#♚{ live against all odds || verse

[smugliar]

@solitarysurvival asked; " you look like shit. " / aghsjfhdgjfd im so sorry but it's also in the "guess im glad u lived" way

"¿En serio?" He butters on the sarcasm, "You don't look much better, bud. At least I got a good facial, yeah?" Cracked, dried mud clings to Ace leaving a dusty residue. Any time spent in the swamp was a minute too many, and trying to sprint away in a good foot of mud wasn't the easiest-- maybe if he was just a bit younger and only had the occasional cigarette, it would go better. How he managed that sometimes was beyond him.

Dumb luck.

Visconti's brows furrow uncomfortably as he rubs at the hairs on his chin, breaking up more of the mud. With his missing signature hat and glasses combo, he's feeling more bare than usual too. He hadn't noticed until he was well on his way back to the fire. The trial had been rough, and Lisa had become determined to take him down. Adrenaline had gotten him out of there alive, that's for sure. He can still feel a slight tremble as the anxiety subsided in a low hum in the back of his mind.

"If you feel like you're missing out, I can always save some of the dirt for ya, nature boy." Ace tries to playfully dust some of the remains off onto Jake's shoulder, relaxing somewhat, giving a cackle.

[smugliar]

In mock defense, Ace raises his hands. “Suit yourself, tough guy. You’re missing out on getting to see these hands at work, though.” He’s sure to give his fingers a playful wiggle, plopping down to sit across from the goliath. Truthfully, Ace had only come to catch his breath and to find somewhere dry. The raging downpour from the red forest was seeping into his bones even despite how much of a marathon he ran to get away from The Huntress’s iron grasp. Unlike him, King didn’t seem to falter in the shitty weather making him an important asset to help get the team (or just Ace) out of the trial. Getting comfortable against the wooden wall, Ace gives David a once-over. Rich brown eyes pop out over the tops of his shades before falling under the veil, again. 

“Did you manage to take yourself off of that thing this time or what?”

there is blood flowing freely from the wound in his chest where the hook had pierced through. breathing labored, he sits there & waves the other away. ❛ piss off, i'm busy dying 'ere. ❜

starter!

[smugliar]

@edensflower asked ;; ❛  here, let me give you a hand.  ❜ from yoichi!

He barely registers Yoichi's words. The raging pain from his leg makes it difficult to be completely present. Each trial held nothing new. It was a rinse-and-repeat situation, but that didn't lessen the pain's intensity. The trap hugged his calf. Its teeth clung tight, and Ace had trouble getting his fingers between the ridges to free himself- his hands were too slippery with his own blood.

Giving the younger man a quizzical expression, he slumps back on one hand, sitting on the ground exhausted from the strain of energy and pain.

"If you wanna take a crack at it, be my guest, kid." Ace gestures half-heartedly at his pinned leg. It was destined now that he would be the first one to meet the hands of McMillian, and he doesn't truly mind. He wasn't exactly going to get very far if he was hobbling away from that guy. Everything about it was mind-numbing. Yet, somehow people gave a shit enough to try and see it through. Ace's attention curiously swayed back to Yoichi, watching him with light interest.

[smugliar]

@hrrorstrie continued from { x }

"Somewhere I can get a good pack of Quilmes," He hums, that signature smile curled at the ends of his lips. Ace tries to keep the topic light, having not really expected such a deep question in response but this was Zarina. She had a talent for plucking them from seemingly nowhere.

They were stuck at a fork in the road if one could even call it that. It was the only sign of life out here where other survivors of the group trucked into the underbrush to find supplies. Ace rubs at his beard, eyes looking around the dark woods. He wasn't naturally the type to be philosophical.

"Nah. I don't know, kid. Couldn't get any worse though, eh?"

"What's that giant spider gonna do? Give Myers two knives?"

[smugliar]

@mauscleum asked ;; " you are prey in a world of predators. " - the Artist

"Ha, yeah," The air feels raw against his throat as he wheezily inhales. "I guess I'm pretty quick prey, though, huh." Ace's chest is on fire. He tries to not double over out of exhaustion. He compromises by resting a palm on the crooked railing of the endless staircase- pin prick wounds from the birds burn as they touch the rough surface.

As she advances, he tries to not fumble over his own footing. He moves up a step at a time, doing his best to keep a distance between them. "But, y'know, I would like to think of myself as more of a predator. Maybe a cougar, or a wolf, yeah? Ladies eat that whole lone wolf attitude up."

[smugliar]

"Y'mean Wallace?" A short, sudden bark of laughter. "Yeah. Pobre bastardo. That guy had a way with words. He even got me to do a stupid thing or two— I always won. He wasn't so great at keepin' it cool, though." Ace doesn't need to look up at Quentin. He can hear how he is fumbling over his words, desperate to conjure up less bloody imagery.

He isn't usually so altruistic. The happenstance of others seeing Ace with medical supplies was one thing, witnessing the man actually using them was another. He left that task up to others, whilst he went on his merry way to victory. But, the kid had gotten under his skin, and as much as he would much rather let him meet fate at the hands of McMillan, some form of empathy has his own hands stained in fresh crimson.

"As for the cheating, you know I can play a good hand— no extras attached. When or where is my secret, yeah?" Turning over Quentin's palm he gives a wink, adjusting the gauze on his finger before wrapping it snugly around the boy's wrist. One of Ace's hands occupies itself with keeping everything in place by hugging Quentin's wrist, meanwhile the other goes to salvage the remains of the first aid, looking for some form of adhesive. "But, yeah, I won the game of keepin' all my fingers an' grabbin' a few bucks. The game was kinda cut short due to the whole thing, which, meh, what are ya gonna do. I got enough cash to get a nice pair of wing tips. Those puppies lasted me a while."

@smugliar asked: wound :   my  muse  patches  and  bandages  a  wound  your  muse  has  gotten.

     “Remember that guy you told me about? The who…got his finger taken off by a cigar cutter, ‘cause he was caught cheating in a game? Against, ugh, whatsit, a mafia guy? Were you…cheating in that one, too?”

     He was looking for a distraction. Perhaps too on the nose, blearily watching Ace wrap gauze around his stub of a finger. He had been disarming a bear trap, only to have gotten distracted by a footsteps approaching over broken glass. Ace at least looked a little apologetic for scaring Quentin into losing a finger.

     “You didn’t finish that story. Did you, uhm, did you like, like—urgh, shit, uhm like…” his thoughts were bleeding out with the wound, leaving him rapidly incomprehensible. So much blood in one little digit. “Did you…win?”

[smugliar]

@thesheepcote​❛  you almost had it, ace. here, let me show you.  ❜ ( vittorio )

A part of him, he guesses, hadn’t been aware of his surroundings when he had scrambled to hide. Having come fresh from salvaging a trapped box, Ace had gone to work trying to unlock the metal cage that clung to his head. He’s having a difficult time locating the padlock and wherever the hell the key slot was on the thing-- his cut hands slicked up with his own blood aren’t exactly helping either.

Now, having locked eyes with a concerned Vittorio, he feels as if he got his hand caught in the cookie jar. Ace bets on looking elsewhere letting out a frustrated huff, to the best of his ability, trying to beat the creeping embarrassment of his desperate fumbling. It wasn’t his first rodeo at the meat plant and he’s been able to get the cage off without issue before, but it almost feels awkward with Vittorio staring at him from across the room.

In the end, Ace inches his way over to the other survivor, crouching down beside him nonchalantly holding the key out for him to take.

[smugliar]

@filthysmile asked ;; “don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly blend in.”

"Don't go hurtin' my feelings, kid." He's shivering in place, exposed in his hiding spot between two mounds of icy snow piles. Ace wasn't built for cardio, along with the cold. It was always better to slink into the shadows. Let the kids do the laps around the poor son-of-a-bitch who wanted to hunt them down. Out of the places in the realm, the ski resort would rank as one of his least favourites. The only factor that made it somewhat redeemable was the bar if it wasn't sucked dry every time he happened to be tossed into Ormond. It was debated if it was some sick joke from the Entity or if the kids were partying large out here in the winter wonderland, getting wasted when they weren't summoned.

"I'm cooler than cool. That makes me blend in with the snow, eh?" The gambler shuffles his feet around, trying to find enough even ground preparing to brace himself. A cocked grin spreads across his lips, "Not like you. I mean, don't get me wrong pájaro libre, the rocker style is timeless, but you're one to talk. If a blizzard were to come rushing in, I'm sure I could spot you out there."

[smugliar]

♤ one liner for @photographertm​ ;;

“ Make sure to get my good side, compañero.”

[smugliar]

"Don't mind if I do, Strode." The coin is caught in his open palm. That was certainly one way to catch his attention. Ace turns the coin over in his hand, fingers gliding over the surface of the groves.

He knows possessions are useless here. Nothing held any value above having a one-time use when you were in a tight spot before it became irrelevant. Not to mention a majority of the trash the Entity liked to hoard had a likelihood of being banged up, rendering them really useless. That being said, old habits die hard, and Ace can't completely ignore the opportunity of a possible prize.

As quickly as the coin is tossed up into the air, it is just as quickly caught against his palm. "Vamos, maldita sea." He grumbles, staring back at the non-heads side. Catching Laurie's attention, he flicks the coin back at her with a sigh.

"Can't win them all, eh?" Visconi's attention flickers to the white house. The more he really looks at it, the more comfortable he becomes with his loss. "Where about are we headed, oh fearless leader."

After navigating what might have been a while in the thick fog of the forest, the sudden clearance reveals yet another new location. Laurie might look weary, tired, but not hopeless. No, far from it.  Accompanied by anyone brings her sense of security, and Ace wasn’t particularly a stranger, either. Pinching the bridge of her nose she looks around the greenery of over grown garden and the white wood built building arising behind it. Like a haunted house from stories she used to read to her neighbour, Tommy. 

She has been to many kind of houses due to her father’s business, some coming with stories of haunting she used to pass as a telltale before her real counter with the bogeyman. Despite creating a reclusive look towards the house, she turns soon towards Ace. Better get going while they still can. House is a house, and usually filled with supplies.

   ❝ Hey. Wanna toss a coin? ❞  She suddenly breaks the silence with a tone that sounds rather relaxed considering the situation. She digs a coin from her pocket tossing it on his way. ❝ Heads go first, tails follow. Heads also keeps the coin. ❞  || @smugliar​ 

[smugliar]

♠ 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 @piigsaw

     His tongue has the metallic taste of metal. It lingers like a bad shot of tequila. A freshly discarded trap, rattling against the pavement close by, the snap of the jaws ringing against the cement walls.

     Visconti’s cheeks are raw, he knows there is blood. Faint nicks from the trap its self, corners of his grin cut. It is enough for it to sting. The gambler stands rigid on his feet, heavy breaths come out in puffs as sweat wets his hair and brow, eyes set on the woman in front of him. 

     Crooked judgement hangs in the air. He can imagine the arrows pointed at him. Bright flashing neon. 

     “ That head gear is a bitch, cerdita.” An asthmatic laugh, smirk wavering. Adrenaline is pumping sending a tremble to his hands, calling a bluff to his relaxed persona. 

     “ Did braces really traumatize you that much? ” 

[smugliar]

♠ 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 @fogleader​

     “ Mira, all I’m sayin’ is I saw a jumble of bones there.” A gesture to one of the handmade maps, visuals of one of killer’s spaces; the temple. A swirling skyscraper of stone. Ace places two fingers on the paper, giving a slight tap. Habit picked up from so many days and nights at green felt table tops.

     “ Daddy long legs is allowed to change the rules, hm? That could be it refurbishin’ its house, eh? ” He likes to play this game, testing the other’s knowledge of the realm, seeing how much he can twist. When chatting became dull, and naps wouldn’t come, chaos always sparked an interest. A playful way to keep things interesting, even if it did get a few scowls. 

[smugliar]

@celestieu​ asked ;;  her sweater is torn now, threads dangling from where she's ripped it just below her ribs. the bottom was cleaner than her sleeves. a soft grunt as she finishes tying the torn piece around the gash in his forearm, tight and just enough to hold off until she could tend to it properly. " see? not so bad. " a pitiful look, and one hand settles to his cheek as she kisses the other. comfort where she could provide it, even if it wasn't much. " come. we should go get you fixed up. "

     Visconti watches her at work, sitting in the dark of the under bush. A previous escape left both winded, recovering from a journey through the now ghost town of Illinois. 

     That place, within the fog, held something close to familiarity. The remains of gatherings, a holiday. Abandoned candy bowls and decor sprinkled on every lawn. Ace could reminisce about the moments in which the shrubbery provided cover, and how sometimes hours were spent at eye level with some cross eyed plastic ghost, bulb blinking unsteadily in the night.

     Knives went in deep, the presence of Haddonfield made sure of it, cut into flesh like scalding metal. Most of his sleeve is gone, ripped up along the middle from the struggle. His brow twitches as it is covered, bright wool hushing the intense flare of crimson. 

     Madeline’s touch is tender, something that maybe you would expect from a mother. This understanding that they are here to mean well, looking past false vails in hopes to bring about the best in others whilst bringing a gentle smile to calm trembling hands. Her and the botanist hold those values close, something that Ace couldn’t quite grasp but doesn’t question. The ability to give without seeking out a return. They simply wish to do good, wear their hearts on their sleeves.

     Neither of the two should find each other here, under the intense game of cat and mouse. The gambler mused at the idea of why. Deciding on the notion that perhaps there was none, just a blind pick from the bingo roller.  He’s aware of his reasoning, his wrong doings, that maybe this world was fit for him. That all of those raging nights where egos flew too high, hands took too much, caught up to him. It wasn’t the flashing of red and blue but the eldritch eyes that got to him first. 

     A dramatic sigh, “ Without the wonderful touch of a woman, I might’ve lost my arm tonight.” The playful chuckle reverberates into a hum in his throat, feeling the sudden pamper of skin on his cheek. Palm of her warm hand ghosting over stubble leaving the trace of soft lips. Brash smile flutters.

     He reaches out, as they sit among the dead plants, hand grasping Maddie’s shoulder. A tender squeeze, palm neatly patting her back. Another, lighter laugh. 

“ No hay necesidad de preocuparse. Pretty sure I got the rest from here hm? I think that shirt of yours is our next order of business yeah? ”

[smugliar]

There are lists of things he craves to see if they were ever graced with an escape-- one of them is a city. The realm had forced Ace into becoming a tree hugger. In reality, he finds more comfort in a busy skyline rather than sitting outside singing campfire songs. He refrains from complaining about it too much. At least there is some form of company in this hell hole. Here, in this new space, if Ace squints he can pretend he was in a city metropolis.

It's dark. Blue neon snakes around tall, towering skyscraper-like buildings. It's almost wonderous, if not for how empty it all feels-- it reminds him of Lampkin. But, it isn't completely empty now as a stranger stands across from him. They're tense, much like everyone new to the fog.

"Oh, I'm a program alright." He can't help but take the opportunity for the flirtatious zing, "A program that'll love you all night long." Ace chuckles, mostly to himself, casually shifting his weight. He becomes distracted drinking in his slick, new attire-- trails of purple over shimmering black. He rolls one of his heels to take a glance at his shoes. "System? Eh," He shrugs, "I guess you could call it that. The worst system, if you wanna get all technical."

A thought occurs to him which causes him to look up. "What type of program are you, extraño? You got any unresolved trauma or something?" Not that Ace cares too strongly if he's about to be demolished by a human glow stick, but at the very least he would be aware as to who to avoid next time.

@smugliar asked: are you new around here ?

question prompts // accepting

"I could ask you the same thing."

Of the two of them, it isn't Ram that looks out of place. He just feels out of place. Visually, he could believe that he's still on Flynn's Grid -- just a sector he's never seen before. Or that whatever happened out past the Sea fundamentally altered the place somehow. Because it's all recognizable as much as it isn't. The streets and the buildings are all similar to what he's familiar with, close enough to pass for the heart of the Grid's city center. Except it's all so quiet. There's no energy humming below his feet, no signatures of programs he can sense out there in the darkness that's just a touch too dark for standard.

He doesn't recognize this stranger. Not that he expects to recognize every program on the Grid, but... He just seems different. Ram doesn't often doubt his hunches, because they've served him well this far into his runtime. Something is definitely wrong here, and it's a kind of wrong that entirely unfamiliar. He's itching to reach for his disc, but refrains -- there's no telling how the stranger might react, and fighting the only other person he's come across won't give him any answers.

"You're not a program, are you?" A fragment of his uncertainty matches the suspicion he'd felt meeting Flynn for the first time. That isn't a very reassuring thing. "What system is this?" It's nothing like any of the ones he's encountered before.

[smugliar]

♤ one liner for @kvzan​ ;;

“ That a sword in your hand or are ya just happy to see me, soldado.”

[smugliar]

@kimurv​ asked ;; so, what ? you’re giving up on the world, too ?

     The world is a tossup. People were given the short end of the stick or their dreams come on a silver platter. Memories from childhood remind him of how unlucky that was, how unpleasant the crawl had been. As if traveling would get Visconti away from it, to rewind past hardships and living off of loose change. 

     So he borrows. Gets all comfy in someone’s life. A friend, a lover, a partner in crime. It’s perfect, so easy. He can get a taste that way, outside of his own cheating at green tabletops. A slice of luxury in the palm of his hand. Money felt like candy in his pockets, unable to keep it, wanting to spend it, wanting to drink it down greedily. 

     A raise of both gray brows in the girl’s direction, the surprise caught off with a snort. Ace’s chest rises in a silent chuckle. 

     ❝ Wow. That’s some deep talk. Did the chainsaw put things into perspective for ya? ❞

     ❝ I wouldn’t give up on it until it stops givin’ me things, conductora. ❞

    All in all, the world is a feast, and he plans on making it a full course meal.