IC Foxby Town

wren.

elegance is more important than suffering
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Posting Speed
  1. Multiple posts per week
  2. One post per week
  3. Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
  3. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Slice-of-Life, Gothic, Horror, Fantasy
FOXBY TOWN, COLORADO


an eternal snow day

A scenic ski resort town. It is a popular tourist spot, with tourists coming and going each season. The dominant population is Magi. It is the largest producer of blood oranges, making them a very wealthy town.

FORECAST

DATE: October 29th, 2035. Friday.

TIME: 6:30 PM. Afternoon.

WEATHER: 26.1°F (-3.3°C). Cold and snowy.

CITY ACTIVITY

Foxby Town is rather slow right now, with many people returned from work and school and now settled in their houses away from the cold. Children are running around and playing in the snow. With its predominantly Magi population, decorations for Magi Moore have begun, and people are preparing for the festivities.

Not many tourists are visiting at the moment, but the town is preparing for the big rush in the upcoming winter months. Blood orange farmers are getting excited about the upcoming blood orange harvest when their trees have fully ripened and they can make bank off their produce.

CITY NEWS

Nothing for now.

UPCOMING EVENTS

- More fun activities will be added later. Can add any of your ideas too.

NOTABLE LOCATIONS

[See Buildings and Businesses thread]


TIME SKIP LIST
 
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MIRAN
Peace, as it turns out, is boring. What is a general to do when there is no war? Twiddle his thumbs and knit? Kaius is his friend, he's fairly sure of that, but he's much less tolerable when not spearing their enemies side-by-side with him. The Children of Blood occasionally keep him occupied, though there's only so long he can stomach Gaius's lunatic ramblings before he goes equally insane. Sephaniel, while more reasonable company, is still suspicious so long as he maintains loyalty to the Neu Kingdom. Most of their meetings are hours-long discussions of what they ought to do about the rampant hybridization popping up across their country, but before they're allowed to start hanging the mutants, there's little they can do.

Then there's Sesozapa, no doubt planning an invasion into Cervia since they lost the border dispute fifty years ago. The Queen has denied his request to invade them first for the twenty-third time now, the bitch. While he respects their country, and therefore its monarchy by extension, she's going to send them plummeting into chaos if she can't turn her weak grip into an iron fist. Still, there's not much that can be done about it right now. While Miran is no quitter, there's no shame in taking a rest and coming back to something later.

For most people, relaxation is found somewhere warm, like the beach. For Miran, though, he returns to Northern Cervia. While he has no desire to return to Merrow, the place of his birth meant for the unwanted freaks of the world, there are plenty of attractive cities to spend time in — namely, Foxby Town. Miran enjoys snow, and Foxby has plenty of it. It's clean, and the cold is refreshing, the bite to his skin a gratifying reminder that he's still alive despite everything.

He's staying at one of this tourist town's numerous inns, booked for only a few days in one of the few presidential suites. As lovely as the room is, he's never been one to sit still for long. That's why he's gone for a walk despite the white flakes cascading down, hands tucked inside his black peacoat, and the lower half of his face concealed by his navy cashmere scarf. The streets are, blessedly, less crowded because of the later hour. The sun has mostly set, forcing all the skiers and children home.

Still, he keeps his switchblade in hand, toying with the weapon in his pocket. He's learned well to never let your guard down, especially at night when the particularly degenerate stalk for prey. He's alert for any shuffling sounds suggesting someone might be following him, though he finds only the occasional couple and group of friends passing by, laughing and talking amicably. His lip curls when he notices how many of the couples are interspecies, one is even Vampir and Were. What has this world come to? Why Queen Lilith hasn't locked these fuckers up yet is beyond him. They're messing with natural law, and they'll all have hell to pay if this plague continues to spread.

He halts along his walk when he spots a building he doesn't remember from the last time he visited. Is it new, or had he just missed it? The sign reads Potamus Bathhouse, which seems like putting the label on the tin. Clearly, someone had decided to take advantage of Foxby's natural hot springs to make a profit. Well, he appreciates a clever capitalist. If this is anything like some other bathhouses he's visited, then his night might be more interesting than expected.

The lights are still on, so he steps inside, pulling his scarf down as he approaches the front desk and, more importantly, the handsome man (Merfolk, based on the fishy smell) behind it. "Good evening," he smiles, "Does this place require appointments?"

Looking around, the place is very... eclectic, like it couldn't quite decide if it wanted to be Japanese, Greek, or Roman-inspired. The decor looks classy and expensive, at the very least, decorated with ornate kintsugi pottery and well-arranged bouquets on small ionic columns. He can only hope the baths, and perhaps the personal assistants, are just as lovely.
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MITYA GRISHA
CORAL MERFOLK


LOCATION | INTERACTION | MENTIONS


Instead of inhaling from the long smoking pipe, Mitya blew into it. There was no smoke, no ash, and no tobacco leaves that blew out. Just bubbles. Only bubbles. Large Bubbles, small bubbles, with their bubbling sounds as they formed and floated out of the pipe, floating around Mitya. Though the man would have much preferred actually smoke and the tobacco that came with it, his brother had changed all his kiserus out with bubble blowers that held the appearance of one. So instead of dumping his ashes into an ashtray, he found himself dipping the end into a bubble mix.

It may not have had the same effect and properties as actual tobacco, but it was calming in its own way. Most importantly, however, to his brother, it didn’t cause him any more harm to his already handicapped body. The CGM attached to his arm was proof of it, and if he was as bad as he was just a few years ago, then he’d also have an insulin pump attached to him. Luckily, he was much better than before which meant no younger concerned brothers h0vering over him as he managed the front desk instead of sitting in his office.

He enjoyed seeing the faces that came into the bathhouse, especially at this hour. They usually came for one reason or another with the cover of the setting sun and dark skies to hide them and whatever shame few of them felt. The face that walked into the Potamus Bathhouse was not at all ashamed and carried himself in a way that Mitya rarely saw. Confidence? No. It was more than that.

Gently, he tapped his pipe against his lips as he sized up the man. Even beneath the layers of his clothes, Mitya could tell he was quite sturdy. His face was a little hard, but it didn’t take away from his good looks. He had a beauty that was not quite traditional, nor completely outside of the conventional box, which made him all the more interesting.

Mitya leaned forward, arms crossed, his elbows on the desk as he did. He is far from the most professional even as the owner of this business. His personality just won’t bend that way. “We take walk-ins. Though it does limit the selections.” He said, tilting his head slightly, giving expressive eyes. Eyes that read “what a pity, I know”. "What are you looking for tonight, sir? We offer an array of services. Some of which include help.” He almost hummed the last bit, hoping the words translated well. If he wasn’t looking for those services, he wouldn’t care to make an issue of it.

@wren. 」​

 
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MIRAN
Is this man... blowing bubbles from his pipe? He'd thought the shimmering orbs floating around in the air was his imagination, but no, he's blowing bubbles like a child. Huh. He chooses not to comment in favor of smirking at the man's innuendo. "Well, I'm sure I could use the help, never having been here before," he purrs.

He glances to the side at the board listing the business's various services, which appear pretty boilerplate for a bathhouse. "I'll take a 30-minute dip in the hot springs and then a 30-minute deep tissue massage," he decides, pulling out his wallet and slapping down a few hundred dollar bills. "Keep the rest. Either as a tip or if I run over," he winks, his meaning no doubt easily gathered from the smug expression on his face.

As he is shown to the baths, the steam filling the halls gets thicker while they walk, causing sweat to begin to bead beneath his clothes. He unwinds his scarf and slips off his coat while he walks, folding the garments over his arm. His eyes linger on every face they pass, smirk widening with satisfaction when they avoid his eyes or look uncomfortable with his attention.

From the workers he can see, made evident by their shared uniforms, many of them are attractive, though in a pretty plain and forgettable way. The host had said his options are more limited given that he hadn't made an appointment in advance, so, likely, the more singular workers are already preoccupied.
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MITYA GRISHA
CORAL MERFOLK


LOCATION | INTERACTION | MENTIONS


Mitya couldn't quite put his tongue on why, but he had an inkling this man was going to lead to further entertainment down the road. He was no magi fortune teller, but he observed enough to recognize a vampir of the higher class when he saw one. His skin was not smooth and flawless enough to be a noble - or at least not a born noble. The quality of his clothes said otherwise.

"Follow me then, sir," Mitya smiled his best customer service smile as he swiped the tablet from the desk and led him down the steaming halls. He quickly inserted the man's request into the computer system, but his feet were slow in walking down the halls as they did so. It was a mindless habit of his to bend the steam away from his own face. While he didn't mind the dampness, it wasn't as pretty as looking thoroughly wet at the front desk.

After pulling up the list of available "helpers", he passed the tablet to the man. "There's only seven free on duty tonight." A small number, but all were good at what they did, and easy to look at. The list didn't just name them but recorded their skills and faces. "If you have a preference for sex, you can see them listed here as well. Whatever you're most comfortable with, we're here to make it easy for you." He leaned to scroll down the tablet in his hand. "If you have none, I can choose someone for you."

"Here's your room," Mitya stopped him and slid open the doors to the rose room. This room in particular was more Roman in style with a modern twist. It was clean and neat with colors of creams and tans and red, a wall covered in wallpaper of dark trees with red flowers and spreading vines, and clean marble floors. To the side, there was another small room attached for massages, and forward were double doors leading to the springs. "There should be a set of robes for your use as well as towels and a personal bathroom. If you need anything you else, say more towels or something to eat you can use the phone to call in."

@wren. 」​

 
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MIRAN
This place is very organized. Clean, too — both qualities worthy of his praise. He's been to various whorehouses around the country, and most of them are fairly unsavory, with mysterious stains on the furniture, the smell of sex obviously in the air, and a free-for-all when it comes to the sex. He's never had any trouble finding a partner for the night, of course, but it's not a great system for those who don't attract the eye as well as him.

This tablet, while more impersonal than his more... primal nature prefers, at least is efficient. The seven workers smiling up at him are all attractive, though he can only see their faces, which is one of the lesser important things in these matters. He hands the tablet back to Mitya dismissively. "You can choose for me. Whoever has the most athletic body and the highest pain tolerance," he grins, lecherous.

The room he's been assigned is charming, though maybe a little brighter with its creams and tans than he would prefer in his own decor. It smells fresh and comforting, like some combination of roses and freshly laundered sheets. He tosses his outer clothes on the deep red velvet ottoman near the door, making a beeline for the bed of a similar color. From the smooth feel of the sheets and the shine radiating from the dim warm lights, it seems to be genuine silk. Yes, he'll definitely return here more regularly.

He's only half-listening to the host's spiel while he investigates, confident that he can figure everything out himself. "Thank you," he says, with a pointed pause in his direction to indicate he should give his name. "Mitya," he repeats with a smile. He waits for the man to leave before he immediately sheds his clothes, carefully folding his garments and setting them down on the ottoman with his coat and scarf.

Hardly an amateur at this, he heads to the bathroom first to freshen up, then proceeds into the hot spring in the other room. He cautiously dips a foot into the water, pleased to find it on the hotter end of the temperature scale. He slips in without further hesitance, the warmth of the water melting some of the tension in his body. Hopefully, whoever Mitya is sending his way will be good enough to fuck the rest of it out.
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ELÍAS DE ROSALES
WERE JAGUAR


LOCATION | INTERACTION | MENTIONS


It was him. It had to be him. Wasn’t it him?

All it took was a single glimpse for every hair on Elias’s body to stand. Just one glance at those dark curls, pale skin, and the wicked grin that played on his lips, scaring any employee that passed him by, and Elias was certain. Mostly certain. He had the face that a man wouldn’t forget even years later. Even when the first time he saw it it was a face covered in dirt and blood with a mouth screaming orders to attack him and his men with more ferocity than any soldier Elias had ever encountered before. A look of absolute determination and dauntlessness.

Power like that left an unforgettable impression on a person no matter what side they were on. An impression and an instinct to pull out a blade and press it against the skin of his throat should he come any closer. Something that Elias would have done the second the man passed him in the hall if he hadn’t seen him conversing with his boss first. And if Elias himself wasn’t staring at him through the cracked door of the break room. It gave him the narrowest view and smallest look and left him with more concerns and questions.

When he gathered himself enough to move from his spot and peek through the door, the man was no longer there. Standing down the hallway was Mitya, scrolling through his tablet as he walked back the way he came and in Elias’s direction. The dark-haired man didn’t look up even as Elias moved back and out of the way so that he could enter the room.

“Who is that?” Elias cautiously asked, glancing between the door and Mitya. He tried to appear as relaxed as possible. He had fought battles upon battles of the physical and verbal kind. Though, those had all been on the soil of his own country. He felt more helpless in Cervia than he had anywhere else. And he had been in the country for so long now.

Mitya lifted his freckled face from the blue light to smile at Elias. “A guest.” Of course, there was no name. Those guests never liked them to be on file for someone to see. They preferred to be anonymous except for the names they told you to call them by.

“You’re free,” Mitya dragged his words, eyes looking Elias up and down. “Athletic and a high tolerance for pain,” he mumbled mindlessly as he set the tablet down on the nearest surface.

“Is that his request?” Elias nearly snorted.

“Afraid so. I think he bites.” Mitya warned, whispering as if it was the most scandalous thing that went on in their establishment.

“Seems like he does a little more than bite.” if he was who Elias thought he was.

“Can I assign you to him? I think you’re the best match.”

Best match? Elias could have laughed. Instead, he smiled. “If he does bite, I deserve a bonus for every bite.”

“But what if you like it?” Mitya laughed as he scooped up his tablet and walked back towards the door. “Don’t keep him waiting too long. He seems like an impatient one.” He shrugged as he left him.

His impatience was the least of Elias’s concern. If he was who he thought he was, a soldier - a general who fought in the Cervia-Sesozapa war, he could recognize and expose Elias. Worse, try to kill him on the spot. Try was as far as he would get. Which meant, Elias would have to take matters into his own hands.

The first stop he made was to his personal locker. Behind the small metal door sat his personal belongings; his clothes outside of the Potamus uniform and a small bag. In that bag was where he kept his blade. Always sharpened and easy to hide. He twirled the blade through his fingers with the dexterity only an expert would possess. No one was around to witness him tuck the weapon away beneath his clothes, ready to be pulled out at any moment.

Elias closed the door to his locker with determination before turning and making his way to the rose room. He paused at the door, deliberating to knock as he was always instructed to do with these guests. The circumstances were different, however, for him. He opened the door as quietly and gently as possible, taking the silent, soft steps of a cat hunting its prey. Through the opened double doors he could see the back of his head.

The curls of his hair were looser in the back.

It was unfortunate he didn’t see his face first to confirm or refute his suspicions. The position did give access to stab him from behind. But Elias preferred to see the faces of his enemies when he caused their end. He certainly wanted them to see his. Then again, his preference was also to also be back in Sesozapa and not exiled. Maybe if he brought the head of a Cervian general he could curry his queen’s favor again.

To start, he would need to see if this man was the Hennigar soldier. Furthermore, he would need to catch him off guard. Red bloods weren’t easy kills.

“I hope you’re enjoying your bath, sir.” Elias greeted him as smoothly, keeping his voice warm and sweet as he approached him though kept just enough comfortable space between them. If he invited him to close it, he wouldn’t hesitate. “I’m Lee, I’ll be your assistant for the night. What would you like me to call you?"

@wren. 」​

 
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MIRAN
He can hear footsteps behind him. They're soft; clearly the owner is trying not to be noticed, but unfortunately for them, Miran has been training his senses for years. It's odd that they're not trying to draw attention to themself; isn't that the proper thing to do in this situation? Are they trying to sneak up on him? He frowns, ceasing the teasing strokes he'd been giving his thighs to keep himself entertained while he waited, but he doesn't turn. There are a lot of people who would like him dead in this world, but he can't imagine any of them being here.

He can smell the person before he sees them; a Were. The stench is unmistakable and makes his nose itch. It's at least tolerable, so they must be a Werefeline. Unfortunate, but he'll look past it. Based on the musk, they smell male. Good; they tend to put up more of a fight, and he's feeling antsy.

A man, indeed, it turns out, and quite a muscular one. He rakes his eyes down this "Lee"'s broad shoulders, his prominent pectorals, and the muscle on his arms and legs unfortunately covered by his uniform. His face is pretty, too, but he's more interested in his eyes; they don't match the sweet tone he's assumed. They look hungry, and not in the sexual way they're meant to be here for. He's seen that look in his soldier's eyes before battle. He sees it in his reflection almost constantly.

He smirks, ignoring his question entirely. "You should choose a different name; Lee's too plain for you." He gestures to the spot next to him invitingly. "Do cats actually hate water?" he teases, his smirk growing into a grin.
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ELÍAS DE ROSALES
WERE JAGUAR


LOCATION | INTERACTION | MENTIONS


Whatever doubt clouded his mind cleared the moment his eyes met his. It was unmistakably him. The soldier, the general, the killer, Miran Hennigar. And there was another confirmation too. He had no idea who Elias was. That gave him the advantage in this situation, one that he had every intention of abusing to the fullest. Part of him wanted to act on it now and lodge his knife into his throat. Acting on that instinct would be a mistake, of course, the positioning wasn't right and it would leave poor Mitya's hotsprings polluted with blood.

Elias would wait for the right moment before launching into appropriate action.

That would mean playing along with this man and his poor sense of humor. "Should I have chosen a more exotic name? Something like Valentino? Or Damien?" He pronounced each syllable of the names with perfect precision of his natural-born accent.

He didn't immediately join him, perhaps he should have, but he had to be careful. There was still a knife hidden beneath his attire and it would be difficult to explain. There were no services he knew of in their establishment that involved such a blade. Maybe he could get away with something like knife play.

"Most do. The wet fur makes them heavier, harder to move and hunt." Elias moved behind his back to discard his clothes, carefully hiding the blade in his shirt as he folded it along with his pants to set on the nightstand near the bed. He gave it one more look, turning it so it was within grabbing distance.

Elias combed his fingers through his hair, moving any loose strands from his face before he joined Miran, dipping his toes into the water first. It was almost scaldingly hot, but he made no face as he lowered himself into the steaming water. "But I don't mind getting wet. In many cases, I like it." He squinted his eyes slightly, trying to read his face through the subtle blur of steam. "You never did tell me what I should call you? You have a name, don't you?"

@wren. 」​

 
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MIRAN
"Lee" is Sesozapaean. Although the accent has faded some, suggesting he's lived here for some time, he's encountered enough of them to recognize the way his mouth shapes his vowels. That only adds to his intrigue and his growing suspicion that perhaps he should know this person. At least, if he hasn't met him before, it's possible that Lee knows who he is. He's not exactly popular in Sesozapa, what with the slaughter of thousands of soldiers and all that. Lee either hates him as well or is completely and amusingly ignorant of the fact that he's about to fuck one of his home country's greatest enemies. Both ideas arouse him.

"Yes, something along those lines," he agrees in a purr, clearly more interested in turning some to watch him undress.


See more in The Red Light District
@MaryGold
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MIRAN

Lee is unfairly adorable in a robe with his hair all mussed. It makes it hard to take him seriously, even with the knife back in his tight grip. "They certainly didn't teach me to fuck my enemies, either, but I didn't hear you complaining about that," he grins, fixing his shirt collar.

He's tempted to approach and fix the robe starting to slip off of Lee's shoulder and fix his hair for him, if only because Lee would feel properly condescended, but he probably shouldn't keep testing his luck by giving the man another opportunity to stab him. Lee clearly shares the same carnal lust Miran feels, but he can't trust that to be enough to stop his revenge quest.

Which reminds him, "Care to enlighten me with the reason you're trying to kill me?"
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ELÍAS DE ROSALES
WERE JAGUAR


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Elias scowled, or as effectively as possible when his face was flushed bright pink and hot and the only thing he had on was a robe. It was not the most effective scowl. He felt, perhaps, the most humiliated he had felt in the many years of his life he had lived. And he lived through his queen whom he was nothing but loyal to exile him and all but force him to find solace in the very country he fought against. These Cervians and their arrogant nature.

He stood up from his pot on the bed, or as well as he could given his body was already beginning to ache and the soreness of his ass throbbing. "You really don't remember me, do you?" Snorted Elias, narrowing his green eyes further in Miran's direction. "I remember everyone I clashed swords with, particularly when I failed to kill them."

Without another word, he launched the knife he held in his direction. The blade was quick and flew past him, wedging into the wall behind him "I don't think I will tell you. Not yet, anyway, I'll view this as an advantage for now."

@wren. 」​

 
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MIRAN
Miran steps slightly to the side to avoid the knife hurtling toward him, though judging by the trajectory, it doesn't seem like Lee had been aiming for him anyway. Curious. Is that because he knows Miran can dodge an attack like that or because he's having doubts about killing him? Perhaps he's just as intrigued by their circumstances as Miran is.

Since he's never been here, it's highly unlikely that Lee is some stalker who joined this bathhouse specifically for an opportunity like this. The chance of them running into each other under these circumstances was slim, and while he's never held a firm belief in fate, this encounter certainly seems designed. There's a seductiveness to that which he can't deny nor ignore. They were meant to meet again, here, and if that's because Miran is meant to die by this whore's hand, well. There are worse ways to go.

Pursed lips change to a condescending grin. "I see a lot of faces, many of them were more important than yours. You made an impact this time, though," he says, lecherous as he takes in Lee's perfectly sculpted body beneath the mussed robe, proud of the various bruises blooming on his skin that will serve as an unfortunate reminder of this night.

"It almost sounds like you're inviting me back, kitty," he says, keeping Lee within his gaze as he reaches for his jacket and scarf and pulls them on. "Was once not enough for you? Perhaps next time I'll take you a few rounds."
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ELÍAS DE ROSALES
WERE JAGUAR


LOCATION | INTERACTION | MENTIONS



"The only thing I'm inviting you to is your death, Miran. The next time you see me will be your last." Elias informed him with fist balling, grabbing onto the unkempt sheets beneath him. The crease between his brows eased and was replaced with a face that held no frown but conveyed his frustration all the same with a humorless mouth. His eyes were doing well to glare holes into the vampir's face, and to deliver the absolute certainty of which he said his words with.

No more distractions. No more temptations. No more losing his focus when in dangerously close proximity of the soldier who had fought and killed the people he once fought side by side with. He would kill Miran when he saw him again. When the soreness that extended from his bottom to his lower back was no more, and his lips were no longer kiss swollen, and his scent as powerful and unpalatable no longer clung to his skin, and the marks of which he clawed and bit and kissed onto his body had faded, Elias would take his life between his hands and squeeze its last breath out.

"Though, I think not killing you tonight on top of everything else I've given you tonight has earned me a large tip."There was nothing against his code about getting as much money out of the man before he did take his life. One look at his well tailored clothes told him he had more than he deserved.

@wren. 」​

 
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MIRAN
It's hard to wipe the smirk off his face seeing how riled up he's gotten the other man, though he can't credit his sexual prowess alone for that. The hatred in his eyes sure looks genuine, and Lee certainly has the physique to support his threats. He shouldn't take him lightly. Still, it's unlikely that Lee will kill him. Not for lack of trying, Miran is simply stronger than him. It's not his fault, it's simple biology.

Plus, he's already given Miran the advantage. He'd mentioned clashing swords with him, hadn't he? So he isn't just Sesozapaean, but he's a Sesozapaean soldier. For someone who claims to want to keep his identity a secret, he just gave him a pretty major clue. Surely he knows Miran has a network of powerful connections that can help him find the trail of Lee's passage through the country? Is he acting carelessly because of his emotions, or does he actually want Miran to figure it out?

He finishes tying his scarf around his neck, smirking as he pulls out his wallet and pulls out a thin stack of cash, tossing it in Lee's direction and letting it flutter onto the bed. "You should charge more," he responds. Then he leaves.

The cold outside feels even more intense after such heated passion, not to mention the steam from the hot springs. It's refreshing, and he breathes easier as he trudges through the snow back to his hotel. He'll see Lee again, no doubt about that, but he has calls to make first.
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TIME STAMP: HALLOWEEN

The first official time skip. There has been a fast-forward of two days later and the city falls on the day of Halloween.

FORECAST

DATE: October 31st, 2035. Sunday.

TIME: Up to the players for their scenes.

WEATHER: 26.1°F (-3.3°C). Cold and snowy.

CITY ACTIVITY

The tourists have livened up the streets with lights and music from the resorts and hotels. There is not a quiet place in sight.


 
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LUCAS SNOW
CEYLON MERFOLK


LOCATION | INTERACTION | MENTIONS


You have a new message!

As if a patronizing and annoying act from the sea gods themselves, the notification rolled down onto his screen to obscure his vision from the more important task at hand: ordering Gala a dessert to go with her carbonara pasta. Had it been a message from a certain blurple colored app and a certain bubbly woman, he’d have answered swiftly. Instead, it came from Instagram, which only meant one thing on a night like this. He swiped down to read the newly sent message.

Did you guys break up again?

There was the little symbol notifying the sender that they were sharing a short clip from their own story. Lucas found him sighing from deep within his chest. It was a question that they already knew the answer to, so it was only something sent to get a reaction out of him. And he wasn’t willing to give one for tonight. Not when he was to enter a call to continue a yearly tradition with his best friend.

Swipe left. And back to browsing the food app. He was determined to outdo her this night. Between the better meals sent between them, Gala certainly sent the better tasting, better presented, and better creative meals. He would know, he was keeping score. What was something that went well with a perfectly Italian dish and a fizzy strawberry soda? Kulfi! What was better than a perfect cold desert on a perfectly cold day? Nothing.

Mango. Pistachio. Chocolate. He quickly added the three flavors to the cart and purchased before he gave a second thought to his decision. If this didn’t have her crying large tears like a character in a Ghibli movie… then he would have to take the loss.

Lucas set his phone back onto his computer desk and fixed his hair, removing free strands from his face. He worked exceedingly hard to style his hair to match his choice of cosplay, Eichi Tenshouin the Ensemble Star. He luckily naturally resembled him enough that little makeup was needed and once he was dressed with his hair done too, he had to take a few pictures to share in the group server later.

She called him twice before he made it to his seat with bubbling excitement, brushing the taps of his sleeves, fixing any wrinkle and misplaced piece of fabric before answering with an uncontained grin. It was quickly followed by a loud snort, one he made sure gpt through his mic and to her headsets.

“Just shoes and socks,” he said as he lifted his feet from the floor and set them on his desk for her eyes only. “Your feet blowing dessert will pale in comparison to mine. You’ll probably lose all your hair and grow it back. . .longer. You’ll be the Rapunzel of Rockcaster. But your eyebrows will also grow a bit longer too. Keep your clippers close.”

(An online conversation with Gala in Rockcaster)


 
  • Haha
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LUCAS SNOW
CEYLON MERFOLK


LOCATION | INTERACTION | MENTIONS


Normally leveled in volume and quiet in public spaces, Lucas was the loudest when he was laughing at the comments of the vibrant magi on the othger side of his screen. She was effortless funny, bnut more than that she was a person where he could lean back and let his shoulders sag, without any worry of what she'd think of him. Everything between them was natural. Not forced or artificial. And he loved that more than anything else.

So very clearly shocked and affronted (and very obvisouly feigning), Lucas droppeed his feet to the floor with a loud thump. "You wouldn't dare!" he said with all the drama of a soap opera star. Sliding his chair closer to his desk, so that his stomach pressed against the edge, he leaned over. "I never though you Ms. Yoshika would be capable of such diabolical methods."

"Lucky for me, I am very confident in what you have. But in the very slim chance that it won't blow your mind to the underworld then I want at least half the monies. I need compenmsation for the emotional distress."

(An online conversation with Gala in Rockcaster)


 
  • Sweet
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