.
“Come on.” Abe murmured, voice a tired whisper before he headed off into the chaos by her side.

Gram didn’t have a minute left of consciousness left, let alone a few seconds, but he did all he could to watch the pair leave, something akin to relief flooding his aching system. Weakly, he returned Abe’s farewell nod and allowed himself to lay there completely, giving himself up to the creeping darkness.

A loud fwoosh of crackling blue energy rose through the floor, slicing up and ghosting through the ceiling. It bisected the hallway in two, closing off all connection between Pan and Abe and the Command Chamber.

The barrier was up.

Snowman did his job.

Heaving a raspy chuckled, Gram curled into himself and finally succumbed to the crippling fatigue. This was just the start and he knew it.

Hagur was now at war.



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Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Collab Post: Stay Put | Interactions: Snowman, Guards, Archer KatSea KatSea & Surprise Guest | Location: General Halls

Archer never wanted to admit that his nerves could get the better of him, especially when his freedom remained on the line and Snowbird expected him to help him get the job done. Yes, he had to admit, the prospect of returning him to the life he had grown so accustomed to was euphoric, was heavily desired and a pipe dream at best. But...standing here, knowing it could be done, so long as they did what Gram said. Stay put. Stay put and wait. Snowbird beside him was supposed to comfort his nerves, but he found the tenseness in his shoulders only growing. If they fucked up and he couldn’t keep the damned mute safe, everyone on board was fucking screwed. Perhaps a week ago, archer would have laughed at the prospect. But he grew to enjoy Snowman’s company and didn’t want to have to lose him to the increasing temperatures just yet. Whatever words Snowman spoke, as beautiful and rare as it was, seemed to pass through Archers head as it bobbed from side to side, bile building in his throat. “Yeah. A lot of fun, snowbird.”

Christ, was this the first time he felt disturbed by the flow of adrenaline through his veins? There used to be an odd satisfaction that came with the thought of possible violence, but something beyond the uniformity of prisoners, dressed the same, talk the same, within the same grey walls...but now there was something more to the excitement. Genuine horror. Archer bit back the plaque that threatened to climb from his throat to his tongue, coating his brain and infecting his thoughts. This wasn’t him in the moment. Or, perhaps, for the first time since he had breathed fresh air, it was.

And perhaps, that’s where the horror truly began.

Placing his hand gingerly on Snowman’s shoulder, he exhaled and turned to face the guard that had greeted them. Shit. Shit. Yeah, no shit they weren’t supposed to be here. But right now, Archer had to be prepared to make sure they stood goddamn put. Maneuvering himself in front of Snowman cautiously, he gave the guard a raised eyebrow and a shrug. “Oh? That so? We aren’t causing any trouble sirs.” A smile. No teeth shown, a simple upcurve of his lips. “Don’t think we are giving any problems here. Don’t you have, well, you know, something else to handle right now?”

The guards seemed horrifically unimpressed by Archer’s words, if their silence and stoic expressions were anything to go by. The guard who had spoke up earlier pointed blatantly at the Comms worn by Archer and Snowman, something grim sneaking into his tone. “Looks like you’re in possession of contraband, dogs. You’ve got five fucking seconds to hand all of that stuff over and explain where you got it from.”

Snowman’s mouth pinched into a thin line, a hard “nope” ringing clear in his features. Instead, the mute pranced a few steps in the other direction and bent over, hefting up an item so large that the guards audibly gasped and wondered how in the hell they hadn’t noticed it yet.

Snowman smiled while admiring the concussive sledgehammer. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, “These’re just toys.”

Both guards immediately shoved walkie talkies to their moves while waving over their fellow employees. “Hostiles! We’ve got ourselves hostiles!” Meanwhile, Snowman just looked at Archer again and shrugged. Eh--what would a little fun hurt? It was about to be a full on riot in Hagur soon enough.

“It’s no good contraband unless it’s cigarettes, boys.” Following Snowman’s lead, his left hand rested beside his hip where the katana lay, a grin rippling at his features. “What the snowbird sang, boys. Nothing more than something for us to have fun with.” Peering over at Snowman with his return of nonchalance, he returned the shrug and quickly unsheathed his weapon, a playful, almost ginger smile playing at his lips.

“Hostile is such a strong word, boys.” Eyeing both guards, Archer pinpointed the one who had questioned him previous, a glint of mischief playing behind his eyes. Quickly pouncing in the man’s direction, sword in hand, he drove it into the man’s exposed shoulder, satisfied by the scorching metal burning past his flesh and embedding itself into his body. With a slight jerk of the blade, Archer happily gave the weapon a yank from the guard, stepped back and marvelled at his work. Georgie didn’t dare cross his mind.

The sizzling of the guard’s flesh paled in comparison to his pained gurgling. A hand slapped over the cauterized wound as Archer ripped the blade free and fell back into his partner. The second held him up with some difficulty; grinding his teeth, he struggled to unsheathe his Blazer and shot blindly in Archer’s direction. The bulb of energy rocketed from its barrel, only to disperse into a flying net of electricity. The angry arcs missed Archer, while the few that passed him lashed out at an unsuspecting Snowman.

The mute yelped as red welts sprouted along his clavicle, the color standing out starkly against his pale complexion. Jesus--that stung! Brow furrowing, he called out to Archer, “Archer? Command me!” An indifferent misted rolled through his eyes. “Tell me to melt.” Just as those words left his lips, he spun around to focus on the second wave of guards rolling in, trapping him and Archer in the center of the hall, and raised the sledgehammer overhead.

“You shook like a blind man good sir!” Archer called out, his good humor immediately driven down his throat at the sound of the song bird yelping in pain. Eyes narrowing into slits of unfiltered rage, he swiftly reached out to activate the gauntlet cocooned around his forearm, holding it in front of him and Snowman. “Command you to do fucking what?” He hissed, confusion briefly taking over the anger. “Snowbird, I want you to fucking melt, alright?”

Seeing them in a tight spot, and eyes locking with Snowman’s attacker, Archers labored breathing soon became calm and collected. He rammed the goddamn blade deep into the man’s side, making sure to aim inches away from his pelvis, before using the momentum to pull himself closer with the next swing and thrust, landing firmly into the guards collar. With the blade at an angle, he swiftly thrust it from the body and made sure that the handle collided with the swaying man’s jaw before he tumbled. Archers form began to tremble ever so slightly, eyes clouding over. Foreign yet familiar. Rare yet an everyday reminder. “Who's next?”

The moment that word struck Snowman’s ears, a fog rolled over his conscience and all traces of emotion evaporate into thin air. The hammer came down with monstrous strength and slammed into the thin metal beneath their feet. At first, the ring of energy condensed around the weapon. In the next moment, it buzzed, then exploded outwards into a giant ring of concussive destruction.

The wall of guards closing in were easily thrown off their feet, a majority of them tumbling over the edges of the railing and hitting the floor below them with sickening thuds. All groaned in agony. Some didn’t move after that. However, there was still more pouring in, though the pair of inmates had far more wiggle room to work with this time.

Snowman advanced.

“The fuck…” Archer dulled considerably, shoulders slumped as he watched his (he dared say) friend advance and strike down a handful of guards with the weapon at hand. As...as badass as that felt, as awesome as it was, concern gathered at his throat. That wasn’t little snowbird was it? Eyes fluttering back and deciding to hold his concern on the backburner, Archer rushed for the still conscious yet wounded guard and slammed his shield upwards into his jaw, knocking his head back into the wall and with a satisfied grunt, watched him slump to the floor. Swiveling on his heel, Archer once again advanced towards one of the upcoming guards, slashing horizontally and barely scraping the scorching hot sword across the man’s chest.

The searing of flesh sliced the air, but not nearly as deep as the gash Archer left behind in the guard’s torso. He heaved a bubbling cough and back peddled, palming shakily at the wound. His stumbling gave way to a sharp falling backwards as his back smacked into the rails, flipping over the edge. With a desperate yelp, he snagged out to snag metal, just barely holding his weight and dangling. He glanced fearfully at the level below him; his fellow guards had either died or suffered injuries from the fall, he refused to be next on that growing list.

A pathetic sheen of wetness filled his eyes as he stared at Archer pleadingly. “H-help! Help me! Please!” He stuck out a shaky, bloodied hand.

Meanwhile, Snowman’s sledgehammer was emitting a weak whir, trying to recharge in preparation for another concussion wave. That wasn’t a problem for him. Not in the slightest. Without pause, he watched as another guard sprinted forward with a baton raised and met him head on. With a heavy swing, the mute smashed his hammer into the man’s wrist and a sharp snap could be heard, the baton falling from the guard’s mutilated hand. Before he could utter a yelp, the same blow was delivered to his side and a ripple of fire exploded up the man’s ribs. He keeled over with a cough before falling over completely.

So many more to go--

“Archer? Archer!”

Snowman froze.

Then slowly turned towards the new voice, eyes dull and predatory. His sights locked onto a face unlike the guards, though she was still wearing a Hagur uniform. A nurse uniform. Nurse Patrov braced herself with the rail, standing at the very end of the hall and enduring the wave of bodies bumping into her.

With a huff, Patrov shoved the guards off of her and tried to call out to the inmate again. “The hell are you doing?! Stand down before they kill you!” She had sought out Archer initially as a foolish… and highly illogical final option, having nowhere else to go in the thick of chaos. Why did she? What reason did she have? As far as her frazzled mind could grasp--which was next to nothing--she had no clue.

However, her thoughts smacked into a brick wall as she saw Snowman draw closer, his sledgehammer blazing once more with energy. As far as his clouded mind was concerned, she was another addition to the body count. The mute set off into a run straight for her.

Eyes widening, Patrov staggered back, fear bubbling through her being.

Archers eyes narrowed as he watched the man he had sliced threatened to fall into the abyss below, his eyes pleading and red as he called out for his help. Archers chest tensed and coiled, shock flooding through him as Georgie’s voice echoed through his skull. Lips parting as her cries increased in volume in his ears, pounding and sloshing with the increased slamming of his heartbeat. Without a coherent thought in his head, Archer reached forward and grasped the hand of the fallen guard, recalling Abe. Recalling Bungee. Recalling the damn popularity contest that got him here in the first place. This man was more than likely going to kill him. But he couldn’t stand to hear Georgie’s sobs and pleas in his ears. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

With a hidden strength Archer was surprised to find, he thrusted his arm back and pulled the man to the platform, a pant huffing at his lips. “You try and touch me and I’ll slice your neck with this.” He hissed, forehead beginning to become slick with sweat. Taking a deep breath, Archers head snapped violently in realization that a familiar voice called out to him, a mischievous grin threatening to spill out along his cheeks as the imaginary cries ceased.

“Hey there sweetcheeks didn’t realize you’d miss…” Archer gave her a light shrug at the idea of him being killed, although his tension changed the instant he saw fear cross along her face, his eyes darting to a racing snowman. Archer wasn’t sure if it was
adrenaline or just luck, but his feet sprung off from the ground, and with a brief sprint he slammed into Snowman, locking his arms firmly around the man to keep him from going any further. “Snowbird no no no, stop. Not her okay? She’s not gonna hurt us, snowbird freeze…”

Air rushed from Snowman’s lungs as he smacked front first to the floor, metal biting into his skin through the jumper. At first, his body slumped under the surprise old, as if his brain was registering the new circumstances and calculating his next action, before tensing in Archer’s hold. His dead gaze snapped up, immediately latching onto his target Nurse Patrov.

With a violent burst of strength, he wrangled and fought to free himself of the pin, but it wasn’t quite enough. And yet, he continued to struggle. Continued to stare Patrov down like his awaited prey.

“Crazy… He’s damn crazy…” the woman breathed. She turned around, looking for a means of escape, only to realize miserably that the sea of guards were blocking every exit. She had nowhere else to go. Just as her mind scrambled for another option, she saw another guard raise his Blazer, aiming at the downed prisoners. “No!” She moved as fast as her legs could, clearing the distance in under a second, and grabbed hold of the guard’s arms. Despite her efforts, she was just a fraction of a second too slow.

Electricity pooled over Archer and Snowman.

Attempting to raise the shield up towards the man’s jaw to incapacitate him, Archer missed by an inch as instead his arm came to rise over head, protecting the two from the electric shock that sizzled over head. “Not crazy doc! Melted! Hey, Snowman, see those guys over there? Go get em!” Shuffling him in the direction of the new guards, Archer shoved him gingerly towards the new folk. Quickly scampering to his feet, he hopped over to Patrov and held up whatever weak remains of his shield stood. “So you come here often doc~”

Smack!

Patrov’s hand came clean across Archer’s cheek.

“No! I don’t! In fact, I try not to come out here when a fucking fight to the death is unfolding and yet, here I am.” She tried to steady her breathing, the agitated red easing from her cheeks slowly but surely. Clearing her throat, she then added on in a more level tone, “And I apologize. That was a panic slap.”

Her gaze strayed over to Snowman wearily, watching the mute slink over to the mass of guards. Once more, he raised his hammer and brought it down, another wave sending several guards flying back and over the rails, a shower of bodies slapping into metal. Less than a third of the guards remained in comparison to when the fight began and all who were left found themselves hovering several feet away. Most of them considered cutting their losses and fleeing, not exactly keen on the idea of dying just for the detainment of two rogue prisoners. Murmurs and panicked whispers exploded around the trio--

Creeeak….

A long groan emitted from the platform, metal finally beginning to buckle from the constant concussive abuse. A particularly large dent located near one end of the hall, the one near the entrance in which Gram and his team pass through, heaved another groan. With a sudden snap, it bent into itself and the floor dipped sharply. A few unlucky guards tumbled over the edge and only the guard that Archer sparred remained, his clench firm but weakinging on the rails.

Snowman proved to be far quicker than the guards. His hand snapped out to steady himself, watching his targets descend emotionlessly. Unlike him, Patrov’s reflexes were far from honed and she expelled a scream at the sudden loss of balance. Her feet slipped out from under her and tumbled forward where long drop awaited her.

A red light flooded the area.

Security Breach… Security Breach… Security Breach…

“Ow! Fuck woman that was...reeeeally fucking hot. Ow…” Archer clamped his free hand over his cheek, making sure that his weapon was properly sheathed. “Look, doc I’m sorry, genuinely I am, I was uh, not expecting this much chaos in this short period of time.” Archers brow pinched as he frowned. “Nothing to make you hurt, Doc, but we sort of had to do this. Nothing personal. Why didn’t you stay in the infirmary huh?”

Peering back at Snowman, eyes suddenly wide with rare horror, Archer held his hands up as if to protest, before the floor beneath them shook and cracked...miraculously, Archer planted his feet firm and kept himself from wobbling over the edge, but the moment he heard the nurse scream…

His hands immediately lunged for her waist, securely wrapping around her and pulling her back towards him with a cheeky grin. “So uh, if I told you you had a nice body there doc, would you hold it against me?” A pause. He let go of her and cleared his throat. “You peachy?”

Having her body suddenly yanked back from a free fall almost made her wonder if she would suffer whiplash. Instead, she found herself enduring the annoying awkwardness of Archer’s arm around her waist, though she couldn’t overlook the gratitude. Patrov rolled her eyes and once she was released, she adjusted her top accordingly, all while keeping one hand available to grip the rails. She blew some rogue waves of hair out of her face. “Your timing for all of these horrific pickup lines is amazing--truly.” Regardless, she gave the man a reassuring pat on the arm and nodded. “I’m fine. I’m fine, just… Dear gods, I need a vacation after this. Or raise. No, both.” She sighed. “What about your violent friend? Is he peachy? Aside from this apparent need to bash my skull in.”

Snowman continued to stand and watch the guards writhe in agony below, before slowly turning his attention to the last survivor. The guard was still clenching his slash wound and hanging on for dear life. The mute approached cautiously, maintaining balance the whole way until he was towering over him. Sweat rolled down the staff member’s face, eyes so wide that his eyeballs could fall out of their sockets.

“P-... please,” he begged. “I got a kid! T-two!”

Snowman couldn’t bring himself to care. He raised the hammer again and brought it down to smash the guard into pieces--

A crackle emitted through his Comm. Gram’s voice immediately followed and poured into his ears. “S… Snowman…” In an instant, the sledgehammer fell from his grasp, humanity and awareness filled his eyes, and a concerned frown pulled at his lips.

“Gram? Gram, w-why do you sound like that? Are you alright? Did it work? Where are--”

“Stop. Stop!” Gram interrupted. A wet cough traveled between them, which just widened the gap caving his chest in two. Regardless, he quieted down and listened. “Listen… Do it now. R-right… Right now.” Something was wrong. It was obvious. Snowman could tell. Gram’s natural pauses were never this choppy, never this strained and exhausted.

His voice shook. “Okay… Okay. I know what to do. You promise y-you’ll come right through that door?”

Gram chuckled. He loved that laugh--so why did it pain him so much all of a sudden? “Yeah… I’m gonna be there. I don’t… I never lie to you. I’m alright.” Snowman didn’t believe him, but he had no choice but to do just that. They were in a time crunch. Lives and freedom were on the line. Eyes stinging and feeling as if cotton was being shoved down his throat, he nodded and their line cut off with static. He looked back down at the guard, but no longer had a single interest in him. The mute retracted the touchscreen from his jumper pocket and with a few swipes and single press of the finger…

Fwoom!

The blue barrier sliced through all of Hagur, bisecting it straight down the middle in two. The sounds of footsteps echoed down the hall leading into the Command Chamber, signaling the group’s approach. It was okay. Everything was okay. In the next moment, Gram would emerge with Pan and Abe right behind him, just as he promised.

Snowman looked over his shoulder back at Archer and Patrov. “They’re coming! It’s done!” Of course, as long as they made sure to jump over the dip his sledgehammer created.

Just as he said this, every single cell on the ship unlocked themselves and millions of prison bars rattled, sliding open to release the world’s worst criminals.



Tags: Elle Joyner Elle Joyner , CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay
 
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CloudyBlueDay

consistently inconsistent
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I check as often as I can.
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Realistic/Modern, Magic, Scifi, Romance
Genre You DON'T Like
I am generally not a huge fan of RPing Fandom, but it can depend.
Prose and Cons
With Mobley Eats Mobley Eats

The peace was enjoyable, a rarity that he did his best to revel in. Hagur always scared him… No, petrified him. Not merely because of the faces upon faces surrounding him at all sides, a horrific story hidden them. Nor was it because of the vile guards with their vile sneers and horrendous hatred towards him and his… kind.

No, none of that terrified him the way he did. What could one do when their worst fear was themselves? Not a dark side or latent half of his personality. Not his past or a single moment that marked the end of his humanity. Just… him. He was frightened by himself.

But, at the very least, this little book could distract him from that. If only momentarily. Quiet and solitude; one of those two words usually never bode well with him, but considering his mother had all but vanished and his best friend was in a coma, Bombay had no choice but to deal with it. It helped somewhat to bury himself in a world of make believe. Believe himself to be the charming little protagonist living out his adventure in ink. Morality in check. A symbol of something just and right. Today, Bombay was that person. He couldn’t bare to think otherwise.

The scrawny teen gave pause to lower his book into his lap and timidly adjust his wide-rimmed circle glasses. That bomb had left some sort of lingering effect in his vision. Nothing too bad, but there was a difference now. He could tell. The mass murderer curled into his little corner of the Hagur Library, grip white-knuckle tight on the book and wide eyes glassy with an innate deadness. He missed his mom and friend. Should he visit them? Go to mom’s cell? Dudley’s bed? No… No, no, that was too scary. He hated the infirmary. He wouldn’t make it two steps inside.

This train of thought made the inside of his skull itch. No good.

Bombay curled into a tighter ball and continued reading.

River hadn’t been here long enough to locate every safe space. Or any, really. But there came a point where he felt he couldn’t hide behind Bahram forever, even though he’d really like too. Besides, he needed a place to… digest, for a little while. Collect himself. At least, try too.

The library… was quiet. Dauntingly quiet, but River would give anything to allow a different world to swallow him whole right about now. And this seemed like the closest he could get.

He picked the first book with a pretty cover, but it was some sort of murder mystery with a rather violent depiction as its opener and…. River closed it quickly. He stood to find another book, maybe something fantasy… sci fi… anything but real. He didn’t want real. He wanted fake, la la land, a picture perfect place. Honestly? A picture book would do.

Until he saw Bombay. River paused, unsure of what to say. So much had transpired between him and Hana and… Dudley. In fact, he hadn’t seen enough of Hana lately… and Bombay, alone, it didn’t mean good things.

“Hi,” He said meekly, wiggling his fingers in greeting.

Bombay almost didn’t register the greeting, far too submerged in the story to believe that any voice aside from the gruff one of a guard’s would ever come his way. It took a handful of seconds for the realization to hit and when it did, he blinked at the pages. Several times. The motion so quick that it couldn’t have been anything else but involuntary. Cautiously, he glanced up, only to immediately press further into his corner and curl into himself like a turtle.

Book tucked safely within the confines of his lap, Bombay scrambled to measure his breathing and formulate words at once. Dual thinking. Dual thinking was so hard. But it was just one word. That was all he had to utter; it was so achingly simple. Awkwardly, he glanced around the library in search of another face. Surely, there was a mistake. Why was this person talking to him? No… No, no, he knew who he was. Hana spoke about him. All the time.

“I…” His voice was a step below squeaky, fragile to an almost pitiful degree. Bombay pointed to himself unsurely. “...Me?”

River was just as stumped by the boy’s answer, pausing for a moment to digest. “...Yes?” He forgot that not everyone was as friendly as the group of people he had been lucky enough to align himself with. “..You. U-uhuh.”

“...Oh.” Bombay gulped, his mind racing a million miles an hour. He didn’t have the slightest clue what to do next, though the answer should’ve been obvious. Say hey back and let it die off from there. Simple. Easy.

That sounded like the hardest task in the world.

He fidgeted in his spot for a moment, gaze glued to River like a cornered prey, before allowing himself to stand up. Slowly. Hesitantly. He was now clutching the book to his chest. “Um… Uhuh.” His features pinched. No, that was what River said. He mimicked the wrong thing. Earlier than that. Earlier. “H… Hi?” Okay, he was back on track. This was going just fine. Not like his legs were gradually turning into jelly or his heartbeat was steadily increasing in tempo. Bombay could handle this without Hana. He swore he could.

River blinked, slowly beginning to understand how separate Bombay’s presence was when he wasn’t with Hana. “You don’t h-have to stand,” He murmured, waving his hand dismissively, “I just… wanted to ask a-about Hana? And… Dudley?” Guilt laced his tongue and made it heavy. If Bombay was alone like this, it didn’t mean good things. “I… haven’t seen her.”

Whatever iota of normalcy Bombay fought so hard to grasp slipped through his fingers. His demeanor shifted from one of tepid civility to something shaky. Far more shaky. His eyes latched to his feet and with rigid movement, he stepped back until his back gently met the wall. “She… She’s not… I-I don’t…” A wheeze rattled his lungs. “They’re not h-here, so… I don’t--can’t see them or… or…”

He pressed his knuckles into an eye, trying to smother the heat building behind them and inhaled once. Sharply. Then forced himself to exhale slowly. “S-... sorry,” he whispered.

River was stunned by the amount of anxiety radiating off of Bombay. He could sense that all he was doing was making it worse, especially when he himself was so prone to tears. It was strange. Like looking in a very, very uncomfortable mirror.

“N-no, uh, I-.. I-I’m sorry. It’s o-okay. I’ll just… L-look, I’ll go now, alright? S-sorry to bother you.” River said, taking a stumbling step backwards, nearly tripping over his own two feet. He shoved the book he’d been carrying onto the nearest shelf and headed for the
exit.

“No! I-I just…” Bombay’s protests fell flat, his parted lips clamming shut once more with defeat as he watched River leave. There was relief; of course there was. He no longer had to uphold conversation with a stranger and yet, at the same time, the loneliness nagged at his nerves like a flesh eating virus. He shuffled over to the nearest table and sat down, the book within his hands forgotten.

”All available staff hands, call to attention. All available staff hands, call to attention. This is a Code Blue. I repeat, this is a Code Blue. All units launch into search parties immediately. Crate #ZH450. Crate #ZH450. I repeat. All available staff hands…”

A voice blared through the intercoms overhead, crackling with static, urgency, and bitterness. It was followed immediately by a series of clangs rumbling throughout the ceiling and walls, as if something was moving within them. Lowering.

“Code Blue? Are you shitting me?” A guard located near the library exit cursed under his breath, the agitation behind his voice climbing as he saw the metal gates slide down the door frame. Another guard was seated near him, seeming a tad more relaxed than his employer but sporting just as much annoyance in his visage.

“So much for a lunch break,” he grumbled. “The actual hell’s going on…? How long they’re gonna have us stuck in here?”

“Mr. Bourbon, asking all the right questions, folks…” The guard ignored the middle finger Bourbon shot his way, his attention drawn to River’s approaching form. He immediately shot a hand up, form tense and unyielding, “Hey! Sit down, dog! You don’t hear that, huh? We’re on lockdown, so you’re not going anywhere.”

“Whoa, whoa. Clyde, hold on,” Bourbon interrupted while scrutinizing River. Slowly, he stood, hands resting on his waist belt, fingers on a Blazer. He slowly walked up to the prisoner, a smile of disbelief pulled at his grizzly features. “I know your whiny little face… You dished out the first kill last round. The redneck shithead, wasn’t it? Yeah? You did him in.” His smile waned a bit. “...I had my money set on Buck.”

River could hear Bombay’s short cry of protest, but he didn’t stop. He kept moving forward. He didn’t know how to comfort Bombay, and he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable; no, but maybe he could go find Hana, and alert her to his state? He didn’t want to see him so distraught, especially not over him, but…

Then the blaring began. The terrifying message, the clangs, the gates slamming shut in such a menacing way it made River jump. A whimper escaped his throat the moment the guards stood and began to shout, and he immediately moved backwards, glancing frantically behind him to find some place to run. He could feel the two pairs of eyes staring into his soul, one a little worse than the other, and River held his breath.

Chills raced down his spine at the mention of the round. It haunted his every waking moment, just like every other face he had… seen grow cold. His fragile frame trembled, despite the fact that the guard spoke every truth. River’s hands rose in surrender.

“I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorry,” He choked out. Pale as a ghost.

“Lip service, kid,” Bourbon chuckled while shaking his head. He massaged the back of his neck and rolled it around, relinquishing a few pops. “If you’re not female and got a pretty face, I’m not interested in any of that coming from you. You wanna apologize?” He moved in even closer, ignoring the significant drop in River’s complexion. He rubbed his fingers together expectantly. “You better look into paying me back.”

“Both of us,” Clyde piped up from behind, his expression beyond smug and entertained.

Bourbon rolled his eyes. “Right. Whatever. Point is, if I were you, kid? I’d look into figuring out how to compensate for all the bullshit you caused, yeah? And figure it out soon.”

River’s stomach twisted endlessly into knots. Every part of his body trembled under the intimidating stances of the two guards. Pay them back? Compensate? He could barely keep his head above water between the Dog Fights and Wick and Fritz. Now… with the guards out to get him? He’d be dead by nightfall if he didn’t get out of his library.

“I-I d...d-don’t have any m-m-money.” River whispered.

“No shit, genius,” Bourbon scoffed, another laugh escaping him. Roughly, he clapped River on the back and leaned down to mutter, “We know that, dumbass, but there’re other ways.” Slowly, he raised a finger to poke River in the stomach, a single and harsh jab. “You know how good our medical center is… Top notch supplies. Top notch surgeons.” His head tilted in tandem with a grin. “I bet a young, healthy wimp like you could afford to give up a few organs, right? You know what people on Earth pay for that? I know a guy who’d be damn happy to make business.”

His body lurched forward at the harsh slap on the back, sweat beading on his forehead and bile rising in his throat. River was terrified, and how lucky he was so get ambushed like this during the one time he had decided willingly to be away from his only form of protection. Who was here to save him? No one. Bombay wouldn’t even lift a finger. The jab into his stomach elicited another, louder whimper, eyes furrowing shut as his breathing quickened. Vivid images arose in his mind, of his body, hollowed out, filled with holes like swiss cheese. On Dante’s table, eyes cold like the rest.

“N-n-no, please,” He begged, voice cracking. “A-anything else, p-please. Y-y-you c-c-could b-bet o-on m-me f-for the n-next r-round!” As his tone rose with urgency, he tried to inch himself away from the guards, arms wrapped protectively around himself to prevent further invasion.

Bourbon released River without much hassle, smile widening further as the boy practically crumbled from his words alone. “How did a chicken shit like you kill someone anyway,” he wondered before shooting Clyde a look. The other man was busying himself at the coffee machine, filling up a small cup for himself while unleashing cackles under his breath.

“Kid’s better off giving lip service, after all. Why not give him the option, man? You swing both ways and you damn well know it.”

“I’ll shoot you in the dick. Shut up,” Bourbon grumbled. His gaze snapped back over to River. “Afraid I can’t do that, kid.” He placed his hands on his hips, heaving a tired sigh. “With the groups you’re up against? You’ve got no fucking chance. Best to cut your losses now and give up that kidney, yeah?”

Clyde sipped his coffee, letting a shiver of content run down his spine, before placing it down and retracting his Blazer. Just the tiniest glimmer entered his eyes as he approached the pair. “Why’re you wasting your time negotiating with a dog, man? We could just take ‘em by force--”

“Lower that shit, idiot,” Bourbon sighed while pushing the gun down with his hand and glaring at Clyde. “That’s a fucking Tribute. You can’t kill one without Romana’s permission, remember?” Grumbling, Clyde sat back down, tossing the Blazer a little ways over like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Whatever,” he muttered, “Just don’t let me die of boredom in here.”

River’s breath caught in his throat as Clyde pointed the blazer at him. It stunned River how easily it was for the man to raise the weapon. Like it meant nothing. Like his life, every life on this ship meant nothing, and the only thing that protected him was the fact that he’d been slated for death in another, much more gruesome form. His breath was stuck in his throat, only until the Blazer was placed nonchalantly on the table.

His opportunity.

“I-I need my k-k-kidneys t-to f-fight in the n-next r-r-round,” River whispered, inching ever so slowly towards the table, but he wasn’t.. the sneakiest.

“Does it look like I’m dying to see you fight in the next round?” Bourbon didn’t pay River’s motion much mind, though his eyes were trained on the young man. “Hell, if you did lose a kidney, it’d help me out in the long run. Take you out of the pool and my earnings are guaranteed.”

However, it was Clyde that took note of the odd shuffling and he was quick to jump to his feet, brow set in a hard pinch. He closed the distance in an instant and glared down at River. “Keep where you are while we’re talking to you, dog. You don’t have any common sense, huh?”

River shrunk quickly under Clyde’s presence closing in. “S-sorry, s-s-sir,” River whispered, head lowered, trying to slow his breathing as it threatened to escape him. Think, River, think. If he got his hands on the Blazer… that was all he needed. If he didn’t… he’d either lose a kidney in this very room or lose his entire life in the games. And, as horrible as that sounded, he preferred the latter. At least there was a fighting shot there. “I-I j-just.. I think y-your c-coffee m-m-machine is o-overflowing.”

“What?” Bourbon looked at River as if he’d grown a second head. “...Are you fucking play with us, huh? You really think we’re stupid?” At the last word, one hand shot out to meet River in the chest with a shove. “Is that it? Say it to my face, killer! Go ahead! I dare you!”

“What a fucking idiot,” Clyde cackled from behind while shaking his head, wiping tears from his eyes as he enjoyed the show. “We’ve been working here for years, small fry. You gotta do better than an overflowing coffee machi--”

A loud crash.

Wasted coffee pooled all over the floor and around the fallen coffee machine, bits of glass and metal splattered everywhere. The mess spread out, further and further…

It skimmed the edges of Bombay’s boots. The mass murderer shook from head to toe, wide eyes glistening behind his glasses as he switched his gaze between the guards. “Uh… U-uh, I’m sorry,” he stuttered.

“The actual fuck!” Clyde seized Bombay by the collar of his jumper, the rage flowing through him so great that the veins in his neck bulged.

He stumbled back at the shove, eyes wide with fear. He was done for now. Yep. Over. Kidneys, goodbye. Oh, god, he was going to die up here. He was finally going to die. Alone, without any of his friends, his only true friends and they’d take him apart piece by piece until there wasn’t even a body to…

Crash!

River’s eyes bugged out of his head. Again. Further. The sight of the coffee pot shattering against the ground registered, and then Bombay standing behind it. Bombay. Bombay had… had rescued him! His heart jumped, and then.. Plunged all over as Clyde’s great hand seized Bombay. Now he had to rescue him.

River dove for the Blazer. He would stay in control this time. The Blazer was in his hands, no one else’s. Not Dante’s. Not Fritz’s.

River pointed it at Clyde’s head. “P-put. Him. D-down.” Though his hands shook, there was something firm about the direction the Blazer was pointing. “..Y-you know I h-hit b-b-between the eyes.”

A whimper shook Bombay to the core as he slammed his eyes shut, prepared to take the beating of lifetime… Only for River’s voice to reach his ears. The grip around his collar momentarily tightened, the fabric constricting his throat painfully, before it dropped altogether. Bombay immediately scurried back while cradling his abused neck and heaving a few coughs, looking between his fellow prisoner and the guard.

Slowly, ever so cautiously, Clyde turned to face River with both hands raised. “...You’ve made the wrong fucking move, dog,” he seethed.

Then came the whirring buzz of another Blazer.

“Well, I don’t know about between the eyes…” Bourbon leveled his own Blazer onto River, eyes harder than steel. “But I think a head shot’s good enough to put your sorry ass down. Drop it!” he barked. Bombay could’ve sworn his heart was about to come galloping out of his own chest. Oxygen was depleting, faster and faster by the second, and sweat poured down his body like a babbling brooke. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t see straight. But he had to do something…

He couldn’t.

They were trapped in a high risk standoff.

River never took his finger off the trigger. Not for a moment. Not even when Bourbon pointed his Blazer in his direction. This had to end. He couldn’t be pushed around anymore… and he refused to die on the operating table. There had to be something he could do. River glanced at Bombay, the fear pouring off of him. Something. Anything....

Internally, he apologized.

In one moment, River was pointing the Blazer at Clyde. The next, straight at Bombay. “Y-you shoot me… I shoot him. And then… R-Romana. Shoots. You.” River growled through clenched teeth. “T-two dead tributes… b-bad for business.”

Bombay gasped and froze the moment River’s aim landed on him. Pure confusion and betrayal struck him like a bolt of lightning, the sentiment so strong and sudden that he feared his own legs would give out. It was a miracle in itself that he managed to maintain control of his bladder. “Wha… W-what’re you…?”

“Shit!” Clyde growled while looking at Bourbon, sweat of his own sprouting along his face and soaking the collar of his uniform. The audacity of these mutts was unbelievable but River was right--two Tributes dying outside of the Dog Fights would prove to be catastrophic. If the Warden caught whiff of this… they’d be floating space ash before either of them could blink.

Bourbon’s trigger finger flinched, the nerves within him buzzing with turmoil. He stared River down--hard. “...You… You fucking…” He grit his teeth. “Fine! We lower our weapons at the same time. Either take it or I shoot you anyway.”

“The fuck!” Clyde hissed at his partner, face boiling red with annoyance. However, any further protest from him died as Bourbon shot him a fiery glare, a silent command to shut his yap before he did it for him.

River’s gaze scrutinized Bourbon, trying to tell if the man was lying. But he couldn’t see any other way that this would end well for the two… and River didn’t want to kill anyone. Not ever again…

“We put our weapons down… a-and we pretend this… d-didn’t happen.” River said slowly. “My… f-fellow tribute and I…. will go to the back of the l-library. Y-you’ll stay u-up front. And w-we won’t t-talk. We w-won’t say anything a-about this.”

A short pause… Then, Bourbon nodded. “Deal.” Without ripping his gaze from River, he lowered his own Blazer but refused to let it hit the floor until the prisoner’s weapon did as well. All the while, Bombay continued to tremble like a life, while Clyde remained rooted in place, skewering River with his harsh glare.

River lowered his Blazer as well. He tried to stare Bourbon down with the same intensity, tried to the best of his ability, as his only line of defense slowly met the ground.

Having River’s weapon meet the floor was like a trigger, setting off multiple things all at once. Suddenly, a sharp and booming siren filled the library as bulbous lights emerged from the ceiling, dousing the chamber in a looping red light.

Security Breach… Security Breach… Security Breach…

At the same moment, Clyde shot forward like a bullet in an attempt to tackle River; however, the unexpected alarm forced his gaze up, if only for a fraction of a moment, and that span of time was more than enough to slow him down and smack into the corner of a table.

Meanwhile, Bourbon scrambled to gather his gun once more and swung it around to unleash a round on Bombay. A stray beam of crimson nailed him in the eyes milliseconds before pulling the trigger and growled as the ball of electricity missed the teenager’s head by a few inches, leaving behind a giant scorch mark and kindling flames on the books behind him. Bombay yelped while covering his head and making a mad dash for the other side of the shelf. “R-River!” he yelled out, hoping that the fellow Tribute would take cover with him.

Everything exploded at once. He should’ve expected it would. The flashing lights, the blaring noise.. Clyde lunged and River scrambled, slipping away just in time to avoid the guard’s attack. He almost paused to laugh at the sight of the man slamming into the table, but there wasn’t time for that. His head perked up at the sound of Bombay calling him, and on his way to take cover, River grabbed the Blazer he had placed on the ground, diving to duck behind the shelf with his fellow inmate.

The adrenaline was fading far faster than it came and Bombay could’ve sworn he was running on jelly legs coated with lead. Breathing shallow and erratic, he kept hastily glancing behind him to keep the guards in sight while struggling to keep up with River. Running. Another glance back. More running. Two more glances back. Glancing and gasping for air and wanting nothing more than to curl up next to Hana and cry until his eyes bled--

Another gasp ripped from his lungs as his body gave out, all energy evacuating his limbs as he crumbled to his hands and knees. Oh god, not now--anything but now. Shakily, he palmed and scratched at the floor, as if he was trying to dig his way out to freedom. Colors and blobs and shapes and voices--the voices. He couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t.

Clyde’s footsteps grew alarmingly closer, each thud heavy and frightening as he ran. Just as the guard was about to pass Bombay in pursuit of River, he desperately snagged onto the man’s legs, throwing off his balance and forcing him to the ground. “You sonuva!” With a growl, Clyde’s boot slammed into the young prisoner’s face and he grinned smugly as a pained whimper escaped him. As soon as he was released, he started clambering back to his feet again, eyes set on River.

Meanwhile, Bourbon sprinted along the other side of the same bookshelf, catching glimpses of River’s form through the gaps and empty book slots, his Blazer in hand. However, his form was built for strength rather than speed and found himself losing sight of the prisoner. He stopped in the middle of the isle, breathing hard as his mind fought tooth and nail on deciding what to do next. “Come out and fight me, you little shit!” he yelled.

Piercing the ferocity of his yell were the clangs once again. In the distance, the same metal gates heaved a groan, then jerked, before they unlocked and slowly started rising up once more. An orchestra of cheers and rowdy yelling echoed down the halls and filtered into the library, as if a riot had broken out. A riot so loud that it had to have carried the voices of hundreds of men.

Hundreds of prisoners.

Bourbon looked at the odd occurrence, his brow sweaty and furrowed. However, the realization struck him a heartbeat later and another curse swam under his breath.

The security breach. It couldn’t have been anything else.

Chaos. Everything had devolved into chaos. He’d come into the library for peace and gotten barely a second of it. The guards… fire… suddenly, the gates went up and a chorus of shouts made their way into the burning library.

They could get out.

There was an escape, but he couldn’t reach it yet. Both guards were looking just about ready to ignore the rule against killing a tribute, and River ran like hell to avoid them despite the taunting chants reaching his ears from both guards. The only thing that made him skid to a halt was the sound of Clyde allowing his boot to meet Bombay’s face.

Anger boiled within him. What made a person so sick and twisted to enjoy the mess that this prison was? To bet on the lives of others and throw them in the dirt? People were cruel and they always would be. There was no way around it anymore. He had to fight back.

River turned and leveled Clyde’s own Blazer right at him, aiming for the man’s leg, and fired.

Clyde’s eyes widened faster than his body could move. Desperately, he tried to jump aside and dodge the deadly ball of lightning, only for a nerve-crippling pain to rip up his leg and spreading through the rest of his body like a forest fire. With a strained yell, the guard fell over once more, his leg trembling, and covered with burn marks and blisters.

The moment he was down, the man grunted as a weight crashed on top of him. Bombay flailed helplessly against the larger man, struggling to make out the reality before him through the tears rolling down his face. Clyde sneered before seizing the boy by the collar again and with a snap forward, smashed their foreheads together. Bells and ringing and exploding white lights exploded all around Bombay, rolling off the man in a daze. “Fucking KIDS!” he yelled, his rage rivaling that of a wild animal. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, only to buckle and falter. He pushed up again, this time gaining some motivation and strength--

Smack!

Darkness.

Clyde flopped like a lifeless bag of meat as his baton cracked into the back of his head, completely unconscious. Heaving shaky sobs and gasps, Bombay dropped the stolen weapon and frantically sprinted behind River while trying to spot Bourbon. Unfortunately, both parties were blind on their ends. Well--mostly.

“I said come out!”
It was Bourbon’s yelling alone that they had left. The lone guard was still on the other side of that shelf, that much was obvious. The fire from before had grown--incredibly fast--eating up the vast collection of stories and paper all around, crawling along the mahogany frame…

“R… River,” Bombay hissed as lowly as he dared. Quivering hands rested on the shelf, thin arms rigid with tension as he looked pointedly at the fellow Tribute.

He needed his help.

River flinched at the sight of Clyde’s body meeting the ground. It almost hurt, to smell the burnt flesh wafting through the room, mixing with the growing smoke and flames. He levelled the Blazer again, prepared to take another shot if necessary, holding firm at the guard’s outcry, before Bombay lunged. The sickening crack made River jump, biting down on his lip. So much blood… so much pain.

A cough threatened to rip through his lungs but he held it to the best of his ability. Eyes watery, but gaze clear, River shoved the Blazer into his jumpsuit pocket and turned to Bombay, nodding firmly. He wanted it to stop. The torture. The constant fear. He locked eyes with Bombay, placing his hands on the bookshelf with a firm nod. He inhaled deeply, preparing to topple with all his might. “..Push.”

At River’s call, he and Bombay pushed the shelf with every ounce of strength they had. At first, it didn’t seem to budge in the slightest, as if it was bolted to the floor all along. Bombay’s muscles burned, threatened to snap by the fibers under the foreign stress, before a long and withering groan reached their eyes.

The shelf wobbled, tilting forward ever so slightly one degree at a time.

Then, the tipping point. Books slipped through the shelf like an avalanche and the only sound to escape Bourbon was a scream cut short and lightning burning fruitlessly at the shower of paperback. Wind and feeling evacuated his body as it was buried under the pile of books--

His consciousness fled with it the moment the shelf itself crashed over him, a booming thud echoing through the sweltering chamber. A mess of paper and wood and kindling fire.

There wasn’t a single stir from underneath.

Bombay stared at the chaos he and River created, dumbfounded and shocked into silence, before looking at him. His lips parted to speak, to say anything, only for a bubbling gag to jump in the back of his throat. His body heaved, followed by vomit spewing from his mouth and splattering the floor before him. The bile burned horrendously. His tears more so.

Once the bookshelf was falling, once it didn’t need to be pushed anymore, once it toppled and crushed the guard beneath it with a deafening thud, River was still. Unmoving. Flames rose around them, dancing on the edges of the bookcases and eating away at the words in the pages now reduced to ash. The orange fire flickered in the reflection of River’s brown eyes. He was still, and he did not move. Looking someplace else.

Not until Bombay keeled over. River jolted, like someone had snapped their fingers in front of his face. A comforting hand met Bombay’s back, brows tilting with sympathy. “It’s okay.” River whispered. “W-we’re okay. But we —“ The cough he had tried to avoid ripped out of him, leaving River hacking into the crook of his elbow. “W-we have to go.”

Sloppily, Bombay raised an arm and swiped it across his eyes and mouth, leaving behind a stained mess. The motion didn’t help much, not in the slightest, but it was better than continuously staining his boots with chunks and acid. Sucking in a ragged breath, Bombay tried to adjust his glasses, before discarding them completely. That kid had thoroughly broken the frames; he was lucky enough that the glass hadn’t shattered or else he’d be blind and bleeding by now. Fingers curled tightly into the fabric covering his sore stomach. “Okay, o-okay, o…” His diaphragm lurched with a voiceless sob. “S-sorry.”

Bombay latched into River’s wrist before either of them could register the motion, but he made no matter to regret it nor let go. This was a stranger, but he was loved by Hana and that would have to be enough for the teen until further notice. He wanted to get out of here.

River looked down at the vice grip that Bombay held around his wrist. He studied it for a moment, like it was something foreign. But it didn’t scare him. All he did was look back up to meet Bombay’s eyes with his own. Growing redder and wetter but still reflecting the flames, River parted his lips. “Y..you don’t have to apologize to me. N-not… not ever.” He said firmly, nodding. His gaze was drawn to Clyde’s limp body on the floor, and without breaking their hold, River bent down to retrieve the baton.

“L-let’s go,” He hissed, tugging on his wrist to urge Bombay to start running with him to the exit.

Bomboy followed through the motions like a brain dead puppy on a leash. Like a brain dead Dudley… No, he didn’t want to think about that. For once. Just this once. Too much had happened already. Numbly, he trudged for the exit with River, words and thoughts failing him…

Something subtle.

Something low and rumbling and evading the prisoners’ ears.

Behind them, the pile of burning books and wood shifted, and the bleeding, broken, vengeful form of Bourbon emerged like a demon from the pits of Hell. Flashing a scowl and crimson stained teeth, he shakily leveled his Blazer. His scream rattled and gurgled like the grinding of a million rusted nails. “Die!”

He pulled the trigger.
Electricity sliced through air and smoke and heat, rocketing straight for River and Bombay--

Vrrrrrrzt!

It all happened in the blink of an eye.

A wall of crackling blue energy erupted from down below, phasing through the floor and up through the ceiling at a slanted angle, its illuminance blinding and buzzing with plasmic energy. The electric bullet met the wall with a muted whir, flattening and melding into it like butter melting on a stove, absorbed completely by the phenomenon before suddenly rocketing out again.

Straight back at Bourbon.

The guard shrieked, an inhuman and horrified sound that barely lasted a second. Soon, sizzling usurped it and the body flopped back into fire and wood, motionless.

How many times could everything explode at once? River could feel what was happening before his brain and body registered. A flaming figure of a man, bloody and thirsty for vengeance, arose from the ashes like a phoenix.

All of a sudden, he wasn’t really keen on dying. Not this close to victory, anyway. With a desperate yell, River tackled Bombay to the ground.

It didn’t matter.

By some grace of God, a shield arose. For a moment River considered the fact that someone might be watching out for them; but up until now, that someone had done a very shitty job. He rolled off of Bombay the moment Bourbon collapsed back into the wreckage, chest heaving, frantic breaths coming in, out, in, out. Eyes wide with shock. They’d been… saved? They were alive!

“B-Bombay! A-are you okay?” River choked out, tone raspy.

Bombay didn’t reply immediately, still reeling from the rapid fire occurrences. They were safe. Everything was okay. He could’ve sworn it was all over--but then there was a vile scream, firing, and buzz and whoosh, then the oxygen rushed from his lungs… and he was on the ground. Blinking and struggling to recount which way was up, the young man could only bring himself to nod. Once. Twice. Several times more. Like a bobblehead with a loose hinge. Wincing and rubbing his tender back, he sat up, gaping at the glowing barrier before them. “W… W-what is…?” he muttered, pure confusion making his brow furrow.

Nothing about today was making any sense. Absolutely nothing.

Gently, Bombay tugged River’s wrist, his grip having never faltered from the tackle. “W-we gotta go,” he said while staring at the prisoner pleadingly.

Trying to catch his breath, to stop it from running away, River glanced back at the pile of ash that Bourbon was now becoming. He nodded again, frantically, and picked the baton up once more from the ground. “I-I’m never s-s-setting foot in a-another library.” River choked out, pulling Bombay along to the exit.

Bombay scrambled along while nodding vigorously. “D-ditto,” he rushed out.
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Flashback: Heads Up, Cowboy | Interactions: Theodore & Ms. Phillips | Location: Earth

“Theodore! Breakfast is hot and ready for you, sweety!”

Theodore came barreling downstairs like a bumbling newborn; his clumsiness tended to spike in tandem with his anxiety, so his mom wasn’t terribly pleased by the sight. Regardless, she clamped her mouth shut and went back to loading the dishwasher, stealing harmless glances through the kitchen window every now and then.

“Y-yes ma’am!” The scrawny teen plopped into his customary seat, one of two on either side of the dinner table, and just allowed himself a moment to relax and inhale the wonderful aroma of freshly made pancakes. It did wonders to clear the morning fog in his skull, but the nervousness remained. It always did. Theodore’s eyes snapped open, a timid and sheepish smile pulling at his lips. “Um, did we g-get anymore--”

“Heads up, cowboy.” With a cheeky wink, his mom retracted a newly bought bottle of maple syrup and tossed it his way. A surprised yelp escaped him and it was by the grace of God that he managed to catch it between fumbling hands. Pink dusted the boy’s cheeks.

“Thank you. You’re a l-lifesaver.”

“I’m your mother,” she countered with a giggle, rolling her eyes teasingly, “It only makes sense, considering I’m your life giver.”

A hum of epiphany escaped Theodore, his gaze distant. “Wow… Y-you got a point there.”

”I can take it away too. Just like that, little boy…”

“Fail another test this week and I swear you’ll regret it.”

“You know I’ve got a gun. It’s to protect us, but I swear…”

“Don’t. Push. Me.”

“Such a damn disappointment. I barely sleep anymore cuz of you.”


Theodore swallowed, slamming his eyes shut and desperately blocking out the taunts. It was in his head. All in his head. Mom would never… ever say that to him. He was okay. He was normal. He wasn’t sick.

He was nothing like his father.

Luckily, the voices faded and the kitchen devolved into an amicable silence after that, only the sounds of a fork clanging against fine china and the clacking of heels against impeccably clean tiles pierced the air. However, his mother gave pause when the rumble of an engine came from outside and she spotted the school bus slowing a stop near their yard.

“Oh! Sweety, up and at ‘em. Bus is here.”

And just like that, whatever peace Theodore grasped slipped through his fingers. Swallowing back a mouthful of breakfast, his gaze fell to the floor and he nodded meekly. “Yes ma’am. Bye.” He slipped on his bookbag and shuffled towards the front door.

Of course, not without a farewell kiss to his forehead, trading of “I love you”, and a last second rundown of his breathing exercises.

“Bye, hon! And remember, five seconds in, hold for five, and then five out.” His mom waved at her son’s retreating form, her energy so blinding and radiant that he had no choice but to grin, no matter how shy it was. And yet, as he boarded the bus and those twin doors swung shut…

She couldn’t ignore the dread tingeing her gut.



Tags: KatSea KatSea , CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay , Elle Joyner Elle Joyner
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Collab Post: Dog Days | Interaction: Fritz, Jumbo & Wick Elle Joyner Elle Joyner | Location: Kitchen/Cafeteria


With a small hum of curiosity, Wick turned her attention to the loudspeakers, as the announcement blared, a brow quirked. Someone had done something naughty, it seemed… and right before the games, too. A moment of excitement in the doldrums, but soon enough, Romana would find the troublemakers, and in typical temper tantrum fashion, repaint the walls with their insides, driving everyone back into the perpetual state of monotony they’d all been plagued with. Shame, really… A little entertainment might’ve done them all well.

Her eyes flickered down again to Fritz, her legs swinging like a pendulum where she sat upon the counter, as a smile curved up at the corner of her mouth. He was frustrated, angry, even, but it did little to quell his fiery resolve. If anyone could save her from the maddening tedium that was Hagur, it was her king… and yet he was constantly burdened by imbeciles, worst of which was the ever incompetent guard dog of his.

Sliding down, her gaze twitched wearily, to the cannibal, cowering as usual and a sigh escaped, “...May I?” She asked softly, gesturing to him with a finger.

Fritz’s pacing slowed to a stop as Wick’s voice reached him, managing to soothe a majority of the agitation bubbling beneath the surface. Straightening his jumper and flashing a charming smile, he swept an arm out towards the cannibal and took a ginger step back, giving the pair some room. “Of course, my Queen. He’s a stubborn fool, but I’m always riveted to see what you have in mind,” he said.

On the other hand, Jumbo was far from pleased. His one good eye widened with fear, scrambling to press him further into the wall, his breathing growing labored and erratic. He watched Wick’s every move like an ant facing the descent of a human boot.

Stepping closer, Wick gave Fritz an appreciative nod, before gingerly crouching down before the man, curled in the corner. It was pathetic, really, that a person could be brought to such a desperate, weak position in life… pitiful, even… but there was something inherently sad about Jumbo. He had allowed himself to be crushed beneath the boots of others too long, that he had become something less than human.

“I had a dog, once… when I was nine.” She started, voice soft… a musing calm about it, “Rosco. He was a darling thing… scrawny and full of fleas. I found him in the park and I brought him home. Hid him in my room. He was such a good boy. Quiet. Sweet. He had this spot behind his ear and when you scratched it, he would grin… Rosco slept at the foot of my bed every night, for nearly a year and no one knew. I never loved anything more than I loved Rosco… Well, almost.” Tapping her chin, she shrugged, “I went out one morning, to help my mother in the garden… and I heard this terrible bellowing. My father… he was never a very nice man. He found him. Rosco. And do you know what he did?” Smiling dryly, Wick met Jumbo’s gaze, a brow raised, “...He brought Rosco outside, with a rifle. He put the rifle in my hands… and he told me to take care of the problem. Told me that we had enough mouths to feed. When I didn’t do it… when I couldn’t? He took my fingers and he curled them around the trigger, and he pulled it. I can still feel that recoil… still hear that horrible sound. I did not have a pet after that…” Pausing, her eyes flickered over her shoulder to Fritz, before returning to the cowering man on the floor.

“...I suppose my point is this… You have a good master, Jumbo. He cares about your well being, and wants you to succeed. To better yourself. To become something more than what you are and what others perceive you as. You should be good to him… listen to him. Obey. Because you never know what might come instead.”

Jumbo was tired. Beaten. Abused. And far from mentally aware enough to understand the full scale of Wick’s story, but he did his best to follow her every word. He’d seen her before. Seen all the times she’d stuck by Fritz’s side; the closeness, the apparent affection in his eyes whenever he looked this woman’s way. So much care.

And yet, after all these years of being Fritz’s loyal pet, he’d never once spared an ounce of that fondness towards him. It was only now that the realization stung a sector of Jumbo’s chest so deeply that he had no clue what to do with it.

He was a good boy. He swore he was. So why did being a good boy hurt this much? Why? At the end of it all, thinking for this long would hurt way more than anything form of punishment he endured. A low, rumbling sigh escaped Jumbo, one bleeding of exhaustion and confusion, everlasting confusion, as his single eye locked with Wick’s. “M… Myyyy…” A wet cough. “My masterrr is… is… bad master.”

He never believed his words like he did in that very moment.

“No.” Reaching out a hand, Wick let her palm rest briefly on Jumbo’s crown, her expression gentle, though unyielding, “No. Your master is fair. He is firm… but he is fair. We chasten the things we care about, because not to is negligent. In order to grow, trees must be pruned. In order to learn, children must be punished. If Fritz was a bad master, he would not continue to instruct you the way he does… He would simply be done with you, the way my father was with Rosco. You are lucky, Jumbo, and you should be grateful.” A sigh escaped, and she pushed to her feet, looking to Fritz with a shake of her head, “...He’s not hiding anything, darling… but I think you’ve overestimated his intelligence, considerably. His loyalty isn’t the question… it’s whether or not he can learn beyond that.”

Jumbo had stiffened the moment Wick’s hand pressed to his forehead, eye rolling to peer up at the foreign touch with a rising wave of confusion. The sensation registered strangely. New. But not entirely unpleasant--that was where the oddness resided. Anything aside from a hearty slap or pain rarely graced his nerves; thus, he tried to commit the gentleness to memory. Just to save for himself when he would need it most.

The cannibal once again fought tooth and nail to understand Wick, and yet, all he could remember was a single phrase: children must be punished. Children must be punished. Children must be punished. Children must be punished… Something about it made his memory stir, an image clawing away at the bars and trying to haul itself to the surface, only for it to recede like ashes on the wind. Soon after, Wick’s presence left as well and all he could do was nod numbly.

“He has me at my wits end, love,” Fritz said while drawing closer to Wick, back turned somewhat to the cannibal, “I’ve been in possession of this dog for far too long; losing him is not an option. Perhaps…” His fingers tapped rapidly against his lips, eyes distant with thought. “Perhaps you are correct. But surely--surely--there are further teachings that we can bestow upon him. I must be overlooking a method of some sort.”

Fritz could punish and beat and yell at Jumbo all he wished, and it would be absolutely no skin off his back, but this usually reaped results. A swift change in attitude. Completely obedience. Now that it was no longer achieving what he intended, a change was in need. But what?

"My parents never took much stock in how we were raised… The more we disappointed them, the more we suffered. It became so commonplace that my father's wrath was my security blanket. But eventually, I became… desensitized to it. I didn't care, because I knew he didn't care.. I wonder… I wonder if our dear pup might perhaps react more favorably to a soft touch?"

Fritz’s brow arched so high that they could sprout wings and fly off his face. “I… A… A soft touch?” Even as he repeated this himself, it still failed to register in his mind. Of all things he anticipated for her to say, practicing gentleness with Jumbo was incredibly low on the list. In fact, it wasn’t on the list at all. He studied Wick a moment, gazing deeply into her eyes and searching for… For something. Perhaps an indicator of an impending joke. And yet, he saw nothing of the sort. His queen was being entirely genuine. Meant every word she said.

He glanced back at Jumbo, whose head lulled against the wall tiredly and was on the verge of falling prey to fatigue. Inhaling slowly, he faced Wick once more and folded his arms hesitantly. “That is… quite the unforeseen suggestion, my love.” Another pause as he waged war within himself. “...But, I suppose that I am no respectful king if I do not heed my queen’s wisdom. It will not particularly… harm anyone to at least try.”

A beat, before he added, “Just be aware that I have… some doubts about this. Jumbo is a creature of habit, after all. These changes will jostle him, surely.”

"Undoubtedly…" Nodding, Wick gave something of a reassuring, if not Cheshire grin, "It is my belief, my dearest… That we, like weapons, are forged… first by fire, then water. I do not think anyone can fully learn who they are meant to be without experiencing both pain… and its remedy. While I imagine he is hardly smart enough to comprehend the complexity of emotion, I see a brokenness in him that is… somewhat reflective. He has been… melted down. Now, I think, you let the water do its work." Reaching out, she brushed her fingertips along Fritz's jaw, "You are so good to me…"

True to habit, Fritz melted from the caress, eyes and posture softening with a single sigh. He nodded once more. “I see the wisdom in your words, my love.” Slowly, he turned to face Jumbo again, his steps uncertain. Lacking his usual bravado. This talk of treating his pet… gently, with a compassionate touch… It felt like stepping foot into a different world. Regardless, Fritz was not one to back down in the face of a challenge, no matter how odd its nature.

He crouched before the cannibal, not showing much of a visible reaction when the larger man jolted back, his flesh smacking into the wall. Wide, watery eyes followed his every move like a hawk missing its wing. Fritz raised a single hand, shushing his pet gently. “Be still, Dear Jumbo. Be still… It’s alright.” Confusion pierced the fear in Jumbo’s eyes, but he refused to move an inch, his breathing erratic.

His palm rested on Jumbo’s face. Exactly where the gruesome burn resided.

A deceiving softness filled Fritz’s freckled visage; it wasn’t terribly hard, now that he was standing in the proverbial maws of the dragon. It almost seemed… familiar. And it made his stomach churn with nausea. And yet, a comforting smile graced his lips like a sweet lie. “I imagine this hurts badly, doesn’t it? I’m sure it does… Jumbo?” His head tilted. “Look at me… Please?”

Jumbo did as he was told, albeit reluctantly. Shakily.

A sigh escaped Fritz. “...I’m sorry for hurting you. Your master has been angry as of recently. Very much so. And you didn’t help with that feeling at all.” Now, both hands cradled the cannibal’s face, locking their visions together. “Can you find it in your heart to forgi--...” But then words failed him. Along with the rest of his body. The freckled prisoner froze in place, mind fluttering to the past. Images. Colors. The flickers of a young boy’s crooked smile and rambunctious laughter.

He released Jumbo and backed away, expression unreadable. He leaned in to whisper to Wick, “Perhaps I should leave the gentle talk to you, my Queen,” he muttered, voice and throat dry of emotion, “It’s for the best, I believe.”

Not entirely oblivious to the sudden shift in demeanor, a brow raised as Wick studied Fritz in curiosity, "I can certainly give it a try… Is everything alright, my darling?"

A smile as crisp and clean any other pulled at Fritz’s features. “Of course, love. It’s merely been a draining past few days, don’t you agree?” His gaze traveled to the other end of the kitchen where the chamber opened up to the cafeteria. “I’ll keep watch for a few moments. I doubt anyone would dare to disturb us, but there is the occasional canker sore among the batch, as you know.”

However, not a moment after he said this, a sharp siren filled the ship and red lights descended from the ceiling, bathing them in flashes of crimson. A series of clangs followed, the plated metal door falling from above and blocking the exit. A definitive click! left little to the imagination.

Security Breach… Security Breach… Security Breach…

They were trapped inside.

“The actual Sam Hell…?” Fritz muttered, brow furrowed as he eyed the sirens.

Jumbo unleashed a yelp at the foreign nose before scrambling to his hands and knees, crawling over to a chair. He wielded the item like a shield, holding it over his massive body while trembling.

It did not escape her notice, the measure of hollowness to his protestations. Something was trying, certainly… but whether it was the present circumstances, Wick had her doubts. Before she could question the validity in his suggestion, a sudden shunk sounded as alarms blared overhead.

"...Is… is that…" Taking a step away from the metal door, Wicker's already wide eyes grew wider, "We're locked in. It… They've…" Her breath caught on the words as panic swelled, "No… no, no… get it open!"

Hearing the slightest hitch in her tone, the tiniest strip of distress, the subtle blip of panic in Wick’s tone always registered as a blow horn in Fritz’s ears. He tensed on instinct and instinct alone upon hearing her exclamation, only for a fraction of it to melt away under the heat of perplexity. He neared Wick, a hand falling to her arm. “It’s alright, love,” he said, “It’s merely a small breach in the system. Nothing harmful to us at all. It’ll pass soon.” Even as the reassurance escaped him, he couldn’t help but watch her with a clear expression of concern, fighting desperately to understand where the urgency was coming from.

Unfortunately, Jumbo was not helping the situation.

He abandoned using the chair as a shield and stood up with it in hand, brandishing the item like a makeshift weapon. His gaze darted around in every direction imaginable, his breathing shallow and rapid, nervous sweat rolling down his bruised face. He flashed a snarl at the lights. “No! Noooo!!” he screamed. With a monstrous swing, the chair slammed into a grilly, pots and pans hitting the floor with loud clangs.

The hand on her arm drew a small, uneasy jump, before recognition settled… and Fritz's words might have been the resolution she needed to calm herself were it not for the sudden outburst. As Jumbo shouted and wood met iron and metal, Wicker buckled into herself, latching her arms over her head as she curled tightly, instinctively around herself and the words came in rapid Serbian.

"Žao mi je! Oče, žao mi je! Nisam hteo! Molimo vas. , Molimo vas!"

Fritz never thought he would have to dip into his mother tongue; he’d only ever associated himself with English-speaking prisoners because it helped him to avoid using Russian. But now, as he watched Wick crumble before him and devolve into a muttering mess of Serbian, he couldn’t help but tune into her words. Couldn’t help but translate into his mind sentences that succeeded in doing something he never thought his heart was capable of doing anymore.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he cupped Wick’s hands with his own, trying to loosen the grip she had on her head, and pressed a chaste kiss to her crown. ”Ne daj da strah živi u tebi, ljubavi moja,” he said. “Do not let it. You’re with me--your king. Your love. It’s Fritz. He’s…” Fritz had never spoken with Wick about any past traumas or pain, but he knew that something… horrific must’ve happened to her. His jaw clenched, the flame in his chest doubling with intensity. “He’s not here. I promise you.”

Delivering one more kiss to her forehead, Fritz reluctantly pulled away and marched over to Jumbo, who was still whacking away at anything he could reach and screaming until his lungs burned. With a growl, Fritz seized Jumbo by the collar and shook him violently, trying to garner the cannibal’s attention. “Jumbo! Jumbo--confounded man! Get a grip!”

Jumbo’s fretting about lessened, but only somewhat. He still wrangled and jerked about, trying to rip himself free of Fritz’s grasp. “No! No! No! Bad! B-bad light! Bad light!”

The warmth on her forehead coursed, soothing through her mind, and slowly, ever so slowly, Wick lowered her hands as her chest gave a heave… A breath. Steadying. Though her hands still trembled and her voice felt strained in her own ears, the panic subsided as swiftly as it had come. This was Hagur… just Hagur.

Rising, Wick crossed to where Fritz was struggling with Jumbo and a frown crossed her lips.

Slowly, she stepped closer, "Malo štene… Quiet, now." Her eyes marked Jumbo, an unusual softness to them, and a hand reached out to smooth along his forehead, a quiet hum emanating, singsong and gentle, "You're safe."

Fritz stepped away the moment he noticed Wick swooping in, instantly letting her take control of the wheel. It was clear that handling the cannibal with a “gentle touch” was far beyond his scope. If it was his queen, then had no chance of expressing this so-called “compassion” and “care”. It was no longer a functioning part of himself anymore.

Jumbo’s panic was so feverish that he barely noticed the switch in bodies before him, and it wasn’t until the gentle hand caressed his forehead that his muscles uncoiled, his grip on the chair slackening. His beefy shoulders jumped with a hiccup, though tears were absent in his eyes. Merely distant. Shaken. Scrambling to right the world around him while honing in on the Wick’s lilting hums. The chair hit the floor, completely forgotten, as he curled forward, head plopping to the smaller woman’s shoulder like an oversized golden retriever.

His breathing mellowed, falling still with a peace so tentative that it could shatter at any moment.

Fritz heaved a sigh and brushed ginger curls from his eyes. He was beyond exasperated at this point and was more than reader to retire for the evening. Of course, there was still the issue to the door.

“Thank you, love,” he sighed tiredly, eyes snapping momentarily to Jumbo with a hint of caution in his gaze. He’d rather not experience a repeat of outbursts from either of them. His heart just didn’t have the energy for it. “I’m… unsure of what brought about this alarm, but I’m certain it’ll be over. Soon… surely.” He didn’t quite sound confident in his own words.

Patting Jumbo, almost absently, Wick's eyes shifted from the man's head on her shoulder, to the redhead, then finally twitched to the door, "There's no way to get it opened?"

Something almost apologetic entered Fritz’s eyes. “I… Not that I’m aware of. These doors… I’ve only ever seen them come down once before and that was when a riot came minutes away from erupting. These are meant to be unmovable.” And yet, even as he said this, the ginger still approached the door, eyeing it up and down. He wasn’t a twig, but he wasn’t anywhere as big as Jumbo either. His strength resided in his wits. His strategy and charisma…

But his queen wanted out. And by the gods, he was going to at least try.

Trailing back a few steps, he stopped, stared down the gate, then launched like a bullet from its chamber. He crashed into the door with a loud and echoing thwack, and pain instantly shot through his nerves like a wildfire. “Christ!” he hissed while stepping back, cradling his arm with clenched teeth. A sizeable dent was left behind and, to be perfectly honest, he didn’t think it was possible to do that alone. Either way, whatever iota of success he could’ve felt was usurped by the angry aches pulsating through his arm. “Alright…” he breathed. “That was… s-somewhat successful. And heavily regretted.”

As Fritz rushed at the door, Wick stared half in shock, half amusement, and giving Jumbo a gentle nudge, she moved across the kitchen to Fritz's side, "My dearest… Always, you are too too good to me." Her fingertips reached up to gingerly trace his jaw, before a brow rose, "Riot…? You don't suppose…"

A somewhat begrudging smile pierced the pain, though it died in exchange for another wince. Gods--Fritz vowed never to do that again. Well, unless it was needed to make sure Wick didn’t succumb to another episode… He would revise that mental vow at a later date. Her question pulled him from his thoughts and his brow furrowed.

“I… Well, it can be possible. Yes.” A prideful part of himself churned at the possibility. Usually, he was privy and alerted to whatever significant events ensued on Hagur. He was the king of this ship, after all. And yet, no one ever told him about an incoming riot--

Clack… Clack, clack, clack clack clack clack…

The gate slowly rose, freeing them of confinement.

But the celebration was premature.

On the other side was a single guard, hand on his holstered Blazer as he looked at the trio accusingly. “The hell are you doing in here?! You’re not authorized to be in this area, let alone during a fucking lockdown!” Fritz’s eyes hardened with annoyance.

“I’d watch your mouth, peasant,” he spat, “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

Satisfaction coursed through Fritz’s body when the guard visibly hesitated, seeming to recognize his face and voice; however, just like their freedom from the kitchen, his triumph was also short-lived. A firmness spilled over the guard as he shot back. “That doesn’t matter! Rules are rules and even you can’t overlook Security Breach procedure! Now, take the giant oaf, your creepy bitch, and go back to your cells. Now!”

"I'm sorry…" A brow lifted at the guard, and Wick's hands dropped slowly to her side, as the smile that had formed faded to a cool mask, "What did you call me…?"

The guard scoffed, eyeing Wick up and down skeptically. In the next moment, he unsheathed his Blazer, though he didn’t raise it yet, and more so did it as an extra dabble of intimidation. “I said… You. Are. A. Creepy. Fucking. Bitch.” His head tilted mockingly. “Clear enough for ya, dog?”

“My, my…” A shaky breath escaped Fritz, shaking his head as the disbelief and fury broiled in the pit of his gut. A shade of red so deep that it could put a strawberry to shame filled his face from his hairline to below his collar, yet his polite smile persisted. Plastic. Everlasting. Unstable. He inched closer to Wick until their shoulders brushed, standing in front of her ever so slightly. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve spoken with a dead man.”

The grinding of his teeth was audible. “Apologize now, fool, and I’ll consider sparing your testicles of being Dear Jumbo’s next meal.”

Wick stood, unmoving, and as Fritz spoke, she seemed only to listen, quiet and thoughtful. At the mention of a dead man, however, she grinned, "Oh… but we are in trouble, now… Aren't we."

“Damn straight you are,” the guard growled, not at all impressed nor shaken by the threats tossed his way. The man raised his Blazer now, leveling it at Fritz and Wick. “I don’t care how many years you’ve been strutting around Hagur, acting like you run this place. Frankly? I’m tired of your shit, Dog. The high and mighty act ends. Today.”

“You pull that trigger…” Fritz warned lowly, moving in front of Wick even more, “And I swear you’ll come to regret ever crossing me. Think. Wisely.”

The guard smirked. “I am.”

"So brave…" Wick cooed, with a lopsided smile, "Mommy must be so proud of you. But do you know what you are? An ant. A teenie… tiny… insignificant ant. You'll be a smear beneath a boot… and no one will miss you. No one will care. Just a sad king of a sad little hill…"

Eyes narrowed and grip on the Blazer white-knuckle tight, the guard’s expression solidified into a hard frown.

And he pulled the trigger.

The ball of electricity rocketed, arcs of energy ripping away at the oxygen around it like a burning ball of destruction. In the next moment, it smacked into flesh, a large patch of blisters and burning tissue stretching across their front. Again, it was instinct. It was always instinct. Fritz jumped into the line of fire, covering Wick completely, and could only utter a curse partway right before the bullet hit. He convulsed from the energy wreaking havoc on his nerves, tumbling to his side as he struggled to draw oxygen into his lungs.

“M… Master?” Eyes wide with horror, Jumbo watched Fritz tremble painfully on the floor before snapping his gaze to the guard, whose attention was still stuck on Fritz. Nostrils flaring like a bull, he rushed forward and pounced the guard’s arm, bracing it against him while trying to wrestle the weapon free of his grasp. “N-no! No hurt!”

“Get the fuck off of me, cannibal!” the guard yelled.

Almost as if she had anticipated it… as if she had woken up that morning expecting to get shot at, Wicker didn't move. Didn't flinch. Frotz crumpled, and fear did not touch her expression. Instead, as Jumbo lunged, Wicker turned her back to the guard to investigate the kitchen.

As she searched, she whistled, a familiar tune of The Ants Go Marching, and she continued to whistle as she located one of the smaller cast iron pans Jumbo had dislodged in his chaotic fit. She continued to whistle As you move towards the stove. She continued to whistle, as she lit the gas burner. She continued to whistle, as she set the skillet over the flames. And she continued to whistle as she plucked it up again and headed towards the guard, still pinned against the wall by the cannibals massive frame, oblivious to the sweltering heat against her own palm.

"His name…" She finally murmured, calmly, "Is Jumbo. And he's a good boy."

Raising the skillet, eyes burning into the guard, Wicker pressed the hot iron to the hand gripping the weapon.

A frantic scream ripped from the guard as his skin sizzled, the scent of burning flesh wafting around them. “Auuuugh!! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Hand trembling violently, the Blazer fell from his grasp and his eyes widened as Jumbo gripped him by the collar, the other hand jamming into his stomach. With a roar, the cannibal hefted him up and overhead like a rag doll. The guard clawed frantically at the grip with his one good hand. “Hey! H-hey! Put me down, y-you freak!”

“O…” Jumbo gnashed his teeth, eyes blazing, and chucked the guard, “Kay!”

“Wait, wait—!”

The guard’s body hit the ground—hard. Harder than any impact he’d ever felt in his entire career, let alone his entire life. Groaning, he staggered to his feet, his mutilated hand hanging uselessly at his side while he retracted his baton with the other. “You stay back! Back! Both of you!” In a panicked frenzy, he cracked the weapon across Jumbo’s jaw, the cannibal’s head snapping back from the impact…

Only for Jumbo to look back at him. Unfazed. As if brushing off a fly. He advanced on slow, heavy feet.

The guard paled.

"Jumbo. Hold." Her eyes unmoving from the guard, Wick slowly shook her head, "Fritz… my darling. Do we have… any reason at all to keep this despicable, pathetic waste of humanity alive, or shall I have dear Jumbo rend him limb from limb?"

At her call, Jumbo froze in place, albeit begrudgingly, as he stared the man down like dinner. The tantalizing scent of his cooked flesh didn’t help either, but Master’s orders were Master’s orders.

As for Fritz, the ginger was slow to reply and even slower standing up. The front of his jumper, running from collar to mid-abdomen, was scorched black and the irritation of a deep burn made every move throttle his nerves. Groaning under his breath, Fritz staggered forward and studied the guard like a piece of mold found in the showers. “Tearing you apart… piece by piece… Strips of muscle at a time… Plucking your eyeballs from your sockets and roasting them on a spit… would give me the greatest pleasure,” he growled. For the slightest moment, his balanced wavered, but an unmovable grip on his arm from Jumbo immediately righted him back in place.

Fritz chuckled bitterly. “Oh… But what King would I be to maim my subjects with every lapse. With every burst of rebellion, hm?” He tried to pull a charming smile, though it was strained. “This is what you do… You fall to your knees. You bow…”

An echo travelled through all of Hagur. Cell doors sliding open. The yells and trampling about of free prisoners.

Fritz’s smile widened. “And you beg my queen for mercy.”

Unlike him, the guard jolted with surprise and bubbling dread at the stampede of voices. “Oh shit. H-holy shit,” he muttered frantically before looking at Wick. “I… I-I was just doing my job! Don’t let these dogs kill me!”

Leaning ever so slightly back on her heels, Wick surveyed the guard with mild disgust, shaking her head, "Jumbo alone is better than twelve of you, you pig. And my Fritz? You are not worth the sweat on his brow. I believe your king gave you an order? I'll wait."

Shame and fury unlike any other filled the guard to the brim, threatening to spill over and stain the tiles. He peered up at the trio with a gaze promising--no, begging for the day when he’d exact proper revenge, and yet… Slowly, ever so slowly, he bowed. Bowed until his forehead touched the floor. Each word was ripped from his lips like a tooth from its socket. “I’m… sorry.”

Fritz hummed in satisfaction, scooping up the discarded Blazer before limping back to Wick’s side. “Well? What do you think, love? Is that a satisfactory apology?” he asked, a smug smile gracing his freckled features.

"Hmm." Watching the man abase himself with something of a primal satisfaction, Wick reached out her hand to take the blazer from Fritz, her gaze never leaving the guard on the floor, "Yes. I think that will do."

Then, without warning, she lifted the blazer and fired a shot at the hand splayed before him.

Fritz didn’t react to the agonized scream, though Jumbo did flinch back from the harsh sound, beefy hands slamming over his ears. Ah… This was Wick was his queen. Splendid. Truly marvelous.

The guard curled into a ball, cradling both of his ruined hands against his body was gasping for air, the pain so deep-seeded that he nearly forgot how to breathe.

“Wonderfully done, love,” Fritz said while studying the man like a lowly specimen… He might as well have been one, as far as the prisoner was concerned. He looked back at Jumbo, raising a hand to beckon the cannibal forward. “Come, Jumbo. We’ll need your strength now more than ever.”

Jumbo nodded meekly, eyeing the fallen guard curiously as he approached--

Only for a loud whirring noise to halt him in his tracks.

Whipping around, his eyes widened as a giant plane of blue energy ripped through floor and stretched overhead at an upwards sloping angle, cutting off entry to half of the kitchen and phasing through the high ceiling. “B… b-b… bright,” he wheezed while falling onto his haunches, gaping in mixtures of awe and bubbling horror.

Fritz brow furrowed.

This day… was seriously draining him. “Well, now… That’s peculiar.”

For the second time that day, Wick was caught off guard, but graciously this time, adrenaline prevented the panic from seizing her. All the same, she pressed closer to Fritz, a frown touching her lips.

"What on earth is it?"

Fritz looped an arm around Wick, ignoring the caustic sting running through his chest. “For once… I don’t know. But we should avoid it--for now. Jumbo!” Again, the cannibal flinched, but he was quick to clumsily clamber to his feet and face the pair. Fritz nodded towards one of the cafeteria exits. “We must go. Now. Stick close to us.”

“Y… yes,” Jumbo muttered, shuffling up beside the man while stealing multiple glances back at the shield. However, he jolted with Fritz cupped the back of his neck, his mind flashing back to the time his face was smashed into the table and his blood spilled everywhere--

“Hey.” A squeeze. Fritz’s gaze locked with Jumbo’s. “You did good.”

Jumbo blinked, his brain failing to comprehend what he had just heard, before nodding numbly. Okay… That was okay. Right? That was good? He prayed it was.

"You were both magnificent." Wick agreed, heading towards the exit, "We must have words with Romana, however… on her staff's lack of manners. Let's go."

At Wick’s prompting, Fritz and Jumbo followed, guiding themselves straight into the pits of Hell.

Of course, they wouldn’t realize that until it was too late.



Tags: KatSea KatSea & CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Flashback: Heads Up, Cowboy Part II | Interactions: Theodore & Classmates | Location: School Bus


The drive to school was a long one, but it always was. Nothing was any different than before. The same musk of classmates who spent half their time converging into cliques and gossiping behind his back dominated his surroundings. The same squawking of entitled and artificial girls scraped at his eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. The same crumbled up balls of paper nailed him in the back of the head--

Tack!

Speak of the Devil…

Swallowing back a sigh, Theodore leaned down to snag the newest message and unfurled it slowly. He was surprised by the insult, but it always managed to sting.

How many meat sticks you plan on sucking today, fa--

He crumpled it back up, heat flooding his eyes and face. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale… But the mantra was drowned out by the eruption of cackles from behind. The delighted giggles of girlfriends, the hearty barks of boyfriends with hands sliding up skirts. It churned nausea in places that Theodore never knew could hold nausea. His skull. The back of his neck. His wrists. Hip bones. Shins. Pure and unbridled illness invaded him from head to toe.

“Don’t look back now, fucking fairy.”

“I bet you’re thinking about fucking one of us now… You’re sick.”

“You a masochist? Huh? Don’t worry, we’ll whoop your ass soon.”

“Look our way and we’ll kill you!”


Why would they say this? Why would they say such horrific things? Why wasn’t the bus driver doing anything?! Theodore slapped both hands over his ears, eyes screwed shut as his breathing grew erratic. More and more paper balls assaulted him from behind, each insignificant thwack registering like the pounding of a sledgehammer. Pounding. Thwacking. Hitting. Laughing. Screaming. Giggling. Taunting. Mocking. Hitting. Hitting. Hitting! HITTING--

Silence.

Theodore’s eyes snapped open with a sharp gasp, shooting up in his seat. The floor should’ve been covered in paper balls, littered with them, and yet all he saw was the singular note. He risked a glance back.

Not a single teen bothered to acknowledge him.

No. That was a lie. There was Lance. Always Lance. He was a hefty boy, full and sweaty face furrowed with a focused scowl. He met Theodore’s gaze head on, a sick smile pulling at his lips. A silent taunt.

“Twink.”

But Theodore couldn’t tell if Lance said that. His mouth moved, right? He spoke, right? Right? Wrong? Right, right… Of course, it was wrong. Of course no one said anything. No one bombarded him with notes except for Lance.

Oh God--what was real?

Shaking from head to toe, Theodore turned back around and clenched his bookbag close to this chest. As long as he had it, he would be okay.

“He’s gonna kill you.”

Nobody was gonna kill him.



Tags: CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay , KatSea KatSea , Elle Joyner Elle Joyner
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
I AM So Fucked | Interactions: AM, Prisoner & Guard | Location: Torture Chamber, General Halls


“Shit, shit, shit, shit, fucking hells of a shits this is so FUCKED!”

AM stood in the torture chamber, staring at her ruined scanner. The smoldering and ruptured steel, the gaping canyon of discord running down the middle, a bundle of wires spilling from it like cold entrails. She heaved a cross between a grumble and sigh, fingering the mess with a grimace pulling at her lips. Her aching lips. Her bloody lips. The taste of copper was heavy and annoying on her tongue.

“Fucking bitch,” she growled, pressing the back of her hand to her cheek. The slightest touch sent pain flaring throughout her face. A bruise was already forming, a throbbing patch of red drowning out her freckles and stretching itself into thin spindles of blue. It fucking hurt.

But she’d endured far worse. This was child’s play.

Heaving one more sigh, she stepped out and into the halls, then paused, took in the noise. The screams and crashing and bashing of flesh against knuckles. The stomping of boots against steel. Against inmates’ skulls… Guards always were wussies. Always pulled their punches. But now? She could even hear the lack of conviction in the inmates’ blows. Did people always hold back that much? What for?

Shrugging off the string of questions, she turned back around, intent to just camp out in her torture chamber… But there was a dead body in there. Right. Shit. “Fuck you, Romana!” AM ran a hand through her wild ginger fringe, not having a clue what to do now. Which was worse? Bunking with a corpse or leapfrogging into the pit of Cosmic Black Friday?







Cosmic Black Friday it was.

However, AM relieved the body of its Blazer, grasping the weapon close to her hip, before walking out further. The platform she was on seemed clear. People were far more occupied in nearby chambers and corridors that split in opposite ways at the end of the hall. It was a matter of figuring out which direction held less headaches to deal with.

Of course, coming to an answer on her own was just too much to ask these days. A prisoner came barreling from the left hall, tripping over his own feet and smacking into metal with cringeworthy impact. And yet, he was quick to spring back up and make a mad dash in AM’s direction--as if he was running from something. His bloodshot eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets with fear, buckets of sweat rolled down his bald scalp, and twin rivulets of crimson ran down his nose. His pace was slowed with a limp as he clutched his leg, the limb twisted somewhat. In an unnatural way.

“Hoooooly shit who fucked you up so bad--Gah!” AM coiled into herself as the prisoner suddenly threw himself into her, arms circling around her and clawing desperately at her top.

“Help me! H-help! They’re gonna kill me!” he said, a whimper making his voice tremble.

All AM could register was the stench of his hot breath. Nose scrunching up like an accordian, she slapped her free hand over the man’s mouth, who jolted from the sudden sting and peered up at her with overflowing confusion. And panic. Definitely the panic. “Listen dude--I’m a fucking charades champion, alright? Talk less and maybe I won’t have to smell ass crack a second time, yeah? Now,” she gestured to his leg, “Simple yes or no. You need help?”

In the blink of an eye, his surprise was usurped by relief and he nodded, voice muffled against her hand. Then, he was shoved off and hit the floor before he could realize what was happening. AM patted her bangs down, smirking at the fallen prisoner. “Sorry, my personal space was being violated for a bit there.”

The inmate glared up at her while slowly struggling to sit upright. “Bitch,” he grumbled under his breath. Despite his annoyance, he accepted AM’s outstretched hand and hauled himself back up, wincing from the bolts of lightning racing up his leg. “Those fucking assholes,” he hissed.

“Guards did that, I’m guessing,” AM hummed while eyeing his injury. Disinterested. But, of course, her innards were screaming at the thought of dealing with aggravated employees. Violent and armed employees. Even if she was part of the faculty team, she had a few… privileges under her belt. Mainly because of her huge contribution to the Dog Fights process. Thus, guards never exactly had a positive opinion about her and with the blood thirst floating around right now… Christ. Jesus fuck. “This is such a clusterfuck… Okay. Okay! Just--lemme do the talking, alright?”

“You serious?!” The inmate’s teeth flashed with a snarl, shoving the woman by her shoulder. Now that he was inflated with anger and disbelief, his stature became far more prominent. He was tall. Damn tall. And had a decent, athletic build on him; though of all that was imbalanced thanks to his limp and circle-rimmed glasses, which had a cracked lens. Either way, AM didn’t have any trouble reading the absolute disbelief in his eyes, as if he was scolding a toddler. “They’re not going to negotiate my life! We’re all just a free ranged buffet to them!”

“Yeah, well,” AM rolled her shoulders, staring ahead with her Blazer raised as a figure finally rounded the corner. “We can bicker later, babe. Meanwhile, make me a sandwich.” She capped it off with a wink, internally cackling at the man’s scoff, before focusing on the guard who just arrived. He was sporting a cap and shades, though a few dreads peeked through the rim. A splattering of dry blood ran across the front of his uniform.

“Hey! Quit running!”

Okay, so--AM wasn’t easy to surprise. She’d seen some wild shit. Done even crazier shit. However, there was no way in hell she was prepared for Romana’s little spurt of murder, you know? And she definitely wasn’t prepared for this guard to come barreling straight for them like a humanoid bull, completely unshaken by the Blazer pointed at him. The closer he got, the more she could see the veins popping out of his neck, the red filling his face, the feral snarl.

The hell did this guy do to piss him off?!

Before AM could do anything, she found herself smashed into and thrown aside like a useless rag doll, her small form nowhere near a match for the guard’s. She crashed spine first into the rails, and crumbled to her hands and feet with a cough. Well, fuck. That was rude. She looked up just in time to see the prisoner stagger back in a pitiful attempt to dodge, but he suffered a similar fate to AM and found himself on his back, the guard raining down punch after punch to his face. Hooooo--shit! Didn’t this inmate know how to fend for himself at all??

Apparently not. He was taking every hit like an Asian punching bag. Err… Or was he Japanese? Screw it, that wasn’t important at the moment. Ignoring the aches sparking through her body, AM raced over and raised her Blazer.

Smack!

The guard swayed from the strike, cradling the back of his head. Before he could react, another hit landed, followed by a third, and by the fifth smashing of the hilt to his skull, the world was starting to erupt with white spots. He wobbled and with a solid kick to his gut, he rolled off the prisoner, barely having enough consciousness to keep his vision stable. AM watched the guard struggle to right himself, an amused smile pulling at her sore lips. “Yeesh, talk about a wimp! It doesn’t hurt that much. Now, lemme tell ya,” For the second time, she helped up the prisoner, whose face was a bloodied mess. Of course, a short clean up and ice pack would do him good, so she didn’t have any need to worry. Well… that and she barely knew him. Oh--and he was a criminal. “Taking 3,000 volts to the ribs? Day in? Day out? While counting backwards from 1,000? [i[Whew boy![/i] Am I right??” She held up her hand for a high five.

The prisoner stared at her.



AM coughed and lowered her hand. “Right. Total buzzkill. Broomstick up the fudge hole. I read your type loud and clear.” Swallowing back her discomfort, she guided the man’s arm around her and adjusted her hold, making sure most of the weight was off his injured leg. “Think you can walk like this?”

He nodded. “Barely… I can see, though. Here.” He reached for the Blazer. “Not making you do all the work.”

“Is that you trying to get in my pants later or are you trying to feel useful for once?”

“Fuck you,” he sighed tiredly, “Just hand it over. We… We gotta get cover somewhere. Entire ship has gone to shit.”

AM stared at him for a moment. Then at his hand. To the Blazer. Back at him… Squinting, she hesitantly relinquished the weapon to him. “Fine. You’re the firepower, err…?”

“Mule.”

“Jackass it is.”

Mule’s eyebrow twitched, though it was hard to see with the developing bruises and swelling. Ignoring his agitation, AM started dragging both of them down the hall, intent on going the opposite direction that psycho guard came from. If she remembered the schematics of this ship correctly (as if she could forget--photographic memory), there were a few faculty lounges on the lowest level that had yet to be completely furnished; thus, it was off limits at the time. Considering the outbreak, however, AM had no qualms about taking refuge in there until the madness calmed down--

But then she heard groaning. From the guard.

“Ohohoho! Baby’s got a backbone!” AM chuckled, though there was nothing but distaste bubbling up the back of her throat. She released Mule, eyeing the guard wearily as he stood, hand falling to the baton at his waist. The torture expert raised a hand. “Listen, bud. Love the passion and suicidal tendencies, really. Damn precious. But it’s your beating stick against the shocky gun.” A pause. “Heh… beating stick…” She shook her head. “Anyway--give up now and we can just go about our merry way, yeah? Find a different inmate to bully around?”

Much to AM’s dismay, not a single word seemed to have reached the guard. He whipped out the baton, the absolute rage billowing behind his shades like a forest fire.

“Alright,” AM sighed while rolling her eyes, “Jackass? Light ‘em up.”

Instantly, Mule raised the Blazer.

Then swerved it over to aim at AM, grinning. “Sure.” With a pull of the trigger, electricity ripped through the small woman, reducing her to a pained and convulsing mess on the floor. She quickly fell slack, her consciousness fading from the overload to the system, and Mule smiled at the guard while rubbing his jaw. “Couldn’t pull those punches even a little, Tarzan?”

“Not really…” The guard said, his voice a startlingly calm tone in comparison to the aggression he was displaying mere moments ago. He discarded the shades, revealing tired and morose blue eyes, before the cap followed. His wild curtain of dreads fell free, coming to a stop at his upper back. He walked over to AM and tossed the woman over his shoulder like a weightless sack of potatoes. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t feel any of it… and we got what we want.”

“And why exactly do we want her again?” Mule asked.

Tarzan patted her leg. “Persuasion… Now come on.”

Mule followed, though his pace was horrendously slow. Despite their ploy, that twisted leg was far from an act.



Tags: Elle Joyner Elle Joyner , KatSea KatSea , CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
WARNING: Upsetting Content (You don't have to read, I can give a vague summary if you wish)


Flashback: Heads Up, Cowboy, Part III | Interactions: Theodore & Lance | Location: Earth, School


“Shiiiit… Shit, shit, shit.” Lance paced outside the boys restroom, hands running up and down his pink face frantically. His heart threatened to pound out of his chest, cracking several ribs in the process, and his breath was nothing short of a stuttering mess. God, was he sweating?? As if he didn’t do that enough. The pudge had always been a problem for him.

Would that turn away Theodore? Hell, the boy never traded more than a handful of words with him and every time Lance tried to initiate conversation, the smaller teen would freeze up like a deer in headlights, choke on syllables, then flee before he could get a word in. “Fuck, guys. I don’t know if I can do this,” Lance groaned miserably, running fingers through his hair.

His friend, a lanky blonde teen with as many freckles as there were students in the school placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Dude, come on,” he chuckled, “You’ve been shooting Theodore goo goo eyes for months. Grow a pair and say it already! You’re a total catch!”

“But what if he hates me, Chris??” Lance shot back.

Several more voices shot down the comment like a choir. So many of Lance’s friends had gathered to show the boy support; they’d been dying to see him gather the courage and confess as well. Chris folded his arms, his smirk smug. “You heard the jury, man. I’m calling this to order. So,” He turned Lance around and shoved him into the restroom with a coy grin, “Rock his world, man! And don’t you come out without holding his hand!”

Lance stumbled in clumsily.


}:{

Theodore was petrified.

He didn’t know what to make of yet another note appearing in his seat as he entered Psychology. He had unfolded it in the middle of lecture (he wasn’t struggling to focus anyhow), and felt the pit of his stomach cave into itself as he read the content.

Boys Restroom in Spradley Hall. After Psych. Come alone.
-Lance


Oh God… Oh God, Oh God. O-oh God. This was it. This was it!

“He’s gonna kill you. Don’t let him get you.”

“Take him out. This is your chance!”

“Don’t go there, you idiot!”

“Don’t do it!”


But he was weak. So, so… so weak. If he didn’t go, what would happen to him later? He could envision it now; Lance would corner him, perhaps finally deal him the beatdown of a lifetime. All of the stares and notes and malicious smiles--they were working up to the worst day of Theodore’s life. H-he didn’t wanna die. Please, God. No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no--

Class was dismissed. Students scrambled to gather their things and vacate the room. Shaking from head to toe, Theodore clutched his backpack tight and headed for Spradley Hall, wide eyes glued to the floor.

“Don’t let him get you…”


}:{

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale… He couldn’t do this. Theodore could always just turn around, pretend as if he’d never found the note to begin with. It was an easy mistake to make. Perhaps Lance would garner a glimpse of mercy from that? Maybe? Hopefully?

...No. He would still hunt the scrawny boy down. Harass and beat him towards an inch of his life.

Christ.

The walk to Spradley Hall was far faster than he prayed and as he pulled from the discombobulating fog of his thoughts, he glanced up. Then froze. His lungs turned into twin glaciers, the weight so sudden and powerful that he could fall to his knees. Blood drained from his delicate face.

A crowd of students surrounded the restroom entrance. Smiling mischievously at him. Eyes locked onto him like long-awaited prey. Oh God--this was a trap. It had bad news written all over it. Their smiles seemed to stretch to unnatural degrees, cheeks splitting in two and crinkling until their eyes were pressed shut. But how were they still looking at him? What sort of monsters were they??

Theodore could’ve sworn he was gonna faint.

And it didn’t get any better when a swarm of hands forcefully shoved him inside, their voices overlapping and clashing against his ears like demonic white noise. “N-no… No! Wait, I--!” Before Theodore knew it, he was inside. The door slammed shut behind him. The bathroom completely empty.

Except for a lone figure. A tall, burly, and rigid figure.

Lance shifted from foot to foot, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Uh… Hey--”

“Took you long enough, Twink! Who said you could be late, huh?”

Lance made a move to raise his fist and Theodore violently flinched, his back smacking loudly into the door. Both arms flew up to protect himself. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I-I didn’t mean it!”


}:{

Lance’s brow pinched and he jolted the same time Theodore did, concern flooding him from head to toe. “Wha? D-dude? Theo, it’s alright. The hell’re you--”

Then he was screaming, his voice raw with genuine and unfiltered terror. Lance’s heart sank into the pit of his gut, instantly regretting this setup with every fiber of his being. What was wrong? Did Theo seriously hate him after all? He was just going to wave! This was already off to a terrible start.

Hastily, he lowered his hand and took cautious steps closer to Theo, his voice soft and shaky with nerves. “H-hey, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong! I just! I…” In that moment, words failed him and the organ that had plummeted to his gut took a swift leap into his throat.


}:{

That hesitation was all the time Theodore needed.

He only had two means of escape; either through the door or into a bathroom stall. Seeing as how the door held a pack of Lance’s lackies hovering about on the other side, he made a mad scramble for the nearest stall, slamming the door closed with a rattling thud. His panicked wheezing filled the room.

“G-go away! Leave me alone!”

“That won’t work!”

“He’s gonna get you--”

“Grab it. You need it now!”

“Do it!”


Theodore shoved a knuckle into his pounding temple, his eyes burning. The oxygen around him depleted rapidly. “Go away!”


}:{

If Lance was concerned before, then he was absolutely terrified. Terrified for Theo. His scream drove a dagger so deeply into his heart that he could’ve sworn he would start crying then and there. Fuck--he messed up. Real bad. And he didn’t have the slightest clue how to fix it.

“Th-Theo?” Timidly, Lance knocked, praying that the boy would give him a chance. “C’mon, man! Lemme explain. I just…” He sighed, forehead meeting the cold surface. He had to be brave. He had to say this.


}:{

Monstrous banging against the door, the noise ringing so loudly in Theo’s ears that he thought they would shatter. Oh no. Oh God! Lance was going to bust in and get him! He just wanted to go home! He wanted to go home!

Lance’s voice slithered through like a venomous snake.

“I just… wanna have some fun, freak!”

Theodore whimpered.


}:{

“I just… wanna come clean, okay? Been meaning to for a long time…” Lance drummed fingers against his chest, willing his heartbeat to representing something even vaguely normal. It was a waste of an effort, though. “Dude, I know we don’t talk a lot. You don’t talk to a-a lot of people, really, but…”

}:{

“This beating’s been a long time coming! You don’t talk! You don’t say shit!” A low, rumbling cackle. “You’re weak.”

Sweaty, frenzied hands unzipped Theodore’s backpack. “N-... n-no… no… P-please…” He gripped the handle, shaking violently.


}:{

Lance chuckled nervously. “But, uh.. Truth is… I really… really like you, Theodore.” Jesus--he was probably redder than a pig’s ass right now. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “So uh… y-yeah. That’s why I, uh, asked you to come here. Hope it’s not weird or anything…”

}:{

“The truth is… I really… really fucking HATE you, Theodore! And that’s why…”

Theodore clicked the hammer back, his world blurring. Conscience mind fogging over. Muscles coiling tight.

“I’m gonna kill you!”

“N-no. No!!”


}:{

That was it. Lance couldn’t handle another moment of this. The fear. The uncertainty. The worry. He needed to know Theo was okay or else he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. Lance pushed against the door, this time with force, and his voice cracked. “Theo! S-seriously, man, you’re freaking me out! Just say something--”

Click!


Lance sighed in relief. “Oh, thank--”

Gunfire.



Tags: Elle Joyner Elle Joyner , CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay , KatSea KatSea
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Flashback: My Little Survivor, Part I


Year 2797 | Sunday, September 5th | Earth


Laughter bounced about the living room like a rubber rocket.

“M-my stomach! It hurts! Uncllllle!” A girl heaved a guffaw from the deepest pit of her gut while falling into the grown man seated next to her. He was having even less success keeping his amusement under control, so the pair looked like jolly jumping beans cackling away like hyenas.

The weather was rainy, a heavy and heated humidity that never failed to double the width of the girl’s already messy tresses. Droplets beat on a tin slab, supported by a few wooden beams jammed into the mud and serving as a firsthand barrier for the tarp underneath it. The makeshift tent was incredibly small, only covering enough space to shield the pair, though they could easily get soaked with enough shuffling about.

But this was fine. It always had been. To them, it was child’s play.

Besides, nothing could bring them down on Comedy Night.

“Wheeeew boy!” The man gave his rotund tummy a slap, the sound sending a lovely rumble through the air. He shot the child next to him a smile brighter than the blocked sun overhead. “Let people say whatever the hell they want--Classics are just as damn funny as the new stuff. John Mulaney?” His thumb and index finger connected, marking the gesture of perfection. “Comedy gold.

“I don’t know, Pa,” the girl hummed teasingly, her attention pulled away from the tiny television propped up on several unopened cans of tuna. “I love some Mulaney sass, but Katt’s rapid fire stuff? It’s awesome!”

“Bah,” Pa waved her off, “He curse too much for me. He drops like, what, twenty goddamn profanities in one whole ass sentence?”

She pinned him with a pointed look. “...Do ya ever listen to yourself, Pa?”

“Fuck yeah I do. You oughtta give it a try, might do you good.”

Her lips pursed with annoyance, though the sentiment was only half-genuine. “I listen!” A pause. “Sometimes. When I feel like it.”

“Soooo… never,” Pa said with a deadpan expression. More amusement melted away the feeling as his daughter exploded into a subdued fit of grumbling, arms crossed and all. Glimpses of early afternoon pierced the clouds and caught flecks of steelwork lining her teeth. Braces. It wasn’t exactly top quality dental care, what with the ten-minute realignment procedures booming through the health care world nowadays, but they couldn’t afford that. Never would.

After soaking in her pouting for a while, he dispelled her mood with a warm ruffle of the hair, his hand practically disappearing in the wild mane of dirty blond for a moment. “In all seriousness, I know you listen good to your Pa. When you out there in this mean world on your own? You’ll be ready for it. Taught you all you know. How to fish. How to navigate by the stars. How to catch and skin the finest bucks around--”

“How to be a survivor,” she finished seamlessly. Routine. All part of the routine.

Pa smiled and nodded. “That’s right. My little survivor,” he gently pinched her cheek, smearing it with dirt and sweat, “With a killer smile to boot.” The girl’s gaze snapped down and Pa had seen the reaction coming, leading him to guide her eyes up once more. A firm coldness rolled over him. “None of that. You smile bright for me, Natasha. Braces and wild ass hair and dirt and all… cuz you’re a badass just like your Pa. World should be damn grateful for having you in it.” His features softened. “I know my world is… Always has been. Always will.”

Natasha’s brow pinched, as if internally battling with herself, but the conflict didn’t have long to last, not while she existed under the radiance of Pa’s love. For once in a blue moon, she didn’t feel as if the so-called world that was supposed to love her had a mission to hate her. This was fine. More than fine. She could be perfectly content living like this for the rest of her life.

Screw everyone else.




}:{

Year 2797 | Friday, September 10th | Earth


It hurt. Way more than what Pa warned her about. He told her about the never-ending sting, the way torn skin would peel apart to reveal the thinnest layer of muscle separating bone from the open air. He told her about the dull ache coursing through each and every single joint in your hand, smacking your temples silly until you could see stars without the night.

But Pa never told her about the exhaustion. It seemed so obvious… and perhaps that was the problem. Natasha should’ve known that doing what she did would lead to her feeling like crap afterwards, not like some reverend hero who was placed on the pedestal. And for what? Doing what was right?

No… She did what she wanted.

Because enduring another second of Dani’s tears was unbearable. Impossible. Natasha couldn’t just stand aside and do… nothing. She wasn’t no coward. Like Pa said--she was a badass.

She just wished she felt like one.

Her thoughts ran away from her and instincts lead her home, the familiar little tent coming into view as she entered a large clearing in the middle of the forest. It was dense and empty all at once, just like she remembered. Barely a whisper of animal life, yet she knew better; the soil here was constantly thrumming with life, both harmless and incredibly harmful. She’d done well to avoid trouble in her life. Always respected nature’s boundaries. Always used every single inch of her latest catch, all the way down to the bone broth, to the pureed ligaments for chewing, to the thick, furry hides for winter. To think, she’d always been so damn careful and observant, following Pa’s teachings like a soldier, yet she couldn’t have just… kept her head down in school. For one more day. Just one.

They had to go and cross the line like that.

Great, she was falling back into her head again. Huffing, Natasha haphazardly dropped her backpack near the fire pit and pushed apart the flaps of the tent. Only her head passed through before she froze, eyes widening at the sight before her.

Nothing.

All traces of Natasha and Pa’s cozy little hovel were gone.

“...Pa?” Natasha’s voice was small, shrunken down until it was equal in size to the comfort she expected. There was no big, rumbling, beer belly of a man. There were no rosy cheeks and gap-toothed smiles. There was nothing.

Nothing but a tiny television with a note taped to the side of it.

Shakily, she retrieved the piece of paper and unfolded it. She skimmed the message… Then found herself reading it over and over. Again and again again. And with every repetition, the oxygen around her was halved like the swing of a butcher’s knife.

You’ll see me when you find me… In the meantime, show this mean world what you’re made of, my little survivor.

Ice daggers rushed into Natasha’s lungs as the note slipped through her violently trembling fingers. She was wrong before. The sting in her knuckles was just a game, a stroll through the park in comparison to the sting invading her eyes, the hollowness scooping a crater out of her chest.

“P… Pa…?” She looked above at the skyscrapers of bark and foliage and loneliness. Birds circled overhead. “Pa! Paaaa!” Breath growing unsteady, she emerged from the tent like a bullet and sprinted through the forest.

”Pa!”







Tags: Elle Joyner Elle Joyner , KatSea KatSea , CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay
 
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