Hey followers and potential RP partners! Just figured to let you know that I finally got my stuff together and made Muses and Headcanons pages. So, if you want to roleplay with me: everything is nice and neat now.If you don’t and are just curious about my characters, that’s fine too. Everything’s there for your convenience.
Thanks!
-Stick
“Ahm, so you admit you are hiding,” He pulled up and out, cinching what he had so far, “And the police have not found anything? Suggesting there is something to find? You must have a very reputable job indeed.”
Styx chuckled to himself. Maybe he wasn’t as young as he had been, but he could still pick up on leads and accidental insinuations. She wasn’t the carefullest with words, but he admired the vigilante’s spunk. He wold give her a straight answer.
“I am here same reason as you: hiding. I was at the bar… well a few bars for true- and happened to hear a bastard gloating about smacking around his wife. Ugly fellow. Lanky. He says "I showed that bitch not to mess around without permission” so I say-quiet like- that he is an asshole. Ugly hears me, asks me to repeat, I do, he says something about putting women in their place etcetera then-my judgement impaired- I put my fist into his skull.“
Coming to the end of the gash, Styx cinched it and looped around to finish. Carefully, he eased up back into a sitting position, grinning at his host.
"Well, in my foolishness, he pulls out a knife and jumps me as I try to leave. I admit that after this my memory is, ah, foggy. All I know is that next thing I am outside, the establishment is in flames and your city population is minus 1. Oops.”
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “So what if I am? Even if the police were to find something, it wouldn’t be of any significance to them.” All they’d find is a person with a fake ID. And a barista job. Not much use to them, is it really?
Raising her brow at the man’s story, Tsukasa wondered how exactly she should be reacting this…tale. Because technically, she’ll probably would’ve reacted the same way in his place, although without the whole setting the bar on fire part.
Maybe it was better to be truthful here.
“…To be honest, I’m not sure what to say. That guy had it coming and you had…good intentions I guess, but killing him, I think, might’ve been going overboard. Not that I can judge.” And considering some of things I’ve done, I have no right to.
“Is that why you’re here? To hide from the police?”
“Si,” he drank a little of the remaining water, “I didn’t mean to kill him. It’s bad for cover and was a very foolish thing to do. What about you?”
He locked eyes, still grinning, “I’ve told you what I’m doing here, now maybe you will tell me what it is that has put a target on your back?”
It was disgusting. She had come to this city for their world renown sociology program, and here she was watching binge drinking frat boys torment a grown man. And Kaede had thought she’d had it bad: at least kids have something of an excuse. Grown ass adults picking on other adults like this though…
It had taken a while, but she finally located the victim between a walled flower bed and the brick wall of the Law building. She sat just outside the gap, leaning against the building’s cornerstone and taking out some work. For a long while, she stayed quiet, letting him get used to the sound of her pen scratching paper. After about ten minutes, she leaned over and peeked into hi hiding spot.
“Hey, so who is it that needs their ass handed to them?”
((physical note, in this verse Kaede grew her hair out so now it’s shorter and mainly black with pink remnants))
If this had been before the explosion, he would’ve immediately spoken up, talked to the young woman waiting outside of his makeshift hiding spot. Except he wasn’t and he’d never be.
Grateful for her tact though, Aaron listened to the endless steady beat of her pen scratching against her paper in an attempt to stop crying. Within the course of ten minutes, fortunately, he managed to steady his heart rate, while reducing quiet sobbing to sniffles. Picking his head up, he flipped his hood over so that from where she was standing, she wouldn’t be able to see his face.
It was courtesy, really.
“…No one,” he murmured, staring his knees with puffy red eyes. “It’s not like they’re going stop anyways.” He turned his head slightly towards her. “Is there something need from me?”
“No, but, you don’t have to hide your scars: I have the intro to Psych lecture a couple rows behind you. I’m awful with names though, sorry.”
She turned so that her back was against the same wall as his but so that she wasn’t actually in his hiding spot. No need or desire to make him feel uncomfortable. Which was why she reached up a hand and eased the elastic strap of her eye-patch up over her head. Instantly, Kaede felt naked and disoriented,as she always did with the patch off, but this was important.
She promptly went back to working on her paper. Her goal was to allow him to adjust and initiate the conversation of his own accord.
For a moment, he was confused; then why did she go looking for him? It wasn’t like anyone else had done the same. Usually they squirmed in his presence, uncomfortable with how the burns glared at them almost accusingly. “I…prefer to.” He murmured, motionless. “Makes me feel more comfortable.” About myself.
He continued to listen to her writing in an awkward silence while sneaking in little glances at her. Black hair with remnants of pink strands was what he noticed in the first look. Short in the second one. And in the third one…a scar over her eye, rendering it useless.
Just like him.
To be honest though, he had never really taken note of her in their intro Psych course, being too focused on getting through two hours filled with snickers, notes, and lots and lots of humiliation. Embarrassed by this fact, he blushed and picked the conversation up again.
“Aaron Ling.” He introduced himself softly. “Uh, I- sorry. I never actually took notice of you there, so…who are you?”
“It’s okay. I’m Akiyama Kaede. Well, Kaede’s my first name: I’m from Japan.”
She put her work down on her left side and held her chin in her hands, not quite making eye contact but looking in his general direction.
“I totally get what you mean about the comfort. I didn’t always wear the eyepatch, I didn’t need to after the wounds healed, but after the reaction I got from kids with it off… I’m grateful for being a wild child- the boys who openly made fun of me quickly learned not to do so (girls on the other hand…)- but that didn’t make me any less self conscious. For a long time I wore the patch as a courtesy to other people, then one day I woke up and realized I had gone to bed with the stupid thing on.”
She flicked the string with a smile on her face.
“So it’s become more of a statement of who I am, really. I feel naked without it. Like jewelry or underwear. Sorry, I didn’t mean to spill my life story on you without your consent,” She grinned at him, “That does look like a soft sweatshirt, though.”
Kaede snapped her fingers then.
“Oh hey! You want an apple?” She pulled a pair of granny smith’s out of her shoulder bag.
It was disgusting. She had come to this city for their world renown sociology program, and here she was watching binge drinking frat boys torment a grown man. And Kaede had thought she’d had it bad: at least kids have something of an excuse. Grown ass adults picking on other adults like this though…
It had taken a while, but she finally located the victim between a walled flower bed and the brick wall of the Law building. She sat just outside the gap, leaning against the building’s cornerstone and taking out some work. For a long while, she stayed quiet, letting him get used to the sound of her pen scratching paper. After about ten minutes, she leaned over and peeked into hi hiding spot.
“Hey, so who is it that needs their ass handed to them?”
((physical note, in this verse Kaede grew her hair out so now it’s shorter and mainly black with pink remnants))
If this had been before the explosion, he would’ve immediately spoken up, talked to the young woman waiting outside of his makeshift hiding spot. Except he wasn’t and he’d never be.
Grateful for her tact though, Aaron listened to the endless steady beat of her pen scratching against her paper in an attempt to stop crying. Within the course of ten minutes, fortunately, he managed to steady his heart rate, while reducing quiet sobbing to sniffles. Picking his head up, he flipped his hood over so that from where she was standing, she wouldn’t be able to see his face.
It was courtesy, really.
“…No one,” he murmured, staring his knees with puffy red eyes. “It’s not like they’re going stop anyways.” He turned his head slightly towards her. “Is there something need from me?”
“No, but, you don’t have to hide your scars: I have the intro to Psych lecture a couple rows behind you. I’m awful with names though, sorry.”
She turned so that her back was against the same wall as his but so that she wasn’t actually in his hiding spot. No need or desire to make him feel uncomfortable. Which was why she reached up a hand and eased the elastic strap of her eye-patch up over her head. Instantly, Kaede felt naked and disoriented,as she always did with the patch off, but this was important.
She promptly went back to working on her paper. Her goal was to allow him to adjust and initiate the conversation of his own accord.
It shouldn’t hurt.
Aaron Ling’s seen that look of fear and disgust directed towards him more than a thousand times. Tsukasa had told him to ignore them because they don’t matter and people can be pretty shallow when it comes to first impressions-
But it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to see them, or worse, to hear them.
Aw, is the monster crying? No one likes a crybaby you little piece of sh*t-
Hiding in a secluded corner of the college campus, Aaron let out a shaky breath of air and buried his head in his knees. He curled into a ball, trying to disappear into thin air.
Tears rolled down his cheeks and he sobbed softly, wondering if it would’ve been better if he hadn’t survived at all.
It was disgusting. She had come to this city for their world renown sociology program, and here she was watching binge drinking frat boys torment a grown man. And Kaede had thought she’d had it bad: at least kids have something of an excuse. Grown ass adults picking on other adults like this though…
It had taken a while, but she finally located the victim between a walled flower bed and the brick wall of the Law building. She sat just outside the gap, leaning against the building’s cornerstone and taking out some work. For a long while, she stayed quiet, letting him get used to the sound of her pen scratching paper. After about ten minutes, she leaned over and peeked into hi hiding spot.
“Hey, so who is it that needs their ass handed to them?”
((physical note, in this verse Kaede grew her hair out so now it’s shorter and mainly black with pink remnants))
“Seems more as though it would be drawing unnecessary attention, hm? Guy comes in, you wave stick around, he gets curious, tells friends- tells the police, even.”
Impishly, Styx picked up the rag once again and tossed it over his shoulder down the first few stairs. It plopped, heavy with blood and water.
The Spaniard inserted the needle with a wince and looped back around to secure the thread. Then he got to work with close, intricate stitching. Tight enough to bind the wound, loose enough to be removable with only a medium amount of irritation. As he sewed, Styx kept his mind focused by talking to his unknowing target.
“You want people to leave you alone? Try hiding in the open not in the most conspicuous abandoned building in the city. If that is not to your liking, figure out a better way to keep them from entering in the first place. Or,” he decided to poke around for gold, “Are you secretly hoping for people to bother you? You do seem the dramatic lonely type, if I may say.”
She froze, realizing he made a good point. Camara was always better at thinking clearly. Then she furrowed her brow, stiffening. Dammit. No- she didn’t need anyone, she didn’t want anyone-
You need someone, Tsukasa. Find someone.
"No one comes around here much anyways.” Tsukasa answered softly, the grip on her staff tightening. “And I can’t afford to hide in the public." Unless I want to get Lumen’s attention.
"And besides, the police have come around here plenty of times and they haven’t found anything. Probably won’t ever. And speaking of which,” Her gaze flickered to the man, once again. “Why here? Why come to the top floor of an abandoned clock tower to wash your hands?”
“Ahm, so you admit you are hiding,” He pulled up and out, cinching what he had so far, “And the police have not found anything? Suggesting there is something to find? You must have a very reputable job indeed.”
Styx chuckled to himself. Maybe he wasn’t as young as he had been, but he could still pick up on leads and accidental insinuations. She wasn’t the carefullest with words, but he admired the vigilante’s spunk. He wold give her a straight answer.
“I am here same reason as you: hiding. I was at the bar… well a few bars for true- and happened to hear a bastard gloating about smacking around his wife. Ugly fellow. Lanky. He says "I showed that bitch not to mess around without permission” so I say-quiet like- that he is an asshole. Ugly hears me, asks me to repeat, I do, he says something about putting women in their place etcetera then-my judgement impaired- I put my fist into his skull.“
Coming to the end of the gash, Styx cinched it and looped around to finish. Carefully, he eased up back into a sitting position, grinning at his host.
"Well, in my foolishness, he pulls out a knife and jumps me as I try to leave. I admit that after this my memory is, ah, foggy. All I know is that next thing I am outside, the establishment is in flames and your city population is minus 1. Oops.”
He caught the kit and gauze then, easing himself to a sitting position, shrugged off his jacket.
“Nothing is wrong with the leg. This may be a surprise, but all the body is connected to all the rest of the body.”
And his side wound had decided to communicate with his leg. The former was a mess, blood had dried and crusted over both the actual injury and his shirt, but every time he moved, fresh leakage oozed through cracks in the weak scabbing. And so Styx’s first order of business was to pull out his switchblade and get to work cutting his shirt off of himself. Dabbing his hands with water from the bottle (he had to use it sparingly) he lubricated his bloody shirt anew so that taking it off would detach the minimal amount of skin.
Finally, he freed himself and carefully tossed the ruined cloth behind him. Now, with a bit more water, dabbed on a bit of the gauze, he cleaned his wound, keeping pressure on it to stem bloodflow. As he did so, he leaned back in a lounging pose and nodded in gratitude to his host.
“Much thanks to you. I am in your debt.”
He kept an eye on the woman’s staff. She was not taking any chances. Good for her. Now to test it.
“What is your job that you have a weapon to greet guests with?”
She rolled her eyes. “I know that.” Maybe, whether it had been from high school science or Camara, she couldn’t remember. Keeping a steady gaze on the man as he performed a medical procedure on himself, she only left with her staff to pick up the soiled shirt behind him. She dropped the shirt back into his lap.
“You keep any of the trash you make. ” Tsukasa explained curtly, as the bloodstained shirt fluttered on top of his good leg. She motioned for him to look around the room.
Spotless. Clean. Austere, despite its broken window and debris.
“That goes for both you and me.”
She sighed, annoyed at his question. “Contrary to your thoughts, my job does not require a weapon. This place is unsafe to be in, so if scaring them away is the only way to keep them away, then it’s no weight on my conscience.”
“Seems more as though it would be drawing unnecessary attention, hm? Guy comes in, you wave stick around, he gets curious, tells friends- tells the police, even.”
Impishly, Styx picked up the rag once again and tossed it over his shoulder down the first few stairs. It plopped, heavy with blood and water.
The Spaniard inserted the needle with a wince and looped back around to secure the thread. Then he got to work with close, intricate stitching. Tight enough to bind the wound, loose enough to be removable with only a medium amount of irritation. As he sewed, Styx kept his mind focused by talking to his unknowing target.
“You want people to leave you alone? Try hiding in the open not in the most conspicuous abandoned building in the city. If that is not to your liking, figure out a better way to keep them from entering in the first place. Or,” he decided to poke around for gold, “Are you secretly hoping for people to bother you? You do seem the dramatic lonely type, if I may say.”
Styx cursed his luck. It would be laughably easy to dispatch her now and collect the commission, but his chances of getting back down those steps were very very bad. The idiot must have hit a nerve or something or maybe… maybe he just wasn’t as young as he used to be. He grit his teeth.
“No. Apparently not. You would not happen to have gauze and a sewing kit handy, by the chance?”
A breeze jangled the chimes and he smiled at the sound before locking eyes with the vigilante.
“I could use antiseptic too, and water. It appears I am unable to be leaving just yet. My apologies.”
Wordlessly, Tsukasa left the man where he had fallen, only to take the gauze and sewing kit out of her bag. Both, she ended up tossing at him to catch. Just because he couldn’t move, didn’t render him completely helpless, right?
As she continued the trek from her bag, she remembered to pick up a water bottle and her staff. Injured or not, he could still be a potential enemy. Plopping next to him again, she kept her staff behind her within reach. “Don’t have any antiseptic- sorry.” She handed him the water bottle before eyeing his right leg in faked nonchalance. “Here. What’s up with your leg?”
He caught the kit and gauze then, easing himself to a sitting position, shrugged off his jacket.
“Nothing is wrong with the leg. This may be a surprise, but all the body is connected to all the rest of the body.”
And his side wound had decided to communicate with his leg. The former was a mess, blood had dried and crusted over both the actual injury and his shirt, but every time he moved, fresh leakage oozed through cracks in the weak scabbing. And so Styx’s first order of business was to pull out his switchblade and get to work cutting his shirt off of himself. Dabbing his hands with water from the bottle (he had to use it sparingly) he lubricated his bloody shirt anew so that taking it off would detach the minimal amount of skin.
Finally, he freed himself and carefully tossed the ruined cloth behind him. Now, with a bit more water, dabbed on a bit of the gauze, he cleaned his wound, keeping pressure on it to stem bloodflow. As he did so, he leaned back in a lounging pose and nodded in gratitude to his host.
“Much thanks to you. I am in your debt.”
He kept an eye on the woman’s staff. She was not taking any chances. Good for her. Now to test it.
“What is your job that you have a weapon to greet guests with?”
There was a good reason why Tsukasa chose the abandoned clock tower as her home. The clock hands no longer worked, drooping, hanging around 6:30 and neither did the bells. And as for the dial, well, a good third of it must’ve been chipped off, allowing the cold breeze to fly in. In such dismal shape, it was really no wonder why no one dared to enter this place.
Still, she supposed there were other reasons why she called the clocktower home- good view of the city, lots of space, privacy. A place to call her own. Home after she hung a few wind chimes up.
That’s why, with a vicious snarl, she aimed her bo stick at the intruder who had just climbed the last step.
“What are you doing here?!”
((I know you have a thread of this with Serenasterling too but Is it okay to reply?))
It had been a rough few weeks for Styx: calls falling through, empty leads and dead ends. Rough enough for one too many drinks and a badly played brawl at a local tavern. He had come to the tower to shake off the police who were no doubt sweeping the streets around where the bar had been.
He must be losing his edge to not have picked up on the subtle signs that the place was inhabited. Being half drunk didn’t help either, of course, but he was not one to hold to excuses. It was his own damn fault. Or luck. As chance would have it, he recognized the wielder of the staff and grinned crookedly, raising his red hands above his head.
“Peace, peace! I beg your pardon senorita. I promise my intrusion was anything but intended!”
She glared at him, refusing to move even a muscle. Whether he meant to come here or not, it didn’t change that fact that she was being imposed on, something she really didn’t appreciate. “Don’t. Move.” She demanded, taking another step closer so that her staff was barely touching his throat.
Upon noticing his red hands and how the substance (probably blood) dripped to the floor, she raised a brow. “Whose is that? Yours or someone else’s?”
His grin only widened at her snarling question. Oh the beauty of coincidence! He didn’t move, however, judging her as a skilled fighter with reflexes that would probably crush his throat before could draw. Not that he liked fighting in such close range to begin with.
“Not moving, not moving! See? Hands in the air means harmless, eh? Don’t worry about my hands, I crushed a strawberry smoothie by accident.”
If she fell for that, he would stab her with her own staff. She had unknowingly put herself in position for such a move and, though he was loathe to fight hand to hand, he did have some necessary skill where it was concerned. And he still had a fair pint of rum in his veins.
“I don’t believe you.” Tsukasa said flatly. Was this guy some of manic? Or was he one of them? Either way, he had to be part of one of those two parties, considering the twisted grin he gave her when she threatened to push his throat in. And besides, she knew the look of blood way too well to ever mistaken for a smoothie. Plus, the substance on his hands smelt like blood too.
She broke the staff in half, only to shove one of the metal sticks against the man’s throat. She was little more than a couple of inches away from him now. That blood couldn’t have been his; otherwise he would’ve been bleeding somewhere, which she didn’t fine.
It left only one option in its wake: it was someone else’s. This man could be a danger to the city. “I’ll ask you again. Whose. Blood. Is. That?”
The kiss of cold metal on his jugular was starting to annoy Styx, but he kept his hands in the air. He didn’t rightly know who half the blood belonged to and that person wouldn’t be needing it anymore, anyway. He decided to answer somewhat truthfully.
“Surprisingly, mine. Some of it anyway,"
He had a feeling she wouldn’t believe him, and so, motioning to remain calm, wriggled out of his trench jacket to reveal the gash in his black sweater which deceivingly colored his blood a rich purple red.
"As you can see, I have all the reason to be seeking a place to clean up. It does not need to be here, so I will take my leave, si?”
He pulled his trench back on and, hands raised once again, began to back carefully away. He would come back some other time, with better equipment. The wound wasn’t deep enough to be threatening and, as the cliche went, he had had worse. So it came as a surprise to the Spaniard when his right leg gave out and he found himself suddenly sinking down on that knee.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the blood on his sweater- he should probably get that checked out…Still, keeping her stance, she nodded at him. “Yes, you should do that.”
She turned away as he inched closer to the steps before he suddenly collapsed on his right knee. The noise that came along with that made her whirl around again only for her to rush over to his side.
Not out of concern, of course.
“What’s wrong?!” Tsukasa shouted in his ear, sinking down to his level. Her staff had been thrown in the other direction. “Are you okay?!”
Styx cursed his luck. It would be laughably easy to dispatch her now and collect the commission, but his chances of getting back down those steps were very very bad. The idiot must have hit a nerve or something or maybe… maybe he just wasn’t as young as he used to be. He grit his teeth.
“No. Apparently not. You would not happen to have gauze and a sewing kit handy, by the chance?”
A breeze jangled the chimes and he smiled at the sound before locking eyes with the vigilante.
“I could use antiseptic too, and water. It appears I am unable to be leaving just yet. My apologies.”
Jensen Blogs 