#the gang can go full corpse paint (i actually thought up a train corpse paint design several years ago)

[buff-electra-truther]

I really like Greaseball’s Gang as a concept because of how diesel locomotives usually work in packs irl and the studs and black is SO train and so hard rock/metal simultaneously. I just hate how they had that flag for years, I think a skull and railroad crossing sign crossbones would be so much more appropriate. In my mind they have the vibe of the ridiculously metal Billups Neon Crossing Signal

[shabre-legacy]

another random piece from princess rising because the feedback is motivating me to get back into this story

                                     AMBRINA

Ambrina straightened out of her battle stance and brushed her bloody bangs out of her eyes as she surveyed the field in front of her. The grass was mostly ash near her and further out was covered in blood and corpses. Her familiar, a massive gorgeous lioness, stood in the middle of a circle of mangled bodies, blood dripping from her muzzle and onto her claws. Ambrina had managed to take out all 6 without too much effort and only had to burn one of them, and Lyca, that wonderful cat, had taken down 3 at once.This was a job well done and the payout would be excellent when they delivered the target home. She moved swiftly over to the large rock at the edge of the field and reached behind it, pulling out the young girl hiding there.  The poor girl was clearly terrified, shaking like a leaf, with huge eyes. Ambrina sheathed her sword and pulled a knife from her belt cutting the girls binds. “ relax kid, I’m just here to take you home. Your parents sent me” the girl nods, still scared, but willing to do whatever would get her home. Ambrina led her over to the horse nearby, a large cream paint gelding, they mounted up quickly and headed for the nearby city. Lyca tailing behind them, just far enough for the girl to not pay attention, she slipped ahead of the duo and entered the shadows of the city, heading home as Ambrina went to collect their money. 

    A few hours later, Ambrina steps into The Singing Oak  tavern and collapses onto a stool near the bar, grabbing a bottle from behind the counter. She had successfully rescued the kidnapped girl and returned her to her parents and collected the large reward. Now she could relax for a few hours or until she got another job. The life of a sword-for-hire wasn’t the easiest but she was damn good at it and honestly enjoyed it, some days it seemed that the same fire that flew from her fingertips drove her to need a fight most of the time. This was the life, go out into the open air, kick a little ass, get paid for it and come back to cozy apartment or a loud, boisterous tavern with the best drinks in Sea City.   She leaned back against the bar and looked around the room, taking in the atmosphere and and the familiar sight of the Singing Oak. Full of the best people in Sea City. Thieves, Pirates, Mercenaries (like herself), former slaves, mages, sailors, ect. Hard-working people on the low end of society, rejected by others and trying to get by or to disappear. Honestly, this place was as close to home as Ambrina had ever known. Get rich or get drunk trying was how many of the people here, including her lived their lives. A group of sailors over near the back wall started a loud drinking song, Turning towards her slightly, she had had some good conversations with the guys over the few days they had been in port. She leaned over the bar and pulled a case from the shelf underneath. She lifted the fiddle into place and started a jaunty tune to go with the sailors song. Within a few notes the bar was full of people singing and dancing to her tune. This was her second favorite form of magic, the intoxication of music and the power her fiddle held over everyone who heard her play, at least in this tavern. After a couple of tunes, she let herself fall back onto her stool and swung her fiddle case back to it’s shelf as she ordered another round.  She leaned back and laughed as the day got later and the tavern swung into usual crowd and antics. A few crews of Sailors were sharing tales of the sea and trying to beat each others drinking records. A few games of dice and cards had sprung up among sailors and thieves and the few street gangs that were hanging around were staring each other down as they did all the time, it wasn’t that unusual for them to start glaring on site, but they would never fight inside. Those were the rules that kept this place the best place in all of Sea City.  Ambrina never felt out of place here, this was her world; her violence and anger, the fire that burned inside her was accepted and embraced. And yet strangely, it sometimes felt like she was part of the scenery of the tavern, like she was accepted but not seen, not belonging, simply there. There seemed to only be one person who saw her, like actually as a person and not another angry sword in a room of them, her roommate Lyra. The red-haired elven thief was her best friend in this city that she loved.  She burst out laughing as the girl entered and flopped into her seat. Ambrina reached over and clapped her shoulder, leaning over and grabbing another drink before swinging onto the bar and leaning over towards Lyra, “good haul today, I see” 

The girl sighed and pushed at her leg, “stop it” 

Ambrina pushed her drink at her, grabbing another and throwing a few coins on the Tavern owners tray as she passed, earning her She drained her mug and nudged lyra again. “Out with it” 

“Totally botched job, I mean, I got out with a painting, but I mistimed the return of the caretaker and almost got caught and had to leave almost all those other nice things behind, all that money gone.” 

Ambrina patted her arm  and downed another drink that was the unfortunate reality of their lifestyle, sometimes a job just doesn’t work out, but it always sucked when that happened. “ don’t worry bout it. I just finished a job, I can spot the rent till you grab something that’s worth a damn thing”         

She jumped off the bar and headed over to the job board. Her and Lyra had been sharing a small apartment above the tavern for a few years now and rent was usually a concern with how much she was trying to save. This taverns rep was known through the city and a few requests could always be found alongside the wanted posters and city decrees. 

This time though there was an envelope with her name printed on the fine paper in an elegant script pinned among the other papers. A small  She reached up and grabbed it. She’d open this later in her apartment. For now she wanted to relax. She turned and with a quick half step she leapt onto the nearest table, “Next rounds on me” she yelled to the jovial crowd. And as the drinks were ordered and the usual chaos of the evening crowd built up, she felt as close to home as she ever did.

                                                                   Kiria

Kiera sighed and continued to trudge through the forest. They would probably reach the galpin plains soon. This wasn’t good. She knew that they had to travel through the plain to get to Xaeria, where they should be able to rest for a day or two before moving to the coast. They couldn’t stay in Xaeria. Not with the position of Queen Varalyne on the existence of mages.  She couldn’t drag her brother into that. That same little black colt had been following him for as long as she could remember; that, plus how Daemon could disappear better than any of the others she knew. There was no way she could drag him to Xaeria or Prouba. They could possibly try the wild woods beyond Taeslaes, but that area was Elven territory and the only humans that were even rumored to be able to survive in those forests was some temple and Bluecall. They were a traveling troupe that made people vanish after every performance. Between the wild magic and the beasts of the forest, they might be able to survive, but it was risky. Their best option was probably to head to Everfield, catch a ship, and disappear to sea for awhile. 

    Since she ran, they’d already had to fight off the first two teams sent to bring them back. Daemon had to fight the people he had trained with and lived with and fought with for years. She couldn’t imagine doing that, though she knew in her soul that she would be forced to do the same to those she had called sister for years. But there was no choice for her, but to go on. When what you believe becomes incompatible with the popular line of thought, it is necessary to separate from that thought and find a way to build a life away from that which you can’t support. And she could no longer support a group of assassins that broke their assassins through torture and the torture of the innocents. Death was one thing, a life of pain and fear and relentless agony that goes on endlessly with no stop in sight was an entirely different situation. She had a broken rib, two head wounds and a stab wound in her side; her brother had a twisted ankle, a new head wound, probably a concussion and a few other injuries, both horses had injured legs, but right now, they had their freedom, and that was everything. 

    Unfortunately, it was under threat yet again as Daemon signaled that there was someone following at the same moment that Kiria felt eyes on her. She steadied herself as much as she could as the trees melted into brush and they entered the Galpin Plains. As they headed further in, Kiria noticed the trees seemed to part and in the distance she could see their pursuers. Raven-marked horses, four in red, three in black. This was an extermination group, a hunting party,  they had called them. They probably wouldn’t run them down. She knew their tactics, she’d led a hunting party or two herself. They’d stay back, far enough to be able to disappear if needed, but close enough to keep the pressure on and keep them moving ‘til they dropped or slowed down. Then they’d swoop in and wipe out the entire group they were chasing. It was a terrifying tactic, and and effective one. They would die at some point soon. It would take some kind of miracle to save them and Cornoth would never provide that. But even with that knowledge, Kiria wasn’t one to go down without a fight, no matter what she’d still try to fight her way out if she could. As she limped through the grass and shrubs to Daemon’s side and they trudged their way, limping and injured, she felt him reach out and gently squeeze her hand. He was scared, she realized, he probably didn’t know why he had left and more than she truly understood why she had. Yet he had come with her as soon as she asked. And he would die for it and he knew that as well as she did. “I wish I knew more than how to blend into shadows and blur tracks” he murmured “i’m sorry, i can’t throw fire or some shit like that”.

    She squeezes his hand back “At least we’ll die free from their torture and we’ll take a few of them with us.”

[kristie-rp]

What the Bluebirds Sing

PREQUEL by @cassandra-rp / @coloredinsanity

Triggers: mentions of gore, blood, rape, and aftermath of all three

Murphy made a point to never set custom ringtones, beyond ensuring each phone on his person didn’t use the same tone. He could usually guess what business he was being called to deal with based on which phone rang.

Tonight, though, his ‘personal’ phone rang, a low-quality intro to a Bring Me the Horizon song piercing the half-light. The men on his side didn’t look around, focusing instead on the target tied to the chair before them. It took Murphy a moment to direct his second to take over the interrogation before he was able to step outside.

Gene didn’t give him a chance to speak before she stammered out the words. “I – I need help.” They were immediately followed by the beginning of sobbing, followed by specifics he figured must be a location – at the very least, he knew the hotel was near town hall, a few streets back from the basement he was in now.

“Give me a minute, okay? Gotta get someone to cover for me. Don’t hang up,” he advised, muting the call so she couldn’t hear him before he went back inside. Family emergency was the excuse he used, playing a card that would work on anyone Rita had hired. After all, the people she hired had morals that lined up with hers (‘innocents unharmed’), and even if they didn’t, there were such things as codes that meant questions were better left unasked.

Murphy switched to a Bluetooth headset, tugging on his helmet to jump on his bike. His car would have been better, of course, but he hadn’t had it with him. Tonight’s job had called for mobility and discretion, and anyway, his second had been responsible for obtaining the target.

“You with me, Gene?” he asked quietly, before he left. “I need you to focus on breathing, alright? Just breathe with me. Ready?” After the mumbled affirmation, he slowly drew in a breath, guiding her in some meditative breathing he’d been taught as a kid. The anger management therapy hadn’t don’t much to benefit him, but the breathing was great for calming in a crisis. “Alright, Gene? I’m on my bike and keeping my phone on; I probably won’t be able to hear you, but I’m here. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He waited until she responded, a soft whimper, before peeling out of the parking lot.

Usually, he basked in the enjoyment of a decent ride, especially one at high speeds. Late at night, with streets newly alleviated of the mushy snowfall, and only a soft rain falling, was practically ideal for riding. He didn’t have time to enjoy it, though, listening to light traffic and labored breathing as he rushed through the streets.

He shrugged of his jacket to cover the blood on his shirt as he entered the lobby of the hotel, sparing a smile for the sleepy person at the reception desk. Murphy made a point of walking with purpose, jabbing the buttons the second he stepped into the building. “I’m in the elevator,” he told Gene, “two minutes, if it’s as good as the price of this place implies.”

She didn’t say anything, but he didn’t particularly expect her to. He got off the elevator at the top floor and scanned the doors quickly, making a beeline for the one she’d mentioned to him.

He couldn’t say he expected to open the door to a room more at home in his workplace than in this upscale hotel, but nonetheless, it’s what he saw. He took in brain matter on the ceiling, blood on the bedding, and a rattled, sobbing Gene in the middle of it all. There was no way the man who had fallen half on the floor was alive, not in that state.

Murphy hung up the phone and hurried to Gene’s side, carefully prodding at her to check for injury before prying the weapon from her hands. He had seen victims of rape before, it was almost an inevitability of loyalty to Rita, and this was obviously that. Usually, the people who came to Rita’s syndicate were angry and violated and desperate to get even, to feel a little more powerful than their attackers made them feel. Rita granted that. Murphy helped grant that, which more than one such person had thanked him for. It was often a messy affair, and the way he saw it, step one was to put a bullet in the violators body.

Gene, apparently, clutching at a Glock that was much too big for her, had beaten him to that.

Murphy remained determinedly calm, of the mindset that anger would make it worse. He pulled Gene against him and rubbed at her bare arms gently, until she loosened up a little.

He pressed his jacket into her hands and pointed her at the suitcase. “Go shower and get changed. Take your things with you. Take your time. I’ll be here.”

He wondered if she’d argue if she wasn’t in shock, or if she’d take the opportunity to flee the second it was provided. Probably the latter, if she had sense. He focused on this train of thought as prepared to work, removing his shirt to drape over a clean surface near the door of the room. It was with minimal hesitation that he produced a phone to contact his boss. Rita was his immediate superior, and wouldn’t appreciate being awoken. She’d appreciate being kept in the dark even less, so he swallowed his desire to not piss her off, and called. He kept his volume low as he explained the situation, how a friend of his had shot her would-be rapist. How he needed clean up done at the hotel, computer systems scrubbed of records ASAP.

Rita agreed readily – she trusted him, which was probably not a great idea in their business. It was fine. He was fine. Mostly, he couldn’t shake the mental image of Gene, spattered with blood. The situation was shit, of course – but man, he couldn’t help the fact that she was incredibly attractive like that. She was incredibly attractive at any given moment, but still. This was definitely crossing a line.

So he worked to clean the ceiling first, chipping away at damp brain matter with his pocket knife and gritting his teeth against the sensation of it dropping onto his skin. It was disgusting work, and delicate, and he never had enjoyed cleaning. It was why he worked in murder, Rita’s full-time fix-it man, and not in hospitality. He was able to make out chips in the ceiling, stained pink from blood, and wrote them off for now. Bleach and a new coat of paint would cover it up, and that was all he wanted to dwell on for the moment.

Gene spent what felt like ages in the shower, but it was probably for the best. By the time she reappeared, Murphy had finished collecting everything he could move onto the bed, bundling it up in the ruined sheets and rolling it so that it is not actually recognizable as a human. When she peered at him, now more stable, he glanced at her. He wasn’t surprised to see she’d elected to pair his jacket with a modest jumper and some dark jeans, or that she had pulled on a pair of heels. What he was surprised by was the way she refused to shake. “Hey,” he said, voice soft, “I need a large suitcase, I think. Or a laundry cart.”

Her lips parted in surprise, but he was able to see understanding dawn. “There was a laundry cart at the end of the hall? This’s the only room taken right now. Only room on this floor.”

“Can you get it for me?” he asked. The request served two purposes: letting her be useful, and getting him something he needed.

She nodded and left the room, returning minutes later with the cart. Murphy examined it thoroughly before removing half the sheets contained within, dumped the corpse, and then covered it with the remainder of the bedding, consigned to be washed at some point. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He was able to hear Gene swallow, and if he expected her to remain mute about the ordeal, he was surprised. “My friend set me up on a blind date with him. He – he followed me back up here. I always use hotels for these things, you know? Just in case. I don’t want just anybody knowing where I live.” She managed to give him a tiny, exhausted smile that did nothing at all to convince him that she was anything close to okay. “He pulled a gun and tried to – to – yeah – and I got it off him. And... shot him. There was – there was a lot of blood.”

With a member of the gang, Murphy would joke about that being expected of a death blow to the head. It wasn’t even close to appropriate, and there was no way it’d be appreciated in the moment. “Your wrist hurts, doesn’t it?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “How do you know that?”

He smiled tightly, taking it gently in his hand to feel along the bones. He watched her responses to different amounts of pressure as close as he could, making a mental note to take her to Gwen once cleanup arrived. “That’s a Glock,” he explained, “it has a lot of kick. Everyone defaults to shooting with one hand, thanks to TV. It’d have knocked you flat on your back.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You need something smaller, if you’re going to do this again.”

Immediately, the color that had returned to her fled, and Murphy sighed internally.

“It’s better to be prepared,” he informed her, voice gentle. He ran his hand over her arm, gentle as he could, before guiding her to the hallway to sit against the wall. He disappeared back into the room to grab her suitcase, depositing it in the hallway on the other side of the door and handing her her phone.

He maintained a steady flow of commentary to fend off the silence, not expecting her to participate, as they wait for cleanup to arrive. Eventually, they do, and he greets one of the ‘maids’ Rita has sent with a string of coded phrases. Gene visibly stiffened as Murphy opened the door, but the woman only smiled at her as she takes her crew and her equipment inside. “Friends of mine,” Murphy explained, which barely explained anything at all as he helped Gene to her feet. “You ready to go home?”

Judging by the expression she cast in his direction then, she’d been ready for a while – which, in Murphy’s opinion, was fair enough.

God, he was going to get her a weapon better suited to her. It didn’t matter if she didn’t want to use it, they’d all sleep better if she had the option.