#she might've starved to death. sad!

[houseoflunares]

"too blatantly on the nose" i'm not the one who named themself ebony dark'ness dementia raven way

which cis member of the court has the most trans swag

Am I allowed to say the Lunares sisters, or is Mona going to suicide-bait me/imply I'm gratuitously simpering again?

If I am required to provide evidence of my claim: I would say that "being a dark abomination against the stars' divine plan" is rather trans coded. To the point wherein that if this sort of thing were to be found in a work of fiction, I'd almost consider it too blatantly on the nose. But it is swag. Secondarily, effortlessly embodying the princely virtues as a woman is, how shall we say, "gnc as fuck." Obviously, in case any church spies are listening, I wouldn't dare imply any member of the royal court would ever deviate from their stars-assigned sex. Besides Helios, of course, but we all know him.

[loopspoop]

Much obliged.

..........

It was night. Or the darker end of sunset. He couldn't quite tell from behind the curtain, but there was at least some natural light still outside. He was still cold. His head still hurt. He shuffled the sheets off of himself, and sat up on the bed. Looking at his hands he noticed that he had already bled through most of the bandages. He rubbed his head in frustration and immediately regretted the action, though only mildly. It was a sharp but quick pain.

His stomach rumbled loudly. He was starving. How had he not realized sooner? He needed to eat, but there was certainly nothing in this sad excuse of a motel. He resolved to go out into town to buy some food. After all, he had SOME cash left over after paying for the room. But he was running low fast. He could worry about that later.

He trudged to the door, but just as he was going to grab the handle, his mind began to chastise him that he couldn't go into public like THIS. As if something bad would happen to him if he did. But "this"? What was "this"? His wounds? Sure, perhaps people would be put off by seeing a man clearly down on his luck, but the worst that would happen might be a few stares or someone trying to help. Would that be so bad? In all honesty, he probably needed it. But that didn't seem right. He was thinking of something else that couldn't be seen. But what?

Maybe he shouldn't go. But he was hungry. And he knew he wouldn't be able to heal if he was slowly starving to death on top of everything else. He had to go. So he did.

.........

"I found this." Jigen tossed a small painting onto the table in front of where Goemon was meditating.

"This is the painting that Lupin stole?"

"Yeah. Found it right next to the museum." He slammed down onto the couch, grabbed a burnt out cigarette, and brought it back to life.

"Lupin?"

"Tsk. Not there."

"That is ... concerning." He stared at the painting, as if it would provide anymore information, "anything more?"

"Yeah. Next to this thing was a good amount of blood. But it didn't go anywhere."

Goemon looked up.

"I think you might've been right. He's in trouble."

"How do we find him if there is no trail?"

"No clue."

..........

There were more stares than he had anticipated. Some of disgust and even more of pity. Someone had even handed him money. Did he really look that awful? It seemed probable, his clothes had rips from the glass, a significant amount of wear from SOMETHING, he was covered in blood in several places, a few still growing in size, and the gauze on his head made him look like he just escaped from a hospital. He knew he should've gone to one, but he didn't trust hospitals for one reason or another. Besides, he would be fine. He knew that much. At least he had a bit of extra cash for food.

The doors slid open, and he entered the store. He suddenly felt the need to rush. He needed to get out of there and soon. He grabbed some fruit and checked out. The cashier looked at him curiously, as if she recognized him. He felt hope for a minute, before he realized that the recognition had suspicion underneath it.

He grabbed his bag, nearly dropping it. He left back to the motel. Something WAS wrong.

About halfway through his trip he began to feel lightheaded. He was going to pass out. He attempted to speed up, but between his injuries and the several inches of snow he was barely going at walking speed. The world was spinning faster and faster with each minute, and the cold was beginning to creep back in.

He swung the door wide open and shut it back closed with as much speed as he could manage. He took only a few steps towards his bed before the world fizzled and finally went black.

..........

"You said you saw Lupin III?"

The little lady looked nervous, as if she was found to be wrong in even the tiniest detail, then she would be arrested instead. Despite her hesitation, she told the officer what she had seen.

He listened carefully. This lead was promising. She was claiming that he paid for his items. Most of the attention - seekers like to imagine Lupin robbing them blind of even the smallest most worthless items, as if a thief could never be honest. On top of that, the tales were always dramatic and loud, like Lupin's largest heists. And while Zenigata had no doubt that he was like that day to day, these stories were always far over dramatized. But the story he was hearing now was much quieter and simple.

The story gave him hope too. Based on her testimony it sounded as if Lupin was still in town, though he could be three or four countries away in the hour it took to get here knowing him. But he got the idea that, instead, that Lupin, and perhaps the others, were in a hideout somewhere healing up from whatever injuries they gathered on the heist last night. Especially since the cashier described him as looking completely ragged and worn down.

But there was still something just off about her story. It didn't quite sound like Lupin.

>:3 I can’t wait to see where this goes omg

[unhingedwomandiaries]

Spotted something delicious in the local rag today while choking down my sad desk lunch. Turns out that cesspit of capitalism where I first dipped my toes into wage slavery after my utterly useless degree is going tits up. Red ink everywhere, shops dropping like flies. Usually I'm not one to wank over financial catastrophe, but this particular nugget of schadenfreude has got me proper moist.

Let me paint you a picture of 2008. Picture baby me, fresh out of the academic womb, slicing processed meat for minimum wage while questioning every life choice that led me there. My supervisor - let's call her Barbara the Basement Creature - was this fetid lump of human wastage who'd been marinading in her own mediocrity for twenty-five years. Wore it like a fucking crown, she did. Everyone else seemed to tolerate her medieval existence, but I wanted to garotte her with dental floss.

Then one day, these two blokes came to my counter, all loved up and domestic. Proper cute, actually. But old Babs? She went full Spanish Inquisition, refused to serve them because their happiness offended her dusty old God or some such bollocks. Just stood there spewing her homophobic bile like it was perfectly normal in the twenty-first century.

Being the righteous little shit I was (am), I reported her faster than a priest in a playground. But here's where it gets properly fucked - the manager, this towering goddess in polyester, told me I'd be the one getting shit-canned if I didn't shut my gob. Because apparently tenure trumps basic human decency.

When I suggested she imagine if someone refused to serve her because of her skin color, she called me racist. Me! I might've grown up in a town so white it glowed in the dark, but I'm not some sister-shagging bigot in a MAGA hat. I just thought maybe, just maybe, discrimination was shit across the board. Revolutionary thinking, clearly.

Took it to the union, fat lot of good that did. Bunch of spineless cunts just wrung their hands and wished me away. My colleagues were about as useful as tits on a fish, especially x the perpetually baked potato who couldn't give two shits because it wasn't his arse on the line.

Manager eventually caught wind of my crusade and promised to make my life more miserable than a vegan at a burger festival. Could've stayed and let them slowly extract my soul through my arsehole, but I fucked off to flip burgers instead. Lateral move in the grand scheme of things, but at least I could sleep at night.

So yeah, seeing their empire crumble like a digestive in hot tea? Pure fucking poetry. Hope those empty shops stand as monuments to their backwards thinking until the heat death of the universe. They can either drag their knuckles into the present century or starve in their hate-caves. Couldn't give less of a toss which.

Christ, is it wine o'clock yet?