#◈ rp threads

[gcldfanged]

Love-Style Pawsona Quiz Tagged By: @stupidiinspades [OH, YOU...]

The Endless softly gasps, placing a hand against their chest in complete breathless 'shock' that when paired with their most creative intermediary (one single-serving John Constantine), the couple made for the most pleasantly chaotic of... partnerships?

Oh, if only some creative malaise-struck, soggy-eyed human poet could adequately capture the depth and complexity of their dynamic in a single paltry word.

"Admittedly, I was quite skeptical of the outcome, but color me surprised- The internet truly does know so much! But how could this be, John? I am quite 'off the grid', if that's the appropriate term... Have you spent an inordinate amount of time sorting through fond little moments you've since committed to memory? Is there a form of social media that boasts a library of countless videos where you sigh and fling yourself bodily across your threadbare sofa, cursing various pantheons and entities at work, for steering you in my direction? I have some catching up to do, if that's the case-"

Of course, leaving would be no fun at all. True to themselves as ever, Deceit proceeds to get nice and comfortable- By being entirely sprawled across the mage's lap.

They adjust themselves vigorously, wiggling their hips to and fro, as they use their own crossed arms as a pillow beneath the elegant curve of their neck.

"Or you could just regale me with your emotional struggles right now, you may just get a juicy tidbit of sound advice straight from the source- A RARE privilege, indeed."

[mutasharid]

@sunderedoldfriends requested a starter for Estinien:

For a gravely wounded man, the Warrior of Light was making quite a ruckus at the Barber's. The more sensible of the Healers had left, but one or two stubborn souls reminded behind to try and talk sense into the mage.

"I don't need to be attended to like some... invalid!" Vali raged while looking, if possible, even more angry than he had before he began to cough up specks of blood. He'd bellowed enough to strain his throat hoarse, held together with ruddy bandages that needed replacing, yet Arrzaneth had decided this was a feat he could manage on his own.

A roll of bandages was carefully gripped in his right hand, trying and failing to wrap it snug against the mangled remains oh his once dominant opposite. It had taken two weeks of sedation keeping him immobile, grafting the raw wound to a flap of skin on his lower abdomen above his hip. Once rooted, new skin began to form enough to remove it once more, at the cost of some bone and tissue remaining from the dregs of his necrotic middle digit. The remaining ring and pinky finger could barely move, trauma to the adjoining muscles and tissue having atrophied any dexterity he could perform.

An ugly line of stitches and stapling started a little below his sternum, the imperial viceroy's blade having caught him at a diagonal, carving into his chest to the shoulder.

Now that he was awake, all he could think about was the massacre that had unfolded at the Reach. How foolish he had been to think the empire was blind to their schemes and movements. He'd barely cobbled together some untrained young villagers to take up arms, convinced more sons and daughters of simple laborers to enlist and aid the Resistance. With those who remained with Commander Kemp after Baelsar's Wall, they barely had any numbers to rival that of an experienced legion.

The former Azure Dragoon's presence went barely noticed as Vali pulled at the bandages between his teeth, trying to knot the material and failing spectacularly. Growling out a frustrated noise of disgust, he curled his right hand into a fist and slammed it down on the wooden frame of the sick bed.

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ actions and dialogue for forbidden kisses 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “… that shouldn’t have happened.”

²⁾ holding onto their shoulders/waist for the duration of the kiss, and making no move to separate even after it’s ended

³⁾ “stop telling me that we can’t be together and then pulling shit like this!”

⁴⁾ “[name], i’m sorry.”

⁵⁾ pressing the pads of their fingers into their lips in the aftermath, like they’re either trying to capture the feeling or banish it from memory

⁶⁾ foreheads pressed together as the kiss breaks, eyes guilty but so so full of want

⁷⁾ “this can’t be all there is. a half-dozen kisses every year that we pretend don’t happen and pretentious conversations about ourselves, is that what we’re clinging so hard to? what i’m clinging so hard to?!”

⁸⁾ having begun to trail impassioned kisses down their jaw and neck before the harsh reality kicks back in

⁹⁾ “i shouldn’t have let this happen. it’s not fair on either of us.”

¹⁰⁾ “we sh- “ “no, please. just- just let me have this. just for a minute.”

¹¹⁾ breathing in their scent because they know that this is as close as they’ll get to it for a long, long time

¹²⁾ “why are we doing this to ourselves?”

¹³⁾ using every ounce of strength they have to not lean into the hand cupping their cheek or cradling their head

¹⁴⁾ “that was an accident.” “yeah, you always seem to say that.”

¹⁵⁾ “no matter how cruel it is that you keep giving me hope like this, it’s still never enough to stop me from loving you as much as i do.”

¹⁶⁾ “i don’t want to let go of you.” “and i don’t want to let you.”

¹⁷⁾ feeling tears welling up in their eyes as the hurt and longing burns in their chest

¹⁸⁾ holding the face of their would-be lover tenderly in the palm of their hand, silently apologising for putting them both through this again

¹⁹⁾ “i love y- “ “no, no. please, i can’t. i can’t hear this, not again.”

²⁰⁾ breaking the kiss but still holding them close, hiding their face in the other’s neck to try and recover the moment

²¹⁾ “would now be a bad time to tell you you’re a really good kisser?”

²²⁾ calling them a petname to try and comfort them, but only succeeding in upsetting them more at the reminder of what they can’t have

²³⁾ pushing them away, knowing exactly how cruel it is but favouring it over hurting them both by letting things go further

²⁴⁾ “how do we keep letting this happen?”

²⁵⁾ “this is killing me, [name].”

[gcldfanged]

"Nothing's stopping you from just... mouthing them, as a casual reminder. You don't even have to break their skin, just hold them in your powerful jaws like a large dog grabbing a smaller dog by the muzzle."

"Well I already have the social dominance of being the Phoenix and the heir to Rosaria so I've not needed to go and bite people to assert that."

[gcldfanged]

[Continued from HERE.]

He's always a bit lethargic after a meal, not even from the amount of food consumed- But due to the sheer amount of organization, time management, concentration, and labor needed to prepare a custom menu. He wasn't bellowing orders at the pass or throwing badly plated dishes at his line cooks (this time, anyway), but the weariness was evident in the way the crime lord's shoulders sagged a touch lower and the flirtatious quality to his voice and gestures had quieted down into something much more thoughtful and subdued.

Swirling the remnants of some disgustingly pricey luxury champagne within a fluted crystal glass, Yoon crosses one long leg over the other with a soft exhale. Business was going well, as to be expected- However, his 'pet project' in sponsoring a up and coming yakuza heir had proved to be a decision that had sent ripples of confusion and unease through his subordinates. While they didn't spurn all dealings with the yakuza brotherhoods stationed overseas, direct business with any who remained rooted to the island proper was obviously quite rare.

The bad blood that stemmed from a long history of incredibly hostile foreign occupation was a blisteringly raw wound that refused to scab over, only to be further exacerbated by the resurgence of strong neo-imperialist sentiment within Japan's political climate. And while Jae-hyo himself could admit that he entertained contacts with origins from Japan, they both knew (but never put words to) the basic rule enforced, ever passed down from generational trauma: You can engage with them at large, even call some of them your friends, but you never forget.

Miyoko was vastly unexpected, the direct offspring said to inherit their father's criminal empire and yet they did not glide across the floor radiating some modern and wordless echo to yamato nadeshiko with an ever graceful economy of subtle and subdued movements. They marched like someone who'd just returned from a stint of career military service, had that sharp-eyed predator's awareness of their surroundings at all times, their body an extremely deadly and more than effective weapon hewn from shattered bones that only grew back thicker and stronger for it, scarred flesh touched by little more than cruelty for the sake of flaunting power, and a personality that more brief flashes of keenly-honed edges and layered barbed wire keeping others at a firmly enforced distance.

They could exercise politeness when needed, but beneath that calm and neutral mask lied something that Yoon recognized very quickly- a learned state of passive acceptance. It wasn't innate, it wasn't some intrinsic yellowed streak that hid beneath the chiton of one's backbone when introduced to increasing pressure.

It was the kind of dead-eyed lack of personhood that he saw staring down at the drain of a public bathroom sink, like the centrifugal force of the ruddy water might drag his body down into the blackness along with it. His mirrored-self's jaundiced and bruised flesh: all manner of painful lessons burned, beaten, strangled, and subdued by anything from knives, to ropes, to chains and the control of much larger stronger hands. There was nothing human there, no 'soul'- Only an ever spiraling void that continued to consume everything leveraged against it, yet was never truly complete. A sieve through which any sense of freedom, expression, or even opinions that differed from that of their master fell straight through the gaping mouth punched through it's foundation.

He should be disgusted by the knowledge, the ability to recognize that shared hollowness that is forever carved through their being- A yawning abyss that did nothing more than gnash it's broken teeth and futilely gnaw at it's own belly, stripping fur and skin until they punctured innards.

He should hate them, for being so weak- As he hated his old self, the coward who did nothing but cry endlessly and snivel into her twin's skirts at the overwhelming hopelessness of their situation. The helpless little girl who had said nothing, not even dared to breathe, even as her only remaining source of unconditional love and selfless protection was so cruelly dragged away- All the while struggling just to lock eyes and deliver a reassuring smile to her other half that was birthed from the same womb.

It's going to be okay, J꙲꙲i꙲꙲-꙲꙲h꙲꙲o꙲꙲.꙲꙲"꙲꙲

Jae-hyo's dominant arm lashes out like a snake, to close steely leather-encased fingers around Miyoko's wrist and pull. Keeps pulling until the guidance and torque results in the yakuza heir sitting astride his hips and thighs. His gimlet-eyed stare is little more than two pools of spilled oil spreading across the encrusted rime of a gelid pond. He doesn't move to grasp at familiar curves or the hard planes of muscle, doesn't lift a solitary finger to coax, cajole, or otherwise lure them into a false sense of comfort. His expression isn't warm or bright, it's not reassuring kindness and closed-lipped smiles. Jae is content to merely study his would-be 'prize', taking mental notes of dark pupils that expand- pushing out the equally rich hue of their irises into thin limbal halos. How they jump from the sharp ridges of his clavicles up the slender column of his neck draped in delicately interwoven gold chains and Cortez pearls in a spectrum of peacock blue-green, lush aubergine, and rose.

On any other person, they might have been garish and over the top- Sneered at for being ostentatious trappings meant for an overly-spoilt trophy wife hanging from the arm of an actual made-man. Yoon wasn’t confident in the sense that he wore what he did because he had convinced even himself that it was stylish, he chose specific accessories and fabrics to artfully drape himself in because he liked the way they looked on his androgynous frame- Limber and all tightly-coiled braids of wiry muscle slumbering against sharper, bony landmarks that could cut through glass.

Mascara-coated lashes accentuated by rich crimson gel liner lower just the slightest increment, brushing feather light against the fullest slope of Miyoko’s right cheekbone- A brief moment of extremely fleeting contact that the heir-apparent craved.

Turning his wrist in a languid motion, he brings the heel of a gloved hand to his mouth and sinks his incisors into the softly treated leather. The protective coverings slip from what would have been long and elegant fingers- An artist’s tools, or the perfect living canvas to model rings. Instead, they reveal cratered and discolored remnants of wounds that went far deeper than surface level contact burns- Countless live embers carelessly stamped and ground into his naked skin when the cigarillo’s pleasant sear no longer mattered as a form of enjoyment.

It's with these disfigured hands that he gently brushes through gathered strands of hair falling in a defensive curtain away from his partner's visage, tucking the dark locks behind the curve of their ear.

[tainted-be-the-light]

"Oi, Chibi. Guess why I'm here? Unfortunately, I have to announce to you that I'm not dead yet and I'm here to annoy you."

-@wastedbandages

"... I didn't even drink yet, what the hell"

*^ very much convinced that Dazai isn't real.*

[melancholicmoonlight]

Jameson and Reid, now alone with only their horses and whatever money they've got, have been scouring the larger towns and cities they come across for any information on werewolves they can find. Nothing has been helpful, of course.

But now, they're hiking their horses through a snowy countryside, Reid in the front with a lit lantern in their hand as they trudge on.

Jameson had been trailing behind Reid, moping, but after a while he makes his way next to them, clearing his throat. “We should probably find somewhere to stop, it’s getting late.”

[gcldfanged]

It wasn't unusual for Yut-Lung to go overboard when he narrowed the scope of his focus- On his herbs and poison-making, wine-tasting, other men... It wasn't something Yoon was allowed to vocally comment on, but he clearly disliked when his Boss didn't look after his own health. He supposed it was part of the job: driver, bodyguard, physician, therapist- Whatever was needed in the moment, essentially.

"Then I know just the place," Jae-hyo replies, offering the crook of his arm in case Yut-Lung needed to steady himself.

Parking proves to be a challenge, but with the Lee's particular infamy in terms of reputation and power- they manage to get away with leaving the car directly in front of the small restaurant. Doesn't seem to be huge deal, seeing as the yet unnamed kao tom stop gets more than half of it's profits from takeout and pick-up orders.

There's barely any space and no restroom available (to the customers, anyway), but the faces haunting the wobbly tables and plastic chairs that look like they came straight out of a public school classroom don't seem to care about the lack of 'basic amenities'. They glance in Yut-Lung's direction mostly due to the finery of his clothing, all pure silk brocade and woven jacquard gleaming in the almost sickly 'hospital green' florescent bulbs lining a cracked 'popcorn' style ceiling.

Jae walks right up to the counter, reaching across the pass-through to lock hands with a rather hip-looking younger man sweating over ridiculously huge wok.

"You ever come back without me, just yell at this dipshit-" Yoon explains, pointing as his 'friend' covered in streetwear flashes a reverse v-sign at Yut-Lung.

"Tes, or Tesla- Like the, uh, car. They've been here since, what... Was it the Eighties when your dad bought this place?"

'Tesla' shrugs, immediately handing over a long plate covered in holy basil, lime wedges, cilantro, chopped green onions, and fried garlic.

"Two boat noods with the MAMA ramen and that 'Crybaby'- Yeah, the big flat ones. Thanks," Yoon relays to their resident chef, before pulling out a chair for his superior at an unoccupied table. There are one or two gnats lazily hovering over a tray covered in well-used bottles of fish sauce, chili vinegar, and a sugar bowl.

Decidedly not fancy, or lavish.

"You want something to drink, Boss?" the enforcer asks, turning to a small fridge filled with bottles of Singha beer.

Yut-lung swayed a little, slightly unstable on his feet. He managed to stabilise himself and began to walk towards the front door.

"Something closeby and quick. Pick your favourite out of whatever fits that description." He pulled his hair over his shoulder to began to undo it from the braid he'd kept it in all day - it was a process to take out the braid when his hair was so long but it was pulling on his scalp uncomfortabley.

"Something filling, not stupidly small portions." He added, looking up at his bodyguard. Fancier, lavish restaurants were for appearances sake, and he certainly didn't mind them, but he was in the mood for something far more substantial in a single course.

[alburnusgecko]

@dr-octayve @mr-rey-of-sunshine @intern-ko

*gecko knocks on the daycare door* hello? Is anyone here? Me and Dr Octayve figured out how to reverse the de-aging gun!

[gcldfanged]

@umbral-dominant

Blackthorne's forge was noticeably empty, save for one lanky looking woman. She was not cleaning, nor taking account for stock of supplies nearby, instead single mindedly focused on the slow push and pull of her blade against a damp whetstone.

It was a small dagger, barely enough weight or heft to feel intimidating by itself, but the angle of the swedge and shape of the knife's sweep indicated it was made for precision- Whether that be precision cutting or piercing. Often the simplest of weapons were the nastiest, whittled down to it's base components through repeated use and time. The function isn't visual appeal, strength, nor endurance, but to sever a nerve, muscle or tendon fibers- or blood vessel to disable and kill the adversary via exsanguination.

Her long, scarred fingers handled it with the casual ease of someone accustomed to bloodshed- There was a intimate familiarity to the way her hands worked with rather than against it's construction, but also a comfortable amount of confidence, bringing the dagger to eye level to examine the edge for any burrs or a noticeably drastic difference in angle.

"Blackthorne's not back yet," she explained aloud, not sparing even a once over to the man who stood at the threshold between the anvil and smithing table.

"Charon called him away, but he should return soon. I have some business with him, so whatever it is you need will have to wait until I'm done with the old bear."

Ji-ho merely wanted to establish that she had since been patiently waiting before this stranger entered the smithy's. No reason to let some newcomer try and muscle his way in front of her position of priority.

The wraps of colored silk and short cotton crossed over her torso were reminiscent of a courtesan's attire, though any gaudy baubles and jewelry she may have once donned had long been sold off for coin. There was no bearer mark upon the steep angle of her visible cheekbone, but her arms and shoulders bore countless scars: semi-circular divots of flesh were entirely missing in places, puckered scar tissue forming shallow craters from where fine cigarillos had been repeatedly extinguished into her bare skin. Thin and meandering lacerations snaked around bony elbows in idle, nonsense patterns- Almost creating a mockery of constellations between the beauty marks and moles standing out against her honeyed-olive complexion.

The tall and taciturn male standing there looked almost passingly familiar. Maybe she had seen him in parting while leaving Cid's solar? It wasn't immediately clear just how the woman had recognized his grim countenance, there were so many refugees and Cursebreakers joining the cause that it was hard to keep track of every single soul who resided within the Hideaway.

[melancholicmoonlight]

In the dark afternoon, two horses guided by lanterns trudge off down a snow whipped path, up to a shabby cabin off in the distance. Ice nips at their noses, and in the distance, the sound of howling wolves echoes throughout the mountains.

Jameson tugs his scarf up to cover his face, glancing over at Reid. “Do we have enough firewood for the night?”

[gcldfanged]

Despite Tseng's uncanny gifts of astuteness and intuition, managing to land precision-strike darts upon the twisting labyrinth that made up Jae-hyo's psyche did not require a surfeit of perception- At present. Normally, these ever shifting corridors resembled more a distressing landscape that would put an M.C. Escher design to shame. Instead, the agent is clearly elsewhere. His passivity and abject silence continued to loom heavily with uncharacteristic languor.

As if stirring from a centuries-long period of malaise, Yoon wordlessly leans back within his ergonomic chair and narrows his eyes at the ceiling. Seamless tiles broken up by sleek, modern fixtures of overhead lighting were normally sanitized by the maintenance crew every evening- But Reno had seen to it that a spare fountain pen had mysteriously found itself embedded into the PVC.

His PHS remains motionless on the surface of his desk, seemingly forgotten (it wasn't). Not that he was expecting contact anyway. Unless the G-cells were steadily eating away at Hewley's brain matter, then he might as well just wrap himself in a gaudy-ass bow and land on the President's private helipad atop the Shinra building.

The stupid mental image doesn't even stir an ounce of... anything, really. Ever since the mass desertion, he'd busied himself with work: would have preferred to complete reconnaissance and infiltration missions within the jurisdiction of their headquarters over being assigned 'resident desk jockey'.

But his actions, his choices- Every word put to voice needed to be closely monitored, after all.

It hadn't been a shock to the system or a massive betrayal of implicit trust when he'd found himself handcuffed to some dingy metal chair in front of Verdot. If anything, it felt natural. Expected. Routine.

The Director had ever been at his side through it all: Pushing heavy clumps of drenched hair back from Jae's face as he puked up nothing but what felt like gallon after gallon of frigid water, smoothing the calloused pad of his dominant thumb over scabbed ridges of Jae's knuckles as he applied liquid adhesive over the raw and exposed wounds where his fingernails should have been, gently daubing at heavy rivulets of cold sweat pouring down the length of Jae's neck after injecting him with a heavy cocktail of potent drugs mixed with dimethyltryptamine.

In some sick way, he almost wanted it to be like that again.

No more 'what ifs' and 'could haves' spiraling into the infinite, a restless snake perpetually swallowing it's own tail. Just the intimate familiarity of pain suffusing his being, his complete surrender to Veld's omnipotent and perfect control, it's haunting euphoria enveloping him.

The exact question hadn't been addressed, only implied through an obdurate mask of wordless austerity.

Outside their ranks, is anyone worth that? Will he wake up each morning with effortless certainty of his value and dedicated place carved out by someone else?

Does he even feel like home, to you?

There's an unsettling gleam in the mesopelagic abyss of his dark, crimson-lined eyes. A tomcat's slit-eyed leer.

"You were saying something, hyungnim? I completely missed it, sorry- Does it bear repeating?"

Yoon's raspy tone is laden with the sweetest coating of syrup he can express, thick enough to outright suffocate the other man. Choke him, even.

"It's such a shame when a Turk gets too caught up with a SOLDIER."

[alburnusgecko]

@listacole

Okay! So I have all the unlabeled guns in that box in the corner, do you want to pick one out? I’m pretty sure all of them are mostly safe!

[deathlessvcmpire]

ㅤSo tell me everything is not about me

ㅤㅤㅤㅤBut what if it is?

# deathlessvcmpire ❝ an independent and mutually exclusive rp blog that tells the story of the KLAUS MIKAELSON; private and semi selectiv, low activity, canonically different

anti j. pl*c ; 21 + only, m&pdni ! ger/eng, crossover, multi verse & mutli ship friendly, open for plotting ! ❞ / ( written by sun 28+. she/her. (GMT+1). )

MEMES & RULES

[gcldfanged]

Ahh, there he was at last...

Always playing things extremely fast and loose with unspoken golden rules that the mundane and even so-called 'Masters of the Occult' should constantly adhere to: Never run from something immortal, lest you attract it's immediate attention. Never accept gifts, food, or drink. Never share one's true name, and so on.

That reckless commitment to pure and unabashed idiocy, experiencing it in all of it's facile ease, it's naked poetry- So brazenly flirting with a capricious and ungovernable entity such as themselves? Deceit will savor this, turn it over countless times within their nimble-fingered grasp. They'd return to this moment again and again, examine the scene from all angles, trace the forked tip of their tongue along it's edges from the comfort of their own realm.

Their location changes abruptly, the Endless' human-like proportions now fitting snugly inside the space between John's trademark coat and dress shirt. The tip of their chin rests against the planes of the mage's yet clothed belly, the androgynous being tip-toeing blackened claws up the broad expanse of Constantine's chest. Lithe palms trace out the shapes of arcane symbols inked into his fair skin, stroking over twinned buds of thicker flesh beginning to pebble from the intimate contact. Petal-soft lips curl back to expose sharp golden incisors before viciously twisting at short strands of hair covering the swell of a pectoral with their thumb and forefinger.

Deceit raises their head to hungrily lick at the air, displaying the disturbing length of their reptilian tongue. The dexterous organ appears blue in color, thin as a whip and completely unlike that of a human's- The Endless content to nuzzle their angular cheek against the delightful scratch of beard stubble peppering John's jawline.

"I positively adore your smell when fear takes hold," they admit in a breathy hiss, their slitted pupils beginning to expand the longer they remain entangled.

it's like one of those two-faced dog quotes bouncing around the net these days. 'oh i can get you one of them- watch the back and the front door at the same time!'. skittered somethin' awful along the back of his head.

though that could be because he is POINTEDLY staring down at his whiskey glass and away from those eyes, none too keen on a revisit of that seemingly-eternal nausea that john was pretty sure had nothing to do with the endless itself, and more to do with his magic pitching a fit. or it could simply be tuesday!

the magician laughs at his own humour, canting his head to at least show he's very much paying attention.

" yanno i tend t'satisfy any o'that with the comforting an' vaguely arousing thought that you're in my mouth at all hours~. " after all, he had a talent for lying- perhaps to a level it could be considered compulsive. also, an evident deathwish, given his utter devil-may-care attitude when it came to the divine and all their ilk.

" y'feel my tonguin' your shape earlier, is that it? it wasn' even my best yarn spun-- swindlin' swindler's is fair-easy if y'know what they're after."

[gcldfanged]

@sometimesrufus

Photos enhanced to high quality perfection spanned each wall of the annexation remembrance display, SOLDIERs and infantry men alike caught in candid shots holding rescued children or helping the injured to a healer's tent. To Ji-ho, these were memories that did not reflect their home at all- They may have been born during the armistice between Hanuel and Shinra's military forces to oust Wutai's hostile occupation, but their grandfather had little love for foreigners.

Had they stayed behind and not been trafficked, they doubted they'd be anything but the last of a dying breed- A die-hard loyalist who stubbornly clung to belief of their own nation's might, trying to preserve what little dignity they thought they had left.

A well-dressed secretary arched an eyebrow at the state of them, but Ji-ho had no money for fine clothes, much less a formal silk blouse and skirt set that probably cost as much as a four-door car. Yet they wore the few scraps of fabric that composed their obvious 'street walker' ensemble with an easy confidence, refusing to be cowed into humiliation by a nine-to-five pencil pusher. The stiletto heels of their knee-high boots clicked ominously as they strode over to the elevator, disgruntled chaperone in tow.

It was a long ride up countless floors, until the elevator finally came to a smooth stop.

They’re not sure what to expect. The night before still felt almost like some strange fever dream brought on by malnutrition and one too many fists to the jaw, perhaps the contact high from the smoke. Rufus Shinra looked like what ‘good people’ in movies were- Blonde and pretty, clean and pale-skinned, wearing the purest white like some kind of sartorial oxymoron drifting weightlessly through the blueish gloom of Wall Market’s nightlife. Like an angel from on high, except an agent of God wouldn’t have packed blue steel heat like he did, wouldn’t have the cold and calculating poise with which he unraveled Masa’s born-bully psyche like a threadbare bathroom rug by simply pulling the most obvious string.

They had been the ‘shield’ afterall, a crude bargaining chip seized in the moment (which would have been hilarious if they all hadn’t seen it coming a mile away), as if the Wutaian gangster actually valued Ji-ho’s life in the slightest beyond being one more layer between himself and a hail of bullets. What had they looked like, they wondered- Probably tired. By the situation, the banter, the spectacle. Rufus could have shot Ji-ho through the heart and they would have thanked him, by that point. Shinra Junior had disarmed Masanori in one confident pull of the trigger, said his piece, then ended the ‘discussion’ with a second shot to the forehead. They’d merely wiped the blood from the side of their face and spit on his corpse in response.

That had made the corner of the blonde’s lips quirk into a crooked smile, like he was actually impressed by the display of obvious disdain. He’d given them a business card and offered an opportunity to ‘discuss employment’, whatever that meant. Honestly, they weren’t expecting anything so revolutionary, they couldn’t already guess what their ‘job’ might entail. Still, maybe some tiny part of their mind was holding out for a miracle, maybe something unexpected that could lead them to a better lot in life.

Even if such hopes were mere childish fantasies and they’d be re-learning the hardest lesson all over again, they would have regretted not showing up to the Shinra building at all. 

After being lead to the conference room, Ji-ho remained standing, almost prepared to walk right back out if they didn’t like what the other had to say.