#But maybe those are just the more exotic ingredients?

[itsnotbird]

Orphic ~ File 6

Kalon (adj.) ; Possessing a beauty that is more than skin deep

Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence, trauma, Bucky slowly growing crazy, obsession, alcohol, tw

Previous Part

Masterlist

It’s a slight twitch, one that contorts your sleeping face. You spiral into a dream.

“Head Father won’t be happy.”

“He’s never happy.”

Fifteen is a strange age to be covered in blood, but here you are in the shower room, getting your hands scrubbed by 502. A deal gone wrong, that’s going to earn you three days in the pen.

You talk in hush whispers, if anyone finds you talking in English, you’ll be in bigger trouble.

“I’ll be in trouble when he returns from Siberia.” You exclaim, pulling the gun from the holster tucked into the back of your pants.

“We’ll be in our way to Miami before he returns, it’ll buy you some time. Listen to what Mikhaylov tells you, be obedient and maybe Father will go easy on you.”

She pulls your hair from the braid it was in, then points to one of the showers.

“I’ll stand guard.” She promises.

That was a moment of peace before agents were taking you to the lab.

“Hello, 505.”

You sit in the metal chair, completely silent, just staring at the badge on his dirty white coat.

Jon Petrov.

Your eyes open, staring at the window. Quickly before you forget, you throw the covers off of you and rush to your desk in the corner, pulling out a notepad and writing down every detail. Still in your pajamas, you rush out of your room, down the halls, searching for someone to show.

Your mouth opens, one single noise comes out as if you were to call upon someone, but then you remember they’re all gone.

They left for Vermont early in the morning.

They couldn’t have left you alone, could they?

You shut your eyes, seeing if you can locate an energy close by.

Dr. Banner is in the lab.

“Jesus, kid.” He states in shock as you stand in the doorway, completely silent. “It’s crazy weird how soft you walk.”

You give a sorry smile and hold your notes out. He takes them with a curious look, then looks them over.

“Did you just remember this?” He asks.

You nod your head.

“Good, I’ll send it over to the team, maybe it can help.”

You don’t stick around, you go back to wandering aimlessly, trying to decide if you actually want to get dressed.

Most would argue that today was a day that you make the rules.

Because today is your birthday, and you are alone.

You do get dressed, knee socks, skirt, top, nothing extremely interesting, but you glide around the halls effortlessly, entertaining yourself while the entire floor is empty for once. Pushing random buttons on the stereo until music plays, you recognize the song.

You and 503 were in a Los Angeles strip club for a mission three years ago, dancing to this song. She looked over at you with a grin, enjoying the exotic dancer life a little too much.

You shake your head, trying to get rid of the memory. Into the kitchen you go, and decide you could easily figure out how to make a birthday cake.

As awful as that place was, if you were good, those in charge of your division would bake you a cake and reward you with gifts- gifts they’d take away as soon as you slipped up.

And even though you have directions pulled up on your phone, the mixing of ingredients doesn’t exactly go smoothly. It takes probably double the time it would normally take to pour the batter into a cake tin and put it into the oven.

Then it occurs to you that you’ve never used an oven so it takes a moment to understand the entirely too high tech thing.

All these simple things, and yet you have no clue. You’re a trained assassin with altered abilities, you will not be defeated by things of a 1950’s housewife.

Now you aren’t exactly sure how you get here, licking a spoonful of frosting while standing on top of the grand island. Like a trance, you dance to the loud music, nursing the power coming from your finger tips, letting it mist around the room.

How free you feel.

The timer goes off and you pull the perfectly round cake from the oven, frosting it. There’s no candles laying around, so you use matches.

You smile to yourself, then blow out the flames. You eat a slice, then put it in the fridge with a note that says ‘Not poisoned, enjoy’, making sure the others know it’s trustworthy.

That might not be normal, but it’s always been a concern of yours when eating things.

Dancing into the living room, you lose yourself in the beat, not really concerned about anything else.

The team returns from the leads in Vermont with not much success, only a few things they can work with.

“Is that music?” Steve asks as they enter the living quarters. The doors open upon their arrival, letting them follow the beats in the air.

“Aren’t you supposed to have enhanced hearing? Yeah, it’s music.” Tony rolls his eyes.

It gets louder and louder, a trail that leads them to the show.

A bottle of champagne in one hand, you twirl around, hips swaying, good footwork, hair falling messy in your face. You look a little messy, eyeliner smudged, lips red from sucking straight from the bottle.

Bucky’s heart stops in his chest.

You’re gorgeous.

The team just stops and stares, frozen in shock.

You choke and sputter on your next drink, finally seeing the group watching you.

You immediately halt in your movement, then flick your hand in the direction of the stereo to turn it off.

They have no words, of course you don’t either.

Nat bites her amused laugh back, taking pleasure in seeing you so care free.

“This might not be the right terminology…” Steve starts. “But why are you…busting a move?”

Everyone groans.

They exclaim things like ‘Steve, really?’, ‘That’s so dumb to ask’, and ‘Okay, Grandpa’.

Mood deflated, you just turn and walk away.

“You pissed her off, good job, Steve.” Sam says, monotonously.

“Was that not what people say?” He asks in genuine confusion.

As the group argues, Bucky watches your retreating frame until you disappear entirely.

“She’s not needed for the debrief, let’s get a move on that.” Tony finally says, ending previous conversation. But as Wanda returns from the kitchen, holding your cake, she wears a frown.

“It’s her birthday…”

Everyone’s expressions fall.

- - - -

The water’s cold as you sit at the dock, feet in the lake, bottle in your lap.

The wind blows, sending a shiver through you. Your body temperature might drop significantly, but you choose to stay seated. Your lips make a pop noise as they come off the bottle, and behind you comes footsteps. You’ve learned how everyone’s feet sound as they strike the ground.

You also know his boots sound different than the others.

“Hello, James.” You say, not turning to look at him.

He smirks slightly to himself, feeling extremely special. He is still the only one you talk to, and that possessive part of him wants it to stay that way.

You didn’t need to speak to anyone, anything you needed, he’d do for you. He’d want you to save that pretty voice of yours for him and him only-

Stop.

No.

He shakes his head free of those thoughts.

“You don’t want to know how the mission went?” He asks, looking down at you.

“How did it go?”

“Dead end.”

You hum, then take another drink.

He sighs at your defeated face, then decides he has enough self control to sit by your side.

“Why didn’t you let anyone know it was your birthday?” He asks, feeling relieved when you don’t move away from him.

You shrug. “There are far more important things than my birthday.”

Bucky scoffs. “Well that’s a depressing attitude.”

No smile, he feels defeated.

“Happy birthday.” He says next. “What, you nineteen now?”

There it is, that smile.

“Twenty five.” You correct, lifting the bottle back to your lips, though some of it spills down your chin.

His eyes watch it, how the champagne slips down the skin of neck.

He swallows hard.

Quickly, he tries to come up with something clever to say so he can distract himself from the urge to lean forward and taste it on your skin.

Christ, Sam might be right, he might be obsessed with you.

“Twenty five…I don’t remember being twenty five.” He says, and he watches as you turn to him.

“You were still a sergeant.” You say. “…I guess you’ll always be a soldier though, right?”

His head cocks in question.

���I read your file.” You admit. “I’ve read it a few times.”

He stares at you, trying to read your expression. What did you mean you’ve read it? Did that mean you knew everything? …What do you think of him now?

You can feel his anxiety, that’s why you are quick to continue.

“You’ve been Steve’s best friend since day one, they declared you an expert sniper, they scratched out the label of potential threat and wrote in ‘handy to have’.”

The champagne was really getting to you now, or was it because he is looking at you so intensely?

“Did you study everyone or am I just special?” He says with sarcasm.

“I’ve read everyone’s file, figured I should since everyone’s read mine.”

“I haven’t.”

He’s quick to say it, but you know he means it.

His blue eyes are soft for a man so adapt to killing.

Your breath comes out of your parted lips. Suddenly, the bottle is pulled from your weak grasp.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be getting drunk.” He says, taking a drink for himself before setting it down away from you.

“I have free will now, more than I know what to do with.” You state, gazing deeply.

He feels like he’s been drugged, but really it’s just that you’re right beside him, shivering, smelling like vanilla and cherries. It makes him a little woozy.

You blame your forwardness on the sugar and alcohol in your system. Your fingers reach to run against the cool metal of his dog tags that have fallen over his shirt.

“I like these.” You say softly, like you don’t even know you’re saying it.

“Why?” He asks, hoping you can’t feel the way his heart is pumping way too hard.

“I like the idea of having a name.”

Fuck. That’s heartbreaking.

Bucky furrows his brows. “You had a name once…didn’t you?”

Your finger twists around the chain of the tags, completely absentmindedly. “I had a lot of things once…a name, a home, a mother…they were all erased from my brain when they chemically altered me.” You explain, pulling your hand back. “They took it all from me…all I got out of it was murderous talents and a brand in my skin like I’m cattle.”

Bucky stays silent for a moment, watching as you think back. A dry chuckle leaves your throat.

“убийца. That’s what they used to call me with a smile on their face, like it was a compliment. God, I want to end them so bad.” You say, nose sniffling as you look away from him.

“Killer.” He translates. “Yeah, I know something about that.”

The two of you sit there, staring out at the water that falling leaves are slowly landing on top of. Bucky can’t stand to watch you shiver anymore, and the fact you’re just enduring it honestly makes him annoyed, annoyed at you lack of self preservation.

“You’re freezing, maybe you should go find Steve, get warm?” He says, trying not to sound bitter or worse, jealous.

Without one single word, you shift closer in one fluid motion and lean your head on his shoulder.

“Steve isn’t the only one with blood that runs hot.” You say softly.

Pressed right into his side, you continue to look out into the distance. He doesn’t know about this ability, but you can feel how his heart beats hard, and you know that if you concentrate, you can slow it down. Not lethally, not in the way you always dis, not to kill. Just to ease.

- - - -

“Your 11 o’clock is already here for you.”

Dr. Raynor thanks the front desk assistant and lets confusion over take her.

What was he doing here early? He always puts the sessions off to the very last second.

“James-” She hardly makes it into the office before he’s urgently standing from the couch.

“I need drugs.”

“What? James-”

“I know I said no to whatever you offered me before- what was it? Zo- something? PhantomZo or something? It doesn’t matter what it is, a damn horse tranquilizer would do, but I need something.”

Raynor calmly sits behind her desk. “Let’s slow down, yeah? Sit down.”

Bucky obeys.

“Now, why do you want the prescription? Why now?” She asks, not realizing she’s just opened a can of worms.

“I need my mind to go blank, I’m tempted to chew on a power cord to make it happen. Shock therapy did the trick before.” He says in a dead serious tone, making the woman look at him unamused.

“Humor helps you cope, so I’m not gonna tell you why that statement is severely wrong, but how about you tell me why you need your mind blank?”

He groans, running his hands through his hair. “The damn thing won’t stop. It just goes lightening speed all the time, so I need to shoot the hamster up there that won’t stop running on the wheel.”

Raynor looks at him, puzzled and worried that he’s regressing. She pulls out her notes from their first sessions.

“What thoughts are you having? Violent ones? About harming yourself or others?” She asks.

“No, no.” He grunts. “It’s this- it’s not violent. But they’re so annoying, I can’t even sleep. Blue, she’s-she’s there, all the damn time! I shut my eyes and she’s- and I can’t even speak sometimes- am I having a stroke? The age is really catching up to me, huh?”

She could dissect all of that and spend an hour talking about each thing.

But her first question, the biggest question, is the one she persists with.

“Who’s Blue?”

Next part

[drachenfalter]

I'm really late to point this out, but to all the "Hunter is a Plant" people, friendly reminder that Palistrom wood is not the only ingredient used when creating a Grimwalker!

In fact, we know it's not even the main ingredient, because the book tells us the purpose pretty explicitly.

"Grimwalker:

Galderstone (Heart & Power)

Palistrom wood (keratin)

Stonesleeper lungs

Selkidomus skin

Bone of Ortet"

Keratin is the stuff hair and fingernails are made out of.

Hunter isn't a plant. Only his hair and nails are plant-based.

[artificial-transmutations]

The curse of the witches house

Ratko sighed. He really loved his job as a paramedic, but this was the third emergency call today, and he started to just feel tired. The first two calls were not so hard, though. One of them was nothing more than a car accident on the road nearby. And it didn't take long to find all wounded people at that one.

This time was different, though. It took him almost an hour to reach the location where the emergency happened. This wasn't because of traffic or distance, but rather due to the fact that it was in a remote and deserted building in a forest, which was not easy to find. "The witches house", people called it. No-one knew what they did there, but some said that something evil lurked behind those walls.

When he finally found the place, Ratko felt scared. It looked like a haunted house from the movies. It wasn't difficult to imagine that a witch was once living there. A broken window gave him access inside.

"Hello?" he shouted nervously. His voice sounded small in the dark empty room. But no answer came. "Is anyone here?!" he tried again. Great, he thought. Either it had been a prank call or the people needing help were unconscious - or worse. Maybe someone got hurt badly.

He entered the house and checked if anything seemed wrong. Nothing did until he came to the cellar. There, he smelled the strange smell of burned herbs. He saw a big table with several jars full of unknown ingredients. Curiosity got the better of him and he looked around some more in the room. Suddenly, he heard a noise from above, startling him badly. Instinctively backing off, Ratko accidentally knocked one of the old jars from the table, breaking it. Immediately, the smell of exotic herbs filled the air and Ratko briefly heard a ghostly echo, like the cackle of an old woman. Frightened, he shook his head and quickly left the cellar.

After searching the house, he concluded that it was probably a prank call. Frustrated, Ratko went home. It was early evening already and after eating dinner, went to watch some tv. Normally, Ratko would spend the evening reading or studying, but today, he didn't really feel like it. Searching for something that caught his attention, he finally settled on a socker game. Normally, Ratko didn't care for sports at all, but today it just felt right. He even went to get a can of beer from the fridge that was still left from his last birthday.

That wasn't even so bad, Ratko concluded, as he sat on his couch, sipping his beer and watching sports. The good part about socker, or sports in general, was that the players were usually pretty fit and good looking. Perhaps he should work out more himself, he mused, while he stuck his right hand into his pants almost automatically. He felt his cock chub up and began stroking it gently. Oh well, maybe tomorrow morning...

The next day was Saturday and Ratko woke up late in the morning on his couch, feeling lazy and relaxed. It took him a moment to recollect what happened yesterday, but the beer can on his floor and the cum stains in his uniform pants told him most of the story. After showering and cleaning up, he decided to go jogging instead of going to the library, which is what he usually did on Saturday mornings. He was surprised by himself about how fit he was. Running didn't really tire him much and his body was functioning like a well-oiled machine. But God was he horny. Every time he passed a somewhat attractive guy, he turned around and checked out their asses. Perhaps he should try to get laid again, it had been a while. The erection that grew in his running shorts was hard to hide. At first, he tried to stuff it down his leg, but it wouldn't stay there. So, he decided to just flaunt it and smiled at men looking at his bulge. At some point, somebody smiled back. He wasn't bad looking, so Ratko stopped and, after checking the other man out, addressed him unusually bluntly: "Hey man! Like what you see?" It wasn't like him to be so direct, but somehow, he found it difficult to formulate proper sentences today.

The stranger laughed and answered in kind: "Yes, I do."

"Good," Ratko replied confidently, "so let's take this somewhere private."

"Sure thing!" the young man said enthusiastically and grabbed Ratko's arm. They walked together through the park and when they reached a secluded corner where no one could hear them, Ratko pushed the stranger against a tree and kissed him passionately. It was only a few seconds before the two started making out hotly and groping each other.

"Oh fuck, yeah!" Ratko groaned loudly as his hands explored the stranger's body. He loved the smooth skin and soft muscles underneath his fingers. His dick was throbbing like crazy now and it was getting harder and harder to keep control over it. With some force and not much finesse, Ratko flipped the guy around and pulled down his pants, exposing the strangers ass.

"Fuck me! Fuck my tight little hole!" the stranger moaned and lifted his buttocks up.

"I'm gonna do it, baby!" Ratko growled and pressed his cock against the guys asshole.

"Oh yes!" the man cried out, "fuck me hard!"

"Yeah!" Ratko grunted and shoved his cock inside the man's ass. He felt the heat of the stranger's body and smelled its sweat. The man's ass squeezed his cock tightly as he thrust forward with powerful strokes.

"Ohh yesss!" the stranger screamed out as he felt his ass being fucked hard. He couldn't believe how good it felt. His whole body trembled, and he felt his balls tightening. He knew he would soon cum if Ratko kept fucking him like this. He wanted to warn him, but his voice failed him. Instead, he just gasped loudly as he felt an orgasm rushing towards him. And then it hit him, and he exploded deep inside the stranger's ass. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes as waves of pleasure coursed through his body. At the same time, the stranger moaned and creamed the front of his own pants.

Both men were panting, and Ratko couldn't believe that he just fucked a random guy out in the open. Somehow, though, it made him feel proud.

"Want one?" The stranger offered Ratko a cigarette. He wanted to reply that he didn't smoke, but then again, why not start now, he reasoned and took the cigarette.

"Thanks," he said and lit up. He took a long drag and looked at the man who was still holding his pants up. "We can do this again sometimes", Ratko offered, while already walking away.

Although he just finished a run and pounded a strangers ass, Ratko was still feeling full of energy, so he decided to go to the gym to lift some weights.

It was a long workout and after it, Ratko was feeling horny again. On the way home, he bought some packs of smokes and a six pack of beer. He lit a cigarette already on the way home and another when he arrived on his couch and cracked open a beer.

Parts of Ratko felt disgusted. He was a far way from the intellectual he had been before, and could only watch helplessly, as with each passing hour today, his thoughts had slowed down and his body had grown bigger, and he could do nothing to stop this curse.

The next day, when Ratko woke up and after he jerked off in the morning, he looked at himself in the mirror, while smoking another cig. Yeah, he looked good, Ratko decided with a dumb chuckle. Time to work out and then find another guy to sink his jock meat into.

[seat-safety-switch]

The next time you go to buy a frozen pizza from the grocery store, pay attention to the price. It's lower than you'd think. In fact, the price of a frozen pizza is well below the cost that it would take for you to make it yourself. Even the more complicated pizzas, those "Deluxes" and "Delights," are cheaper.

There's a lot of reasons for this, and it doesn't even take much of a conspiracy. A big-shot corporate type at Big Frozen Pizza can simply call up his buddies at Big Green Pepper, and place an order for "a whole shitload" of green peppers. When you buy in bulk, you save. Everyone knows this. And if green peppers are expensive that week? Maybe he buys a few less of those, and a lot more pepperoni instead. It's all a numbers game, and thousands of people across the world have a job entirely based on trying to make a cheaper, yet still full-bodied, frozen pizza. How can you possibly compete?

Me, I didn't bother. What I did instead was put two and two together. If I can buy pizzas cheaper than the component parts, then in theory I'd be really saving on the component parts if I bought pizzas and then broke them down to their ingredients. In Canada, where I live, it's often colder than an industrial freezer just by going outside. If I chuck a few dozen pies on the deck, I can part them out at my leisure, and it doesn't even cost me the electricity required to run a conventional deep-freeze.

Of course, even though the ingredients are cheap, the resulting menu options are fairly limited. I've never been a Michelin chef – unless you include the fact that I parboil each and every tire I get my hands on, little burnout joke there – and maybe one can do a better job with what they're given. I just keep making pizza casseroles, and lasagna, and exotic skewers. Honestly, I eat pretty well, and it's all at a discount.

Sure, I get weird looks at the check-out aisle when I buy a hundred-and-eighty kilograms of frozen pizza on sale. They looked at Henry Ford like he was crazy, too. Actually, maybe he was. He probably wouldn't have eaten a pizza and instead chosen to say something racist about Italians.

[marmorafarms]

The Hazards of Love Ch 3

I have a bonus chapter for you all! I ended up getting super inspired, and decided to split the chapter into two instead of doing one huge chapter. I hope you enjoy!

The song mentioned in this chapter is a real song! It's one of my favorites, and is called Kun Anta, by Humood AlKhudher! I translated the bits I put in as best I could, but I might not have done the best job ever, so sorry to y'all who are more fluent in Arabic than I am!

Pairing: Labru

Word Count: 2098

Chapter Rating: Teen+

You can read it down below or on ao3!

THEN:

Ever since the concert with Laios, the two had become almost inseparable. It was hard to find one without the other, both men seeming to genuinely love being around each other. Even though Laios was a little odd, Kabru found that he really didn’t mind that much. He might be different, but he was passionate about his interests, and it softened Kabru’s heart to hear him talk about his two passions—exotic animals, and cooking.

“You know, I’d love to cook something with you sometime!” Laios said one day, seemingly out of the blue. The two were studying in the library, Laios looking over his notes for creative writing, and Kabru working on some math.

“What?” Kabru asked, confused. They hadn’t even been talking about food, so he wasn’t really sure what had brought this on.

“We should cook,” Laios said. “I think you should meet my friend Senshi, he’s a cooking instructor, and can make an amazing meal out of anything! I was just thinking, I want you to meet my friends. I’ve met yours, so you should meet mine!”

Kabru winced, thinking about Laios’ introduction to Rin. She had been ice cold, but either Laios hadn’t noticed or simply didn’t care.

“Is it because he’s pretty?” Rin had asked after hanging out with Laios. Kabru glared at her.

“Probably,” their friend Mickbell said with a snort. “I can’t believe you want to hang out with that blond dumbass,” he continued. “He’s friends with Chilchuck! Don’t you remember that weirdo from high school? Ugh, I can’t believe we have to be friends with those chuckleheads now.”

“It’s not that,” Kabru said, trying to keep a cool head. “He’s nice. Genuine. Maybe he’s a little strange, but that just makes him even better. He’s himself, no matter what. It’s beautiful.”

Mickbell made a loud fake gagging noise, and Rin rolled her eyes.

“Whatever you say,” she said grumpily.

Kabru hoped that meeting Laios’ friends would go over a little bit better, and that hopefully none of them would have rude things to say about him behind his back. He had agreed to meet Senshi, which had overjoyed Laios. He gave Kabru a one thousand watt smile, and clapped him on the back.

“We’ll have so much fun!” Laios said. “You should bring some ingredients!”

“Like what?” Kabru said. “We should probably come up with a meal first instead of just bringing random ingredients and hoping it makes something.”

“Hmm…” Laios said thoughtfully. “I’ll ask Senshi what would be good.”

Kabru nodded. “Okay that sounds--”

“Oops!” a feminine voice said as someone bumped into Kabru. “Sorry!”

Kabru turned in his chair, and saw two people behind him. They were both blonde and very feminine looking. The shorter of the two was who was looking a Kabru in a way he very much didn’t like. She leaned against the table, a sly smile on her face, eyes hooded. He recognized this look. It was the look of someone who was going to try to shoot their shot, and Kabru really wasn’t in the mood.

“It’s fine,” Kabru said, trying to sound as disinterested in her as possible.

“Oh I’m glad I didn’t bother you,” she said. “Hey, I think I recognize you! I think you’re in my stats class! With Professor Jakob?”

“Maybe,” Kabru said, “It’s a huge class. Sorry, I don’t think I recognize you.”

Her face fell, but brightened as she continued. “Well, my name is Fleki, and this is Lycion,” she said, nodding to the man next to her, who raised a hand in greeting.

“Great, nice to meet you,” Kabru said. He turned back to his math, but Fleki continued to talk.

“There’s a really awesome party coming up next weekend,” she said, sliding Kabru a piece of paper. “There’s my number. Call me sometime, okay?” she said with a grin. Kabru gave a forced smile, and felt relieved as she left.

“Are you going to call her?” Laios asked. “She was pretty.”

“She was, but that’s not enough to make me want to call her,” Kabru said. “She was so rude, just butting into our conversation. And I did recognize her.”

“Really?” Laios said, surprised. “But you told her you didn’t!”

“I know Fleki by reputation, but not by looks. At first I was being honest, but as soon as she said her name, I realized who she was. She’s a druggie, always high on mushrooms or LSD or shit like that. An awesome party…probably just wants to get high and mess around.”

“Would you want to do that?” Laios asked.

“Want to get high and fuck her? Hell no!” Kabru said, shocked.

“No, I…I more meant the idea. Getting high and messing around with someone,” Laios said, sounding slightly flustered.

Kabru blinked. What?

“Um, I don’t know?” Kabru said. “Maybe if it was like, weed or something. I don’t go any harder than that. I’ve never had sex while high though.”

“I have,” Laios said.

“Really?” Kabru said, and Laios nodded.

“I don’t have a lot of experience though, not many people want to go that far with me, but when I have--”

“Oh that’s bullshit, you’re hot as fuck!” Kabru burst out. It didn’t take long for him to register what he had just said, and felt his face heating up, wishing a hole would open up in the floor and swallow him whole. Why had he said that?!

“Excuse me?” Laios said, his cheeks tinged with pink.

“I…” Kabru floundered, trying to figure out how to save the situation, “I just meant that you’re a good looking guy so it’s hard to believe that people wouldn’t want to do it with you!”

“Oh,” Laios said, eyes wide. “Well…I don’t have trouble getting dates if it’s on an app. Girls seem to like how I look. But it’s after that’s the problem. Once they meet me, most of them don’t want to date me. I weird people out,” Laios said sadly. “So meeting people in person is pretty much out of the question. They meet me and are instantly turned off.”

“That’s stupid,” Kabru said with a frown. “You’re great! Anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re a guy!” Laios said.

Ah.

That line.

Kabru sighed. Having said that stupid phrase, Laios was probably straight. If he wasn’t able to consider that a man could have feelings for another man…or maybe he was operating under the assumption that Kabru was straight? Well, the band aid would have to be ripped off at some point, might as well say something now.

“First of all, it doesn’t matter that I’m a guy, it’s obvious that anyone would be lucky to be with you. You’re a great guy with a good heart. But secondly, I happen to enjoy guys just as much as those girls you’re talking about.”

“Enjoy guys?” Laios said slowly, looking confused. Kabru wanted to slam his head against the table. Why was Laios so slow on the uptake?

“I fuck guys,” Kabru said bluntly, and Laios choked on air.

“You’re gay?” Laios said, after his coughs subsided.

“Bi,” Kabru said, “but yeah, I’m into guys. You?”

“I…I’m not really sure,” Laios said after a moment. “I think I’m straight but…”

“But?” Kabru pressed, and Laios looked away.

“I dunno. I’ve never thought about much until…” Laios paused, the apples of his cheeks flushing once more. “Well, I was talking with my friends and then my sister’s girlfriend, Marcille, called me ‘heteroflexible.’ So…maybe I like guys? Sometimes?”

Holy shit! He likes guys!

Kabru felt his heart flutter. Was being with Laios an actual possibility?

“But that just means the amount of people who don’t want to date me has just doubled,” Laios said with a bitter laugh. “I’ve tried to be someone else, a whole new person, but it never works. I’m just…me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. There’s this song I like…it reminds me of you. It’s in Arabic, but it says basically that if you’re yourself, you’re beautiful.”

“So, in your opinion,” Laios said slowly, “If I just let myself be myself, I’ll be beautiful?”

“Yes,” Kabru said firmly. “Don’t forget that, okay?”

“I won’t,” Laios said with a soft smile. “I promise.”

NOW

Laios sat in his car, wondering if this was a good idea. He hadn’t asked beforehand, but it was visiting hours. He desperately wanted to see Kabru, even though he had no idea what he would even say.

Laios turned his music on shuffle and hit play. And then it came on. The song, their song.

Pulling up his GPS, he put in the name of the hospital and began to drive. This was probably a stupid idea, but Laios didn’t care. He needed to see Kabru, even if it was just for a few minutes, or even seconds. Even if he was just looking through the window…he needed to see his face.

(in order to keep up with them I imitated their appearance. So I looked like someone else, just to brag. I thought I had become rich, but I found I had lost, for these are appearances)

لأجاريهم، قلّدت ظاهر ما فيهم

فبدوتُ شخصاً آخر، كي أتفاخر

و ظننتُ أنا، أنّي بذلك حُزْت غنى

فوجدتُ أنّي خاسر، فتلك مظاهر

Laios’ breath caught in his throat, and he both wanted to listen and didn’t want to listen all at the same time. He didn’t speak Arabic, but he could still remember Kabru telling him the meaning of the song, telling him how much it reminded him of Laios.

كن أنت تزدد جمالاً

(Be yourself and you will be more beautiful)

Kabru had told him this line on that day in the library. Told him that as long as he was himself, he would be beautiful. But look where being himself had gotten him! He hadn’t been able to love Kabru, and now his friend was in the hospital, dying. Sure, Laios had a plan. But did Falin have a point? Could he make himself fall in love with Kabru, or was it a lost cause?

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he drove, listening to the song. At the next light, he put the song on repeat, letting it play on loop as he remembered the first time they had ever listened to it. That moment had been everything. It had been the moment he fell for Kabru.

But clearly, not fallen in love.

God, how could he say he fell for Kabru when Kabru was coughing up petals and pollen? He felt like he was in love, but clearly something was off, something was wrong. Could something be wrong with his love? Was it not deep enough, or maybe…maybe they weren’t meant for each other? Was that how it worked? Maybe you had to be soul mates.

Laios had spent hours researching Hanhaki, but unfortunately there wasn’t a whole lot of scholarly articles about it. Most of what he found were random people speculating or telling stories that truly frightened Laios. One article in a newspaper he didn’t recognize spoke of someone who lost all memories of the person they had been in love with. They had had the surgery and completely forgotten the person, didn’t even know their name.

Could he handle it if Kabru completely forgot him? Completely forgot this song? Completely forgot when they had…

Laios shook his head. He couldn’t remember that now. He needed to focus on what he was going to say to Kabru. He had to figure out what the hell to say! And what to say if Rin was there.

Rin was furious with him. She blamed Laios for Kabru’s predicament and clearly hated him for it. She had burst out in fury at him, and now refused to even look at him when they were in class, much less talk to him. She would probably try and stop him from seeing Kabru.

And maybe she would be right to. Would Kabru even want to see him? Laios hadn’t even considered that until this very moment. Maybe seeing him would make things worse. Maybe he’d die on the spot. Laios gripped the steering wheel tight. He sighed, and pulled over. This was a bad idea. He punched a new address into the GPS and headed there. He needed someone to be brutally honest with him, someone who wouldn’t sugar coat things even a little bit. Someone who wouldn’t give a shit about his feelings.

He needed Izutsumi.

[sjw-publishings]

JUST CHILLAX NOOB

———

1K Special, well almost 1K at this time. But I finished LOADING the story online and this impatient zoomin’ TF just can’t wait!

Do read the prequel A Shift in Attractions as well as Chastize Thy Son as it does tie into the Camp Christening series. Links underlined below.

A Shift in Attractions.

Chastize Thy Son

I would link more but there’s a whole bunch! Scroll down both @dumb-and-jocked and my pages for the rest of the series and tons of other exciting stuff!

———

“Wah…you’ll gonna love it brother…made it fresh and LIT!”

The businessman eyed at the Asian College student that walked up to counter of the ‘E- Cafe’. Holding a bottle of milky white substance as it bubbled impatiently like the go-getter Zoomer that held it.

The forty-five year old man couldn’t help but envy at the sight of a young, youthful guy fresh in college. Being able to dress so easily in just a simple tee and shorts is a leisure he didn’t really have for a long time, save at home when he wasn’t having a meeting or a date.

Which was kind of why he was here today, a sort of meeting/date with his fiancé, in order to set the record straight on finances, company-policies and what not, grown-up business stuff that has to be taken care of despite their love for one another.

He had lived long enough to know to always be careful as a wealthy businessman.

“Yeah, Dad was so proud of me, man!”

Of course…sometimes he wishes to that he could have just returned to that young adult naivety and relax.

Sure the college asian was far from the most spectacular looking guy, especially with those incredibly irresistible pastors he’d peeked online from the nearby camp, but the man at was still really handsome.

In his gamer-filled splendour, short simple cut and beady eyes, the engaged man wished it was already the bachelor’s party…so that he would have an excuse to be gushing over the mandarin E-Boi who walked up to him with a swagger.

An overwhelming cheekiness only further captured his heart, he didn’t even question why he felt so overly drawn to the guy, taking yet another whiff of that thick waft of sports cologne, invading his nostrils and his thoughts as he succumbed to its wearer.

“Eh Bro! You’ve gotta try this mocktail man…it’ll help you Hetfix and CHILL…!”

Sadly, despite being more than twice the size and weight of the other male, Jax Schmidt’s simply fell putty to the Asian E-boi’s recommendation, allowing the cheeky guy to usher him into the gamer bar.

Maybe he could get him interning at his company. Surely his partner wouldn’t mind some eye candy now and then.

All he had to do was find out his name…

“What’s the drink called?”

Of course, in his dazed stupor, he spotted the waiter bring over said drink in a cylindrical glass. Filled to the brim with translucent red liquid, and a huge milky settlement at the bottom, oddly bubbling and creamy flavouring.

At least he thought it was flavouring.

But its better to just find out himself, right? As the young man brought the drink to his palms, gently holding it, as he in turn placed his lips on the straw, finding out his destiny.

“Just Chillax, Noob…”

With such reassurance, the businessman suctioned in the liquid, tasting traces of raspberries and energy drinks alongside several other flavours that was mixed in the drink. However, there was one particular ingredient in which he absolutely adored.

The sweet and salty bubbling cream.

There wasn’t any alcohol in it…and yet he felt even more fogged up than one of his wine testing sessions. Like sweet and salty youthfulness combined into one, yet also exotic, oriental….and oddly familiar?

Almost as if he was drinking the zoomer’s se-

“Oh shyt…didn’t mix it well enough…”

Looking down at his drink, noticing he drink a considerable fifth or so of it. But notably being that the bubbling settlement being fully gone, leaving behind the raspberry soda energy drink as he placed it down on the table.

Laying back, an overwhelming dizziness surged within him like no other, as he struggled to glance at the asian man, who looked as sheepish as ever.

“Well…Have fun Brotha!”

With that, the college student gave him a good pat on the shoulder, and dashed off out of sight.

…

…What?

Did he scare him off? But he felt so…sluggish, so…lazy even. He didn’t feel like getting up, all he wanted to do was to just…

Just Chillax~

Grip, grip….

Laying back lazily on the couch, one hand gripping his privates shamelessly, mouth agape in its dazed-out stupor, not sparing his grown-up drool from dripping down as he gazed over on the messy coach.

Turning to his left, spotting an odd uncapped bottle nearly-identical to the one that zoomer had earlier. Alongside a bunch of plastic bags, a laptop and a really cool looking backpack.

…Wait…was this his stuff? Didn’t he have a suitcase filled with papers and…his laptop? Yeah in his backpack was his laptop, and he’d brought alongside a bunch of junk food in case he got hungry or something. It was quite irresponsible for him not to bring the physical copies of the agreements, but everything’s done digitally nowadays anyway right?

Just Chillax…

BZZT

Picking up the phone on his right, as he winced at the stickiness of it, as though it was slathered with fresh lotion…or maybe he had really sweaty palms just now. A familiar sweet and salty raspberry scent wafted around his nostrils as he brought his Cisdroid Pro up front.

Odd, he could’ve sworn he had a more liberal model…but a man like him had to always be up to date with technology right?

BLIP!

>Darling: Hey hun…sorry I’ll be sort of late, got an urgent call with a client

Mr Schmidt frowned.

For some reason, he felt kinda pissed at his fiancé’s message. Not out of punctuality or anything, he understood they were both busy men and had to jerk now and then but…

Jerk? He must be more annoyed than he thought.

Continually kneading his manhood, still frustrated and quite dry despite being pent. No eye candy and no fiancé to gush over, his re-igniting hormones desperately needed something to focus onto, right after responding back to-

‘Amung Os: Update finished’

Press…

His thumb instinctively pressed the notification, almost like a daily habit for the man as an iconic mobile game flashed into play, engulfing the whole screen as a flashy animation of the ‘Brothamates’ inside a spaceship blasted on the screen.

He normally doesn’t play games, but this one…felt different! Loosening his Windsor knot, he began to sink deeper in his seat, getting into the mood of relaxing, although his new office tie seemed to be much thinner…redder, and more plastic than it was before.

Whatever, he can complain to the tailor later right now he wanted to try-

Press-

“AMUGOS!”

“AMUGOS!”

Loud boisterous jeers came from the app, connecting to the other ‘Playahs’ as the lobby filled up in an instant, blasting as his earbuds popped right into both of his ears, giving him a full HD-sound definition of these Boiz.

Not sure when he got those red cheap elastic headphones, but its far less itchy than a stuffy old man’s tie.

Invigorating, smoothing out the wrinkles on his forehead. And man…was it igniting a fire in his sack, he might have just turned forty, but man listening to men like his young cheeky acquaintance Ben just makes him feel like a decade younger.

Wait…the college guy’s name was Ben? Did he manage to get his number just now? And the more important question, FORTY? Surely a Fag like him ain’t that THAT OLD! …Not saying its wrong or anything! But could’ve sworn he was just in his late thirties as a top-level manager.

Wait, did he just refer to himself as a f-?

-YOU ARE A FAGPOSTER-

The game began with a thunderous uproar, as his heart sank. Oh Shyt-! Like how Benjamin would slur. He was not immature…or at least THAT immature, but his mind instantly reeled at the term used to describe his given role in the game…

He definitely should be more angry and upset that the game had such used such a term, but spending time with Ben really made him…Just Chillax about it.

Its just ‘shyt talk’ between bros after all, sure there’s abit of aggression, but there’s nothing gay about it!

Wait a minute…

“Pink’s Butt-Peach looking kinda sus.”

“Yeah DAMN, like a woman’s!”

“Got any girl gamers in our group?”

Joax flushed, literally pink out of embarrassment as he continued to edge himself further, and further. Palms de-matured themselves onward. Wrinkled skin smoothening out to fresh palms and nimble fingers, built for fast reflexes. Like gaming!

His buddy Benjamin said he could be really great at it after all. Heh! Maybe he had a chance! For a quick release.

“…I’m a guy..-“

“GAY!”

“HOMO!”

“FAGPOSTER!!!!”

Almost immediately, every other player unanimously voted for the gay dude, sending him out of the Brothaship.

YOU LOSE FAG, TRY AGAIN! 10, 9, 8….

An obnoxious pop-up air-horned right up in his ear-drums, heart-pumpin’ yet still makes his D-throbbin’. Startled, yet Ironically snapping the man more outta his dazed state.

“Ugh…shyyyyt! I’ll win the next one…!”

The middle-manager slurred, grinning. It honestly felt good speakin’ like that. His bud Benjamin was right! Office life can be such a drag sometimes. But being around all these zoomin’ college boiz really refreshes your system.

Slouching his back, screwin’ his posture like what some older dudes like tellin’ him. Spinal chord contracting something whatever! He is already sorta above 6ft…which was kinda a weird flex but made him stand out for the wrong reasons.

His complexion tho, the rumours around camp christening were TRU! Spending time around those asians does ‘orientate’ your body!

Peachiness melting into a more light-tanned tone down his fingers. Was he part asian? That made sense! The interns told him so! And they were right! They were sooo meant for gaming! It was just like him!

Man was it worth skipping his duties to spend time with those interns. Playing mobile games on their phone and yelling a lot was his JAM, simple but ‘Duckin Ez’ as the young college men kept growling.

And therefore it should be simple enough to win…

-AMUNG OS!-

“Heheh…Amugos…Os…”

Rekindling grunts, sophistication giving way to stupidity as buttons began fusing in the middle, collar reattaching to the outer layer to form a more trendy outlook.

Silk giving away to a rougher, stereotypical material, pants tightening alongside his constricted thighs, as his belly sunk down towards a gut for a more Chillax approach to his diet.

Besides, his mouth craved for more memes, mindless lingo like the rest of them-

Message from BF dude

>’Still having a call, have to do a bunch more work all of a sudden…’

…Wait, he had a BF?

Squinting his eyes narrower than his growing heritage. Thought he was…single? Scrunching his nose, a single backward thought echoed in his mind.

‘Kinda gay ngl.’

Degrading like carbon, the ring over on his finger lost its sheen, replaced by simple yet exaggerated cheapness, mass produced from a convention downtown.

…Yet something stuck out, no homo but a signature from the game developer stuck at the edge of the ring.

“Fell dudez LIT!”

“Oi magenta, dis here’s AMUGOS! Not Fell Dudes!”

W….Oh yeah! The game started didn’t it?

“Sorry Man…duckin’ dry AF!”

He spoke, with the widest grin. He definitely got their lingo right. He practiced long with his good bud Benjamin after all, being his favourite sorta-nephew as a family friend to them.

The boomers doing business with him were such sleepers, but Ben? The dude’s cruisin’ HetTube career at his age! He always watched his streams, and likewise so did he.

That’s how they’re so LIT! Sorry but NOT sorry NOOBS! Only Fags apologise in Amung Os!

…

WAIT-!

“SORRY? Brotha you got LIGMA?”

“NO I’VE-“

“LIGMA BALLZ!”

-YOU ARE A FAGPOSTER-

“DUCKIN SHYT!”

Kicking his footwear out into the sky, as they simply flew and shrunk, turning from office to cheap muddy sneakers. THUNK! Laying messily onto the floor, taking ownership like he owned the place.

Lyin’ down irritatedly, his body took up the entire sofa length as his head plopped on his backpack. Kickin’ back his legs as they rested on the opposite side with inconsiderate defiance.

5ft 11 since forever, bein’ the right height for him, nothin’ too extra. One less thing to complain about unlike THIS OLD GEEZER!

If a crusty guy like him wants to run TWO companies he can just SUCK IT! But dragging his twenty eight year old first-line manager to help out is SUCH A PAIN!

And yeah he’s rude, its THE META!

“Doesn’t he know I give a rats azz bout’ business?”

“You VENTING Bro? Acting real gay!”

“NO IM RAGING YOU NOOBS-!”

The game auto-continued itself once again, gripping his, abet less thick, groin controller both physically and addictively as his mixed/mostly Chinese face filled with reddish frustration.

“SHADDUP FAG! UR SUS”

Greyish Blue is a FAGPOSTER

GET REKT FAG, TRY AGAIN? 6, 9,

‘Call from FAG SIMP’

“WHAT?!”

At this point, the mid twenties Gen Z’er was pissed. 9 inch Pent, yet continually getting rubbed off the wrong way downward to 8. He felt his buttocks cringe at the reminder that this FAG SIMP was his superior.

“…Hey, I’m on my way in a couple of minutes, hope you didn’t wait too long-?”

“You CALLED me cause of THAT?”

He was just one of the DUCKIN’ team leaders, why can’t he bother one of his Brothas?

Didn’t he made it clear he couldn’t care less bout’ work? Socks springing OUT of his feet, those bare size 8s stuck out with public disregard. College backpack filled with his gamer-ware laptop, snacks cause and the latest game consoles cause WHY NOT?

He couldn’t give a RATZ AZZ!

If its some sports maybe, he did play basketball and soccer sometimes, hence why his legs are so kick-ass! Tight strong lean muscle wrapped by your every-boi Jeans. EZ and simple, nothin’ too complex.

What was he? Some FAT-AZZ? He was a BIG PRO, but his snack and soda abdominals said otherwise. Defining a faint, yet prominent outline down from his developing pectorals. A naturally given wide back, and ironically thick arms with sufficient bicep power to compete in those arm wrestling matches with Da BOIZ.

Yeah that bit ain’t online, SO WHAT? WHO CARES-?

“I…I just thought you might care Mr Schangit…”

“You think I give a flying DUCK dude? ONLY FAGS CARE HAHA!”

BEEP!

His voice crunched into his octave, losing all sense of humility as he gave into that oriental Fucc Boi call with absolute immersion.

Especially since he is just an ‘underpaid’ first-line manager. Even though he did get paid quite well but anythin’ lesser than his streamin’ career is GHEEEEEEY! He didn’t really do nothing except play games, eat snacks and watch HetTube at work though.

MIGHT AS WELL BE INTERN HAHA!

For Laughing out loud, vanilla patterns lunged all over his darkened shirt and jacket, forming cool patterns and a suitable style onto his graphic tee. Plastering an iconic sports logo over on his right and lines down his shoulders, front and back, it finally took on his final form as a fitting sports Puffer Jacket for a cool dude like him.

And a COOL DUDE like him has to WIN, STAT!

In order to destress himself, to get the ‘game release’ he so desired, even if meant to stooping down to their…HIS LEVEL!

“ANY AMUGOS IN DA HOUSE BOIZ?”

Hair sizzled at the back and sides, painted jet black as small fringe rested overto the right of his forehead. Round and moderately sized, as he got bathed in his Chinese ethnicity through and through.

No one questionin’ his LIT BIOLOGY! FULL ON CHINESE MUTHAFUCKA!

“AMUGOS!”

“YEEE AMUGOS!”

“AMUGOSSSS!”

Jonax initiated the chorus of aggressive stupidity. Mindless hollering over that idiotic catchphrase like he and all the other zoomers do throughout the day just cause its the newest trendy thing on the webz. Joining with his tribe, whaling on and on.

But SO WHAT?

If anything, he was with DA IN-CROWD. Unlike those Faggy Simps who he CAN’T STOP THINKIN’ ABOUT! Especially looking at Pink’s Peach Cheeks, MAN IF ONLY IT WAS A WOMAN!

HE WOULD CLAP DAT!

But SHYT! It was clear that it was a dude….he didn’t say AMUGOS! Butt CRINGE! Solid upgrade to a narrow ventless fortress where only hot chicks would be allowed in, specially like that Princess chick from that other game.

WTF! PINK’S VENTIN’

He is so HARD! But it DUCKIN’ pisses him off even more that he got OWNED so many times by those FAGPOSTERS…wait wasn’t he-DUCK NO HE WASN’T-!

“OI BROTHAS, PINK’S A FAG!”

“W..What? I’m new.”

Grinning widely, his chin seared off any traces of facial hair, revealing the clear mischievous nastiness of the Pro Gamer, natural behaviour. No effort, MUCH WIN LOL!

“HAHA NEW! FAG!”

“DUCKIN FAG!”

“FAGGGGGGG!”

Two studs pierced the sides of his earlobes, labelling him zoomer sixty and zoomer nine. Inches defining as a prominent average depth 7, MAKING HIM A COMPLETE JERK HAHA!

“Sorry ugh…dude you’re being really ho-”

“SORRY DEEZ NUTS!

Pink was voted

Voted

Voted

…

Pink was a FAGPOSTER

BROTHAMATE VICTORY, LITTTTTTT

Course it was simple, that’s what he always did to win. It was the ducking meta! Yell and the noobs GET REKT. That was why he was a PRO at this game!

He had ALWAYS WON, specially as one of the brothamates, course-why would he be a FAGPOSTER?

Furrowing dark brows, he grinned a cheeky grin as his eyes rested in their narrow-splendor. Straight small pupils built for a hardcore rude gamer that didn’t take or give any shyt but winning, even if those adults called him a total ZOOMER for it.

And just for them, like the clap back remark he yelled earlier-

“GOTTEM!”

With that obnoxious proclamation, Jonah Shang blasted over and over without remorse or care, putting down his phone as he sloppily collected whatever milky testosterone he could with the bottle.

He might have missed a bit during his climax, but who gives a shyt? HE WAS LOADED! In dollars, popularity and in Streamin’ Come. If anything-they should be THANKING him and his Boiz for popularising the game so much, especially with how many desperate simps got converted after the initial release.

Giving a pat to his controller, the freshly sprayed E-Boi gave a thumbs up to the waiter, who quickly picked up his bottle and returned back to kitchen to do whatever with the chefs.

What was he? Gay? It was his Saturday and he truly couldn’t give a shyt bout’ anything aside from gaming, fun and CHILLAXIN’.

“Ahh…So lit…”

Slacking backwards, the hormonal twenty-one year old heaved a satisfied sigh. Proud to be one of the Bois in camp christening, part of his fellowship fam with his rival and younger cousin Ben, or as he calls himself, Bro-Jammin’.

Despite being close as DUCK, the two of them were always in a heated battle in game, trying to OUTFAG one up one another in the various games as competitive rivals with no end.

He could almost just taste his cousin’s salt once Ben finds out he had raked out more wins in Fell Dudes.

“Heh, Madge.”

With more games coming out each day, it meant more scores for BigProJonah to whoop in record time. More 100% completions to complete. Something he always made sure to not let his cousin get the upper edge, considering he had the BOSS rank, and is a leader of the Camp Christening gaming Ciscord group.

It was close though, if he hadn’t played those hundred games in Amung Os just now for the daily bonus points, he could’ve gotten OUTFAGGED by his cousin in the group! and that would be LAME AF!

BOP! BOP!

Though speaking of bosses…

Turning to the left, he spotted his caller looking all frantic and panicky at the counter of the shop, poking his head out as if he couldn’t recognise one of the ‘famous Shang men’ just by presence alone.

Noob.

Taking in a deep breath, hollering at the top of his lungs-

“SUUUUUP! MAN-GAY-GER, WAZZUP!”

Startled, the bespectacled man turned to his direction, pausing momentarily before walking towards him. Squinting his eyes, trying to figure out who was the loudmouthed jerk that called out to him, attempting to rationalise…who he was going to meet up just now.

Puzzling, surely it cannot be this incredibly rude…rudely handsome intern in which he employed many months ago.

Blinking, the older male then blushed, fiddling around the plastic replica ring over on his middle digit, something he got for himself at the recent convention to match his intern’s.

Kinda sus tbh, but as long as he keeps it hidden, it wouldn’t cause one of the twenty-two year old’s infamous mood-swings.

“Its boss…Mr Shang.”

“Yeah yeah whatever, Man-GAY-ger, just sit already.”

The older male ignored that remark…well he tried to, as he struggled to keep his ‘membership’ sandwiched between his legs, putting down his bags on the right side of the couch and-

“Was here first. No cap!”

The E-Boi pointed at the plastic chair in front, forcing the older male to squeeze in the small chair uncomfortably despite being so huge.

Jonah smirked, a hundred times he would’ve preferred a sugar mommah instead of this giant tubby dude…but getting to slack all day at work and still get an A is LIT!

Plus picking on an older fag always gets him thrilled like no other. As long as he does not ask for favours, or he’s gonna yell NO HOMO!

Speaking of which…

“Yo dude, you looking thirsty AF. Get a drink or something.”

His manager blushed further…and all the plus points being said, Jonah still could not stand all the gawking looks from the guy. How the heck can his fellowship stand shyt like this almost every minute?

The cologne may be great and all, but sheesh if only he was allowed to score chicks…instead of D-

“What should I order?”

“Ughhhhh….come on!”

Jonah Shang groaned, slumping back on the couch in rebellious impatience.

No way was he going to bother with this boring internship shyt when he could be at AMUNG OS WITH DA BOIZ! And it won’t be long until his cous’ ‘OUT-WHALES’ him in that new princess game which just came out.

DUCK NO! He ain’t taking the ‘L’ over something stupid like this! Plus at this rate, he might even miss his ‘prayer time’ with that gal he met in-game…and that would be NOT LIT.

Fiddling with his straw, he had to think of something to cut this ‘meeting’ short! But his stupid boss is already asking noob questions like that kind of drink he should have! Doesn’t that dude know that the thirst meta is…

…!

The Chinese Zoomer grinned, hastily sat-up and held his cylindrical glass of raspberry energy-drink soda.

“Just CHILLAX, Noob!”

[through-lines]

I've had this idea floating around my head for a while that I've been calling xenogastronomy.

There's been talk here and there about food for nonhumans and alternatives that are safe for our bodies, but what I have in mind is more so this:

How do you make a dish that requires ingredients that don't exist?

How do you replicate flavors that the human body is incapable of tasting?

Basically, it's otherworldly cooking/eating; culinary experiments to (re)create food from worlds beyond this one. And I'd rather have this concept in more culinarily capable hands, but meanwhile, I've been brainstorming dish ideas that are personal to me…

As I mentioned previously, I have ideas about what kind of food I ate as a Nightmare/n, and part of those ideas is that food tastes a little weird: either there's qualities to our food that you just don't get in human food, or we're capable of tasting flavors that humans can't. Maybe they can be roughly approximated to human tastes, but there's always something missing. (Which is a depressingly common theme in my attempts to recall things about my experiences in that world.)

One of the things I'm contemplating is creating meat dishes that involve meat that doesn't exist--which is technically all meat dishes, but it's probably good enough to use mutton for a sheep-like creature's meat. But pian…are not like anything. And maybe there's a certain quality to that mutton that the "real"-world equivalent doesn't offer. So an experiment I'd like to try (if I ever get the time and space to) is messing around with ingredients used to make and flavor foods used as meat substitutes (e.g. tofu and seitan). What could you use in addition to (or in place of) water? What can you use to create strange or unexpected flavors? Could radishes be used to incorporate that burning-tingling feeling into dishes? Things like that.

It becomes apparent to me that a lot of my Nightmare/n dish ideas seem to solve the "flavors aren't quite right" problem by creating overstimulating flavors or stimulating flavors that maybe shouldn't be there by human standards. Which seems like a problem if I ever published recipes! But maybe someone'll find it interesting, if not very edible…

A more grounded alternative is food from my home on the islands. My interpretation is that technically, a lot of ingredients aren't necessarily 1:1 to ingredients here, but are close enough that it's splitting hairs to try and recreate them.

And then there's the pa/opu fruit.

I would very much like to know how to make a fruit. Even if it were say, diced up, recreating the experience of eating fresh fruit would be wonderful. But I know I'll never get the tools to breed ~designer fruits~, and I know that infusing fruit only goes so far, especially when you're adamant about getting the right flavor and texture.

But fruit juice blends are a thing. Many exotic fruits have their flavors described as being a blend of more common fruit/food flavors. Creating a fruit is borderline impossible; creating a fruit juice blend that at least has the flavors is much more feasible. And while it's not the same as eating fresh fruit, fruit juice is the basis for many desserts, which is a fun way to incorporate a flavor from your home into this world. Even if those particular desserts weren't eaten in your home, if you enjoy eating these desserts now, you can still have a taste of home. Neat, right?

Like a pa/opu wedding cake? Come on. That's such a cute idea. I'm just imaging how you could decorate that and the ingredients you could add to that and it makes me happy. It's fun, and it brings a bit of culture A into culture B.

And that's the appeal of xenogastronomy to me! It's a blending of cultures to help me feel a little more at home, in a world where "home" is just stories. A sort of defiant gesture to make those stories a little more real.

Of course, like I said…I don't really have the time or space or culinary know-how to figure this stuff out. But I'm hoping one day I will, and in the meantime, it's still nice to brainstorm. Get those creative juices flowing, come up with ideas to act on when the time is right.

[spooniechef]

Smoky Sausage, Red Onion, and Sweet Potato Tray Bake (1 spoon)

Another one from “The Roasting Tin: Simple One Dish Dinners” by Rukmini Iyer. While this is a great book, largely because it gives you the appropriate times and temperatures for baking a whole bunch of things (meat, vegetables, fruit, etc) separate from recipes ... there are a couple of issues with it. The main one is that it tilts towards the ... exotic and occasionally costly, I guess is the best way to say it. Some of the recipes call for aniseed stars, or creme fraiche (though according to the Googling I’ve done, you can replace it with Philadelphia cream cheese depending on the recipe) or, like, figs. Not only are a lot of those things expensive anywhere you find them, in this country? It’s hard to find that kind of thing at all, what with various shortages. I mean, it depends on where you shop, but a lot of them aren’t the kind of thing where you can just pick up the last few bits at a smaller grocery store on the way home from work.

Currently I’m trying to focus on the recipes that you can make without breaking the budget or searching higher-end grocery stores for ingredients. Which brings me to today’s experiment - “smoky sausage, red onion, and sweet potato tray bake”. Now, I’d never actually cooked a sweet potato before, but I did know I liked them, so I figured I’d give it a shot and it worked out great. There’s very little that can make this easier to make, but I do have some flavour-related notes.

Here’s what you’ll need:

8-12 pork sausages (I used nine)

2-3 sweet potatoes (depending on size), cut into thick wedges

2 red onions, quartered

2-4 garlic cloves, grated or finely diced

4 teaspoons smoked paprika

Generous splash of olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Pretty simple, and was tasty enough with just this, but I probably would have added a little bit of crushed fresh thyme and oregano, just to kick it up another notch, and maybe a pinch of celery salt. But it’s a pretty versatile recipe, so I imagine you can season everything as you like.

Here’s what you do:

Preheat oven to 200C / 180C fan assist / gas mark 6 (390F / 355F fan assist)

Toss the sausages, sweet potato, onion, garlic, garlic, paprika and oil together in a baking dish or roasting pan, then spread along the bottom (it helps to have the veg in one layer and the sausages on top

Add salt and pepper to taste

Bake for 45-50 minutes or until sweet potatoes are cooked through

Serve immediately

It came out pretty well, even if I want to adjust the spices for my next attempt at it. Also, having a look through the book for other vegetables that take about the same time to cook as sweet potato, you could theoretically add cauliflower to add to the veg content a bit. For myself, I just threw together a salad and a vinaigrette.

I am going to get a lot of use out of this book, and I do highly recommend it. I just intend to work through it with a few to tweaking it for budgets of all kinds - most of them cost little in the spoons department, but cost heaps in the financial sense. This one, at least, is pretty budget-friendly ... though if you have gluten intolerance issues, be careful about your sausage. A lot of times they’ll fill out sausages with bread crumbs, so only get the ones that state point blank that they’re gluten free. They will be more expensive because they contain more actual meat, but better that than getting sick.

[prismartist]

Dapper and the Mother Tree

Ao3

Words: 1271

a/n: this will mostly be most enjoyed by those who watched bad's may 18 stream and know of mezalea, which i'm aware is an extremely niche audience, but oh well. does this make sense timeline or geography-wise? no. i just saw them raid that city and went "this looks like mezalea. this is mezalea to me now" so here we are :D

– – – – – 

Maybe it was just because they were used to the emptiness of plains and deserts, but the desert city was one of the most glorious things Dapper had seen. 

The buildings stood high and mighty above everything but the sky, intimidating if not for the bright colors that covered it. Orange and purple and green decorated the elegant domes, drawing in the awestruck father and son like moths to a flame. The aura of it seemed magical, and not just because of the horrible monsters crawling within the abandoned halls. 

But it was eerie, too, a whole sprawling city without any inhabitants. Whenever Dapper and Bad cleared a room of mobs, a thick silence settled in their wake like the dust streaming in the sunlight. Thick cobwebs resided next to otherworldly riches beyond their wildest dreams. Numerous banners colored a faded magenta fluttered in the hot gusts of wind. There had been pride here. This city used to be powerful; Dapper was starting to think it might have been an empire. He couldn’t shake the growing urge to explore every inch of this place and learn as much about it as he could. While stripping it of whatever loot its residents had left behind, of course. 

Though there hadn’t been any dead bodies (unfortunately), Dapper couldn’t help noticing crumpled mannequins scattered around the rooms, some being possessed by the monsters. Their clothes were tattered or removed completely. They appeared to be made out of clay, uncannily human-like, the paint mostly faded. The ones in especially dark corners still had paint, however, and Dapper was curious at the fact that all of them had a green streak in their hair. Maybe it was popular fashion for them? But then why would mannequins have fashion? 

Dapper chipped off some of the paint, hoping to reverse engineer its ingredients later—and maybe learn more about the secrets of mannequin fashion. 

And then there was the tree. 

Being an ancient city, there was bound to be various flora growing in the cracks and up the surprisingly intact pillars. Exotic plants and flowers that Dapper collected samples of—they planned on giving some to Tallulah. But there was one that stood out. There, on the outskirts of the vast web of streets and buildings, was a tree. Old, if its size was of any indication. It was so large, in fact, that Dapper suspected it might be as old as the city, if not older. They had passed it only briefly, but its stature had immediately caught Dapper’s attention. That and the fact that it was an enormous still-living plant thriving in the middle of the desert.

“gimme a sec I am curious abt the big tree”

Ignoring the cries of their father, Dapper lassoed up to the square where he saw the tree, leaping across cobbled stone and scuffing his knee on the fountain nearby. There was a heap of stone on the fountain that might’ve once been a statue, but Dapper wasn’t concerned about that now. They focused on the tree, towering as tall as the various temples Dapper had seen around. The leaves, lush and unnervingly green, were so closely clumped together it looked more like a bush, but one sprawling large enough to fit a whole apartment complex inside. Dotting the branches were purple flowers breaking through the green. What was especially strange was that there was grass and moss growing around it. Dapper startled. This whole thing reeked of life in a place where there shouldn't be. Despite being abandoned in an empty desert city, it stood tall and continued to live. The whole being had an air of regality to it, and Dapper pondered on what it might have seen when the city was populated.

They think it might be an azalea tree, though they weren’t exactly an expert on plant life. 

He was sure, however, that plants don’t typically have amethyst growing in them. 

The hole tunneled into the ground at a slope, entirely walled by glittering amethysts. Dapper stared and wondered if they were embedded into or grew from the wood. They didn't seem to twinkle as they did hum, producing a warm vibration that Dapper felt in their chest. After a while they realized that it wasn't just the amethyst, but the entire tree emitting this aura. He blinked. He couldn't really describe it. The silence he'd heard throughout the city was most prominent here, but it was lighter, emanating a sense of calm throughout his body. Somehow he felt rejuvenated, like all the exhaustion from today's raid had just been sapped out or undone. He looked up at the sunlight dappling through the leaves onto himself, the way this ancient tree stood patiently and still, only the branches moving with the wind.

Dapper looked down at the amethyst tunnel, and decided it wouldn't hurt if he did one last look around. 

Dapper descended, the amethyst cool and inviting. Though there were no lights the amethyst seemed to glow bright enough to illuminate the entire space, further expressing their glittering nature. He took care not to hurt himself on the shards, his reflection warped and blurred in the purple surface. Dapper walked and walked for what seemed like forever. Despite this, he never got tired. Eventually he lost track of time, stretching on and on as long as this seemingly endless passage of light. The amethyst felt safe, and comforting. Dapper almost wanted to lay down and take a nap, but he was sure he'd be grounded if he waited any longer. It almost felt like being in the belly of a beast, cavernous and unusual; but most of all, it felt alive, contracting and expanding as if it were breathing. 

Then, as quickly as he had gone in, he was outside, blinking at the sun still high in the sky. He turned around; he was back at the entrance. This was logistically impossible, but Dapper knew better than to question that.

They looked up at the tree, which was rustling its leaves at him. They got the sudden, striking impression that it was waving goodbye. Not wanting to be rude, Dapper waved back.

"I won't loot you," he signed. "I promise Dad won't either."

As he turned to walk away, he mumbled, "Not that there's much to loot."

Dapper returned to a fussy-as-usual Bad; not wanting to hear his usual spiel, they quickly cut him off with a sign. "U are not gonna believe what I found in there." 

They saw the eagerness shimmer in their dad’s pure-white eyes. "What? Did you find something really good, is there a spawner?"

Dapper wrote their next words, remembering the amethyst insides of the motherly tree.

"absolutely nothing :D"

Bad rolled his eyes and ruffled their hair, calling them a slippery guy, and that was the end of that.

As they packed up to go, Dapper took one last look at the city, walking around the side of the entrance to see if they’ve missed anything. Looking into the far distance, they realized they had. On an elevated plateau stood a building, even larger than the rest of the city. Dapper wondered how they had missed it; it was clearly a castle of some kind, maybe even the castle where the ruler had lived. Studying it further, they noticed something rather strange about its centerpiece. They tugged on Bad's robe to get his attention.

“dad?”

“Yes, Dapper?”

“why is that castle’s roof split in half.”

Bad’s face twisted with confusion as he looked at the cracked dome, one half of the build somehow crumpled like clay. 

“...Huh. I have no clue.”

[theradicalscrivener]

Please tell us what happened to Caleb and Felipe once they returned home with Felipe’s new height? Did Caleb manage to convince Felipe to get bigger one more time before he took another shrinking potion? And did Felipe add a little extra for his muscles…? 😉

I hate to tell you this, but Felipe hasn't done any changes to himself since the trip. Now that he was aware that there were even more potential problems with multi-dosing, he needed to go back to the basics before he did anything purely for the fun of it.

[For those who want a refresh, here's the story this refers to]

There was a lull in the action after their weekend getaway. Felipe had to go back to the drawing board and figure out why his dick grew when he only used a height potion. This lead to a series of new theories and plenty of experimentation.

This just reaffirmed one of Felipe's suspicions that the body, once it had been changed by a potion, was primed for similar changes. All it needed was the right catalyst. In order to test his theories, however, Felipe needed a willing test subject. Felipe had planned to test on himself first, but Caleb was very insistent that he be used instead. After all, if things did break catastrophically bad, Felipe was the only one who could fix it.

Felipe gave Caleb some of the base solutions for the potions and tested what would happen. Unsurprisingly, things like raw alcohol and water which were major ingredients in the tincture that Felipe used for his potion base had no effect on Caleb (other than maybe getting him a little tipsy). Next, they tried various herbs and powders that were also used in the brewing of the potions. Again, nothing seemed to happen.

Felipe was about to give up, but Caleb suggested that they try to brew the potions but only add one ingredient at a time. So Felipe brewed the base and then sprinkled a little of this in, let Caleb have a sip, sprinkled a little of that in, let Caleb have a sip, and so on and so forth.

The whole process took a while, but eventually, Felipe added a sprinkle of a rare type of root that was thought to have no medicinal properties. It was just something that some brewers used because it was "exotic" and had a bit of spiritual lore surrounding it. It was more often used by kombucha brewers than by any serious apothecaries. It sounded really fancy, and if you slapped it on a lable and sold it as a health drink people would snap it up!

In retrospect, Felipe probably should have realized that this root was the source of their permanent changes. It was the only ingredient that he used that he hadn't learned about from his boss. Felipe only used it because it was the hottest new trend in New Age Spirit Healing. As a professional potion brewer, he had always turned up his nose at those crystal clutchers and their fake magic, but it turns out, that in this regard anyway, they may have been on to something.

Felipe watched in awe as Caleb began to dwindle down and down. However, unlike in previous events, Caleb didn't shrink down to microscopic sizes before rubberbanding back to a new, permanently smaller size.

The good news was they now knew what was causing the permanent changes. The bad news was that one of the ingredients they had added to the mix before the addition of the special root must have been the key ingredient in the shrinking concoction because by the time Caleb had stopped shrinking, he was less than half his former size. He had gone from a shockingly short 3'6 to an astoundingly tiny 1'6. Once again, he had lost twice as much height as the dose before. Caleb now only came up to Felipe's knees. He was now toddler sized!

It was at that point that Felipe felt the need to go back to the drawing board. Caleb was now less than two feet tall! If Felipe messed this up, and Caleb had another shrinking spell as intense as the last one, there'd be nothing left of him!

Felipe spent the next week or so poring over old tomes and trying to figure out what each individual ingredient did. If he could isolate the growth ingredient, maybe he could cancel out the shrinking effects in Caleb's body, but he wanted to be absolutely sure he knew which ingredient did what before testing it on a human subject, and he wanted to be double and triple sure he knew what the end result would be of using an opposite effect on a target before giving it to Caleb.

While Felipe worked up the nerve to try a different blend of the permanent elixir on himself, Caleb ran out of sick days from work. With no choice but to either quit or show up in person, Caleb braved city to show up at the office.

There was no shortage of gasps of shock and surprise when Felipe rode up to the office on his bike... with Caleb riding in the front basket like E.T. Caleb was too small to even reach the handle for the front door, and he definitely wasn't strong enough to pull it open even if he was. Felipe had to open the door for him, and the entire office gawked as Caleb, now standing a full 18 inches tall - the same size as an American Girl doll, strode through the lobby towards his office.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Hunger (2023)

Some of what Hunger has to say you can probably find in some other movie made before it… but it’s the first time I’ve encountered these ideas and I bet I won't be the only one. With a strong performance by Chutimon Chuengcharoensukying and a thought-provoking plot, this is the rare movie about food that I doubt will leave your mouth watering. That sounds like a flaw, but considering the topics covered, it’s wholly intentional.

Aoy (Chutimon Chuengcharoensukying), is a talented chef working in her family’s greasy noodle restaurant, the kind whose menu never changes and caters to the poorest customers - both in terms of sense of taste and of spending money. One day, her skill with the wok catches the eye of Tone (Gunn Svasti), sous-chef of the legendary Chef Paul (Nopachai Jayanama). His exotic dishes are the kind that only get served to the richest customers - many of which care more about being able to say they tasted his cuisine than about how good it actually tastes.

Unless you’re making a documentary about some scary aspect of the food industry, movies about food will make audiences hungry. Those loving shots of ingredients, the preparation and the carefully-lit final meal? You bet it does. Sitisiri Mongkolsiri’s Hunger is the exception. There’s something grotesque about the food Chef Paul makes. Or maybe, it’s the people who eat it that are sickening. As soon as the guests start putting anything in their mouths, their reactions are so extreme. Even if the dishes are THAT good, the reactions feel phony, like the people licking their lips and shoveling more and more into their face holes are putting on a show to justify how much they paid for it. “Look how good this food is! No wonder I had to pay this much for it”. Some of what makes the dishes unappetizing are the behind-the-scenes drama we witness. Shows like Hell’s Kitchen have accustomed us to foul-mouthed, temperamental, highly critical chefs but Paul Chef is just loathsome. For a long time, you’re watching him make this gorgeous food and you feel sort of bad for him because these snobs are making it look gross with their over-the-top reactions. Then, we find out more about him. Actually, he fits in this world of riches and pretenses so well that he’s just as bad, if not worse, than the clientele he serves. He might be a big name, but in reality, he’s a petty little man. And yet, he’s also brilliant at what he does.

In many ways, Aoy is the audience’s avatar. She comes from the streets before entering this world of decadence and high tastes. You expect her to lose track of herself and get swept up in this new crowd, but she’s frequently brought down to reality by her family. In one scene, she makes this great-looking dish for them and they tell her that what she should’ve served is the same thing they’ve eaten since forever, the same greasy noodle dish “family recipe” that’s nothing special. I guess that’s the thing with food (or anything else that people like because of their tastes). You can’t make people like something; they’re just going to like what they like. I’m not sure if it’s depressing or not that you can work so hard to make something that’s fresh and innovative but still have your customers go “nah, just give me what you gave me last time, again”. Maybe that’s the thing; you have to remember who you’re catering to. It’s not yourself, it’s the people who will be eating it. If that’s the case, then those garrish reactions we saw at the beginning show that the people were getting exactly what they wanted, and that Chef Paul really is a genius after all.

Some elements in Hunger are either underdeveloped or introduced and then dropped. There’s a serious crime at one point and we never see what sort of repercussions followed. Similarly, there’s a romance that begins between Tone and Aoy but where it goes is so vague I’m not sure I could tell you exactly where they stand with each other. Otherwise, this is an unexpected delight. Chef Paul’s cooking is as much performance as it is legitimate technique so there are plenty of visual delights, Chuengcharoensukying radiates charisma. You’re interested all the way through even though you have no idea what the ending will be. I’ll remember Hunger down the line. (Original Thai with English subtitles, June 25, 2023)

[here-lies-golden-kamuy]

any thoughts or headcanons on sofia, wilk and kiro, and what it was like for them to be on the run after killing the czar? i have sooo many ideas i would love to share abt this, and even a backstory i wrote for sofia. so many fics to write, so little time,,

Hey there, @interstellarshipwreck! Thank you for your ask, love! I apologize for the delay in my response, I had to research a bit on the three and really think of their dynamic together. I especially love this one because they’re characters that aren’t so popular (at least, on my side of the fandom), I’m thankful and glad to be given the chance to write about them! ALSO “so many fics to write, so little time…” IS SUCH A MOOD. HANDSHAKE EMOJI WITH YOU RIGHT NOW, MY GOOD FELLOW

I would absolutely love to hear about your own thoughts and backstory (OMG A BACKSTORY PLEASE FEED IT TO ME) about this!!!! I would love to hear more 🤲🥺

Sofia, Kiroranke, and Wilk Ten Year Runaways

Okay, I’m gonna lay my main card down already: I hc that Kiroranke loved both Wilk and Sofia. His love for Sofia is canon. But honestly, Kiroranke’s devotion and love for Wilk during their revolutionary days were so deep and intimate, I can’t see it as just plain old war buddies type of love. He loved that man, hence it hurt so much to see the Wilk he loved since his teenage years grow into someone he didn’t know and couldn’t relate to anymore in the end. It was like betrayal. Maybe one day I should write more about that. But yes, sometimes I think the manga was framing the trio as some sort of love triangle, and it was, but it was Kiroranke loving the both of them. I argue that in that aspect, he was their emotional core. 

I think Kiroranke and Wilk had moments together — Kiroranke, a teenage boy in love with someone older than him, desperately kissing an injured Wilk after the assassination. He would be embarrassed about it, ashamed of his actions, but Wilk said nothing but thanks for his concern. Kiro looking deep into shining blue eyes crinkled in mirth underneath a layer of blood, you fucking bet he realized right then and there he would follow this man wherever he goes. I feel like in those ten years, they had some kind of tension between them that wasn’t platonic in nature. Kiro would be passionate and show his adoration for the older man in actions rather than words — being loyal to his leader, following orders without any complaints. Wilk was calculated and cautious, hence he wasn’t verbally affectionate, but he’d always had his hand on Kiro’s shoulder in greeting or leaning into his bigger bulk when resting… there was definitely some quiet affection shared between the two of them. 

Asirpa in the early parts of the manga tells Sugimoto that a lot of women fell in love with Wilk because of his fine motor skills, especially when crafting something from his own hands. I hc that Sofia wasn’t any different. In my mind, there was a point during their runaway days where Sofia asked Wilk to teach her how to hunt, and Wilk crafted her a simple knife Ainu-style while telling her stories about his childhood to pass the time (maybe she heard about the story of child Wilk and the wolf during this time). She started to fall for the man who was passionate about his heritage and was willing to do anything for the people he loved. When it was finished, Wilk brought her along to a two-man hunt. She wasn’t successful at hunting, despite Wilk’s instructions, but Wilk — who had caught their dinner for that night — encouraged her by telling her that she can practice hunting with him and Kiroranke if she wanted to. 

Sofia can’t cook for shit, Kiro can manage, but Wilk was the master at their, er, makeshift kitchen. I can see Sofia being the Sugimoto to Kiroranke and Wilk’s Asirpa, wherein the boys would cook something that is “exotic” to Sofia’s tastes. Initially, she subconsciously balks at the ingredients and cooking processes, but then later reminds herself that her culture and their culture were equal — they both deserve the same respect and reverance. She ends up liking the mixed cuisines a lot. Also, Wilk who came from both Polish minorities and Ainu people probably did a lot of fusion dishes for fun. 

I can see Sofia to be their spymaster. Sofia is a pretty woman, knows French and Russian, and isn’t wanted by the police. Hence, she’s the least suspicious out of the three. I bet that she was really good at her job because she’s a great actress. I’m willing to bet she used her aristocratic knowledge to steal from a fellow nobleman during their runaway years. The reason why she started slipping when it came to Hasegawa was because for the first time in ten years, she felt at peace (this was primarily because of the close presence of Olga, Hasegawa’s child). I can even extrapolate that she enjoyed holding Olga close to her because she would daydream of her own child with Wilk. 

Wilk knew that both Kiroranke and Sofia loved him, but didn’t do anything about it. He also knew that Kiroranke was in love with Sofia, and made hints to Kiro that he knew, but he was passive when it came to emotions like that. Maybe he saw that maintaining the emotions and reciprocating even a tiny bit was beneficial for him as a leader. Although, I can see him being more partial to Kiroranke because of their shared goal.

Wilk has a great singing voice, I can see him as a baritone. Which means that his voice is well-suited for lullabies and humming. Sometimes when Wilk was on the watch for their group, he would hum songs from his childhood. Both Kiroranke and Sofia would pretend that they were already asleep to hear him quietly and gently string notes that would form soft lullabies about Ainu proverbs and stories. More often than not, they both fall asleep into deep slumber whenever they hear Wilk. It’s a soothing rumble, a very nice sound to let go of consciousness and clutch dreams.

[vapehk1]

Understanding Vape Cost Beyond the Price Tag

Vaping has taken the world by storm, and it's not just the clouds of flavored vapor that are rising. As more people switch from traditional cigarettes to e-cigarettes, the vape cost has become a hot topic. But what exactly goes into the cost of vaping? Let's dive into the surprisingly complex economics of this smoky habit with a humorous twist. The Initial Investment: It’s Not Just a Fling Switching to vaping isn't like picking up a candy bar at the checkout. It’s more like deciding to buy a small gadget. First, there's the vape device itself. These come in all shapes, sizes, and price tags. You could go for a basic starter kit that’s as cheap as a fast-food meal, or you could splurge on a high-end model that costs more than a fancy dinner for two. The Budget-Friendly Beginner For those just dipping their toes into the vapor, a simple vape pen or pod system might be the way to go. These devices can range from $20 to $50. They're straightforward, user-friendly, and won't break the bank. But beware, my frugal friends, this is just the beginning of your journey. Much like buying a pet, the initial purchase is just a fraction of the cost. The High-Roller Hobbyist On the other end of the spectrum, we have the vape connoisseurs. These folks invest in high-tech mods and tanks that can set them back $100 to $200, if not more. Think of it as the difference between buying a bicycle and a Harley Davidson. Both will get you where you need to go, but one does it with a bit more flair and, of course, a heftier price tag. E-Liquids: The Flavorsome Funds Once you've got your device, you'll need something to put in it. Enter e-liquids. These come in a dizzying array of flavors, from classic tobacco to exotic fruits and even desserts. But as with all good things in life, they come at a cost. The Budget Brew For the cost-conscious vaper, there are plenty of affordable e-liquids available. A 30ml bottle might set you back around $10 to $20. These are the fast-food equivalents in the vaping world – quick, easy, and satisfying enough to keep you coming back for more. The Premium Potion But if you're the kind who orders truffle fries instead of regular ones, you'll likely find yourself drawn to premium e-liquids. These can cost $25 to $50 per 30ml bottle. Why the higher price? Often, it's due to higher-quality ingredients, more complex flavor profiles, and the prestige of vaping something that sounds like it was concocted by a mad scientist. Maintenance and Accessories: The Hidden Costs Just like owning a car, vaping requires maintenance. Coils need replacing, batteries need charging (or replacing), and sometimes, things break. These hidden costs can add up over time. The Regular Replacements Coils are the most frequently replaced part of a vape. Depending on your device and how often you vape, you might need new coils every week or two. At $2 to $5 per coil, this is a recurring cost that, while not exorbitant, is something to keep in mind. It’s like needing new tires for your bike – annoying but necessary. The Occasional Upgrades Every now and then, you might find that your trusty vape needs a bit of an upgrade. Maybe you want a new tank or a better battery. These costs can vary widely but expect to shell out anywhere from $10 to $60 for these improvements. Think of it as upgrading your old smartphone to a newer model – it’s not essential, but it sure feels nice. The Long-Term Savings (Or Lack Thereof): Is It Worth It? Now, let's talk about the long-term financial impact of vaping. Many people switch to vaping thinking it will save them money compared to smoking traditional cigarettes. But is that really the case? The Theoretical Savings In theory, vaping can be cheaper than smoking. A pack-a-day smoker could spend $2,000 to $3,000 a year on cigarettes. Vaping, with its lower ongoing costs, could reduce that to $1,000 to $2,000 a year. That sounds like a significant saving, doesn’t it? It's like switching from a daily latte habit to brewing your own coffee at home. The Reality Check However, the reality often paints a different picture. Many vapers find themselves constantly upgrading their devices, trying new flavors, and buying the latest accessories. These additional expenses can quickly add up, eroding any potential savings. So, while you might save money on paper, in practice, it's easy to spend just as much – if not more – on vaping. Conclusion Vaping has become a popular alternative to smoking, but understanding the true cost of vaping requires more than just looking at the price tag of a vape pen. This guide delves into the various expenses associated with vaping, from the initial investment in devices, which can range from $20 for a basic setup to over $200 for high-end models, to the ongoing costs of e-liquids and maintenance. E-liquids, with their vast array of flavors, can cost between $10 and $50 per bottle, while maintenance items like coils and batteries add to the recurring expenses. While vaping can theoretically save money compared to smoking, many find that the continuous upgrades and accessory purchases quickly add up, making it as costly as traditional cigarettes in practice. This humorous and relaxed guide aims to provide a comprehensive overview of the financial commitment involved in vaping, helping potential vapers understand what they're really getting into. FAQs 1. How much does it cost to start vaping? The initial cost of starting to vape can vary widely depending on the type of device you choose. Basic starter kits can cost between $20 to $50, which includes a simple vape pen or pod system. For those interested in more advanced devices, the price can range from $100 to $200 for high-end mods and tanks. Additionally, you will need to purchase e-liquids, which can cost between $10 and $50 per bottle, depending on the quality and brand. 2. Are vaping products cheaper than cigarettes? Yes, vaping products are generally cheaper than cigarettes. For example, in Canada, the annual cost of smoking a pack of cigarettes a day is between $4,400 and $6,400. In comparison, using disposable vapes costs about $1,178 per year, while using refillable pod systems costs around $2,219 per year. This represents significant savings, often over 50% less than the cost of smoking. 3. What are the ongoing costs of vaping? The ongoing costs of vaping include purchasing e-liquids, replacing coils, and occasionally upgrading parts of the device. Coils typically need to be replaced every one to two weeks, costing between $2 and $5 each. E-liquids can range from $10 to $50 per bottle, depending on the size and brand. Batteries and chargers are also necessary expenses, with prices varying from $5 to $20 for batteries and $10 to $40 for chargers. 4. How can I save money on vaping? To save money on vaping, consider the following tips: - Buy e-liquids in bulk to reduce the cost per milliliter. - Use refillable devices instead of disposables, as they are more cost-effective in the long run. - Make your own e-liquids if you are comfortable with DIY projects, which can be much cheaper than buying pre-made ones. - Look for sales and discounts online or join loyalty programs from vape shops to get better deals. 5. Is vaping regulated and safe? Vaping is regulated to ensure safety standards are met, particularly concerning the manufacturing, marketing, and sale of products. In the United States, the FDA oversees these regulations, including age restrictions and mandatory warning labels. However, while vaping is considered less harmful than smoking traditional cigarettes, it is not entirely risk-free and should be approached with caution, especially for non-smokers. Read the full article

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than Edge

Wrote up the other two characters!

Mutated Alchemist

An alchemist in pursuit of discovery and knowledge, no matter the cost. An experiment with an acid resistance potion accidentally transformed them into an acid-spitting monster. They were going to make a cure, until they realized that their new body's acid is a potent ingredient for potions. They carry an array of potions and ingredients at all times, and can guzzle down a potion to mix it with their acid and spit it back out with explosive empowerment! Now, the alchemist adventures in search of rare and exotic ingredients, selling potions in the towns they visit along the way.

Their acid-mixing technique is powerful, but has a major limit; it usually only works with potions made from freshly-harvested ingredients. As such, they can't use the technique with most of the potions they carry around. They've found a few recipies for potions that work even without fresh ingredients, their favorite being a fire potion they call "dragon's breath". To make the most of the technique, they brew potions in the middle of their adventures, using their alchemical expertise to improvise uses for new ingredients as they harvest them.

Recently, they obtained a magic ladle from a collector of magical items, who stole it from the Party King's castle. The ladle was originally used for a punch bowl, bestowing any liquid it touches with magic that improves taste and invigorates those who drink it. The alchemist is currently experimenting with how this invigorating effect might be useful for various different kinds of potions.

Enchanted Item Thief

A collector whose fascination with magical items far outweighs their respect for the law. Their most prized item is a bag with infinite capacity, storing everything they collect in a pocket dimension. They inherited the bag from another collector, and between its previous owner and the thief's own additions, the bag holds hundreds of magic items of varrying usefulness.

The collector's primary goal is simply that: Collecting. Actually using the items is secondary, so most everything they find just gets tossed in the bag as long as it's magical and doesn't risk damaging the rest of the collection. Retrieving items from the bag is a little tricky; they've long since lost track of all the things they've collected, and even if they hadn't, it's hard to find what you're looking for in a bag with infinite space. I turned it into a little game piece:

Items that can be found in the bag can be described as "[Object] that [verbs] [things]." For example, "boots that repel water" can let you walk on water. "Hat that destroys sand" could be good protection in a sandstorm, or to excavate ancient ruins. But getting items is random; you can pick ONE word in the description, but the other two are randomly chosen from lists (list not provided, this is just a concept). For example, if you're fighting a dragon, you might want to pick "sword" as the object, to get a "sword that creates wolves" or a "sword that controls dirt". Or you might want to pick "dragons" as the nouns, to get "boots that destroy dragons" or a "shield that controls dragons" or maybe a "staff that strengthens dragons"... wait no.

[rudraresort]

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Jasmine Palace Kovalam stands as an opulent sentinel overlooking the azure waves of the Arabian Sea for those who can't resist the appeal of the beaches. Kovalam delivers peace and quiet with its gently sloping beaches and calm surf. Jasmine Palace stands out among Kovalam's many resorts not only for its opulence and grandeur but also for the experiences it provides. It's a location where the warmth of traditional Indian hospitality, the splendor of the natural world, and the conveniences of contemporary luxury combine to create an experience that stays in the memory long after the trip is finished.

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[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 17

The normal urban atmosphere that wafts throughout the big apple is swelled by the wondrous scents of exotic foods and spices that cut through the grimy city air like a finely sharpened blade; the blend of aroma’s proving a welcoming first impression for anyone visiting China town. The foreign market held in the midst of this small portion of this city is as busy and bustling as ever, with countless people from within and outside New York touring through the many booths and stands that make its marketplace; the swarm of customers drawn to these fascinating food and ingredients the sellers of these booths advertise with pride.

Somewhere nearby within the residential area of this humble foreign settlement, a door from one of its many homes exudes a bright red aura; one of which envelopes its finely carved wood from top to bottom. Few of those passing by heed some mind when out from this door do Wedsle, Frida, and Thursotte emerge out from the other side, exiting out from the inside of the safe house behind them; neighbors perplexed of how these three can exit go casually out from a home that was not there’s and approach as the psychic three stroll away. Yet before any of them could come close to investigate the inside, the door the crew came out from suddenly slams shut; leaving a few of them too spooked to approach. One of them however, was still persists investigating as they take hold of the door’s handle before opening it back up. Everyone near is left perplexed when gazing to what lies behind the doorway, failing to find the scene that the trio walked out from and instead see the bland inside of a normal home.

In the purple psychic’s finger spins a key engraved with bronze carvings held against the head, its design unmistakable from any other; the dimensional psychic nervously watching as the Wedsle causally flips this key around in each of his fingers before warning how: “Will you quit dicking around with the key and just put it in your damn pocket already.” “Frids, relax, this bronze baby here’s in good hands. You going on actin like I got a pieces of priceless diamond right here.” Wedsle jests. “To us, it might as well be. That little piece of bronze you got whirling around your fingers is our only ticket back in the safe house.” “Yeah, Wedsle. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more careful with our only way back.” Thursotte reinforces. “Man, you two really think I’m some sort of careless jackass, don’t you? Listen, long as my hair is as purple as my pubic areas; I swear that this key ain’t gonna slip my-” Yet in the midst of swearing this, the key wind up twirling right off the tip his finger and fly across the street; all of the jerking their sites towards where the piece of bronze careens. “Shit.”

The trio make a frantic mad dash to their one way ticket back to their safehouse as it clangs across the streets of Chinatown; some of the locals nearby watching amused as they desperately race after the piece of bronze. Both Thurs and Weds blood runs cold when watching the key bounce towards the storm drain and fall straight through the metal grate; the purple psychic shouting out: “No! Fuck! Why!” “What do you mean why!? You were spinning it on your finger! Of course this happened!” Thurs exclaims, clutching the violet psychic’s shirt collar. Their overall panic soon deflates when looking back towards the storm drain and finding the 2nd dimensional arm of their other partner slipping out from the grate, turning her hand back to normal to open her palm and show the piece of carved bronze in her hand. “Oh...right...”

After Frida finishes fishing the precious key back into their hands, the purple mobster compliments her as she comes back with: “Nice save, Frids. Now just hand that little trinket over and I’ll stuff it where the sun don’t shine. Of course I mean down in my-” “No.” the dimensional psychic denies. “What, with it being made of Julian’s power; It ain’t like you got anywhere to put it.” “That’s why I’m counting on Thurs’ hands to keep a grip on it rather than risk it being in your slippery twig fingers.” she explains, putting the key in the young man’s grasp. “Come on, Frida. All these years we’ve worked together, you feel more comfy having him hold onto it than me?” “It’s the fact that I’ve know you for that long is why I’m more confident handing the key to Thurs. He’s proven to be more careful in the short time I’ve known him than you have in the years I’ve been with you.” “Ouch, really twisting the knife there.”

“I ain’t too sure of that, Frida. I mean with my set of psychic powers in particular, you think that-” Thursotte then attempt to bring up. “I’m sure you got this. Just keep it in your pocket and it’ll be alright.” “Hmm...if that’s all I need to do…But how come Sat couldn’t come along? She probably would have been the better pick for this.” “Thought she told you about staying with the new meat to help hone his powers. Guy like that ain’t gonna be much use to us if he don’t know how to pull his own weight.”

Within a room of the safe house, clear of all its furnishings and decorations, the lively psychic paces back and forth before the patiently sitting in front of the former officer; washed and scrubbed clean of stains with fresh clean clothes and a haircut to boot. “So...there really anything else I need to know; I mean beside the bare basics.” Tuesco wonders. “I mean of course there is. It-it’s just I’m not really sure how to go about it is all.” claims Sat. “What do you mean?” “I’m saying that I’m not sure if going over general tips or pointers is the best way to go here.” “That’s it? No kind of intense training with you on my back, Swamps of Dagobah style?” “Well, you can probably guess by now that every psychic power from person to person is wholly unique, so there’s only so much I can do for you before you have to figure out the rest on your own. But, since I was in your position only around several months ago, I thought going through a couple of tricks that helped me out would work with you.” “Great…” he sigh with a hint of sarcasm.

“Right, so…” Satette begins with, pulling out a rose from her dress pocket. “Now that you know what aspect of this world you have under your command, the next step is figuring out how much you can do with it; that typically comes with three factors. Quantity, will, and creativity. Most psychic’s that control physical aspects need to have their element in arms reach to effectively wield it; which shouldn’t be much of a problem for you considering you can solidify air, and air is...pretty much fucking everywhere.” From this does Tuesco take in a deep breath of the air around them before going: “Of course.” “Willpower on the other hand is more of a matter of practice than anything. Calling it simply that might not be it. I think mental fortitude and focus are more accurate in this case. Ideally, you have to get in the mindset of your power being a natural part of you, like getting in the habit of breathing...or I guess using a part of your brain would be more appropriate here.” Sat explains, Tuesco rubbing the back of his head. “Okay, like...think of it like a muscle under your control; the more you work it, the better it’ll be.”

“And creativity?” Tuesco continues with. “That is honestly the most important step. While the limits of how much air you have under your control can widely vary; it is always critical not to think how much of it you can use, but what you can do with how much you got. Like this rose in my hand here.” the lively psychic instructs, presenting the ruby red rose in her hand. “As it stands now, this simple flower is almost next to harmless; really the only thing worth of note being its thorns set along its neck. Not really the best sort of tool one could use. But with a little bit psychic finesse...”

Within the young woman’s grasp, a natural green glow begins to encompass the unassuming flower; Satette’s aura enveloping the piece of flora as it begins to reform its very biological structure. Among its transformation does the neck of the rose stretch out across the young woman’s hands and ravels around her knuckles; the thorn held through the stem facing out from the front of her hand. When the lively psychic dismisses her aura out from the plant, its glow fades away to unveil what she had transformed the rose into; Tuesco left surprised to see the roses stem wrapped around her knuckles as she presents it with: “Boom! Thorn rose knuckles, perfect for leaving behind gashes against whoever wants to mess with you. Or…” Spreading her power through the rose again, Satette commands it to unravel from her hand and instead reform in her grasp; its stem straightening to a tip point as its thorns against lines its neck. “A lacerating dagger; case you want to really dig in whoever you wanna stab with a hearty twist.” she explains twirling the freshly made dagger about. “Uh...ok-okay.” the former officer utters, left mildly disturbed over the young woman’s graphic example. “Or if you wanna leave all of this as a nasty surprise…” Once more does Sat trail her power across the rose forged dagger and starts to remold its very structure to wrap around the wrist; her green power dispelling to reveal the rose having enveloped her arm as the bud of the flower blooms across the back of her hand. “Keep it disguised as a fashionable bracelet, ready to draw the blood of your foes at a moments notice.” “Right...But how is showing all that supposed to help me?” Tuesco then asks. “Well, considering what all you did back in the complex I found you in, and what Wedsle told me about; it sounds like your having trouble trying to construct more complex geometric shapes. So that might be the best place to start with you.”

A quiet grumble seeps out from underneath the man’s breath as the young woman instructing her sits down to tell him: “So remember when I said how you need to focus on what you want the air to be. Lets try making a cylinder around you with that method.” Upon his teachers request, the former officer stands off the floor before he stretches his arms out from both sides; Tuesco’s cerulean blue power seeping out from the palms of his hands as it expands around him. But the further he stretches his aura out to try and surround him and make a cylinder, the more this task strains him; Satette left worried as the man before him show signs of distress and pain. Tuesco can’t even manage to his aura together before it suddenly evaporates, the man himself letting out a pained hiss as he grasps the side of his temple while seething: “Agh! Dammit, my head!” “Oh jeez. I guess your brain ain’t really use to doing something that complex yet. How bout we try something a more small. Maybe like...a cup.” “Ngh...O-okay.” the man sighs, taking his hands off his head to hold one of them out.

Holding the palm of his hand up, the former cop begins to again focus in using his aura to create the very shape Satette wants out from him; his cerulean blue power seeping out and swirling from his palm. Tuesco lets out a small grunt as he concentrates on making his power trap the air into the form he desires, focusing on directing the aura to slowly form into a cup. And after a moment of concentrating his power does his aura finally form into the shape he wishes and commands it to vacuum up and solidify the air within; the former cops blue glow dissipating as he finally forms a cup made from solid air in his hands. Yet when the strenuous process had been said and done, the cup that Tuesco had transformed the very air into was left about as small as a shot glass; a disappointing feet of which starts to get him down.

“Uh...Well I mean, its a start.” Sat attempts to compliment. “I guess so.” groans Tuesco. “Hey, don’t feel too down about it. I had trouble doing bigger stuff when I first started out too. All it takes is some practice and some exercise.” “Like crunches or something?” “What I mean is think of these powers like an added muscle in your body, make sure to treat it well and practice so you can keep that muscle in tip top shape.” “Well, if it really is that simple, then this’d be considered for a toast, don’t you.” the former officer claims, handing the freshly made shot glass of solid air to the young woman. The former officer then takes out a stainless steel flask he pulls out from inside his jacket, unscrewing the cap to pour some liquor in the air made shot glass; the alcohol pour within seemingly floating right above Sats hand as its washes around in the tiny cup.

“What’s the occasion?” she wonder. “I just haven’t thanked you yet for doing all this for me, and I’ve been dong nothing but complain so far. Hoping this’ll at least make up for that. You think so?” After taking a brief moment to stare to her own reflection held in the liquor floating in the invisible cup, the lively psychic shrugs her shoulders and goes: “Eh, why not? 5 p.m somewhere, right?” In one fell swoop, the young woman gulps down the shot of alcohol the same time Tuesco takes a swig out from his flask; the liquor slithering down their throats as smooth as silk.

“Ahh. Whelp, that was exhausting. Same time tomorrow?” the former officer tries to leave with. “Oh no no no no no no. We are far from done here. We just got started” Sat goes, clutching the man’s shoulder. “Huh?” “I don’t really know what it was like in NYPD, but that easy going attitude ain’t gonna be enough anymore. We’ll be dealing with the crime syndicates psychics threatening our lives every single step we go; nearly on a day to day bases, really. So if you have any hopes of getting out of this whole mess alive, the time for taking it easy is over. We gotta kick this psychic training regimen up in high gear if you want to stand a chance. Cause if you don’t, they’ll be people out there more than happy to slit your throat open.” “What!?” “You did a nice job making a shot glass on the first try, so were gonna keep going. We ain’t stopping til you can form an entire plate and bowl set out of the air we breath.” Its upon this that it finally becomes clear to the former officer how much shit he had wound up getting in, the overwhelming realization clear to see on Tuesco’s face as his flask slips out from his hand and falls to the floor. “You’re cleaning that!” they hear Julian demand from a distance.

Taking in all the exquisite and exotic smells wafting through the air, Thursotte lets out a satisfied sigh as he shivers; all before claiming how: “Oh god. Its been so long since I’ve taken in the swelling scent of freshly made Chinese food. Really haven’t had any since I was in collage.” “Oh Thurs, that fucking cheap ass restaurant shit is nothing compared to the finely crafted and well prepared dishes served daily in this little slice of the east. The spices and foods these people get from direct oversea’s imports are the stuff of legends, the kind that people all over this city, hell even this country, to partake in the smorgasbord of exotic foods and the flavors they give. And the people, the dear wonderful people, they have the right idea when it comes to having good times aplenty, the prostitutes that roam the streets of the night can lend you pleasures beyond expectation. I had one that manage with nice tits to shove her finger in my-” Yet before the purple psychic could continue his description any further, Frida, thankfully, lets out a fake cough to grab their attention before she reminds him of how: “Didn’t we come here to scoop for info out here. Not shove food and unmentionables down our throats.” “Right right right! Can’t stay here too long, so lets straight to business and ask around for anything these guys might know.” “What makes you think anyone hear would know about the mob?” Thurs then question. “Because Thurs, exotic foods, spices, and people aren’t the only thing’s that come oversea’s. The crime syndicate of New York has had a long and weathered relationship with the dark and seedy underbelly that migrated from the depths of China. Where do you suppose the mob gets their imports from?”

Just before any of them could speak so much as another word on the matter, there attention is baited by a pained scream that echoes across the other side of the road; the three of them peering over to witness a man that just had wasabi flicked into his eye. Among the stinging pain brought by the famous green spice does the man start to run through the streets and straight into a woman carrying numerous hefty boxes in a towering stack; all of these weighty packages falling onto the poor guy as they slip from the woman’s grasp. “Shit, that sucks.” comments Weds. “What a way to start the day.” Frida claims.

Yet this be not the only series of unfortunate events they witness, as their site trails over towards a mobile food truck that suddenly catches fire; the chefs hair lit ablaze as she tumbles out from within and frantically dashes through the streets. The flaming chef makes a mad dash straight towards a tank filled with water sitting in another booth to swiftly put out her blazing head of hair; this quick solution only leading to more trouble though as she jerks her head back up from the hazy water, surfacing to scream out as several crabs latch tightly onto her face. Both Weds and Frida turn their eyes to the chaos causing psychic after watching these unlucky sequences unfold; Thursotte left surprised upon their unspoken accusation as he defends himself with: “What the-! Y-You think I’m doing this!? Guy’s you can’t even see any sort of aura around; how could this be me?” “Mmmm, true. Plus your kind of chaos is more wide spread and generalized, it ain’t this precise and targeted.” the dimensional psychic backs him up with. “Eh, whatever? We have more important things to worry about then a couple of people having some bad days.” the violet psychic brings the conversation back to.

“Yeah, speaking of. How do you expect to go about finding what we wanna know?” Thurs then questions. “Simple as spittin shit, Thurs. Just ask around.” “To anybody?” “No, not to just any rando out here. Booth vendors, restaurants owners, small shops; basically anyone that had the wrong mind to set up business around this part of town.” Wedsle explains. “Why is that a bad thing? With how much traffic this place seems to keep getting, opening a business here’s might as well be a no brainer.” “And that right there is the reason why the mob thought best to keep a tight grip in this part of the city; the revenue its businesses rakes in alongside the imports they get from here. Chinatown might as well be an unofficial overseas trading route; long as these folks here keep up the supplying, they get to keep their businesses running smoothly, and their lives spared to boot.” adds Frida. “That’s just heinous.”

“Yeah well, that’s just the way the world of crime works; and we’re gonna be taking little tour through this little piece of the east to find ourselves some info we can use against it.” “Which is why our best bet is for you to split?” Wedsle goes and tells Thursotte. “Just me, why!?” “If something goes and happens to Weds and I, we’ll need you to go back to the safe house for backup. Something to keep as an escape plan if things go south while your asking around.” Frida assures. “I don’t know about this guys, what if-” Thurs attempts to ask, rubbing the pocket he kept the key in. Though in the midst of questioning this does he look back to find the two already making their way through the street, both of them turning the corner as Frida assures that: “You got this!” Unbeknownst to either of them, another watches them all split off from afar from the shadows of an alley; a man dressed in yellow and black swirling jacket and pants laced with traces of golden studs. In both of his hands lye a pink, star shaped fruit; its sweet juices dripping onto the concrete as he partakes in its splendor.

A quiet worried groan can’t help but escape from him upon his friends departure, with Thursotte nervously turning over to trek the streets of Chinatown; his mind soon left to ponder which of these numerous businesses that lay out before him, and how to go about questioning for any sufficient information. From the way Wedsle put it, half of the restaurants and stores around here might just be under the mobs jurisdiction. If that’s true, being careful with my words is key; one wrong phrase and this place will be swarming with psychic mobsters before we know it. So Thursotte decides to start off this little quest at the very first indoor shop that he comes across, the sign above show Chinese letters printed across; though one would guess this being some sort of ancient Chinese antique store as the windows show statues and decoration dating back to numerous other dynasties.

The very moment that the young man enters the shop is when his interest perk as he beholds all the other artifacts and statues that line both the walls and the shelves, Thurs left mesmerized among the unique and exotic decorations surrounding him. Statues of serpent like dragons, monks, stone warriors; along with water paintings, chimes, small floral decorations, and robes the likes of which one would be seen wearing around that time. Wow! It’s all so pretty and- Before he could lose himself in the mystique and wonder of these pieces, the young man shakes off his hypnotic trance and slaps both of his cheeks together to regain his composure. Focus, Thurs; this is serious. This isn’t the time to be a tourist. Just ask the guy a couple questions and leave.

Reeling in his amazed wonderment, Thurs waltz right on over to the counter to face the cashier on the other side; an old man dressed in a polo long sleeve shirt and donning a cowboy hat. “Greeting, my friends. I was just in the neighborhood browsing around and heard about where I could hear about some dirt concerning this city’s crime syndicate. You think you know what a guy like me could might wanna hear.” he greets with, putting on a half hearted confident facade. That fake confidants starts to waver however when the owner starts to speak in words that he fails to understand; Thurs compelling the guy to: “Come again?” When speaking once more, the young man is left only more confused as he doesn’t understand a single word that comes out from his mouth; Thursotte simply looking to the owner with a perplexed gaze. The old man lets out a frustrated sigh before he ducks underneath the counter, only to come back up to put a sign written in English onto the counter. “The owner of this establishment understands and speaks exclusively in Chinese. Please translate or make your way to the exit.” it reads. “Oh...Oh no…”

A nervous worry begins to seep into the young man upon this discovery as he comes to realize how he doesn’t understand a single lick of Chinese in the slightest; sweat running down his forehead as she starts to back away from the counter and go: “Uh, well I guess I’ll just leave you back to your business, I hope you have a great day.” Just as he was about to make his way out from the store, Thurs turns around only to wind up bumping into another man wearing a lime green hood; Thursotte continuing to exit out from the shop as he quickly apologizes with: “Sorry!”

After exiting the establishment, the young psychic attempt to keep his thoughts from spiraling as he continues to walk through the streets; all the while he thinks of any other way he could gather information. Just relax, Thurs. This ain’t as big of a roadblock you think it is. So what there might be a couple of people living here that only speak in Chinese, that doesn’t mean everyone here does. I mean this place is rooted in the middle of one of the most famous cities of America, there has to be people around here that speak English. Plus from the way Wedsle put it, some of the shops around here have to know something about the mob. Even if things don’t work out there, I can always just pop back in the safe house and ask Sat and Tues for…for...f-for…

Thursotte’s budding optimism is swiftly cut short when delving into the pocket where he had left the bronze key in; that sense of worry returning as he reaches inside only to feel not a thing tucked in there. This worry ultimately evolves into utter dread when pulling this pocket inside out discover there be nothing inside; the young psychic shuttering as he internally screams within his mind. Where’d it go!? He frantically starts patting around all over his body in searching for the key, digging into his other pockets to check to see if he had misplaced it there instead; but this effort draws no hope for results as Thurs panics. Where’d the key go!? I know I put it in my pocket! I couldn’t have just lost it! It doesn’t make any sense, where could it have- Its in the middle of his internal freak out that he remembers when he was leaving the shop, having bumped into that random man in the lime green hoodie; this soon making him realize what had happened to him. That’s must’ve been it. That guy that bumped into me, he picked it out from my pocket as I was trying to leave.

With a glance back towards the antique shop, Thursotte spots the man in the lime green hoodie making his exit and heading the other way; the young psychic making a frantic bolt towards the guy who he knows picked the key off of him. I didn’t bump into anybody else when I got here! He has to have taken it! When the guy glances back to spot Thurs racing right after him, he almost immediately makes a run for it and speeds through the streets; knocking down whoever may stand in his way. If I don’t get that key back, we’ll end up stuck out here and fresh for the mob to finish off! No matter what, I can’t lose it!

Down a couple more city blocks, Frida and Wedsle casually stroll through the streets of Chinatown and come to the other part of the shopping district; the dimensional psychic feeling a bit weary as she constantly glances back before she goes: “I should’ve went with him.” “Girl, just loosen the chain up already. You sound like one of those fucking know it all helicopter parents.” “Most competent parents wouldn’t leave their kids to ask around for secrets of the mob alone.” “Good thing Thurs isn’t a kid, is he?” “Wedsle!”

“He’ll be fine, Frida. Thursotte isn’t as wet behind the ears anymore. He’s done plenty of feats to prove that he can handle whatever trouble he gets into. Like when he caused that traffic jam to stop that delivery you two intercepted.” “Yeah.” she says. “Or when he took on one of the apostles heavenly knights...think that’s what those larpers called themselves.” “True.” “The time he dragged you through the inside of a crumbling office while being chased by cops.” “Mmhm, alright fine. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to let the kid do stuff on his own. If he can keep that key on him, then I might have nothing to worry about.” “Like you said Frids:  He’s proven to be more careful in the short time you’ve known him than I have in the years you’ve spent with me” the violet psychic calls back to, bringing a little smile to his dimensional merging partner. “So, where the hell in this little slice of the east are you expecting to dig up some dirt?” the dimensional brings the topic back to. “Don’t worry about any of that, I know of ways around here that outta point us to the buried treasure of intel we’re looking for.”

A reassuring thought that the two of them take as they travel deeper into the depths of this oriental piece of the big apple; neither of them aware in the slightest of a third party stalking them from among the crowd of tourists. Out from the countless people does this man watch the two from afar as he finishes chowing down on his piece of fruit. When the man donned in yellow and black finds his supply of star shaped fruit running dry, he breaks his sites away from his pair of pursuits to gauge the people around him; his eyes wondering off towards the side and lock his eyes upon another, a man dressed in a blue tee making his way into a public restroom. A sinister grin stretches across the fruit eating man as he follows after this unsuspecting guy.

Within the private confines of the men’s restroom can the man in the blue tee be seen relieving himself against the urinal; a soft and nearly silent moan escaping from him as he lets all the piss in his bladder out. Its soon after starting that he then sees another man move to the urinal neighboring his, the guys yellow and black bejeweled outfit drawing his eyes over to him. But when this extravagantly dressed guy looks back at him, he quickly jerks his head the other way in hopes of his gawking not being noticed; all the while the man he looks away from seizes his opportunity and reach over towards him. A bright pink aura seeps out from the palm of his hand as the man in yellow and black thrusts his arm into the other man’s side; his victim left utterly comatose as the psychic digs deep into his very being. In just a few more moments does the guy in the bejeweled outfit finally withdraw his arm out from his victims side; reeling from within a bright pink power that begins to take shape before his very eyes. This formless glob of pink power soon takes the shape of a plump glowing star fruit, the exact same kind of star fruit that he had been eating just moments ago.

The man dressed in the blue tee swiftly comes to and gazes down to where he had relieved himself, left shocked when he discovers having urinated down the leg of his pants; an embarrassing unlucky situation that leaves him all the more perplexed as he tucks his dong back in and zips right back up. Away from the urinal does the man then waltz over towards the sink in a bid to wash away the shame of soiling himself, only for the knob to break off as soon as he attempts to turn it; a geyser of water spewing against him as he backs away from the broken sink. Now drenched and cold, he turns to the paper towel dispenser to at least try to dry off; his grief growing when the pulling the lever only for the dispenser to jam. The soaked man is left fed up with it all and simply decides to leave; only to wind up slipping from the water all over the floor and unintentionally knocking over another man trying to come in. Stepping right over these two, the guy donning the yellow and black swirl jacket emerges out from the public restroom with a freshly picked piece of star fruit in his hands, wasting not another moment to bite down upon its soft hide and slurping the juices within; this man venturing back towards where he saw his real pursuits went as he takes another bite.

Struggling grunts and straining breaths echo across the halls of the safehouse as Tuesco continues practicing his newfound psychic powers; Satette watching closely as the former officer attempts to form his cerulean blue aura into that of a big donut. His attempt to make the more complex shape out of the air itself ends rather anticlimactically, as Tuesco is just about to complete the shape before his mental fortitude crumbles; his aura dissipating as the stress inflicted becomes far too much for him to handle and nearly collapses as a result. Sat immediately rushing over to his side as he fumbles against the wall; helping him up as she asks: “Tues, you alright?” “I think so. Only feel light headed. Did you used to feel like this when you first became a psychic?” “Yeah, but don’t worry. The more you get used to it, those constant headache’s will practically be nonexistent.” “Thing is, I don’t really wanna get used to this. The moment a way out for me comes, I’m getting out of this city as fast as possible.”

“I ain’t got a problem with that, but the others might say otherwise.” “What, they’re gonna force me to do their bidding?” “Eh, not so much force, more like exploit. Long as the mob has as tight of a stranglehold on this city, the chances of you making it out of New York in one piece are pretty nonexistent; and Wedsle knows that. I’m afraid you have no other option but to work with us on this if you plan on escaping.” “God dammit.” frowns Tuesco, crossing his arms. “That’s really the reason why we’re going through this whole psychic crash course. You want out, you got work for it. And to work for it, you gotta be up to snuff. Cause if you ain’t, you won’t be making it out of this city, at least with your life.” Satette elaborates. “Years of work on the force and in short of a week, I’m reduced to nothing but a henchman.” “Not much of a difference if you ask me. Only which side you play on.”

With a muffled rumble seeping out from between his lips, the former officer simply keeps listening as Satette continues their training by instructing to: “Now part of wielding your psychic powers is to get in the habit of treating it like an extension of yourself. Like I said before, you have to get in the mindset of believing you can solidify air is as easily as you can breathe… Which is pretty ironic in this case, isn’t it?” “And how do recon I do that?” “Well, how other people go about that can vary, but something that usually helps me is visualizing what I want my power to do. And something tells me that your already halfway there, considering how you could easily make basic geometric shapes.” “But I’ve been trying just that, and all I’ve been getting back is nothing but splitting headaches.” “Probably because you haven’t gotten fully immerse in that mindset yet. I mean, you just now realized you can control your powers a few days ago when you’ve had them for around a month. So, to that end, we’re gonna be doing some mental exercises.” “What like taking a test or something?” “Kind of.”

Upon approaching her waiting pupil, the lively young psychic takes Tuesco’s hand holds it up to him as she says: “You’re hand right here, I want you to visualize what it looks like in your mind; think you can do that?” “Of course I can, I’m not stupid.” “Good, since it’s so easy, I want you to close your eyes and put both of them behind your back.” Like she instructs him to do, Tuesco shuts his eyes and takes both of his hands behind his back, then hearing her tell him to: “Now, think about what your hand looked like to you in that moment; think of the air surrounding you as like that very arm and use it to focus on bring that mental picture to light.” “What’s that even mean?” he can’t help but ask “Uh...O-okay, so you know how in Kindergarten around November, the teacher has them all make turkeys by putting their hand over the paper and tracing it. Think of it like that, except with air instead of blueberry scented markers.” This visualization exercise set upon him, Tues takes in a calming deep breath before he begins to make a picture in his mind him putting his hand over a piece of paper; imagining a marker swirling along the outline of his hand as he keeps his thoughts focused. And though he starts to feel the same headaches coming on as he did before, the freshly new psychic fights through the encroaching migraine and holds his thoughts steady to finish picturing himself drawing the turkey.

Once he successfully finishes this mental exercise, he then wonders aloud: “Did...did it work?” “Why don’t you feel over and find out?” he hears the young woman suggests. Like she tells him to, Tuesco takes his hands out from behind his back and reaches over to feel if his visualization exercise had work; sparks of joy surging through him as he feels the palm of his hand slide up a smooth cylinder. Moving his hand up to the top of this cylinder is he astonished to feel what resembled a hand, running his fingers across its own. “Is this...Did I do it?” he utters. “Open your eyes and see.”

From the young woman’s simple suggestion, Tuesco opens his eyes to behold his own hand caressing the very air he solidified, feeling this piece of air taking the same shape he had pictured in his mind. Fingers, palm, even the arm, the new psychic had successfully recreating his own arm with nothing but the air around them; a feet of which he was amazed to have pulled off. “It worked…I actually did it!” “I mean the hand feels less detailed than it should be, but this still is a fantastic start. You keep doing stuff like this and you’ll be able to make way more than just an arm.” Satette proclaims. “You think so?” “I know so. Now lets keep it up. Lets see what else you can make doing that visual exercise.”

Through the residential streets of Chinatown, the psychic of Murphy’s law continues his pursuit after the lime hoodie wearing man that pilfered the key back to the safehouse from his pockets; both of them swerving around the people in the streets as they hurry. The mob isn’t gonna waste any time when they realize we’re here; so I can’t let this guy get away with the key. Like swimming in the middle of the ocean with hungry sharks encircling us, we’ll be stranded out in the middle of the city just waiting for them to pluck us out. When coming up towards the end of the concrete walkway, Thursotte is left concerned as the man dressed in lime refused to slow down when nearing a road filled with busy traffic; the vehicles dashing through showing no signs of slowing down, much less stopping. He’s not stopping! The guy’s gonna get run over! But just when the man was at the very end of the walkway does he suddenly make a bounding leap to the wall next to him and starts to scale up its brickwork; Thursotte rushing to try and catch up to him before he climbs out from reach. Yet by the time he makes it to the end, his thief has climbed far too high for him to reach up towards and can only watch as the man in the lime green coat scale up to the glazed tiled rooftop.

But when making it near the top of the building, the traditional Chinese rooftop prevents the pickpocket from ascending any further; stuck at the top of the buildings corner searching for a way out. A glance around each side of the corners reveal the windows left sealed shut, refusing to budge no matter how much he tries to force his way in. At least it seems like he’s stuck up there. Just need something to knock him down and- wait, what is he doing? From the tippy top of the building, the man reaches over towards the rooftops bottom corner before he kicks off the wall; the thief making a daring leap to grasp at the black wire attached to the end of the roof. Like a hung strand of rope held across a chasm, the pickpocket starts to shimmy across towards the other side of the street. Climbing across the electrical wire!? He’s out of his mind! That snaps under his own weight as he might as well be fried. Though to his surprise does the lime green thief prove to be more nimble than he suspects as he has little trouble moving across the electric wire; like a man of the jungle swinging across the length of a vine, he swings his arms up around to clutch the black piece of rope as he shimmies closer and closer towards the other side. Oh, man. If he makes it to the other side, there ain’t no way I’m finding him again. Need some way to knock him off.

Its in frantically thinking of a way to bring his pickpocket back down to earth, Thurs’ eyes fix to the very wall that the lime green thief had climbed up from; the young man making a nervous gulp when realizing what has to be done. I really hope this doesn’t turn out too bad. Left with next to no other option presented to him, the chaos triggering psychic takes a moment to back away from the wall before he makes a daring charge towards its brickwork; Thursotte coating his leg in his orange aura as he lunges out to deliver a full force kick against the corner of the building. The very first thing that the he feels after kicking the corner of the building is the spainful sensation that course up from his foot and up his leg; the young man hissing from the pain as he kneels down and rubs the top of his foot. Agh, god! Okay, probably didn’t have to kick it.

Among seething from his bruised foot, he looks back towards the wall to find his orange power slithering up the building; the walls very brickwork cracking up as his aura envelopes the corner in its glow. And its from these newly forming cracks that the piece of corner breaks off from the rest of the building and tumbles down towards the busy road. Several of the cars forced to slamming down on their breaks as the pillar of broken bricks threatens to crash down on top of them, with the other cars behind them stopping in a pile up. Along with that corner of the building, the part of the roof with the electric cable attached breaks right off to plummet down with the rest of the debris; the lime green man hanging on the wire holding on tight as he swings towards the other side of the street. Yet rather than making a clean landing onto the walkway, the thief winds up face planting right into the next building before fumbling down the pavement.

The resulting dust soon settles to show what remains of the buildings broken off corner piled up across the road, blocking any of the other cars from crossing the mess of jagged broken bricks; a risk that none of the drivers dare tempt to take for fear of popping their tires. With the rushing traffic congested to a standstill, the path to the other side of the street is finally safe to cross; an opportunity that Thursotte is swift to take when seeing the pickpocket awaken from his stupor, the young man making a dash across the road. The lime green thief quickly recovers from his daze to find the guy he stole from furiously racing after him; the pickpocket leaping up off the ground to make a mad dash through more of the streets as his pursuer shouts: “Get back here, you!”

Down the recesses of one of Chinatown’s alleyways, a guy fumbles against one of its cold brick walls when pushed by none other than the purple mobster himself; Wedsle throwing his bike over before staring the guy down with an intimidating grin as he watches the man struggle to pick himself off the floor. “I only have about 5 dollars on me, I swear! P-please don’t hurt me!” this man desperately pleads. “Easy there, buddy. We ain’t here for anything like that, what I want out of you is a little more personal.” “Oh...Oh god...Not like this, not here.” the guy shivers reaching down to unzip his pants. “Oh my god, put your fucking pants back on, I ain’t doing that! Not in a dirty alley, at least.” Weds protests. “Then what you want from me?” “All were wanting out of your cute little mouth is a little intel; nothing too demanding, just if you’ve seen anything weird around town. “Li-Like what?”

“Eh, come on. A delivery boy like you’s has to have wound up stumbling upon a couple of dubious and gruesome scenes in your short quote on quote “Career”. Wound up unexpectedly seeing something you weren’t supposed to in the mind numbing daily grind for less than 15 an hour? Hmm?” “No no no no no no! I-I can’t! Those guys have eyes and ears almost everywhere, if they catch wind of any witnesses, who know’s what they’ll do to me!” A threatened chill runs down the delivery boy’s spin as the purple psychic leans down upon him; the sensation of panic and fear coursing through his veins as his purple eyes lean closer and closer, all the while the violet man claims how: “Well, believe me, my pants pissing pal. Whatever those guys plan on doing to you, I promise I’ll do something a dozens times worse if you don’t squirt your sweet sweet information for me.” “Eh heee...D-I! I don’t know a lot about it, but I’ve seen some real weird people lurking around there; particularly around Broadway. Saw some of them come in to some of the stores near the very top city block, then come right back out with huge boxes and bags. I don’t know what’s in them, and I don’t wanna know.” “Any names?” “A-a couple. Sometimes in the laundry mat, other times in the herbal store; I even saw them go in a gift shop one time on a late night. Just please don’t hurt me, that’s all I know!”

“See, that wasn’t so hard. I get the information I need, and you get to keep your teeth. Everyone wins.” states Wedsle, leaning away from the frightened man before he starts to stroll back to the end of the alley with his partner waiting. “Th...that’s it? That’s all you wanted? You’re not gonna do anything to me?” the delivery boy questions as he stands back up. “Nah, don’t really feel like getting my kicks whipping a guy like you down...Unless you might be into it.” “What!? No! Jus-just leave me alone!” he staunchly objects. “Hey, you’re loss.” the purple psychic claim as both he and the woman with him make their exit.

Letting out all the shuddering sensations that had been bubbling from this frightening encounter, the meager delivery boy is left to pick up his bike and head towards the other side of the alleyway; letting out a shuttering sigh before saying out loud: “Why do I always run into these kinds of people.” “Might be because of your line of work.” he then hears somebody suggests, glancing back up to discover a man in a yellow and black bejeweled jacket staring him down. The terror he felt just moments ago starts to worm its way back into the delivery guy as this man begins to slowly approach; blocking the only way out from the alley as he hears this man tell him the morbid fact of how: “You know the chances of dying on the job are higher for a delivery boy than a police officer, right? It’s pretty damn bad being stuck in a dead end job like that already; having those statistics over your heads might as well be unlucky.”

The Northwestern part of this exotic oriental piece of the big apple being their next stop, the two former mobsters make their way back into the market district towards its other end; Wedsle taking a big whiff of the countless scents and spices wafting from the unique assortment of dish. “Man, feels like such a tease coming here without getting a bite to eat. You want to unload all that flavor in your mouth, but they just keep pulling away the moment you try and have a taste. Its fucking torturous, dammit!” he laments. “Ain’t like we could afford any of this anyway. The targets hanging on our heads alongside what little cash we have; we can’t risk going around blowing it all on whatever meal gives you any food erection. Every single cent counts for us at this point.” explains Frida. “I know. It just sucks going through here knowing that.” “If you have such a stick up your ass about it, why didn’t you rob that guy you were shaking down for info? Pretty sure those 5 bucks could gotten you something.” “Nah, guy stuck in a shitty job like that needs every cent he can scrounge up. All I’d be getting from the bowl of udon I could buy is a bad taste in my mouth.”

In the middle of this discussion, their attention is beckoned towards a commotion going on at a stand next to them; one of the customers letting out a frightened scream when one of the dumplings she had put in their mouth unfolds. The piece of dough breaks open to unleash a whole swarm of baby spiders that crawl out from the woman’s open mouth; the unfortunate woman frantically flailing and running about in a terrified panic. Among her hysterical racing, the woman winds up running straight into another booth and winds up toppling it all down, all of it falling right on top of her. “Jesus!” Weds utters. “Lotta people around here having pretty bad days, huh?” comments Frida. “I don’t know if it’s as simple as that. One’s an incident, two’s a coincidence, three is a pattern. So what would that make four?” “You think this stuff’s happening deliberately, through some kind of psychic?” “It explain a helluva lot.” “But that doesn’t make any sense. Why screw with random people instead of coming after us?” Just when the two were pondering of this strange phenomenon, another discovery then creeps upon them as they comes to find the delivery boy they had spoken to before; moaning in pain as he lays against the fire hydrant with his own bent up bike entangling his body. “Psychic or not, something definitely happening around here. The kind of luck you gotta have to end up like this. God.” claims Weds.

“It’s not like he had much of it to begin with anyway.” the two then hear another state. Towards where this comment had been voice, both of them swiftly glance aside to witness a man dressed in a jacket of swirling black and yellow approaching the injured delivery boy; a star shaped fruit no bigger than his palm resting in his hand shinning with a bright pink luminescence. “Kid barely had any of it left to spare. I mean just look at him, whats worse than getting in such a nasty crash entangle in your own damn bike. Real sad. Still…” Shuffling the small piece of fruit to his thumb, he flicks the star up into the air and sends it plummeting right into his open mouth; a potent pink aura enveloping his body as he chews upon the fresh produce. “A man like me’s gotta take what he can get. Especially when he’s stuck with dealing with the likes of you backstabbers.”

When the two of them realize what the man before them was referring to, Frida is quick to the draw as she delves into her denim jacket to pull out her trusty piece; the dimensional psychic wasting no time to pull the trigger as soon as the gun was aimed towards his head. Yet the very moment the dimensional psychic fire her weapon is her aim suddenly thwarted as a ball comes bouncing right out of nowhere and hits her hand; the bullet misfiring directly into the window of a nearby restaurant. “Dammit!” she curses, aiming back towards the man to try her luck again. This time however is she can’t even to so much as fire her weapon as the trigger inexplicably jams, refusing to budge no matter how much she tries to pull on it.

Before the young woman could do so much as attempt to pull out another gun from her jacket, the man in yellow and black suddenly makes a dashing lunge towards the two of them; a move that the two react to almost immediately as Frida delves down into the 2nd dimension of the ground, leaving Wedsle to take the brunt of this tackling charge head on. His aura flaring and his stance steady, Wedsle has no problem standing against this new foe both physically and supernaturally; the purple psychic holding the man back with little trouble as he taunts the guy with: “The head on approach? Not gonna lie, respect the balls on ya; but you sure that’s the wisest move?” “Maybe not. But I got something no smarts can measure up to.” the yellow and black wearing man brags.

When the violet mobster attempts push back against his foe, he feels something squish beneath the bottom of his shoe and swiftly peers down to find himself having stepped in a mess of spilled noodles; the spoiled pile of noodles causing him to slip up. The lucky opportunity presented to him, his fortunate foe pushes Wedsle over and sends him crashing into the empty stand behind him; the entire booth trembling as he fumbles right over its counter. Inside this booth, the purple mobster is quick to discover the rickety rack of kitchen knives left hanging above; the entire set falling right off their hinges and plunging down at him. Wedsle rolls right off to the side in evading their deadly sharp ends, with the edges of these knives however managing to graze the back of his head. Rolling right out from the kitchen knife selling stand, the purple psychic glares to the guy that had tackled him back, posturing with an abundance of smug pride as he boastfully how: “The luck of Novelle Iboni isn’t something to take lightly. You mess with me, you’ll wind up on the short end of lady luck wrath.”

During this bodacious posturing, the dimensional psychic scuttles up the side of the closest building before partially emerging out from its brick face with her weapon; Frida being given another chance to snipe their foe as she takes aim towards the back of his head. Dumbass, taking us head on and bragging about your powers! You practically signed your own death warrant! Her aim holding true, the gun woman takes another shot against the man standing beneath her; pulling the trigger to let the bullet fly. Unfortunately is her shot is not as honest as she hoped, for a food truck passing by ends up blocking her at the very last moment, ricocheting her bullet slightly to send it zooming right by Novelle’s head. Feeling the wayward bullet zip right by him, the man in yellow and black looks up towards the dimensional psychic with surprise at first; that astonishment quickly fading back to a confidently smug grin. It was almost he was silently mocking the gun woman for her poor attempts to take his life. What the hell was that!?

Rapid footsteps reach his ears from behind and alert the lucky psychic of his purple adversary making a charging assault directly from behind; Novelle casually turning around to find the violet traitor coming at him with a sharp kitchen knife. In one swift motion does Wedsle plunge the knife directly into his foes stomach, feeling the blade sink into the man’s abdomen; yet to his worry does the guy fail to so much as flinch, much less let out any sort of pained outcry. Wedsle quickly pulls back with the sharp dagger handle still in hand; the blade breaking right off its hinge as he rapidly retreat. The purple psychic is left even further perplexed when finding the blade not having dug as deep into the man as he had felt; rather instead left stuck wedge against something hard hidden underneath the guy’s jacket. After prying the blade off his person, Novelle lifts up a part of his jacket to show off the blade having not plunged into his stomach, but rather had been stopped by a gold platted belt buckle donning a mural of the Las Vegas strip; the face of the buckle left with nothing but a scratch. “Fucking cheap ass Chinese knockoffs!” the violet traitor shouts, throwing the knife handle down on the ground.

Trying his luck with the poorly made kitchen knife, Novell casually tosses the broken sharp edge out at the purple psychic; Wedsle effortlessly evading the knife blade without so much as any forethought. Weds puts in as much thought in charging straight after the pink aura psychic, paying little mind to the blade careening off towards another booth behind him; the blunt end of the knife bouncing right off the top of a drum set to be sent flying overhead. At the peek of its ascent is the blade then plunged right into the body of a passing pigeon, one that delves down towards the dimensional psychic peeking out from the wall; Frida left too distracted attempting to aim at their foe once again to see the bird plummeting down towards her. The dead sparrow ends up slamming against the side of the gun woman’s shoulder, the tip of the blade running through the bird cutting across her arm enough to make her aim flinch.

As she retches from the cut inflicted upon her arm, her aim shift ever so slight off from her intended target as she pulls the trigger; the bullet zipping right past the man in yellow and black and straight into the leg of her purple partner, Novelle moving right out of the way as Wedsle trips down from the piece of led shot in his leg. “Frida, what the fuck?!” “I-I didn’t- I mean I didn’t even...What-what the fuck!? What’s going on today!?” “Is it drilling in both of your heads yet? As long as the visage of lady fortune smiles upon me, neither of you can land even a scratch.” gleefully declares Novelle, raising his foot to try and stomp down upon the downed purple psychic.

The purple psychic rolls right out from harms away before the lucky psychic could stomp down his shot shin, swiftly scuttling over towards the building his dimensional partner climbs down from; both of them coming together as they face down the man they failed to dispatch. “Okay, direct approach ain’t working. Any other bright idea’s?” the gun woman questions. “I can only think of one right now. Hate even think of it, but its our only ticket out. See that crack in the wall there.” the violet psychic brings attention to, Frida glancing over to find a sizable crack held along the brickwork. “Oh. I see what your getting at.”

“Whatever you two are planning, it ain’t gonna work. Any sort of game strategy you got cooking up against me is guarantee to fail, long as the winds of probability are blowing my way.” Novelle proclaims, making a daring lunge towards the two of them. “Good thing you ain’t part of our plan then.” states the purple psychic, clutching the hand of the woman behind her as she merges into the wall. Before the pink aura psychic could reach either of them, Frida drags her purple partner into the second dimension with her as she scurries over to the aforementioned crack in the wall; the two wasting not a second to escape into the crevice and slipping away from their lucky adversary. “Jeez. Don’t know weather to chalk that up as quick thinking or just plain luck.” the man growls. Yet his demeanor starts to turn around when glancing aside to witness a family of four rushing into the confines of a nearby home; Novelle cracking a wicked grin as he takes this moment of his targets escaping and turns it around with: “Though I might want to take a minute to browse around to see if I can harvest some real plump crops.”

Echoing through the halls of the safehouse could the sound of Tuesco’s strenuous grunts be heard as Satette watches him attempt to form his cerulean aura into the shape of a broadsword; the former officer struggling to finish constructing the blade of the weapon. Tues just barely able to create the sharp tip of the sword before his concentration shatters and his power dissolves, the air solidifying psychic falling to the floor as he clutches his head, hissing from the headache resulting from this exercise. “Gaaah...Dammit!” “You were doing so good. You almost had it.” Satette praises him. “Doesn’t feel like it. Swear it feels like my heads about to split in half from all this.” “And that my friend is what we call progress. Like how you do a whole crazy ass work out routine in the gym; and then the next day, all the pain and strain hits you all at once. Like I keep saying, its like working out a muscle.” “Can I give my brain muscle a bit of a break then. Swear I’ve went through 5 headaches in the past 4 hours.” “Eh, a break probability sounds good right about now. Lets take a peek in the kitchen and see what we can raid from the fridge.” she suggests.

One look to the kitchen is all it takes to leave the lively psychic baffled of the state it had been left in; the rubble and scorch marks left behind after their ordeal escaping from its inferno still plainly evident to see. The sink broken, the cabinets torn up, the floor cracked, the stove bent up; the collateral damage the kitchen had suffered from was on disaster levels of destruction. “Wow. Julian wasn’t kidding around. Seems like you boys did a real number on this place and multiplied that by pi.” she somewhat jests. “I was about just as baffled. To think that Thurs did all this just by tossing around a little pebble.” “Thought he did this. Practically has Thursotte’s name written all over it. I mean part of the sink is lodged in the oven; not sure how else somebody could realistically do that.” “I just hope the fridge is still in tact.” Tues wonders, strolling over to the refrigerator. Clutching the handle to the fridge, Tuesco stands aside as he swings the door wide open; bracing himself for the loud banging barrage of guns like he did last time. Yet the former officer is a tad perplexed when hearing not even a click go off, Tues peeking into the fridge to find all the firearms stuffed within replaced with a wide selection of food and drinks. “Oh.” he utters. “What?” “Nothing, blushes the former officer.

Within another part of the safehouse do both Sat and Tues left sitting side by side among the edge of a comically long dinning table boasting about 25 feet across the room; the numerous chairs set along this table left baron and empty. The lively psychic takes a satisfying bite out of the sandwich in her hands, moaning over the delectable meats and cheese set between the soft pieces of wheat bread; admitting how: “Never tasted anything this good before. The cheese seriously just melts in your mouth; and the meat, the flavor just pops!” “I remember packing stuff like this for lunch about every other day for work. I think its just regular sliced barbecue pork.” “Really. Never had that.” “Never?” “Nope. All my dad was really able to afford for us was dollar generic brand bologna. None of the other fancier deli stuff.” she admits. “How poor were you guys?” “I-I mean for fuck’s sake. I used to steal stuff for other people as a living before all this.” “You couldn’t find another place to work?” “Nothing else made enough money. I could barely afford rent. And I got just enough for the bare necessities on a good day.” “Really? I made enough working with the police to get by and then some.” “That’s cause your working with the police; not to mention a lot of that line of work is seeped in corruption; especially with the NYPD.” “I...Gah! Not all of it was.” the former officer objects.

“How long were you working with them again?” “About a couple decades or so.” “And in that whole time, you didn’t find anything sus about it all?” “Um...Well I mean there were a couple things that threw me off. Like the security at the station was strangely uptight, especially around the cells. But I just brushed that off as wanting to be safer than sorry with our prisoners.” “If they wanted that, they could’ve sent those guys to actual prisons instead of blowing their overinflated budgets on suping the place up. I mean what kind of people you got kept in there to warrant that sort of muscle?” “Uh...Dr-drug traffickers…” Tuesco meekly admits, this fact drawing out a contemptuous glare from the woman beside him. “Okay, knowing what I do now in retrospect, its obvious. But that doesn’t mean everyone there was morally bankrupt.”

“How many people on the force did you personally knew?” she then moves on to ask. “Well I mean, you’ve met Martin. Guy was probably the closest thing I had to a best friend around that line of work, and I didn’t even suspect he was this deep in it all.” “Tuesco, it doesn’t matter if you knew some people there were objectively morally standing people; the institution itself is mired with the mob’s business. A couple of upstanding people in the system isn’t enough to transform a system rotten to its core.” “But I...I can’t believe that. I don’t think your lying, but I refuse to accept the organization I worked with for half my life, an organization meant to impede criminal activity and guard the lives of everyday people, were cooperation alongside one of the biggest criminal syndicates of New York. It-it-it-it…” Tuesco states, letting out a weary sigh at the end of his rant. Nothing but a worrying silence is all that wafts through the dinning hall air as Satette fails to find the words she need to comfort the former officer of these newfound revelations; Tuesco himself ultimately rising from his seat and making his way out. “I need a minute.” he demands. “Tues, wait…” Sat attempts to draw him back with, her words falling on deaf ears as the air solidifying psychic shuts the door behind him. An upset groan can’t help but seep out from under the lively young woman’s breath as she see’s what attempting to tackle the man’s biases had ended up; Sat glaring down to the half eaten sandwich he had left behind.

A ways into the depths of China Town sits a small, but calming and serene natural park; holding a sizable landscape the likes of which people and pets frolic and relax upon the freshly kept grass. Beside this open plain of grass stood some basketball and tennis courts, free for anyone wishing to play these respective sports for exercise or just simple fun; all while the children they bring can occupy themselves at the playgrounds installed between these courts. And among these recreational activities do dozens of tree’s stand surrounding this little slice of nature, further boasting this park as a break from the regular urban scenery, even with how minuscule it stood compared to the other parks through the city.

A small group of people within the basketball court casually, runs around and dribble the ball from one end of the court to the next. It was as normal and fun as a round of basketball can be among the fresh air surrounding the crowd. Yet this isolated game of basketball is rudely interrupted when a man donned in a lime green hoodie leaps out from the side of the court and cuts straight through both teams while swiping the ball away; all of them glancing back where this guy came from when they hear: “Just stop already!”

Following after the hooded man does Thursotte make a bounding leap right over the bushes and straight through the basketball court; careful not to bump into any of the players as he slithers by. During this chase across the court, the lime hooded thief chucks the basketball he swiped at his pursuer in hopes of tripping him up; Thurs instead catching the ball and infusing it with his power before throwing it back towards its sender. Though the runaway pickpocket manages to evade the basketball tossed back at him, the ball keeps on bouncing all the way towards the edge of the court before slamming against the base of the hoop; the rusty steel holding the hoop up bending in a way to make it collapse under its own weight. Just as the runaway thief was reaching the other side of the court, the along the end tumbles down like a falling tree, crashing down before the hooded thief and cutting his swift escape a little short. Among this sudden scare does Thursotte tackle the lime hooded pickpocket against the board of the hoop, frisking around to try and pull the bronze key he stole off him. But the thief soon breaks away from his grasp and pushes Thurs off, hoping over the knocked over hoop before darting out from the court and deeper into the small park; the young man he stole from failing to waver as he bolts after him.

The parks playground is thankfully baron of any children anywhere in site as both Thursotte and the pickpocket he chases after dart towards one of the playground equipment; the chaos triggering psychic scooping up a load of pebbles of the countless that litter the playground. Thursotte throws out the fistful of rocks at his runaway thief in hopes of slowing him down, but sees the pickpocket leaping right up to the top of the slide to evade the scattering collection of stones. Yet the power that Thurs had put with the bunch of rocks he had tossed over starts to immediately work its magic as the thief tries to slide down to the bottom; the thin sheet metal making up the slide falling apart underneath him. Despite being tripped up by the slide breaking under him, the lime hooded pickpocket frantically shoving the pieces off to flee from his pursuing victim; the two darting away from the broken slide and head straight over towards an all in one piece of playground equipment.

Watching the thief leap up the small set of plastic steps at the start of a whole playground system, Thursotte scoops up another handful of pebbles from the ground as he pursues after; the accident triggering psychic throwing out aura infused one rock at time rather than all at once. And though these pebbles might not boast as much size, their potential to deliver just as much chaos is evident as one clonks against one of the loose screw holding the first part of the playground equipment; the piece of equipment falling apart as the pickpocket races across the bridge connecting the second. Rushing away from the collapsing bridge, the lime hooded thief quickly climbs towards the top of the combo playground equipment; gazing down to the man he had stolen from to see what he does next.

Rather then toss another pebble straight at the pickpocket, Thurs instead throws some of them out towards the right of the piece of equipment; the small rocks beating down against the plastic support beams holding the structure up. Before the runaway thief could take this way over, the plastic support beams give away and cause that part of the system to collapse and cutting out the lime hooded thief’s escape. Having isolated the pickpocket in the middle of the top of the broken playground system, Thurs throws out the rest of the pebbles in his grasp all over what was left standing of the piece of equipment; the rocks beating against the loose screws and bent pieces of plastic to make the structure tremble. Feeling the piece of equipment he stand on about to collapse, the wily thief jumps off the playground system before it falls apart and makes a rough landing; rolling in the dirt before making a dash away from the accident causing psychic.

Out from the playground and straight through the rest of the park, the lime hooded pickpocket dashes across the treeline of the open fields, weaving around the trees in his way in hopes of throwing the man he robbed from off his tail. Thursotte however does not waver in his pursuit and continues to chase after the pickpocket across the edge of the park, leaping off to break off a couple of their loose branches for ammunition. Instilling these branches with his own brand of Murphy's law, the young man throws them like javelins up towards the tree’s ahead of the thief; the leaves rustling around as a couple of squirrels come tumbling out to land upon the runaway thief. The pair of squirrels frantically scampers all over the pickpocket as he continues to scurry away, the lime hooded man flailing around in an effort to get the two rodents off his person.

His pickpocket foe left distracted, Thurs tosses out another branch into the trees above to disturb something that could stop the runaway thief; yet the second time around isn’t as fruitful as the first, for out from the tree line tumbles what appeared to be a flock of pigeons that swoop down to harass the young psychic instead. Among his panic does Thursotte accidentally bestow his power into the rats with wings as both he and the thief scurry towards the temple at the end of the park, the two blindly racing right into the inside of the small oriental building. Glass shattering, wood breaking, walls crashing, and bells chiming wildly in their rapidly escalating game of cat and mouse, Thurs and the pickpocket he pursues quickly racing out of the temple and out from the Chinese park; the building they leave behind splitting apart from the resulting discord. A defiling accident that leaves the park goers in utter shock and dread.

Among the other end of the local Chinese marketplace, shoppers and shop owners alike remain weary as they go about their usual business; the ruckus heard from the other side of the lane alongside the patrolling police officers leaving everyone on edge. Unbeknownst to the dozens of tourists and stand owners wandering the streets, there lies a unique predator among them; one that stalks its potential victims in an effort to harvest their good fortune in plain site. Casually waltzing through the street market does Novell, the man dressed in yellow and black swirls, scout for potential prey as he finishes off the last of a star shaped fruit; his bright pink aura flourishing as he partakes in its plump juices.

Its among scouting for his next victim that he comes to a lonely booth manned by an elderly woman; this senior   holding numerous glassware and decoration hung and displayed all around her, the old woman’s expression lighting up as she sees the man approach. “Welcome, welcome, welcome; take a look through my many glass sculptors and decorations. Many of these figures were lovingly handcrafted by yours truly; sculpted after the mythical yokai and demons hailing from Chinese mythology. Why not take one home to set on your mantel, or your nightstand; waking up every morning to this guy’s watchful eye.” the stand owner attempt to sell with, presenting a frightening glass visage before her customer. “Ahh! Ah! N-no thanks. I uh, I actually had my eye in that dragon you have back there.” the lucky psychic claims, pointing towards a serpent like dragon set along the back shelf. “Oh! I see you’re a man of unique tastes! The symbol of the dragon is one of the 12 zodiac signs of my home country foretold to bring forth fortune and luck to those under its year. Me thinks your chances of heralding such boons are likely possessing such a mythical figure.” “Really? What a lucky find. How much you asking for it?” “70 dollars.” the elderly woman firmly states.

“70! Damn, a little steep don’t you think?” he questions. “My figurines are a one of a kind item that no other sculptor can give you, and that dragon in particular wasn’t easy to make; so I hope you understand how I ask for such a price.” “Hmm, shame. And here I imagined putting it on display in my living room for special occasions for a nice conversation starter, asking me where I had procured such a finely crafted piece in hopes of any similar decorations. Surely that word of mouth would bring about more customers to your unjustifiably desolate business.” the psychic states, his faux lamenting breaking down the booth owners wavering stubbornness. “Mmm...Fine. How does 50 sound to you?” she soon gives in with. “That’s the spirit.” Novelle goes, watching gleefully as the old woman takes the glass dragon off the shelf.

Presenting the decoration before, the psychic of luck slides the money she requests for the piece onto the counter; the old woman handing the glass statue over to the man as she states how: “May this piece bring good fortune in your life.” “Oh don’t worry.” Once resting the statue in the man’s grasp, a deep piercing sensation surges across her midsection; the elderly woman’s eyes glowing alight as Novelle reaches into her very being. “I feel like its my lucky day.” The man bejeweled in yellow and black swiftly jerks his hand out from the woman’s stomach to extract a plump piece of star fruit out from her very being; a violating act of which she is left unaware of as her consciousness starts to return. Regaining her composure, the old woman is left confused as she watches her latest customer waltz away from her stand with not just the glass dragon, but a strange piece of fruit he begins to chomp down on. “What...what was I doing again?” she ponders, backing away towards the shelves holding the other figures. The old woman mistakenly backs away too fast and bumps right into the shelves hard enough to knock over the screws holding it up, spilling all the sculptures and figures upon her in a shattering glass avalanche; an unlucky cascade of which causes the rest of the booth to collapse on top of her, with nothing to remain but glass shards and pieces of the stand left scattered.

Perched atop a nearby rooftop, both Frida and Wedsle gaze down in awe upon witnessing this disastrous streak of terrible luck that had doomed the lonely glass sculptor; crawling back up into hiding as they bare the knowledge behind their foe’s abundance in good fortune. “Christ.” the dimensional psychic utters. “I know...You think he’d pull out faster with an old lady.” “Wedsle!” “Yeah, your right. Kind of weird how he’s in one to begin with, isn’t it.” “This is serious, dammit! We got somebody we can’t so much as touch hunting us down. As long as he’s stuffing his face on those fruits he keeps pulling out of people; our chance of even landing a hit on him might as well be next to zero.” “Believe it, I hear you. Which is why I got myself a little bit of a plan cooking up here.” the violet psychic claims, tapping on the side of his forehead. “And that is?” “This dick’s only after us? So we just gotta bait him in a situation where his good fortune can work in our favor.” “What does that even mean?”

Contrast to the string of bad luck his victims had been inflicted with, Novelle proves as happy as can be while inspecting the uniquely crafted glass dragon he had just purchased; his overwhelming supply of stolen fortune saving him for what would be numerous tragic accidents. When he was about to step on an open manhole, a plank of wood conveniently steps underneath his foot to save him from the fall. When a runaway tire is but moments away from rolling him down, taking a couple more steps is all it takes for the round rubber tire to just miss him. Once does he wind up slipping on a piece of discarded banana peel and is sent flipping back, but is soon saved as he unintentionally lands against the side of another person passing right by and rolls right over to land back on his feet, all the while the dragon he had just bought comfortably lands in his grasp. Each of these close calls he doesn’t even bat an eye towards, his casual attitude from it all further cementing how untouchable he felt.

And its during this incredible streak of luck that he narrowly evades Wedsle coming down upon him from the rooftops by simply stepping back; the violet psychic left to scrape his face against the concrete as he fumbles across the concrete. “You wanna try your luck going that again, or you think now might not be the time take your chances?” “Believe me, bitch; I got plenty more chance to take. Today is my lucky day.” declares the rising violet mobster. “We’ll see how much fortune you have to spare.”

Shaking off his rough landing, the purple psychic attempts a direct assault against his fortunate foe with a daring shoulder charge; Novelle not even so much as alarmed as the violet former mobster rapidly approaches. Just before Wedsle could reach the psychic of luck, the tire from earlier bounces back onto the scene and rolls right into him and smashes him back down onto the pavement; the man in yellow and black swirl letting out an amused chuckle from the blunder. “I’m telling you Weds. Whatever you try against me is bound to be thrust in the jaws of ill fortune.” “Yeah, lets see how long it takes for lady luck to change her mind. Girl’s more fickle than a prostitute picking which has deeper pockets.” the purple psychic declares, making another rash lunge against the man donning yellow and black.

Aiming to slug the smarmy son of a bitch right in his face, Wedsle recklessly swings his fist right in an effort to break the teeth out from his smug grin; yet winds up punching someone else’ clock in when they trip up and stumble right in the way of his fist. “Dammit!” Attempting once more to strike against the psychic of supreme fortune, the violet mobster takes another lunging swing; this time thrusting his fist right towards Novelle’s stomach, confident that he can’t possibly miss. But much to his dismay does Weds haphazardly step onto the exact same banana peel that his foe had slipped upon moments ago, the slippery peel sweeping the violet psychic off his feet and sending him fumbling towards the ground; a usual blunder that Novelle typically is amused by. But the lucky psychic’s amusement wavers when watching his violet foe land on his hand and flips right around to thrust his legs towards him with a lunging kick. Though once more does the smile of fortune shine upon the thief of luck, for when simply stepping over to the side does Novelle evade the violet psychic’s thrusting leap against him; Wedsle left to careen off towards another person unfortunate enough to stand in his way.

The psychic of luck sapping can’t help but let out a demeaning chuckle in watching his foe trying and failing to land even a single strike against him, finding it amusing how Wedsle hurts himself every time he tries. “I admire your stubborn determination, but at the same time I can’t help but feel sorry for you. It’s reminds be of those poor fools taking their chances in betting races and casino’s, dumping everything they have in their gambles for the minuscule chance of making back all they’ve put in ten fold. And in the end its that addictive hope for luck that turns into their very down fall. I suggest you heed their tales of misfortune and know when to fold.” “True. The sweet titty milk of lady fortune gives such an addicting high; not much of those poor motherfucker who drink of it can withdraw themselves from it in the midst of gambling.” the purple psychic claims, rising from the man he had unintentionally knocked down. “But that shit’s only true to those who play the game. And as your soon gonna find out, I’ve been the dealer of this poker game the whole time.”

“Excuse me?” “I’m on to your strategy, you son of a bitch. That ridiculous luck you’ve been flapping your dick sucking lips on about, ain’t an ounce of it is yours. Every single piece of it you pluck away from the people around you and devour like fruit ripe for harvesting. But much like greed’s voracious appetite, its never enough. All that luck you stockpile spoils sooner or later, forcing you to forage for more of lady lucks plump juicy fruits.” “Is there a point you’re getting to, or are you simply stalling for when your luck runs out?” asks Novelle. “My luck? You got shit backwards, man. Just look around you!” Upon the purple psychic suggesting such does his foe take a moment to gauge their surroundings, a fact that begins to creep up upon him was how barren and empty the once bustling market street had become during their skirmish. “There’s nobody here! The streets, the booths, they’re all empty! How? When?” the lucky psychic worryingly questions. “You seriously thought all those swings I took, I was aiming for you?”

Its in this comment that the thief of luck thinks back to all the times the purple psychic had attempting to assault him, his efforts constantly thwarted by the machinations of his stolen fortune. “Those people you ran into, and the tire…” Among remembering all these failed attacks that he remembers the violet psychic’s aura flaring up among his blunders, coating whatever and whoever had made contact with him in his signature fear inducing power. “So then…” “That’s right!” declares Wedsle with a satisfied grin.

From the violet psychic’s perspective after each of these failed attempt to attack his fortunate foe that the aura he had infused in the tire rolled gently into a couple of people watching the fight from the sidelines; the power spreading from the rubber tire and into who it had bumped into. Same can be said for the two people that the violet psychic had unintentionally struck, inflicting his power upon them as those nearby were kind enough to take them away from the ensuing conflict. Yet in their kind efforts does the overwhelming sensation of dread begin to take them, this hysterical fear demanding them to get away from the two psychic’s as fast as they can. And as these people pass by the dozens of others that have gathered, this paranoid causing dread seeps into every single person they touch; Wedsle influence in their negative emotions spreading swiftly across the crowd like a plague. “Even when I couldn’t hit you worth a damn, that wasn’t gonna slow me down! You’re whole winning streak won’t do shit with the deck stacked against you!” Upon realizing his well of potential victims had been drained dry, this newfound situation is enough to scare him into running away from the purple man he had just moments ago been bragging to; the satisfaction of witnessing this cocky son of a bitch fleeing from him being particularly delicious for Wedsle to taste as he gives chase.

Realizing the scales of fortune were beginning to tilt out of his favor, the man dressed in yellow and black desperately searches for a route to escape the violet psychic pursuing him; Novelle dashing straight towards the alleyway closest to him in hopes of an escape. Though his efforts to flee down this path are halted as several bullets come raining down before him to halt his fleeting escape; the psychic of luck glancing up from where the bullets have descended to discover the purple psychic’s partner perched atop the building nearby with an automatic assault rifle aimed down at him. Hearing the footsteps of his purple pursuer approaching, the thief of luck forgoes the alleyway in simply hurrying away further through the emptied street market; all the while Wedsle behind him lets out a sinister laugh before stating: “Let’s see how long your winning streak goes before your luck starts to run out.”

Nothing the echoing of Satette’s voice rings through the halls of the safehouse as she wonders around its corridors; the lively young woman peeking into every room she passes by as she shouts for: “Tuesco!? Tues, come on! I know it was a rough pill to swallow, but its not the end of the world; we can get through this!” Regret and worry begin to seep their way into Sat’s thoughts as she searches for where the former officer had secluded himself to; that concern growing with every empty room that she checks inside. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to bring up that sort of stuff. I mean, it hasn’t even been that long ago that he had to fight off the man he thought had his back for the longest time. Really, what do I even know talking about stuff like this; having your whole world turn upside down so drastically, so fast. I’ve lost people before, but him. He lost his entire life, all because of something beyond his control. Most people in the same spot would just give up...I better find him before that thought crosses his mind.

Its coming to the end of the corridor that the young woman comes to a door awaiting her; Satette slowly pushing her way through to enter upon a dimly lit private room; the only illumination piercing through the thick darkness being from lonely lamp atop the nearby table. At the edge of the lonely chambers sat Tuesco, staring to a collection of photo’s cascading down from his open wallet; some of these pictures depicting moments he had shared with his fellow officers. Their bright, happy smiles left tarnished by the knowledge of what they were doing behind his back. Shutting the door behind her, Satette strolls over to the forlorn man’s side and kneels down to softly greet with: “Hey.” To the young woman’s hello however, the depressed officer fails to muster even a word to say back to her; simply glancing at her before returning his eyes to the pictures. In attempting to steer away from the depressing silence, the lively psychic continues on with: “...Listen, I didn’t really gauge how much of what I said would effect you. I know it all went so fast, but something tells me you haven’t caught up yet.” Again, the dejected middle aged man refuses to say so much as a peep for her to respond to, instead letting out a small, but heavy-hearted sigh. “But that’s okay; its not the end of the world. Once we find a way to sneak you out of the city, you can work on doing something-

“You don’t understand.” Tuesco then cuts her off with, rising up from his seat to look down upon the young woman. “I’ve put half of my life into being an officer of the law, thinking I was actually defending peoples lives. It was something I wanted to do since I was a little kid, I pictured myself saving others, making a difference for them. But in the end, it turned out to be just that, nothing but the fleeting dreams of an optimistic kid. This whole time, thinking I was doing some good in this sleazy city, I was just another unaware cog of its machine, all while I was blissfully none the wiser.” “Well..you know now.” “Yeah, but at what cost?” he recants, glaring down to the photo collection in his hands.

Another heavy sigh escapes him as he passes by the young woman, the melancholic former cop trudging towards the door with wallet full of photo’s in hand; his hand stopping just short of the doorknob before hearing Sat claim how: “You’re not the only one here whose life got swept from under them.” “Your talking about Thurs, right?” “I’m talking about all of us. Thurs wasn’t the only one who ended up here from stuff we couldn’t control. Frida, she use to be well respected CIA agent until she got pinned for stealing evidence to a critical case, getting kicked off for something that wasn’t even her fault.” “Yeah?” “And me...I lost my dad to the mob because he saw something he wasn’t supposed to. I even lost my girlfriend not to long ago because of this shit.” “Oh...I’m sorry.” Tuesco apologizes, turning his head towards her.

“But at least we had those chances for our lives to go somewhere; some people don’t even get that much. Wedsle, didn’t; but he’s still going. From minute one, it was hard for him. Dumped at the feet of a dying orphanage when just a little tot; left with no one to lean on growing up. Once that place shut down, he got tossed to the streets; left at the mercy of whatever to throw at him. He constantly had to fight off others just so he could have the littlest of bare necessities, and people looked down on him for it. People and police alike, all they saw him as was nothing but a little criminal; when at heart he was just a kid; lost, alone, and afraid. Wedsle never even had the chance for his life to be ruined, he never had one to begin with. But...even after all that, going through the worst of it so early. He still kept going, he didn’t think about giving up; never so much as crossed his mind. And it wasn’t until he found Monty and joined the mob that things started to look up for him. Even when the world was hostile to him, even when it never so much as gave him a moment of peace, he kept fighting and eventually found a life for himself; all with people who loved him.”

The man is left silent over the young lady’s tale concerning the hardships her friends had faced; Tues returning his gaze over to the door. “What I’m trying to say is...don’t quit because things feel like their worst. I promise you, even with your life turned upside down, it can be flipped back up. So, please; don’t think about what has been...Think about what can be.” All that remained drifting within the dimly lit room was nothing but silence after her words, a stance quiet that begins to wear against Sat’s hopes. But all that begins to return when Tuesco lets the light of the hallway on the other side flood the room, turning back to her with a soft grin and asking: “So, should be go back to practice?” The man’s continuing conviction and determination brings out a warm smile from Satette.

The lime hooded pickpocket’s breath starts to run dry among fleeing from the young man he had pilfered from, glancing back over to the guy to find Thursotte slowly beginning to catch up; the thief quickly inspecting the streets around him as he attempts to think of a way to lose this guy. Its among his search that the thief lays eyes upon an abandoned traditional Chinese 2 story home left in shambles and forgotten through years of neglect; the cracked brickwork and shattered glass suggesting poor structural integrity, like the whole place was simply waiting to fall apart. A perfect place to try and shake off this guy. Without even a moment of hesitant does the thief in the lime hood race straight through the busted down front door of the abandoned abode, with the psychic of Murphy’s law sprinting straight after him.

The dust collected within the home throughout the countless years is sent flying with every swift step the two of them make in their pursuit, the swept up clouds glimmering against the sunlight beaming through the broken windows. As the two dash through the disheveled living room, Thursotte swipes up half of a broken table lamp right off the top of a smashed in old box Television; infusing its broken glass and metal in his power as he chases his thief into the hallway. Catching the hooded pickpocket sprinting straight through the hall, Thurs attempts to stop the guy by chucking the busted light appliance right at him; the lime hood thief turning the corner just before the lamp could hit him, instead crashing into the corner before breaking into shards. Indentured in missing, Thursotte leaps right over the mess of glass left behind by the broken lamp as he turns the corner after his pickpocket; left unaware of the forming cracks through the wall as his energy spreads.

Among their race through the desolate dirty hallway, Thurs yanks a broken picture frame off the wall and runs his chaotic power into its busted wood as he watches the fleeting thief jump up towards the stairs. Like a tossed out piece of trash, he chucks the picture frame up at the hooded thief racing up the steps; his upward throw unfortunately streaking right beside the pickpocket and crashing right against one of the steps. Still, Thurs refuses to let this stop him from continuing his pursuit and makes leaps over several steps in climbing up to the top of the staircase; Thursotte racing into the upstairs hall as the set of stairs start to cave in under his orange aura.

Out from the upstairs hall do both the thief and his pursuing victim hurry into a two way bathroom, plastered in slippery green grime and mold built up over the years; all of which the two of them wind up sliding on in their hurry through. While the thief is sent slipping into the bath tub, Thursotte winds up sliding right behind the broken toilet; the both of them hurrying to pull themselves off the floor before the other could stand back up. As Thurs slides out from behind the grimy porcelain throne, he snatches up the toilet wand left sitting against the wall and infuses his power in it before throwing it towards the shower curtain rod; the rod’s rusty hinges failing to take the blow as it comes falling down upon the rising thief. But even suffering this blow does the pickpocket refuse to cease fleeing as he jumps out from the bathtub and head straight through the door on the other side; Thursotte continuing to chase after, all while fractures in the ceiling start to form.

Emerging from the bathroom do the two run into the confines of an emptied out bedroom; the thief scampering around every corner in search of an exit among this part of the neglected home among the boarded up windows. But when finding not one open for him to leap from, he spots the door in the corner of the room and makes a swift lunge over to grasp at the knob; a sense of fright crawling through the pickpockets skin when the rust covered knob barely even moved an inch. “Finally.” the hooded thief hears, turning back to find the man he stole from standing behind him. “I got you right where I want you. Now its time to-” Yet before another word could escape from Thursotte’s lips, the two begin to hear the sound of wood breaking apart and rubble crumbling throughout the integral structure; a terrible dread tingling down their spines as they look to one another, realizing what disaster they had been caught in. The very moment the two attempt to bolt straight towards the boarded window does the ceiling above their heads collapse; entire chunks of the roof falling upon them in a torrential downpour of aged rubble and wood.

The people that happen to pass by start to gather when witnessing the old battered home crumble in on itself; a plume of dust wafting through the streets upon its collapse. When the clouds soon part do the several people that have gathered find nothing left of the old abode but debris of what once stood, with the house and all that had stood within now buried underneath the chunks of its aged remains; nothing but utter silence haunts the streets surrounding this freshly destroyed abode.

The small crowd is astonished when the blue a pile of roof chunks begin to tremble; the rocks falling as a hand emerges out from beneath the debris. From this hand does an arm cloaked in a torn lime sleeve rise breach the rubble; following, the simple pickpocket donned in the lime green hood digging out from the rocks and limping away from the wreckage. He doesn’t make it far however before the injuries he took among the destruction get the better of him as he fumbles onto another pile of broke wood and bricks. As the thief struggles to pull himself from the rubble, a shadow creeps over to loom over him; the hooded pickpocket turning back to discover the man he had robbed from standing above him. His orange glowing eyes burn brightly among the darkness cast by the buildings around them as he looks down upon the lime hooded man, leaning down closer to the downed thief before asking: “Can I have my key back now?” An audible yelp escapes from the thief’s mouth as he frantically digs into his pants pocket to quickly pull out the bronze key he had pilfered from Thurs; the pickpocket throwing the finely engraved key over to the young man and pleads: “Take it, already! Just get away from me, you maniac!” Finally relinquishing the key back to its rightful owner, the pickpocket pulls himself off the pile of debris before quickly limping away, Thursotte picking the bronze key off the ground before he yells back to the guy: “Thank you!”

After slipping the key back into his own pants pocket, he begins to feel a thick malice build up in the air and peers back to the crowd gathered among the streets; their enraged and furious stares beating down against him as growls and snarls escape from their teeth. “Hey, wait! I saw this guy earlier around the corner outside the market! He knocked the corner of a building onto the road and cut out the power over there.” “I saw him in the park too! Guy broke a basketball hoop and ruined the entire playground!” “He tore apart the tree’s and left the shrine in utter ruins.” “And now he’s gone and destroyed old Fen whey’s old home! She had just died of a stroke like two week’s ago!” “This menace has gone too far! He’s left our community in shambles! The police will have a field day with this!” “Forget the cops! They can’t bring the sort of justice this monster deserves! Lets just do it ourselves!” “Oh...Oh no…” utters Thursotte, the crowd beginning to come down upon him.

Frantically dashing through the barren marketplace with the purple psychic on his tail, Novelle makes a sharp turn around the street corner; the desperation plaster on his face deflating when discovering beyond the corner an entire shipping yard filed with countless people working in shipping and packing up numerous uniquely made items, foods, and spices the likes of which could only be found in this oriental slice of the city. The lucky psychic’s face beaming as he sees among them not honest working people, but potential crops he could harvest among these metaphorical dry lands that bare no fruit. Though even with his luck fueled salvation in site, the fire on his ass in the form of the violet traitor refuse to let up; Wedsle beginning to close the distance between them as he sprints after. “Looks like your ride on the fucking fortune express is about to come to a violent, crashing halt. I’d wager you got only a couple more puffs in the engine before you make the last stop against my fist.” the purple psychic claims. “I’m not out of this horse race just yet; I’m putting everything I have on this one final bet, and when it pays off; I’m not playing nice anymore.” “You mean “if” it pays off, you shit eating son of a bitch!”

Among the chase does the man in yellow and black take a sudden turn right into the street corner, the violet traitor following right after to witness his pursuit frantically climb up the fire escape of an apartment complex; Wedsle leaping up this escape in attempting to catch up. Yet the very moment Weds clutches the ladder do the screws holding it together swiftly fall out of their rivets; the entire fire exit beginning to fall apart underneath Novelle’s feet as he climbs towards the roof. The purple psychic leaps out from the plummeting pieces of grated steel; helpless but to watch as his target makes it to the top of the apartment complexes roof just when the whole thing comes tumbling down. “Shit. Frida! Your up!” the Wedsle declares. Upon her purple partners words does Frida merge into the wall of the taller building from across the street, partially coming out of the brick wall with a sniper rifle in hand; the spot she hangs off the wall from lending the gun woman a good position to aim towards their fleeting foe.

Dashing across the roof of the complex does the thief of luck stop just short of the edge, glaring down to see the busy shipping yard right next door to the apartment; the numerous people handling and delivering packages tantalizing to his eyes. But when anxiously looking through the yard, Novelle fail to find anywhere to safely jump down upon; nothing but the hard wood of countless wooden crates littering the sides of the facility. “So close. Just need somewhere to-” Yet its when attempting to gauge for a safe spot to land, the stinging sensation of fiery hot steel pierces through his abdomen from behind when a single sniper shot is fired right into the side of his stomach. “Bam, right in the kidney beans.” cheers Frida. A terribly cold dread rings through his body as the man in yellow and black clutches the part of his stomach where he had been shot, letting out sharply pained grunt as he stumbles along the side of the rooftop. His footing soon slips away among the frightening pain, sending him plummeting down towards the shipping yard and crashing down into a pile of crates.

Everyone in the shipping center is left astonished as the man drops down onto the crates with a harsh collapsing slam; those nearby quick to inspect the scene and are left alarmed to discover Novelle left atop the piles of broken boxes. “Oh my god! Someone got hurt!” “Where did he even come from?” “I saw him drop down from roof.” “That looked like a real nasty fall.” Among the employee’s worrying chatter, one of them takes a closer look to find the man still breathing despite the nasty crash; her weariness escalating when finding scarlet staining the side of his jacket. “Someone get a first aid kit and call 911! This guys in pretty bad shape!” “Our phones are inside, hurry!” Upon these demands do a few of the yard employee’s race right back into the building of the facility as the others gather around to attempt and aid the man that had fallen into their laps; a couple of them hearing the guy let out a soft groan and pointing out how: “He’s still awake?” The employee that had first come to him tries to get some information out from this injured stranger with questions like: “What happened to you!? Where did you get shot at!?” Its in her concern that she sees one of the man’s eye suddenly open wide; the glare he inflicts against not one of helplessness or pleading, but rather the gaze of a predator, having discovered an entire smorgasbord of prey to feast upon.

Within the building of the shipping yard do the two employee’s that rushed in darts through the hall and dart to the door of the break room; their sites sliding right over to a bunch of phones left on the counter to charge. As one of them darts right over to these phones, the other employee races over to the first aid kit hung along the wall, prying the case right off the wall as the other takes one of the phones and darts to dail 911. But the very moment he taps the last digit does the employee feel something clutch at his shoulder and force him to turn around, shocked to find another man dressed in violet standing right in front of him. “Sorry about this, buddy.” he apologizes with. Before the employee could even so much as wonder what this intruder means by this, distress and panic begin to quickly flood his very thoughts; countless anxieties, worries, and fears all gushing to the surface all at once like an emotional geyser of bad emotions. Such a sudden rush of terrible feeling hitting him all at once was enough to make the poor guy pass out.

Glaring back towards the other employee, Wedsle could tell she was moments away from screaming bloody murder the moment he approaches; so rather than take that chance, he digs into his pocket to pull out nothing but a single penny and sets it in between his fingers. The violet psychic fills its copper with his purple power before he flicks it right towards the frighten woman, the employee flinching when the single cent coin lightly hits her head. But the very moment that the penny taps against her does a flurry of stress inducing emotions flood into her brain all at once; the woman rapidly breathing faster and faster before she suddenly passes out from the emotional affliction.

With both of these loose ends quickly taken care of, Wedsle dashes right out from the break room and down the hallway; hurrying towards the back of the building in his race into the facility’s shipping yard. Frida say’s she got the guy right in the kidney beans, but knowing what a lucky bastard like that can do, he probably tanked the hit and his still hanging on. So I gotta flush down this shit head before his signature style of luck goes and throws a wrench in the plumbing.

When purple psychic busts through the door leading out into the ship yard, he comes to a terrible site awaiting him. All of the employees that had gathered to aid the luck driven psychic all lay unconscious across the hard concrete; the man bejeweled in yellow and black standing among them as he clutches the neck of one of in his hands, with the other driven deep into his body with a bright pink luminescence. From this glow does the man of good fortune tear out from the depths of the employees being a plump star fruit; Novelle gazing upon its tantalizing juices with sinister glee as he tosses away the man he took it from like a used shell.

“What the fuck!? How are...You took a bullet to the kidney’s, how are you still standing!?” Wedsle demands his foe to answering. “Yeah, funny story I forgot about til now. About half a year ago, I wound up going on a big booze binge with some of my friends and wound getting alcohol poisoning. Thought for the longest time, it was the lowest point in my streak of fortune; that for a brief moment, lady luck shunted me. But it turned out to be a blessing in disguise this whole time, waiting to go off until the moment I needed it the most. That spot where your bitch friend shot me, right in the kidneys; I had to have one of them ripped out of me!” A maniacal laughter can’t help but escape from the psychic of luck as he takes a voracious bite out of the star fruit he had just plundered; the fruits juices drooling down his chin as he chews and chuckles. “Even in my lowest points, she keeps looking out for me!”

Fed up with this lucky son of a bitch’s prattling, Wedsle makes a daring charge towards the psychic of supreme fortune; reaching over towards the juicy piece of fruit in his foe’s hand. The moment he attempts to close in on the man donned in yellow and black does one of the employee’s on the ground start to rise right in front of the violet mobster; Novelle leaping back as Weds winds up running straight into this unfortunate fellow, both of them falling back onto the concrete as the man of luck makes his distance. Swiftly pulling himself off the floor does Wedsle follow after the fortunate bastard right into an entire maze made from the dozens of packages and goods that have yet to be shipped.

The violet psychic keeps up the pace as he pursues his fortune driven foe around the twist and turns of the wooden crate labyrinth; an effort that Novelle attempts to foil by tackling the wall of boxes beside him and break open what crates he passes by. Within these boxes do stuff like decorations, industrial machine pieces, kitchenware, fine China, all of which spill down against the purple traitor in his feverish pursuit; Wedsle refusing to falter as he tanks the downpour of small miscellaneous items. Despite the purple pest continuing to chase after him, Novelle refuses to let up in knocking over every single crate he can in attempting to put distance between them; one box he topples down breaking open to unleash a plum of spices and seasoning that the purple psychic simply dashes through. Its shortly after passing right by that cloud of spice that Wedsle starts to feel a shallow, but stinging pain crawl across his very skin; the pieces of seasoning having slipped into the small cuts made from what had spilled onto him. This however fails to deter him from continuing to pursue the luck stealing psychic and fights through the seething pain as he starts to close the gap between each other.

Blinded by the cloud of savory and spicy seasonings getting in one of his eyes, the purple psychic ends up running right into a wall made of large wooden crates in his reckless dash after his fortunate foe; Wedsle slamming in the boxes hard enough to topple a column of them tumbling behind him, closing off the way the two had come in from. With one eye blinded by stinging spices, the violet psychic keeps the other locked right at his pursuit as he sees the man in the yellow and black jacket streak through the corridor of boxes; Weds darting after the lucky bastard as he watches him turn the corner.

Following after Novelle around the very same corner, Wedsle stopped in his tracks when witnessing his target knock over a particularly large crate off the top of a nearby stack; the box breaking open upon landing for its contents to come spilling out: an entire collection of fireworks that scatter across the floor. “Ooooh.” the luck stealing psychic gleefully cheers with a grin. “Shit!” curses Wedsle, making a desperate bolt after his foe. Smugly confident in his overabundance of luck, the psychic of fortune rips the lid off a crate right beside him to reveal within whole packs of match sticks; a site of which makes him do a complete 180 and frantically bolt back towards the corner. With the surplus of sticks does Novelle simply just take one of them and flicks it against the package to ignite a small flame, casually tossing the lit match right into the spilled pile of volatile fireworks before leaping back around the corner right behind him. It takes only moments for the lit match stick to ignite the fuse for one of these fireworks, causing a chain reaction that starts to set off the entire bundle; Wedsle leaping around the corner right in the nick of time as they crack off. Throughout the entire block can this barrage of colorful explosions be witnessed by every single person that was simply driving on through this side of the district; a display that ferments concern and worry among the people who bare witness.

Among taking cover from the explosive chaos, Wedsle glares over to the opposite side to see the way out blocked out by the crates he had knocked over earlier; a predicament that boxes him in with the wildly unpredictable explosions happening right around the corner. Dumbass doesn’t know how you use fireworks? You don’t send them flying over. With a rising leap up, the purple psychic starts to scale up the wall of shipping crates and makes a climb up towards the top of the stack You send them rocketing straight to the skies.

Yet among Wedsle’s ascent up towards the top of the wall made of crates, a wayward rocket comes zipping out from around the corner and blows up in a blindingly flash of sparks; the violet psychic seething as some of these sparks singe against his side. Fighting through the fiery sensation beating against his skin, Wedsle scuttles up to the top of the stack and gauges the view of the entire maze; eyeing up the route his fortunate foe had taken in escaping from the explosion of fireworks. With little time to carefully run along the top of the crates, Wedsle instead opts to take bounding leaps right over the gaps set in between the makeshift labyrinth; taking jump after jump towards where Novelle scurry off to.

After several leaps and bound over the walls of the wooden crate maze, Wedsle delves back in to descend down before the fortune pilfering psychic; Novelle himself nearly fumbling over as he manically dashes away from his purple pursuer. In his frantic hast does the lucky psychic wind up running right onto the wall of boxes hard enough to shake those at the top over the edge; the wood holding the crate together breaking as he crashes onto the hard concrete in front of him. Novelle glances back to what he had knocked over and is ecstatic for a baseball pitcher on wheels with a portable single switch generator; all of which packed with an entire gallon filled with standard issue baseballs. Rushing right over to the misplaced machine like a giddy kid with a fresh new toy, the lucky psychic flips the switch to the portable generator attached to the pitching machine before aiming its baseball sized barrel right towards the violet traitor; a naughty giggle escaping from him before he switches the pitcher on and unleashes the barrage of baseballs against his foe. Several of these ball fly right past his head as Wedsle darts away from the rapid fire pitching machine; a couple of them hitting him right in the back before he takes a tight turn around the corner; his fortune steal foe aiming to pelt him with more as he races after with the pitcher at his side.

The script is flipped out from his favor as the purple pursuer was now the one being feverishly pursued, taking turns left and right through the crate maze as the man in black and yellow he had been chasing was now after him, frenetically blasting out baseball after baseball at him from the pitcher he rolls with. “What’s the matter, Weds? Getting tired of this streak of bad luck, well you better get used to it. Forget broken mirrors and black cats; the sort of shitty luck you’ll get facing me will make you wish you were in casino debt.” the psychic of luck taunts as he purses. Fucking pitcher, generator, and ammo all in one convenient box? The number of ass pulls this guy has done would be enough to make anal play porn stars blush. Frida should have everything ready by now, so all that’s left is to get this dick head into position. Shouldn’t be hard; the way this dipshit’s chasing me, he’ll never see the surprise we have in store for him coming. A strategy set in for the son of a bitch pursing him, Wedsle leads his fortunate foe through the makeshift maze of crates like a donkey with a carrot on a string; all the while Novelle himself is too occupied in his luck fueled high to realize, continuing to fire out more and more baseballs against the violet psychic in a frenzy

Turn after turn does Weds make through the maze with the manic mobster on his tail, enduring the hard balls that are pelted against his body as he trails them both towards the corner of the labyrinth. But among the frantic chase does the pitching machine Novelle pursues the violet traitor with finally run out of ammunition; the lucky psychic almost immediately discarding the piece of equipment like a used piece of garbage. The psychic of stolen fortune then finds his purple pursuit making a swift scale up to the top of the boxes Determined to not let the tables turn away from him, the thief of luck quickly scoops up a discarded baseball from the pavement and throws it right at the climbing purple psychic; the ball streaking right beside Wedsle to instead bust open the lid of the crate in front of him. From the depths of the broken crate do a collection of minuscule bugs burst out from within, sprinkling all over the violet psychic body; Wedsle looking closely to one of the insects that crawl across his hand to see that they’re: “Ants? Ant farm?” But in a cruel twist of fate, he soon realizes that these are no normal ants when one of them stings his skin with enough of a pain to make him nearly fall off the stack of crates; Weds quickly scaling up towards the top as he suffers the agonizing sting from the dozens of ants crawling across his body. “Aggh, bullet ant farm! What kind of twisted fuck would ship bullet ants!?” Seeing the cavalcade of painful stinging insects not even slowing his foe down, Novelle decides to races right towards the same stack of crates and begins to climb after his purple pursuit; exuding a confident smile as he scales to the top of the wooden boxes.

After glancing back to see the psychic of pilfered fortune greedily tail him, Wedsle peers off to the side of the crates he runs across to gauge along the outside edge of the maze; shaking off the numerous ants that crawl across his body. So close. Just a couple more yards. In his straightforward race across the row of stacks crates does he witness a bolt of steel zip right beside him before impaling itself in one of the wooden crates, Weds glancing back once again to be shocked at the site of his pursuer wielding a loaded industrial nail gun directly at him. “For fuck sake, where you keep finding this shit!?” the purple psychic can’t help but exclaim. The violet psychic is kept on his toes as he runs from the barrage of nails that are fired from behind, hopping around the sides of the stacks in an effort to keep these nails from hitting him; yet he again proves to not be as lucky with his evasion, as a couple of bolts end up hitting him in the shoulder. In spite of these few nails impaling into him, Wedsle refuses to halt for even a moment as he keeps site an eye to the outer edge of the wall of crates both he and his fortunate foe walk along. Almost there!

The thief of luck’s barrage of bolts comes to an abrupt end when his nail gun suddenly runs out of ammunition, with nothing but the clicks of the trigger coming out from the tool; these clicks are what queue Wedsle to stop and make a complete turn around to face his approaching pursuer. His fortunate foe is alarmed over his unexpected stop and stumbles right into his awaiting grasp, Novelle nonetheless remaining calm as he anticipates whatever his boundless luck could bestow him in this unexpected turnaround. The very moment Wedsle has his fortune foe in his clutches, his stomach drops when feeling a sharp pain plunge against him; the violet psychic glaring down to see the broken remains of what once was a dragon figure carved from glass embedded into his side. This unfortunate set of circumstances has his foe let out an amused chuckle as he start to drive the sharp glass deeper into Wedsle’s torso, Novelle feeling the purple psychic tremble as he lay in his grasp. “Its astonishing how fickle the wheel fortune plays; each of us at the mercy of this never ending game of chance. And it seems the hands of fate have triumphed for me once again, and on your final gambit too. It would be cruel for man mired in misfortune such as yourself continue to live through this unfortunate future; perhaps your prove to be luckier in the next life, so to grant you mercy, I shall snuff out yours right now!” boasts the psychic of stolen fortune.

“Good god. Pricks like you are always so damn predictable.” claims Wedsle, grasping his foe’s hand to pull away the broken glass. “What was that?” “You’re right about one thing. I haven’t exactly been lucky in this game of chance we all have to call life, almost everything I had to fight tooth and nail for; probably could right a fucking limerick over how shit my run of luck has been. But its with all of it that one lesson has cemented in my mind.” “And what would that be?” “Making the best of a bad situation!” Its upon hearing this statement from him that his foe suddenly sweeps Novelle right off his feet and tosses him down off the side of the stack of crates; the thief of luck rapidly descending down towards the inside of a big open crate, but his fall down into the depths of his box is cushioned by a line ultra thick packaging meant for extremely fragile items.

While relieved over his save from this nasty fall, the lucky son of a bitch gaze up from the depths of the box to brag how: “Well, seems like your situation as gone from bad to worse; if you were hoping I would get personal with the pavement, than you dead wrong. This pillow like foam saved my skin from taking a nasty fall. And from the way things are going, my lucks not running out anytime soon.” To this boasting can Wedsle not help but let out a confident chuckle as he looks down upon his foe held within the padded crate, an expression of which takes the fortunate foe aback. “Its fucking hilarious how blinded you are by your boundless luck, refusing to see the seeds of your downfall already sprouting. Of course I knew chucking a fortunate fucker like you wasn’t gonna work, I knew there would be some sort of bullshit that would save your sorry neck. Which is why I thought to make your luck work in our favor.” “What?”

Before the psychic of stolen fortune could even so much as wonder what his violet foe could mean by this somewhat cryptic statement, the gun woman that was with him emerges out from the side of the crate with a padded crate lid in her grasp;  the light beaming into the inside of the crate being snuffed away as the top is swiftly slammed shut. Try as Novelle might to push at the top of his close call turned unexpected prison in hopes of a swift escape, it already proves too late as the lid refuses to so much as budge; the top already being bolted down as he struggles to move it. Armed with a nail gun, Frida slides all across the top of the crate punching nails along the rim to keep their foe trapped within locked in; his anxious screams growing quieter the more the lid is fastened.

“That soft foam you thought was your saving grace will end up as you worst nightmare. The sort of insulation your cushioned in is enough to trap even the loudest screams coming from the highest pitched little shits on the side of the daycare. And pounding your way out to get attention, with the weak ass arms you got; phfft, forget it.  I doubt a single souls that comes back to work tomorrow’s gonna hear you scream, you little pissant.” “Nonononono-” frantically begs the psychic of stolen fortune, his desperate pleading cut short as Frida nails down the last of the bolts to tightly secure the lid. After she finishes putting in as many nails to the edges of the lid as it could fire, the dimensional psychic emerges out from the side of the box before she slaps a sticker right on the crate’s side; the sticker being a label saying: “This package is to be shipped to “Singapore”.” “Hope you get a good view from the great wall of China.” the violet psychic taunts. “Wedsle, the great wall isn’t even anywhere near Singapore.” Frida corrects. “He doesn’t have to know that.”

Leaping down from atop the wall of stacked crates, Wedsle lands back onto solid concrete to meet back with Frida waiting by the box they stuffed their foe into; a slight hiss seeping out from between his teeth when he lands. The violet psychic gives himself a split second to breathe before he peers back to his gun toting partner and suggests: “Whelp, since we took care of that; lets snoop around Broadway to see if there any juicy intel to scope out.” “You...You sure you don’t wanna take a minute to...rest or something.” disconcertingly asks Frida. “I don’t think we have that kind of time. Who knows if the mob’s got any more of their loyal little bitches stationed here.  Beside, I ain’t that fucked up. Just look at me.” To this suggestion, the gun woman’s concern only grows as she beholds the bruises and cuts littered across her purple partners body; the pieces of seasoning and spices making the injuries he had suffered pulse and quiver as Wedsle musters the strength to keep standing. “Lets at least stop by a clinic first.”

The air solidifying psychic attempts to hold complete concentration and mental prowess as he focuses in forming the air itself into what shape he wants; specifically, his aura morphing into the form of a full fledged sword. Satette watches him in anticipation as he holds his concentration to the exercise at hand, intrigued over the progress he’s made so far since this morning. Drips of sweat run down Tuesco’s forehead in commanding the cerulean power slithering out, fighting through the rising migraine as he keeps is thoughts focused in controlling the air itself. With refined concentration and sharpened mentality, Tuesco manages to shape his dark blue aura to hold the complete shape of a long sword and starts to draw in the air around them into this mold; a sharp hiss echoing through the room as he vacuums the air into his power. The new psychic lets out strenuous grunts from between his teeth as he channels every ounce of brain power; a blinding flash illuminating the entire room, one that forces the lively psychic watching to look away.

Once this bright light soon fades, Satette peers back to their air solidifying psychic and gazes in awe to witness his power having crafted a straight sword out from the very air around them; Tuesco feeling up the weapon as it slowly hovers into his grasp. The hilt, crudely crafted, but solid like a rock. The grip, bumpy and course, but still able to be held. And the blade itself, somewhat dulled, but still considerably sharp enough to make a cut on his finger. “Ah.”

“You actually did it, you made a fully fledged weapon from thin air!” cheers Sat. “But it doesn’t feel right. I don’t think I can see myself using this.” doubts Tuesco. “That’s okay. The fact you manage to make it in the first place is a huge first step. If you could make a sword, imagine what other things you can mold. Hell, with some more practice, I bet you could make stuff more complex, like a hammer, or even a ladder; the possibility are endless for you.” “Yeah…” he utters, peering to the invisible blade he holds in his grasp.

“Thanks for that stuff you said earlier. About needing to keep going.” Tuesco then thanks her. “Uh, no problem. Its just a part of life we gotta deal with. Listen, I don’t want to make you stay in this city and fight for us; that’s up to you. But I could tell that when you were a police officer, you didn’t care about statue or power; all you wanted to do was make sure people were okay.  I can respect the fact that you just want to leave, I do. But I can’t lie and say that you would be missing the chance to make the biggest changes that could effect the people of this city.” “You...you think so.” “Of course. Why else would be willingly facing down the biggest crime syndicate in New York. Just...something to think about, okay?” With these words of thought does the lively psychic make her way out the room to leave Tuesco to his thoughts; the former officer of the law staring to the grip of his freshly made blade; contemplating of what he should do with this awesome power over air.

The near quiet tranquility of a Chinese herbal shop is shaken as the purple psychic, wrapped in gauze and bandages, slaps his hands on the counter and fiercely asks the elderly woman behind it: “You host a shop in the middle of the most well known city of the United state. What the fuck do you mean you don’t speak English!?” But rather than answer him directly, the old woman simply points to a sign set along the side of the counter displaying the message: “The owner of this establishment understands and speaks exclusively in Chinese. Please translate or make your way to the exit.” “Fucking...I never understand how hard it is for people coming over here to bother learning a little bit of English; its one of the easiest languages to-” “Wedsle, Weds, easy there. How about before you go sticking your dick in that hornets nest, you let me handle this.” Frida stops him with. “Kay, fine. Don’t know what makes you think you’ll have better luck than me.”

Waltzing past her purple partner, Frida clears her throat before she stands before the counter and begins to converse with the old woman in Chinese, managing to strike up a conversation with the elder; Wedsle left dumbfounded as he stands back as he watches the two banter with each other, all the while not understanding a single word neither of them say. A couple laughs, a couple gasps, and a couple of nods later and Frida soon parts away from the counter while waving the old woman goodbye, telling her purple partner to: “Come on, Weds.” “Um...o-okay…” he utters, following Frida out from the herbal shop. The door to the shop closing behind them, the first thing that Wedsle asks the dimensional psychic is: “When did you learn to speak Chinese?” “The CIA I worked at has a prerequisite that has you learn a second language for international affairs.” “And you chose Chinese because…?” “I thought it sounded neat.”

“So...what all did she tell you?” Wedsle gets back on track with. “Not to much honestly. Just told me about how some people from the mob stop by here from time to time to collect shipments from overseas; they get their product and she gets to keep in business.” “Names, any at all?” “She did mention how most of her shipments are addressed to one guy in particular, but always sends someone else to collect them, never the guy himself. The dude getting them goes by an alias too, something you normally wouldn’t think of. Not any kind of name that would get lost among the countless others like, John, Ben, Samantha. Nah, guy seriously calls himself “Dr. December” I mean, of all the names you could make up for yourself, why the hell would you name yourself after the most festive time of the...year?” Among the cusp of her mocking statement, Frida jovial demeanor wanes when peering back to her purple partner; taken aback by the mixture of astonishing shock and dreading terror plastered on his face. “Um...Did you-did you hear something or-”

“I didn’t mishear you, right? You seriously said Dr. December?” he wearily question. “Um...Yeah. What are you-” “Are you fucking kidding me!? He’s real!?” “Whoa, easy there, man. The hell’s this guy got you wound up for?” “You’ve been with us for how long? And you seriously haven’t heard about him?” “Uh...N-no. Why?” “I-I seriously thought that he was just a myth. A legend told to fresh meat to make them shit their pant and keep them from going out of line.” “Myth? Who do people think this guy is?” “Well, nobody besides the higher ups have never so much as lay eyes upon him. So everyone under them only has the horror stories to go by.” “And those stories would involve…”

“The kind of shit that would make your bowels sink. From what little people hear, they say he’s a brilliant technological engineer; twisted by malice and hate over the world abandoning him at his most dire. When the mob heard word about this man’s forsaken potential, they scooped him up almost instantly and put him in a line of work that made his mind, and their criminal escapades flourish. With nothing but cold hard steel, his great intellect, and the psychic powers bestowed to him, he had mutilated what parts of his own body failed him and grafted in their place chilling and complex machinery; crafting the kind of technology the regular basic bitch would find only in the realm of sci-fi. It’s after years of experimenting on his own body, he had become more machine than man; left as nothing but a mess of internal organs stuffed in the cold unfeeling shell of a robotic abomination. Regardless if theirs a shred of humanity left in him, the mob nonetheless keep him under their research and development division, having craft software and tech the likes of which hold every piece of technology in this entire city in their hands.”

“Damn, way to build a reputation.” comments Frida “And if that reputation turns out to be real, we’re in a lot more trouble then we thought. With every piece of tech under his command; the bastard could be watching us right now.” Wedsle claims, his eyes fixed to a security camera perched upon the corner of the building. “We got the info we need; lets just get Thurs and get the fuck out of here.” “Speaking of which, where is Thurs? He was supposed to meet us back where we…” Frida starts to question, her word dropping off when gazing down street.

A look down the very same street as the dimensional psychic, Wedsle peers over to discover their chaos causing partner rapidly approaching; the panic in Thursotte’s face clear to read as he nears. “Yo Thurs, we’re heading back. You still got the-” “Make a break for it!” they both hear the young man scream. “Jeez, the hell’s his deal?” the purple psychic ponders. Gazing back over to the very street that Thurs had bolted from, Frida confusion quickly turns to alarm as she turns her purple partners over to share in the same site; Wedsle left just as astonished to discover a giant mob of people marching straight towards their direction. The anger and rage in their eyes making it clear to the two that they weren’t looking to start a parade.

The furious crowd tailing behind him, Thursotte puts every ounce of energy he had left into sprinting away like there was no tomorrow; his breath left course and short after running through the rest of the district in chasing after the key. Among his dashing escape do both Wedsle and Frida manage to quickly catch up to his side, the dimensional psychic being the first of the two to question: “What the hell happened!?” “Iwaswatchingthekey, thenaguystoleitandIchasedhimaround! Itriedstoppinghimabunchoftimes, butwoundupwreckingthepark, acornerofastreet, ashrine, andanolddeceasedguyshome! I’msorry!” the young man frantically answers without so much as a single pause. “Oh, Thurs.” “Did you at least get the key back?” Weds asks him. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. It should be right...Here!” Thursotte claims, pulling out the key from the depths of his pocket. “Yoink.” Weds exclaims as he swipes the key away.

The runaway trio then stop right at the face of a locked door, Wedsle inching the bronze key back to the safehouse to the lock as he jests how: “And behold at the misshapen key glides seamlessly into the hole like a pig screw shapped dick slipping in a-” “JUST PUT THE FUCKING KEY IN THE-” “Alright, fine, god. Can’t give a man a moment to dick around, huh.” Jamming the bronze key right in the doors key hole does the wooden door glows a distinct red; the three hurrying their way in and shutting the door behind them just as the crowd was moments away from catching them. Quickly barging through the door all of them saw the trio race into, the furious crowd is left utterly baffled when finding on the other side nothing a frightened middle aged man dwelling within the one room shack; with not even a sign of the three that came in. Most of the crowd profusely apologize to the elder for interrupting his day before they make their way out, shutting the door behind them as they continue a search doomed to fail.