#rp ;; thread

[lovenpeace-pkmn]

RP starter

(Info post)

It's cold in Driftveil City; snow dusts the grass and falls lightly through the air as you make your way to the former Plasma safehouse. It's a dramatic old building with an arched entryway and a tower.

An unfamiliar redheaded woman (perhaps one of Anthea and Concordia's IRL friends) opens the door for you. With a bright smile and a cheerful greeting, she ushers you inside and shows you where to hang your coat.

You enter into a large front room decorated with tinsel and fake candles. Tables are set up with craft supplies, and a Chrismas tree glows brightly in one corner of the room. Several humans and Pokémon are milling about already, filling the room with cheerful chatter. An old herdier wags her tail at you from a dog bed in the corner.

To the left is an equally large dining room where the various refreshments promised by the invitation can be found--hot drinks, soup, and various baked goods, as well as space for guests to place any of their own dishes. (And is that a bowl of...plain canned tuna?) To the right is a study where more tables have been set up with various board games and card games. There's also a staircase leading downward, but it's blocked off with a rope and a sign reading "Residents Only." A Unovan zorua sits and observes the room from the top step of the stairs.

[tigreblvnc]

Isagi Yoichi.

Thus had he become the new obsession of the king—a target toward which every thorn stretched, seeking the perfect angle to pierce the ego of Blue Lock’s young genius. How could one explain the blue-haired prodigy’s phenomenal progress in such a short span of time? How had that ever-late, ever-chasing figure managed to insert its grains of sand into the meticulously designed machinery of Bastard München?

There was no rational explanation, and therein lay the emperor’s misery. His evenings slipped by as he pored over recordings, searching for the flaw, the error, the hint that would reveal the truth. How could something so obvious escape his judgment? What did Isagi Yoichi possess that all those the German had dismissed in the past did not? Why hadn’t the brat crumbled at the mere sight of the Kaiser Impact, indisputable proof that no shot, no tactic in the world could rival that surgical, miraculous strike that only the blond possessed?

But confusion could not be allowed to take hold. Contempt had to remain the fuel for his talent, his drive to stay the course until the crown of the world’s best was his. A blue-maned nuisance could not possibly represent such a great threat—this was inconceivable.

Luck? No, there was something else. A mere stroke of luck could not explain such an irksome challenge.

8:30 AM. It was time reserved for machine training, but the best and most efficient had already moved onto the field, perfecting their technique. With the ball at his heel, Kaiser strung together his dribbles. Ness wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he wasn’t even welcome in this confined space where the emperor’s thoughts pressed against the walls, building a palpable tension as his goal count climbed, each shot more precise than the last.

When the door opened to a familiar silhouette, every nerve in the prodigy of the eleven tensed, but his mocking, perpetual, royal smile curled an insolent corner.

His nose turned towards the source of the noise, provocation hanging on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Up early, are we? Training paying off, Yoichi?"

And as for fruit, Kaiser saw one he was more than ready to pluck—without a hint of tenderness.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

[cakeinpants]

Pat would receive a call from Kyung, the foreign female’s voice greeted him once he picked up, her tone evident with enthusiasm.

“Hey, Patrick! I heard you’re going to be back on stage soon! Are you excited?” She yipped optimistically.

"Kyung! Hello." Pat lit up upon hearing his friend's voice.

"I'm definitely excited to get out of here and actually do something." He smiled. "It'll be so strange to work without Master here... But I'm glad I'll get to continue his art even if he has to retire." He said with determination.

"And how are things on your end? Are you doing okay?"

[chasmmmm]

You're genetically 100% a nerd. That feeling? Yeah. Devastation. You're devastated right now.

I've never met a web I couldn't eat. And I used to make this stuff out of cleaning chemicals!

Are webs edible?

- @tf-au-mer-osborn

Depends on multiple factors, such as the following:

Webbing being biological or artificial

Chemical make-up

If you’re from a universe where everything is edible

Allergies

There’s also the question of non-toxic v. actually edible, but that’s neither here nor there.

[house-of-cyn]

[for cyn]

Elliot Manor was quiet this time of night. The humans were usually asleep, leaving the drones alone, able to do what they wanted as long as they were quiet and got the manor clean by morning.

A purple-haired small worker walked through the halls, holding a tray of dirty glasses to the kitchen, presumably for the drones stationed there to clean. She quietly hummed to herself to fill the silence. On her breast pocket was a nametag, presumably because she was a newer drone and wanted people to know her name; Dusk.

Cyn had heard the rumors of a new drone joining the Manor, but had yet to see them throughout the day as everyone had been hard at work as usual. She was thankful that the others were asleep right now, working much better while knowing the Elliotts weren't going to get mad over a small error.

The small worker was stationed in the kitchen this time, but not to cook or wash dishes thankfully: Cyn was much too clumsy for something like that. As Dusk entered the room, she could see the other sitting on the table as Cyn sorted the clean cutlery by type. Soup spoons, salad forks, steak knives, cheeseball spread knives- It was something simple for her to handle!

[@corrupteddoodles ]

[thevoiceofnv]

[ @dr-carlosrobles — ]

Cecil just likes to feel the rain, sometimes.

He is so horrendously old— older than the winds, the storms, the rains under his command. There is so much he has done, and still he feels a lack.

It is not unlike the vacuum he first awoke in, this feeling. It is an untethered feeling, unanchored. He feels tossed on the waves his own storms create, and still no closer to steady ground for it.

Flat on their back in the sand, Cecil sighs, eyes wide open, staring upwards into the storm clouds they've gathered over themself. Over this section of the beach, it pours; a storm rages, and Cecil, spread starfish on his back, lets himself absorb the sand, lets the waves lap against them as high tide comes in, lets lightning crackle and snap down into the ocean with every flash of their tattoos and heavy rumble of thunder.

They just feel this way, sometimes. It's better to let it out like this than keep it in too long.

The air pressure changes on the beach. Cecil feels it— of course, he feels it. He feels every lick of wind everywhere, every change in temperature, every shift in density; the air, the winds, the clouds, the storms, the weather, the rain, the lightning, the thunder, the magnificence, it is all theirs.

Lifting her near-nonexistent head, Cecil blinks through the driving rain in search of the source of the shift. She doesn't need to have a human body— or a human name, or anything human at all, really— but, it's something to do. And it all feels far more properly theatrical when she's fling out on the sand physically, not just metaphorically.

There is a shape down the beach, it realizes.

It'd thought this stretch was empty, remote; that's why it came here, specifically, when it realized it had to release: to hide. It'd hate to hurt somebody who wandered over just because it doesn't have control.

Cecil begins attempting to calm the storm, to quell it, to stuff it back away for now. It's an effort; he sits up in the sand, fists gripping the wet granules in gritty palmfuls, and concentrates, scars and tattoos and markings flashing with each bolt of lightning, head pounding with the rumbling thunder, until the rain has begun to subside, his emotions compressed backwards— and the weather with it.

With this lessened rain, Cecil can see so much more.

He can see a… a person.

A person?

He thinks they might be a person. Maybe.

Are they, though?

[piers-official]

Private text correspondence:

Bede: Hello, Gym Leader Marnie,

There's a matter of some importance that I'd like to discuss with you. Please get back to me at your earliest convenience.

All the best, Gym Leader Bede.

@ballonleastadiumofficial

Marnie: Hello, gym leader Bede :) Sure, I'd love to talk~ What's going on? Hope everything is alright.

[burnedwinter]

Long time no see

"Thank you for getting me out of there," Brock grunted, well aware that Lester had probably forgotten about him the moment he left his apartment for the last time almost 3 years ago.

He looked tired. Still as muscular and buff as he has always been, but 3 years on The Raft wasn't an easy walk in the park for him.

Brock never thought that the only thing he wanted was a good night of sleep without the need to keep one eye open because on The Raft everyone was out to get him. What do they say? Find the biggest and baddest guy, challenge him, and hope that you don't get killed. For many people Brock was that guy.

It took him 3 years to gather the connections and resources to flee and he had paid a high price for it. He sold his soul to a rising dictator who needed a leader for his growing army, but at least he was out.

@asmilelikegenocide

[radioactive-tinkering]

[Ring ring! Your Rotom Phone is ringing!]

[Radium picked up his phone - having to be careful, and using Miraidon as support.]

hello?

[pinkhairandpokemon]

rp thread starter for @touya-san

“Come on Fwoofy! You can do it!”

“Blake, it’s been almost an hour,” Hop sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he watched his friend repeat words of encouragement to their Cosmog over and over. Beside him, Reshiram stood, eyes following his trainer with a dumbfounded expression plastered on his face. “You realize they can’t understand a word you say, right?”

“Yes they can!” Blake insisted with a pout, shooting him an annoyed glare over their shoulder.. “They’re still just… figuring it out! We’ll get it eventually.”

The Cosmog in question, however, was currently occupied with exploring in the tall grass, happily chittering to itself as it floated about and very much not trying to do whatever it was Blake wanted them to do.

“Uh huh,” Hop nodded, voice dropping with sarcasm. “Real hard worker over there.”

With a defeated groan, Blake ran a hand over their face as they rose to their feet. “Okay, yeah, this isn’t working.” Scooping Fwoofy back into their arms, they turned to face Hop. “Let’s try something else! There’s gotta be a way we can-”

A strange snort from Reshiram made everyone draw their attention towards the legendary dragon, and they all looked up to see him awkwardly scrunching his nose at nothing in particular. Raising a brow, Blake reached a hand out towards their Pokémon in concern as he squeezed his eyes shut and reared his head back. “Woah, buddy, you okay-?”

ACHOO!

The sudden, booming sneeze from the feathery creature made everyone nearly jump out of their skin, and made Fwoofy quite literally go flying straight out of Blake’s arms. With a frightened squeal, the little sentient ball of clouds spun about in the air like a stray leaf, a blue glow encasing its tiny body.

“Woah, Fwoofy-!” Blake exclaimed, both them and Hop simultaneously moving to run after the Cosmog. Before they could even take two steps forward, though, a dazzling explosion burst forth from Fwoofy and swallowed their fields of vision.

Blake had hardly realized they’d been sent tumbling backwards by the blow, until they opened their eyes to find themself collapsed on the grass. With a groan, they placed a hand over their head as they sat up and looked around. Sparkling residue still lingered in the air from the blast, but by the looks of it no one seemed to have been hurt.

After stumbling back onto their feet, Blake moved to help pull Hop from the ground and pick Fwoofy back up. “Okay, that was weird,” Blake remarked, giving Fwoofy a look of worry when they noticed how exhausted it suddenly seemed. The Cosmog let out a weak little trill, deflating in its trainer’s arms like a balloon. “I’ve never seen them do THAT before…”

“Maybe Fwoofy just learned a new attack?” Hop suggested with a shrug, momentarily glancing over at Reshiram, who still seemed a bit disoriented himself.

“I-” Blake opened their mouth to reply, but stopped when they suddenly noticed Reshiram’s head jolting up from the corner of their eye. “Reshi? What’s up?” They asked, turning to see what had gotten the Legendary’s attention.

Reshiram let out a roar towards the sky, a particular sound Blake had come to recognize whenever he was calling for his counterpart. Thinking N had come to see what they were up to, Blake followed the dragon’s gaze, expecting to see the black silhouette of Zekrom approaching on the horizon- but instead they spotted… another Reshiram?

[ask-the-doppelganger]

"If you go in the builiding like that, you are dead." Punk was sitting infront of the building protected by D.D.D. once again. He trys to gater information by watching the routine of the people living there. He isnt sure how to infiltrade this time since the doormen actually does his job right. Yet he sees every day how obvious dopples walk in only to get terminated. When they walk close enough he would warn them. @doormens-job The Dopplegänger

Hm? *At first, only one eye turns to the punk. Then, the doppel sighs, and turns towards Punk to talk to him - it still keeps the other eye turned towards the door.* Ah, I know. I'm not planning to go in... I don't have papers anyways. I just...

*It trails off. It wanted to see if a select few humans were alive - but it hardly wants to admit that.*

Just watching. What about you? You look like none of the people who live there.

[drwafton]

Phoney approaches Afton's feet and looks straight up at him, their handset vibrating with a loud and sharp ringing

"Hey Aft-y, not hear to bug you or anythin', not today at least. You see, for some reason, I started ringing today and I checked the caller ID and it was for you! Now I know you're not the biggest fan of me and I'm only going to ask this once: Please pick me up before this drives me loony."

Phoney waited for Afton the pick the handset up, one of their eyes twitching the more the phone rang. How they we're able to receive calls when they weren't even plugged into the wall at anytime was a question best unthought.

"Phone??? Wait what??!??-"

>>Afton eye's widened. He had many questions but it looks like it would have to wait. He frantically picked up the phone from the floor and answered

"Um hello? Dr. Afton speaking..."

[askjunpeiiori]

Edlegard gathered what she needed before heading to the new world.

Junpei walked over to her.

"Hey, what are you up to?"

[tigreblvnc]

cw: murder case, angst, thriller, cat-and-mouse game.

Isagi's back rests against the cabinet. The hundreds of neatly aligned files tremble under his weight.   He sighs, wiping away the thin layer of sweat coating his forehead with the back of his hand.

His chest swells,   then collapses in a meditative exhale.  

Eyes closed, the only thing he can sense is the scent of his lukewarm coffee.   The waft of cigarette smoke that fills the precinct's offices.

He clears his mind, drowning out the constant hum of the bustling building:   the incessant ringing phones,   the paperwork piling up on every surface, mountains of torment,   the sharp heels echoing down endless corridors,   the trivial chatter around the coffee machine,   the printers endlessly whirring.

He shuts out all the external noise interfering with his thoughts.

"How does he do it?" Officer Nanase wonders from across the room, while his colleague, spinning idly in his desk chair, smirks.

"Leave him be, Inspector's deep in meditation," Karasu, his legs casually crossed and propped on his desk, glances at his watch. "Ah. Time for a break. Nanase, ya comin'?"

The pair takes off, leaving Isagi Yoichi to his deep reflection.

On the right wall, the one overlooking the vast streets of the capital, stands a corkboard.   Pinned to it are photos, newspaper clippings, evidence, and clues, all connected by colored strings.   His eyes open to this mental map, one only he can understand.

His back pulls away from the cabinet.   He faces the fruits of his two-month-long investigation.

It's an unprecedented case that shakes the heart of Tokyo.   The entire city is holding its breath.

Where is the killer?   How did they leave no trace of their last crime?   What's their name?   Is it a man? A woman?   Does they act alone, or are they being helped?

The last appearance of the criminal dates back two weeks, in Kabukicho—the red-light district of Tokyo.

What are they after? What are their intentions behind their actions…?

Isagi crosses his arms over his chest, resting his chin in one hand, perplexed.   If only he could understand his attacker's mind better.   If only he could meet them, just once…   Then, everything would become clearer.

At least,   that's what he believes.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | RIN ITOSHI & YOICHI ISAGI ROLEPLAY.

[house-of-cyn]

"If you do not mind my asking, but what in the world are you doing?"

SYS//: message_status = "Received" @enigmaincrimson

"Whatever do you mean? Siiiiiiiip-" And that cup of liquid just missed her mouth entirely, simply pouring onto the floor in front of the drone.

[thevoiceofnv]

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Oh, my—

𝑂ℎ.

Cecil is struck 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 when Carlos leans over and kisses his cheek in return.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was kissed. Literally, he does not remember it; the last time he was kissed was years ago, by Earl Harlan, and Cecil doesn’t remember a single second of it, wiped clear from his mind after several ensuing— though unrelated— sessions of re-education that left Cecil blank, Earl heartbroken, and their relationship a broken, half-gone mess.

Regardless.

Being kissed now— and being kissed by perfect, perfect Carlos— on the cheek is the most tremendous feeling he’s ever had. And he had such fear when Carlos didn’t respond, at first, but now—

He couldn’t be more thrilled. He couldn’t be happier, really, and—

And he gets a second kiss.

And a third!

And three is one of his best numbers. He can’t help but sigh happily, tugging Carlos’s lab coat closer around himself. It feels so grounding, perfect, warm.

Though Cecil has never liked facial hair on men before— oh, he loves it on Carlos. He loves the friction against his own skin; he hopes it leaves a mark behind. He hopes Carlos is burnt into his skin forever.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Cecil insists, blushing furiously. His blood is rushing so fast he feels like he might lose consciousness— but, he can’t! Carlos is here! He wants to spend every second he can together with him. “I’m just so grateful you’re coming! Thank you, Carlos! I’m—”

He hesitates, then admits— “Prophecies are never guaranteed. Nothing is ever guaranteed. But I… I saw you, and I couldn’t live without you anymore. I feel so lucky that… that this prophecy was guaranteed. That you are…”

He doesn’t want to say guaranteed, even though he, himself, is guaranteed. He’s not going anywhere, not while Carlos is anywhere else.

“There are many prophecies,” Cecil informs him, rather than picking up his previous line of thought. “And many of them… Many of them, I hope would not come true. But I would have endured any of them— all of them— to make sure you would.”

The smile that comes onto his face is sharp-toothed and inhuman and irrepressible.

“But I didn’t even need to. You are your own force of nature, aren’t you, Carlos?”

Just like Cecil is. They are meant to be.