Fugue State

a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity

 

Reply

New Thread

 An Impossible Hunt, @ Kai/Eien
May 7 2018, 06:26 PM
12
posts
58 Hybrid Bartender/Contract Services
Cambion
” Here's to your perfect weapon, Crack bones with blind aggression, Like birds whose wings are broken, You live without direction “
Hell
Bisexual
Single
no nicknames

awards

The Silent Contractor
Bells
she/her | Eastern | 3/3/3 | bells#5721


A few days ago, a sorcerer by the name of Claus Lazerous had given her a job to find a stolen item… and kill anyone associated with it. The sorcerer had offered her $10,000 to complete this job; but all he told her was that it was a pink diamond ring and showed her a picture of it. It looked like one of those fake rings you get in a bath bomb or for like $20 at a store. She could not possibly imagine what was so important about the ring that would make this one of the highest paying jobs she’d taken. She assumed part of the price was the fact that he had absolutely no leads for her. He had security cameras all over his house; but apparently they’d been knocked down during the theft. He mentioned a witch, and a powerful one at that, had to be involved because the control panel and cameras had protective spells to keep this from happening as well as the ring was hidden in a safe, only accessible by magic; so he suspected the witch had found a way to combat his spells. This information was useless though because it didn’t narrow down any of the possibilities. She would have to gather a lot of information in order to complete this.

He said he’d asked around and heard she was the best one for the job; and that she was. For the past 35 years, she’d done all sorts of odd jobs: murder, theft, bounty hunter, drug runner, intel gather, treasure hunter; the list goes on and on. Her life basically consisted of contract jobs, bartending, food, and very little sleep. She didn’t like to sit still because the longer she didn’t have something on her mind; the more the memories from her past would creep back up on her. Sleep wasn’t even a thing for her. Every time she closed her eyes, she was haunted by endless nightmares. She only said enough to get jobs done and didn’t really have any friends. She didn’t trust anyone enough to be friends. There were people she might get a drink with; but they held up most of the conversation, if there was one.

Anyway, her years of experience in contract jobs had made her one of the best contractors in San Francisco, so it was no surprise she was offered extremely difficult jobs and paid highly for them. Plus, she’d worked for so many people, it was almost impossible not to know of her in some circles.

She’d spent a couple days going from contact to contact, but none of them seemed to know anything about the ring or why it was so important. All these years building up a network of contacts and not one could give her a smidgen of information, fucking useless. She kind of lost it on one of her contacts, throwing a table across the room and practically destroying her apartment. This did seem to jog something in the Selkie’s head. She suggested a contact for Amelia: Masters was all she was given. He was supposedly a vault of knowledge, but the Selkie did warn to watch was she said around him, because he didn’t always help everyone. Amelia scoffed at the information. There was no way this guy could be that good and she hadn’t heard of him until now. At first, she ignored the information, but as she started to run out of contacts, she figured she had nothing to lose. She tracked him down and was told she could find him at The Rusty Nail: a dive bar in Northwest San Fran. Well at least he had good taste in bars.

It was around 9pm and the rain was pouring outside. The rain didn’t really bother her and she’d often go out in it without a thought. Though, she thought it might be better if she took the car this time. Dressed in black ripped skinny jeans, black combat boots, a back tank top, and her black leather jacket with the hood up to hide her face (black is the only color to Amelia), she drove her black corvette across town to the bar. She did get pretty wet walking into the bar, but not as bad as if she’d ridden her motorcycle.

Upon entering, she headed for the bar and ordered what was called a Dark n’ Stormy: rum and ginger beer (this girl literally had rum all day long; a real pirate this one). After she’d received her drink, she sat with her back against the bar, watching the patrons with ice blue eyes from under her hood. She would make sure it was him before approaching. She was told he was 30 year old white man who went to a bar, but didn’t drink… odd. Another deciding factor: they said he moved like a robot. This guy sounded ridiculous and she definitely didn’t believe all of the hype about him. But she kept her eyes fixed on the only guy in there who'd hadn't touched his drink since she entered. If he didn't drink, why did he have one? Not only did she find it strange, but slightly annoying. She was very matter of fact. Everything was black or white with her. So if you didn't drink, you didn't get one; plus, no need to waste good liquor. He didn’t move much, but when he did finally move, it was stiff; not what she would consider robot like, but she was a very technical person. Either way, he didn’t drink, looked like he was in his 30s, and had stiff movement. That had to be him.

She downed the rest of her drink, ordered another and then went to meet him. When she sat down, her posture was the farthest thing from lady-like; she was the farthest thing from lady-like. She slumped in the chair and her legs were out and apart. She kept her head down and hidden under the hood. The only thing you could see under it were her light blue eyes which flicked from her drink to him and back again. ”Masters?” when she spoke, her voice was low and quiet; that was how it normally was but also to avoid drawing attention. She watched him carefully, interested in how this would go.


May 8 2018, 07:22 AM
145
posts
39 spellbinder electrician
spellbinder
I'm the ghost in your house, calling your name, my memory lingers, you'll never be the same.
Tenebrae
bisexual
dating/shipped with Evan G.
Mal/Kai

awards

beaten off path
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
Masters?

It was like a sequence of steps, one naturally segueing into another; enter conflict, enter murder, then a promise of revenge and the possession of power. And then: the cork board he’d draped over the wall in his old room in his home which he shared with his lover, and which he had adorned, shortly upon it being mounted, with every photograph and a newspaper clipping seemingly random to anyone who saw. All attached together by strings: red for direct association (guilt), yellow for suspected, green for underlings that would be a problem, white for everyone innocent despite their distant connection. Blue was miscellaneous. He wouldn’t explain a word. It was hung on his wall, as wide as his person was tall. As tall as the half of its width, stretching still with enough of an overbearing character it looked like a miniature map of this world. Scaled not to threaten and frightening the spectator regardless possibly due to every pin through every face in every individual corner and scattered throughout the middle. A mapping not of the literal world, but a small, secluded part of it usually known as: the black market.

But only its branch of sorts.

Malakai stepped back from the view most would have pinned with concern, grabbed his jacket and he was off. Down the streets of San Francisco but he began choosing his paths without caution. Barred it when he put himself into the streets full of vagrants. A warren of criminals as it was known, a den of casual, mortal evil since it had nothing quite on the size of the sort that lurked in the genuine and ashen below. Hell had its ways of bleeding over into this world, and Malakai didn’t deny: he had walked over to the gates to both worlds and smoked there, for whiles after. Like he could have summoned the angel and demon that guarded both and when he approached, he swore he had felt it some, the flutter of swings and the silent, warning:

Don’t.

He had not. But he walked down the streets of the city back on the point, at least the parts of it not too populated by anything incredibly well-intended, and ducked into a place well known. The Rusty Nail. An edgy name for an edge-less shithole. But Malakai wouldn’t complain. Inside, he ordered, grabbed a drink he wouldn’t empty at all, and sat himself with a backwards lean at one of the available tables, looking the part of a man too fatigued to talk although with a beguiling, great sharpness to him that easily discouraged just anyone from a lofty approach. Legs out, his hand around the drink he wouldn’t put to his mouth, and he knew he’d not have to wait long.

Sell information and collect information. He’d hardly learned this from his Hutton. Although he appreciated the man’s guidance, and even the meddling concern from the fatherly figure not to continue to get himself involved. It was thanks to Hutton he was enhanced overall. A flesh binding that had been performed in repeat to stack it, the strength, the speed, the senses of a supernatural being and then one borrowed ability, adding to what Malakai dully stated made for an over-powered individual. Whoever needed this much power?

If not someone out to get their vengeance?

When she approached, he’d sensed her. A whiff of magic ‘round her but it was vague enough, generic enough he couldn’t tell what species she was. She must have seen him order, or even sit down at his table for she tracked him, with her eyes, with her presence, and then she was at his table, sitting down without a given invitation.

A customer, then.

A client.

His.

His eyes didn’t even narrow. Stern and neutral, they pinned themselves on her--

“Speaking,”
he rigidly answered. He leaned forward. Arms folded on the table between ‘em and his drink ignored evidently and again, his one arm remaining on the table but the other lifted to place his fingers at his temples, giving him an appearance of a thoughtful philosopher.

Although with the cutting, severe acuity of a general, with the green of his eyes appearing unusually sable.

Must have been the place they were, or the lack of an emotional response.

He noted her, however, in every manner a person could be noted.

Her scent and the dark magic around her, pinning her a supernatural.

As was he.

Filled to brims with magic, his core thrumming with energy. Hadn’t he branded himself with a rune right on the top of his hand at the moment, spelled to hide his presence, he’d have been ranking up the joint with magic ready to overflow. At least his wouldn’t kill him, if he deigned not to practice it again in the future.

His attention was on her.

Point.

“I am assuming,” he spoke, in a chilly, inflection-less drawl, “that if you have addressed me, you know who I am--”--unlikely--”--or you suspect you do, and either way you want something of me. Very well.”

He wasn’t wearing a very well expression.

Too cold and devoid of any emotion. Too intense, regardless. And focused on: her.

“What is it?”

And when he asked this, it was with a cluck of his tongue, and then: silence.

--------------------
user posted image
May 8 2018, 07:37 PM
12
posts
58 Hybrid Bartender/Contract Services
Cambion
” Here's to your perfect weapon, Crack bones with blind aggression, Like birds whose wings are broken, You live without direction “
Hell
Bisexual
Single
no nicknames

awards

The Silent Contractor
Bells
she/her | Eastern | 3/3/3 | bells#5721


She watched him carefully with unyielding, unblinking eyes. She may have looked relaxed, slumped in the chair as she was, but her guard was always up and she was always ready to defend herself. She was especially skeptical of those who hide their auras so she couldn’t tell their species. Only people with something thing to hide did that. Granted, as long as they didn’t become a threat, she didn’t much care; she was just wary of them.

When he spoke, she got a sort of ominous feeling. Her voice was cold and emotionless, but this was something more. It wasn’t just emotionless, he sounded completely devoid of life and yet, had an intenseness about him. As unsettling as he was, it didn’t phase Amelia one bit. She’d become so desensitized to pretty much everything that there wasn’t much that elicited a worried reaction from her; she was just always on guard due to years of danger and it had just become part of who she was.

”What is it?”

She leaned down to reach into her backpack she’d set on the floor next to her foot and pulled out a photograph of the the item she sought. She tossed the picture on the table that showed the pink diamond ring she was after. She sat back in the chair again, head up just enough to be able to see him. ”I’ve heard you may be able to tell me something about this. Is that true?” She asked pointing to the picture. She fully expected him to know nothing about it. She watched him, studied every movement, every glint in his eyes for a hint of recognition. Normally, she could read people’s bodies so well, she might have come up with something even they didn’t know about themselves. However, she felt it would be much more of a challenge, if not impossible, to do that with him.

@Eien

May 10 2018, 04:07 PM
145
posts
39 spellbinder electrician
spellbinder
I'm the ghost in your house, calling your name, my memory lingers, you'll never be the same.
Tenebrae
bisexual
dating/shipped with Evan G.
Mal/Kai

awards

beaten off path
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
He tensed when she brought up a photograph. It wasn’t wrong to suspect she could be armed-- neither was it something he’d immediately take off from his spot for, screaming offense, concern for his person and out through the door. No.

Malakai’s attention, calm to the point of wary and cold, remained on the woman, taking every opportunity to study her person. Tattoos and piercings, and this seeming hard-ass appearance that Malakai didn’t think highly of, but neither did he think lowly of it. He didn’t think that much of it. Like a bare fact subjected to his scrutiny, he’d dress it in educated assumptions, guesses that were born of the ages old knowing there was no smoke without fire and therefore if he thought her dearly interested in hiding who she was beneath layers of black and metal, then he can’t have been fully wrong. If he thought her mutated to this appearance by her past, or the future she walked herself towards for reasons that varied from lust for wealth, a path of revenge, friends in high places who’d roped her to trust that a blade in a man’s chest was a blade used the best, or the simple inability to stop her past from writing what happened next--

That, again, had to be half accounted for as a mere possibility among the hundred that he’d care to name. He didn’t list the rest. The many variables flickered through his head in a short, quick span that it took her to come up with the picture then placed on the table, and as he looked down at it, nothing in his features flickered. Nothing changed at all.

Malakai just hm’ed. A thoughtful noise as he took the photograph into his hand and lifted it up a bit more to his eye-level, another thing subjected to his survey. His eyes narrowed in a hint of scrutiny, but then he was lowering it, speaking succinctly--

“I may.”

He may.

He pinned her with a gaze.

“It depends on who is asking, what is wanted to be said about this, and moreover, at what price.”

He flicked his untouched glass with his knuckle. It made a bit of a noise. And Malakai clucked his tongue to it, gaze pinned on its smooth, glass surface for an instance until it glided over to her in an elegant motion of his features, practiced so he didn’t move an extra fiber, and wouldn’t bother with unnecessary expression.

Schooled. Mostly in this line of job. He looked naturally aloof, cautious and about as unreadable as her. He set the photograph down-- gently, delicately, as though to indicate it was of a value he was all too aware of-- and his lips pursed some, tongue bouncing off the roof of his mouth and gaze flicking between the ring and the woman who had sought him out.

His accent was crisp.

“What do you offer?”

--------------------
user posted image
May 11 2018, 10:10 AM
12
posts
58 Hybrid Bartender/Contract Services
Cambion
” Here's to your perfect weapon, Crack bones with blind aggression, Like birds whose wings are broken, You live without direction “
Hell
Bisexual
Single
no nicknames

awards

The Silent Contractor
Bells
she/her | Eastern | 3/3/3 | bells#5721


If there was anyone Amelia found remotely interesting, it would be this guy. They had been right. He was kind of like a robot, but in a smoothly elegant kind of way. She hardly met someone she couldn’t read. She studied every little movement, the way his gaze was piercing and then would flick between objects every so often, the way his hands moved in that stiff yet graceful motion as he took up the picture. As he studied the ring, he remained expressionless, unreadable. She wanted to know exactly what she was retrieving and how best to do that. If he couldn’t give that to her, she may just lose her cool again, which would be horrible to do in public…

“I may. It depends on who is asking, what is wanted to be said about this, and moreover, at what price.”

His heavy British accent was evident the more he spoke and hung on every word. She tapped her finger considering. She didn’t want to tell him all the details; but she respected his need to know. As void of morals and care as she was, she knew this kind of business like the back of her hand and tried to show an inkling of respect towards those she worked with. She would tell him what he needed to know and nothing more, for she needed to know everything he knew about it in order to find it. And he did know something about it. She hadn’t missed his gentleness in setting the picture down. Something so subtle it could have easily been missed had it not been for her years of people watching and studying their every move. He hadn’t picked it up that way, but after studying it and his gentleness, she guessed he at least knew how valuable it was; even though it looked like a toy ring to her.

He asked what her offer was and she just shrugged. Truthfully, it didn’t matter. Money had become more of a collection to her and she hardly used it except for this purpose, so if he wanted money, he could have it. If he wanted services…. Well, she got the feeling he may not be okay with her services from what she’d been warned about, but only he could answer that. That shrug was followed by a tone that was completely nonchalant. ”Only you know the worth of the information you hold and I’ll pay for it however you’d like. Money. Favor, whatever it is; I’m positive I can pay it.” She made a movement to sit up a bit and cross on of her legs, the most lady like gesture she’d ever make, and folded her arms over her chest before continuing. ”To help you make that decision… It was stolen from my client and I’ve been hired to retrieve it, so I will need to know everything about it to help me complete this errand.” Vague. As vague as she could make it to get her point across.


May 12 2018, 06:38 AM
145
posts
39 spellbinder electrician
spellbinder
I'm the ghost in your house, calling your name, my memory lingers, you'll never be the same.
Tenebrae
bisexual
dating/shipped with Evan G.
Mal/Kai

awards

beaten off path
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
She tapped her finger.

She didn’t want to tell him.

It was easy to glean-- this line of business had seen many Amelias before she even popped into the world, disregarding how old or young she was. And it had seen many women and men in her position, tapping fingers in impatience the contact had dared not to give what was asked, tapping fingers to think what to say, unwilling, naturally, to share any information either because it was too valuable, or because they simply didn’t want any detail of their interest known.

And then, she talked.

It was dismissive, vague. Hardly a rivulet of water to quench the thirst of a man who had walked the desert. She knew what she was doing, and he guessed she was gauging him for the same, too.

Did he know? Was he new in this kind of work? Was he an idiot, eager to either ask for too much information or content with too little like a slap across the face and he’d loll tongue out and profess to holding zero actual personality despite wearing a human face like a conscientious logical man?

Impressions. Perhaps he wanted to let her run with one or the other. Experience had taught Malakai, after all, that sometimes it was better to be an idiot.

His personal pride wouldn't let that happen.

He clipped his gaze down onto the photograph--

“If you’re not putting a price on my services, I’m assuming it’s because you’d not prefer me informed on the true value of the information. Or, you don't know the value.” His tone was a clipped, brusque drawl. He took the photograph between his fingers once more, considering it with a delicate, thoughtful expression and the arch of his brows that liked to further the impression of someone incredibly well and deep in thought over something they understood the full impact of. sussurate

cluck

“To give you a hint about what I do, or do not know,” he continued, lifting his frank, piercing gaze up to meet hers-- he spoke with a drawling, level inflection, a dead, booming kind of a voice that didn’t boom literally, and would not have been overheard by their audience (should they want to listen and Malakai had no doubt several were listening)- and yet it had a faint, susurrating echo. “A ring worth two million should perhaps have left you with a big enough budget to evaluate the required information you seek for your purpose, but then--” Malakai looked down again, his hand brought to his face--

He bit through his finger.

When blood ran along the uneven wound, gathering down at the tip of it, he suspended it over the tabletop, and casually drew in a rune. It looked simple, and small. He pressed his palm on it, supine, and then a spurt of magic erupted from him, immediately sinking to the rune and flaring it with a faint, white shine for a second that would have been noticed only by him and her, had they peeked beneath his palm to notice the glow, just like the spike of magic would have, too. His eyes flickered with a greener color than was native to humans, and nonplussed as before, about as nonchalant and expressive as her, he moved his hand off the rune, blackened now by comparison, and added, chilling and carrying his tone--

“That requires honesty on the side of your employer. Perhaps you are not the only one wanting to know this information.”

Like she had, Malakai leaned forward. Put finger between lips and plucked the blood off. He didn't break eye-contact with her.

“Perhaps, I should first inform you that there might be several others like you who’ve all come here one after another, sharing what you dodged making known. I wonder what happens when a man hires more on his fetch quest.”
Deceit of some sorts. Either retrieving the ring was so urgent, and he was underpaying all, or he was pulling all the mercs starved for a job not intending to pay any of them. What merc doesn’t get paid for their services?

A dead one.

Malakai rubbed his thumb over his fingers, his tone, despite the severity of his unimpressed gaze, oddly melodious. He’d angled his body back by then, the hand with the bleeding finger down between his legs and his other arm planted on the table.

He said--

“Do talk, nobody can hear us now.”

cluck

--------------------
user posted image
May 15 2018, 05:45 PM
12
posts
58 Hybrid Bartender/Contract Services
Cambion
” Here's to your perfect weapon, Crack bones with blind aggression, Like birds whose wings are broken, You live without direction “
Hell
Bisexual
Single
no nicknames

awards

The Silent Contractor
Bells
she/her | Eastern | 3/3/3 | bells#5721


Rage.

A feeling so familiar, so strong, and yet completely absent from expression. As much as she hated emotions, hated feeling them, showing them, she felt them stronger than one could imagine; and yet, had mastered the ability of hiding it from the world. The only reaction was an invisible, subconscious tense of the muscles as he talked. Sure, she had people try to fuck her over every now and then, and every time they paid for it with their lives. She shouldn’t have been surprised. This was the exact reason she didn’t trust anyone. But every time, she was just as angry as the last. Appalled by their audacity to try to cross her; especially with her reputation.

The spell drawn in blood didn’t phase her a bit. She was quite used to it after all her interactions with witches; the sight and smell of blood were actually appealing. In fact, if she hadn’t been so angry, she might have actually smiled. But she didn’t. She showed zero emotion towards that as well. She’d become a statue; still and unmoving accompanied by a silence that tended to be most unnerving. It was the silence of her tension, of her rage, of her contemplation. She’d already planned the death of that sorcerer several times over and continued to replay it even as she pushed it to the back of her mind to formulate a response.

There was silence. A dead sort of silence that, coupled with her stillness, might make you think she was dead. Most interpreted it as the calm before the storm; but then, in most cases, Amelia was no storm. Except for the rare occasion behind closed doors, she did not make huge presentations of her emotions. No. She was just the lightning: quick and fast with an undeniable effect upon impact.

Through that rage and silence came… a laugh. A snicker of sorts that showed both her disgust and amusement at the situation. A laugh from the woman who never smiled. It was an alarming sound. Perhaps not to those who didn’t know her, but to those who did, it was a sound that might cause a sort of anxiety. She nodded, the only movement since he’d told her about the others. When she spoke, amused anger dripped from her words.

”Okay… New plan then. I will retrieve the ring and eliminate those who thought they could cross me. Then, if you want, you can help me sell it and we’ll split it. If it’s as expensive as you say it is, then I imagine we’ll come out of this far better than the original arrangement. If not, then I’ll just simply pay you to help me retrieve it; though I can’t imagine why you would choose that…” She trailed off with a tilt of the head.

She was quite interested to see how he reacted to her new plan. Most of her contacts didn’t much care what she did with the information, but after she’d been cautioned about him, she wondered if acts of murder, thievery, or anything of like actually bothered him. But then, why would he sell the information? It occurred to her that he may have made deals with the ones who came in before her and that more could come to him after. She had the upper hand by knowing about the others, but others could come in after her and learn of her plan. After a couple seconds of consideration, she shrugged slightly. After being trained by a greater demon, there was hardly an opponent that posed an actual threat. He could do what he wanted and it still wouldn’t matter. She would follow through with her plan no matter the obstacles in her way.


May 16 2018, 11:38 PM
145
posts
39 spellbinder electrician
spellbinder
I'm the ghost in your house, calling your name, my memory lingers, you'll never be the same.
Tenebrae
bisexual
dating/shipped with Evan G.
Mal/Kai

awards

beaten off path
Eien
her/she | GMT +1 | 3/3/3 | Eien#0897
To be honest, Malakai wasn’t too concerned with her reaction. There was a few logical ways she could go, making even her resulting answer: the calm before the storm, and an eerie, cold laughter-- predictable. Written by the laws of a character that even she was a subject to, anger, hate, grief, numbness or shock having been all hers to choose from so eventually the one she’d settled on more described her as a person than anything else at the moment. Malakai focused on it, impartial, staring and for these two facts alone-- unconcerned, back on the point, with her reaction. In another scenario, he had envision her striking against him, punishing the messenger for the wrong-doings of her employer-- he’d prefer not to see that happen, although in his practical, and logical mind he’d calculated twenty-seven possible ways she could attack him, and formulated a counter-attack against each and every, almost immediately.

Almost. A word that soured him for a moment, like his own inability to process information and spit out answers at the speed of a computer was his worst problem.

She reacted, though, again in a manner predictable and all Kai would give her was: a blink. Nothing more.

She talked--

And it was roughly at that point that Malakai kind of decided she was very mentally off. After all, there very several wrong things about her suggestion; starting without any particular preference, her tacked on ‘why would you choose that’ made her a horrible business woman, the exact opposite of shrewd, in fact more moronic than any other option. It had a very miserable timing, too, after all she had begun her tirade sounding very ferocious, a determined woman on a warpath that hopefully didn’t see her premature end but a warpath she swore herself to, immediately involving him without any sort of curiosity about: him.

Who was he, what did he want, how could she buy him--

What had he told the others? How didn’t she marvel, certain as she sat here in her visions of murder, if he hadn’t told them the same, if not more than her because they’d been cold, dangerous and asked him, the deus ex machina informant. A plot device that didn’t naturally spawn in the world, meaning if he was here, if he had told them what he had told her: he wanted something, an itty-bitty something that brought him back to his few logical concerns with her person such as utmost lack of curiosity, or thirst to understand her situation, or anything remotely conducive to survival. Hers, honestly, Malakai began to doubt without a spare thought. His own-- not so quite yet. He drummed his fingers over the table between them--

Her shrug sealed the impression.

She was an idiot.

Malakai just answered her after a few seconds of silence.

“And I suppose you want me to teach you how to persuade me?” he asked, without much of an inflection there. A tone level, and unimpressed. His lips finally dropped their pinstripe shape; they curled a bit downwards, intensifying his appearance of a man left high and dry. He drummed his fingers over the table. “You assumed my complicity in your business. Moreover, you left it up to me to make the decision myself, beginning with the assumption I’d be ‘in on it’ with you since the start, as the phrase goes, before devolving into some self-doubting jumble that I can’t even begin to make a sense out of, barring my belief that if you were left in the dark about it until this point, it makes sense you’re still left in the dark; your communication skills are abysmal. I understand the goth thing has to be a reflection of your black soul.”

His lips curled more, his grimace of disapproval strong. And Malakai frowned at her, dishing out his critical, frank thoughts--

“You’d believe, however, that if nothing else even your most silent contractor would have the smarts to try to understand the situation as much as possible. I suppose I cannot expect much else from an errand girl,” he added, sounding a bit defeated. “There’s a purpose why you do the errands; you don’t have the necessary requirements to occupy the upper echelons of the city underbelly.”

His gaze flicked to the door behind her.

”Good luck.”

--------------------
user posted image

Topic Options

Reply

Fast Reply

New Thread



 


 

UNTIL DAYLIGHT: POST-APOC, TLOU BASED Ataraxy Frisson RPG
Affiliates [ View All | Link-us | Apply ]
Maelstrom The Four Dimensions The Reckless Kind 『 M E R C Y 』 Vexxor Mass Effect: from ashes Potterwatch Restored 
 

Shadowplay RPG-D
tagbox requires separate login, register below -- pls mark [tw] and [m] tags






Skinned by SARAH exclusively for Fugue State.