◆◇ █║↺ ‹ REFLECTION ›˚✪ ic ▬▬

[tinyhero pika]

THREAD CREATOR LEWMU, SHOUNENHERO PIKA THREAD MODERATION LEWMU, SHOUNENHERO PIKA
LITERACY ADVANCED LITERATE GENRE URBAN FANTASY, SCIENCE FICTION, ACTION, POLITICS, DRAMA
GRAPHICS TAHARU KOUSUKE @ PIXIV GRAPHICS EDITING LEWMU CODING LEWMU, SHOUNENHERO PIKA

Hey everybody, and welcome to Reflection, a collab project between Pika and Lew!
This is a story about two sides fighting for their ideals in a city where the government is way too sinister
for its own good and no one else cares. It's got a little of everything, from drama to action to animal-like
mechs running around. This project was not made within the span of months like what any normal, sensible
person in the circuit usually goes through for a roleplay. Instead, we somehow got the idea of trying to make
a roleplay as quickly as we could as a sort of speedrun challenge, so this is what ended up happening (read:
we're crazy)! The project ended up clocking in at a little less than a week, but as a result, we got this
barrel of madness. Join Team Reflection on this tale for the city of Sanctgarde - it's time to go to war!

[tinyhero pika]

It is said that many years ago, before the existence of the city of Sanctgarde, there was no such thing as a safe and beautiful place in this world. The Earth, at the hands of humanity, saw nature give way to modern innovation, as cities plowed through trees and resources of water were consumed. Religions were abandoned, spirituality was lost - innovate, advance, improve; it was the creed of the human race. Destroy. Anything that was not born of their hands, that did not bow to their command, might as well have been a disease. Anything that defied the human race would be abolished... including the human race itself. Many years ago, there was no such thing as 'peace', because human beings fought with each other. They destroyed and ruined other humans simply because their beliefs were different. There was no such thing as trust; whom could you trust in such a deceptive world? Countries raised arms against one another, throwing hundreds of lives on the line for their own power-hungry dreams and ideals. It went beyond that, seeping into the lives of the common citizens as well; how could you trust another person when everyone was so different? The entire world was out to get you, your money, your home - there was nothing and no one that could be trusted. In a disgusting world such as that, it was impossible to attain peace.

This was because the two sorts of human existences mingled as one. The pure, known as the Divumite Eyes - those born of blue eyes. And the impure, known as the Caligo Eyes - the rest of the species, whom failed to hold the eyes of purity. They were cursed, corrupt beings from the very beginning, and they violated society with their very existence. In such a world where both attempted to live, it was impossible to find the pure world that the human race needed to survive.

At the brink of it all, as the lives of individuals grew ever distant from one another, it was there that Sanctgarde was born. Originally, the term was coined for an alliance; a team of great military men and a team of great scientists whom joined hands in the goal of finding a peaceful world where individuals could trust one another again. What they shared was the Faunatek; grand machines built by the hard working innovators of the alliance which resembled great beasts. These towering mechanical suits of armor were not only science, but also tied to spirituality; they possessed the essence of great beasts themselves that could not be reached without the use of a container - the Faunatek's metal bodies. They sought to contract with individual humans, to trade their life force in exchange for the beasts' great power - a strength that no human could attain on their own. Constructed by the scientists, they built the bridge for the soldiers of the alliance to contract with these spirits and pilot the craft. They were used to fight for and protect their dream; they swore to break the chain of war reclaim a fragment of this world, by building a paradise of peace.

And paradise it was; built at the hands of the alliance Sanctgarde was a bustling modern metropolis protected by the Faunatek. It was the champion of all cities and stood above all. It was it's own country, refusing to answer to any of these war-drowned nations of the world around it. Sanctgarde promised peace to their citizens; a world which they could live upon, where one could be free of the plague of the Caligo Eyes. Yes, that was the true reason why Sanctgarde could live peacefully; because the government that formed abolished those of Caligo Eyes from the civilization. They promised their Divumite Eyes citizens that they would protect them from such a dark curse - only those born of the pure blue colour could be accepted. Removing the factor that gave birth to the corrupted world around them, the government of Sanctgarde truly create a place of peace. The citizens came to trust in their government, and through that, they came to learn to trust in themselves. The government would protect them, it wouldn't lie to them; it would shield them from all harm. And if they looked around at each other, they all found that they were the same; of pure, blue eyes - which meant they had no differences. And no differences meant nothing to argue about... no reason to fight... no war...

Through similarity and unison, Sanctgarde created peace for their citizens. The government promised that it would protect them from the wars of the rest of the world. It would create a civilization that harmoniously existed around all other civilizations, a place that was greater than all else, but did not pridefully seek to overcome that around them. As long as it was the land of the pure, those of Divumite Eyes, there was nothing to be concerned about. All those within it's boundaries knew they could live under the shield that the government placed by their wonderful, dutiful watch...

As long as the city was rid of those with Caligo Eyes, there would always be peace. And soon, those of Divumite Eyes came to know Sanctgarde as their entire world; they became lost in the lull of their peaceful city, and forgot all else around them. Sanctgarde was the only place they had, the only place to live - the only piece of the world. Hundreds of years forgot many things, and soon the outside world even seemed to become a dream of the past...






For many, many years Sanctgarde existed on it's own terms, it's citizens one hundred percent dialed in to it's government. There was trust, and peace, and nothing to worry about. At least, that was how it appeared to the common civilian; there wasn't a thing to concern about, right? Almost the entire population was completely devoted to their sheltering government, whom upheld their world for them.

And then there was those of the Caligo Eyes, who saw all.

They were not cursed beings; they simply did not have blue eyes. They were human beings just the same. They were simply born with different coloured irises, which was entirely natural; it was near impossible to cut out something like that from the gene pool, even in a world built entirely on those of Divumite Eyes of blue. When the Caligo were born into Sanctgarde, they were immediately shunned. Seen as monsters, demons, diseased - they were inherently born 'evil'. But they didn't feel any different, nor appear any different, beyond their eye colours... and so what made them so impure? Why did their parents and neighbors hate them? Why did they suffer so much abuse and torment, when really they weren't bad people at all? Why did they see such a vile side of this supposedly perfect world?

They saw all of the broken, dirty pieces that everyone else seemed blind to. Such as the fact that the government was quietly picking civilians out of the city and sending them out of the city to fight against outsider countries to destroy them, so that Sanctgarde could slowly progress and push it's boundaries and increase it's 'perfect world'. It wasn't only those of Caligo Eyes, whom were almost guaranteed to one day be removed, but also some of the Divumite Eyes as well. The rest of the city simply saw that people were no longer there anymore; they must have moved, or maybe they passed away, or maybe they were arrested - 'vanished' was a good way of putting it, but for some reason the civilians saw nothing wrong with it. But to those who saw the darkness in the world from the start - those unfortunate souls born of Caligo Eyes - they knew it from the beginning. They also knew that it would not be long before they were snatched up and sent away too; of course they would be purged if they ruined the image of this perfect world. The unfortunate nature of their birth presented them with only three choices; to await their turn to be sent away while suffering the torment that this world brought upon them for their miscoloured eyes, to take their own lives and end it all... or escape and run of their own accord.

Those that survived - those that escaped - were given one final option, if they so chose. An option that began to boil and build behind the scenes where it could not be noticed by the secretly corrupted, subtly oppressive government...

That choice was to rebel.







▌█║¨◟•F I V E•. ᴏғˇ♥⌡ＨＥＡＲＴＳ was born with the most beautiful, purest blue eyes of all. They were stunning even to the standard of the Divumite Eyes, shining with a radiance that few could compare to. Along with that, he was born a master of the Faunatek; impervious to the negative effects of piloting the Faunatek, which included sacrifices of life force and oxygen while piloting, he could also pilot without forming a contract, it seemed - the machines would activate to him without the circumstances all other humans needed. Because of his unique abilities, he was praised as an idol and raised by the government. He was loved by his people and stood as an icon of the purity of Sanctgarde, an image of the peace which they had attained, and a potential dream of furthering the possibilities with the Faunatek, where everlasting peace could be attained through soldiers who wouldn't have to sacrifice their life force in exchange for the strength to protect their precious world. In a way, he was a symbol of the never changing world of peace and the growing potential of innovation to keep everything as it was. The civilians of Sanctgarde wished they could be as great as he; instead, they bowed to him.

Until their beloved idol was snatched from their eyes.

The mysterious group whom appeared one evening without warning claimed rebellion, revolution - they brought destruction and fire and ash along with their own Faunatek, tearing through a section of the city without remorse. Buildings fell, lives were lost, weapons were fired; even when Sanctgarde's own military was sent out, the revolutionaries held their own against them. The civilians couldn't grasp what these evil individuals were trying to do; why would they oppose such a peaceful place? Why would they want to rip perfection from them? There was nothing wrong with Sanctgarde; it was a holy, pure city - the only of it's kind in all of the world. These people must have been nothing but anarchists; there was no possibility of a plausible excuse to attack Sanctgarde's perfection...

There was no plausible motive - at least not until the residents of Sanctgarde came face to face with the rebels who staged the attack, and matched gazes with them; behind smouldering expressions atop their destruction, it was those with Caligo Eyes.

Demons, devils, monsters - the cursed humanity, coming to destroy the pure, protected world from the hands of the Divumite. The revolution they declared could only mean one thing; Sactgarde's return to the natural state of the outside world - the corrupt, horrid world that they had protected themselves from for so long. At the hands of the infection known as the Caligo Eyes, the revolutionaries would bring about the fall of the holy city.

Sweeping their beloved idol from his place, they stole the pure blue-eyed male from the city. They abandoned the destruction they caused, claiming it only the beginning of the overthrowing of the government of Sanctgarde. Even giving chase, the military couldn't save ▌█║¨◟•F I V E•. ᴏғˇ♥⌡ＨＥＡＲＴＳ; he disappeared into the horizon with the renegade Faunatek and their allies - a marking of the beginning of the end, as the once peaceful city was left to stand in the ash remains of the small portion of the beloved city that the rebels had left in ruins. Somehow, even that seemed insignificant, however...

Because their beloved symbol was gone.

Immediately, the government made a call to arms; those that fought to protect ▌█║¨◟•F I V E•. ᴏғˇ♥⌡ＨＥＡＲＴＳ in the final moments before he was stolen away, and the greatest strengths and minds from their military, were summoned in front of the council members. They were ordered to bring their beloved idol back from the hands of those monsters, the rebels with the Caligo Eyes, and ultimately defeat the rebellion which sought to steal everything from them. With strict orders that this was no different from a demon hunt, the priority of Sanctgarde's military became one thing; save their precious idol and stop the destructive rebellion before it could continue, or else risk losing Sanctgarde forever.

No matter what, the Divumite Eyes would not let their city become corrupt.






Held captive outside of the protection of Sanctgarde by the mysterious Caligo Eyed rebels, ▌█║¨◟•F I V E•. ᴏғˇ♥⌡ＨＥＡＲＴＳ could not simply sit still and accept what had happened. A portion of his city had fallen to ruin at the hands of these people, and many lives were lost; there could be no excuse. On top of that, his peaceful existence had forcibly ended at their hands - he hadn't wanted to get involved in anything. And so, taking what action he could, using his unique powers, he struggled and happened to climb into the abandoned cockpit of one of the rebel's Faunatek; the machine of one of two leaders of the rebellion, a powerful man - ▌█║¨◟•K I N G•. ᴏғˇ♠⌡ＳＰＡＤＥＳ. The Caligo Eyed revolutionary approached the frantic ▌█║¨◟•F I V E•. ᴏғˇ♥⌡ＨＥＡＲＴＳ, whom intended to use the stolen Faunatek as a means of escape. Surrounded by the other Faunatek of the rebels, with weapons pointed his way and at threat of more destruction to the city, even within the cockpit of the stolen machine the idol was still a hostage. If he moved, he could be killed - or more damage would come to his city. Even with such a powerful weapon, was there nothing he could do?

As he crossed gazes with ▌█║¨◟•K I N G•. ᴏғˇ♠⌡ＳＰＡＤＥＳ, for a moment he was struck with an unexplainable emotion, as if he could see some sort of depth beyond those supposedly monstrous eyes. As if there was emotion and purpose behind there; as if these people were more than inherently evil...

" There's something that even you want to change, isn't there? " ▌█║¨◟•K I N G•. ᴏғˇ♠⌡ＳＰＡＤＥＳ asked him. " Something that even you would destroy for. "

Yes, that was something that ▌█║¨◟•F I V E•. ᴏғˇ♥⌡ＨＥＡＲＴＳ could resonate with. Because he was nothing more than an idol, and not a true member of the government - he didn't honestly hold power. In his place was one particular corrupt man... an individual member of the parliament that he had sworn many times he would take down and remove from his place, because even a person like ▌█║¨◟•F I V E•. ᴏғˇ♥⌡ＨＥＡＲＴＳ could hold such a violent wish. But he didn't want to do it like these Caligo Eyed demons did; however, if this was the only way... And while he stood as their hostage...

" Come, " ▌█║¨◟•K I N G•. ᴏғˇ♠⌡ＳＰＡＤＥＳ spoke as he rose his outstretched palm to the individual within the stolen Faunatek, " and we'll make a deal. Change the world with us. "

▌█║¨◟•F I V E•. ᴏғˇ♥⌡ＨＥＡＲＴＳ was indeed their hostage, and he was held against his will, with weapons pointed at his head; and yet behind all that, the group seemed to hold a sort of wonder towards him. Even though they stole him with such cruel methods and refused him freedom, it was obvious that they, too, saw within him a shred of an idol; a piece of hope, the fragment of a dream of a world that could be saved. Their world, a world where those of the Caligo Eyes could also live in peace. In that, it meant the destruction of Sanctgarde's corrupt government, and these people would do whatever it took to see such oppression end. They would free everyone from the corruption which they could not see - even going through extreme methods such as these.

Even ▌█║¨◟•F I V E•. ᴏғˇ♥⌡ＨＥＡＲＴＳ, who feared for his life and couldn't come to appreciate these individuals at all... he was finding a shred of empathy within himself. Maybe for a moment he found himself slipping, though only a bit; still, he could not agree with these violent men and women. But something changed deep inside of him that day. A possibility, maybe; the beginning of such a thought...

[tinyhero pika]

[tinyhero pika]

[tinyhero pika]

[tinyhero pika]

[Lewmu]

TONIGHT WE WALTZ WITH DANGERreflTONIGHT WE WALTZ WITH DANGERreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionre
█║ CHAPTER O1┆THE ASSASSINS' BALL ⋮⋆❜re｝ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆
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reflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflection NOTHING IS I M P O S S I B L E NOTHING IS I M P O S S I B L E NOTHING IS I M P O S S I B L E NOTHING IS I M P O S S I B L E NOTHING IS I M P O S S I B L E
reflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflectionreflection NOTHING IS I M P O S S I B L E NOTHING IS I M P O S S I B L E NOTHING IS I M P O S S I B L E NOTHING IS I M P O S S I B L E NOTHING IS I M P O S S I B L E
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★✪ --YOU'RE INVITED TO THE ASSASSINS' BALL ┊┊ ▰ ▱ ▰ ▰ ▱
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As the sun sets on another perfect day in Sanctgarde, the Renaissance Monument lights up in golden lights almost like a replacement sun. Attendants in the massive mansion’s ballroom scramble to set up the final decorations for tomorrow’s ball in honor of Governor Lawrence Fitzroy’s birthday, an event that seems to grow more and more lavish with each passing year. The royals in charge of the ball know that it cannot be less than perfect, and thus they push their workers right up to the wire to make sure everything goes smoothly. Unbeknownst to the busy attendants, though, a secret meeting has been arranged in the uppermost floor of the Renaissance Monument. Summoned amidst his share of preparations for his cousin’s birthday party, Dyne Fitzroy has been to meet with the zealous Divumite politician, Finnegan Tighe, in order to discuss the latter’s ideas for the city. Tighe often speaks of ridding the world of the evils of those with Caligo eyes, and rumors swear that this man has a hand in selecting people to ‘disappear’ into the invisible war outside the city’s borders. If his vision grows into fruitation with the ruling family’s consent, Sanctgarde could go through a whole new revolution.

So here’s the awkward part. Amidst these intricate ball preparations, Tighe must be stopped by the rebels at all costs, or freedom itself could be threatened. It has to happen tonight, before Tighe puts his ideas in the clueless, impressionable Dyne Fitzroy’s mind… even if it means smashing apart all the carefully placed and perfected decorations and EVERYTHING that has been set up for this event in order to break in and assassinate Tighe to silence him before he can do any more damage. Yeah, happy birthday, Governor. Meanwhile, the special operations team receives a tip off that the rebels are going to attack the important politician, so they gather together in order to stop them before they could get to their target. Suddenly, the thriving Renaissance Monument morphs into the stage for mass chaos. Now the ballroom, scheduled to become a spectacular event next day, has become the site of a dangerous waltz of gunfire and Faunatek and pure, unadulterated destruction.

Welcome to the assassins' ball… you’re invited. Don’t forget to check your coat at the door.


★✪ --TONIGHT, WE WALTZ WITH DANGER ┊┊ ▰ ▱ ▰ ▰ ▱
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Have you ever been to the Renaissance Monument? This grand mansion, spanning three floors with the most modern designs and décor, was built five years ago when Governor Lawrence Fitzroy assumed his title to serve as the site for his inaugural ball. Ever since then, it has become one of the biggest party sites in Sanctgarde for the privileged Divumite. During busier seasons, the mansion gets booked practically every day for whatever kind of frivolous celebrations they can think of. The attendants are getting ready to serve Governor Fitzroy once again for his birthday tomorrow, busily working up to the last minute to ensure that everything stands perfectly. As both teams march to the site of their next no-hands-barred battle royale, the west clocktower nearby tolls eleven times, signalling eleven in the evening and signalling the start of operations from both the rebellion and the special operations team.

▌★｡TIME AND DATE : October 6th, 2445. 11:00 PM.refle▌★｡WEATHER : Clear but cold. The night of a new moon.


★✪ --BRING YOUR OWN BRAVERY ┊┊ ▰ ▱ ▰ ▰ ▱
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Stop me if you’ve heard this one. Word is, there’s a ghost lurking around the corridors of the Renaissance Monument. The attendants who set up these parties always have this spooked look on their faces because of it, but it has never actually shown up when a ball is taking place so it's more of an urban legend than anything. Weird, huh? Anyway, when they walk into the second or third floor when a ball isn’t in session, these attendants will sometimes encounter a ghost… or that’s what they say, at least. No one is really sure what it really is—they’ll hear moans and cries and growls and howls and all kinds of different things. Everyone says something different. I have no idea. Some say that mist just spills out of the corridor, or that the air suddenly turns really cold when the ghost arrives. Others say they’ve seen people get swallowed by this ghost. No one has actually seen the actual form of the ghost before, though, so who knows whether this thing even exists or not. A few believe that this ghost is the remnants of some politician that got slighted when Governor Fitzroy assumed rulership of Sanctgarde… either that or it’s some sort of vengeful spirit of a spurned lover. Either way, make sure to keep an eye open.


★✪ --BUT WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT... ┊┊ ▰ ▱ ▰ ▰ ▱
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▌★｡THE REBELLION : Finnegan Tighe must be stopped before he meets with Dyne Fitzroy. He must be assassinated tonight!
nothing is impossible
▌★｡SPECIAL OPS TEAM : Rebels are breaking into the Renaissance Monument! Tighe's their target-- stop them before they get to him!
nothing is impossible
▌★｡NPCs : Tighe and his mech are in the observatory on the 3rd floor. Fitzroy and Henderson are returning from a meeting and should arrive at midnight.

[- selas obscuritas]

laeti
laeti▪▪ ⊱ *◟ L - LET`S PAINT THE PICTURE ___ ⇧⋮lOFTHEPERFECTPLACE
laetitriumphaTHEY`VE GOT IT BETTER THAN WHEN ANYONE`S TOLD YOUlaetiTHEY`VE GOT IT BETTER THAN WHEN ANYONE`S TOLD YOU
laetitriumphaTHEY`VE GOT IT BETTER THAN WHEN ANYONE`S TOLD YOUlaetiTHEY`VE GOT IT BETTER THAN WHEN ANYONE`S TOLD YOU
laetitriump》❖ ⋮i know things are looking up ⊹ ♔ BUTSOONTHEY`LLTAKEUSDOWN⇓
laetitriumphantes▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
laetitriumphantes⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ ⋯
la♔▪▪ BEFORE 「ANYBODY`S KNOWING《⋆ ` * OUR NAME
laetAM I BRIGHT ENOUGH TO SHINE IN YOUR SPACESlaetAM I BRIGHT ENOUGH TO SHINE IN YOUR SPACES laetAM I BRIGHT ENOUGH TO SHINE IN YOUR SPACES
laetAM I BRIGHT ENOUGH TO SHINE IN YOUR SPACESlaetAM I BRIGHT ENOUGH TO SHINE IN YOUR SPACES laetAM I BRIGHT ENOUGH TO SHINE IN YOUR SPACES
laetitriumphanteslaetitriumphanteslaetitriumphant❜ ✴ do you think i`m ➠ ( SPECIAL )
laeti

How many ways could a deck of fifty-two be arranged? Fifty-two factorial. To anyone that knew math, they would know that that was a pretty hefty number, and to anyone that knew Lady Luck, they would know that that was a pretty fun gamble with fate. Good thing the blonde could play both sides. With a calm sigh, the subleader slouched in the corner of the grand hall’s second floor, glancing over everyone bustling to get the decorations for yet another ostentatious birthday party in place. To make things even worse, there were cliques and sects in even that. The Divumites planned with the Divumites, and the Caligos were left to fumble around with impossible tasks. What was the point? They all had blue eyes and had already made the most exclusive clique available in the damned world of Sanctgarde, and it was sickening to the core. What? Couldn’t make it more exclusive than it already was? Had to extend it to even menial labors? With a calm breath, the young man brushed aside those thoughts and crossed his arms loosely, continuing to survey the area. Everyone was in a frenzy draped with gaiety, laughing about frivolous designs and decorations and lauding the rich Fitzroy over accomplishing another year of a wasted life while rewarding the Divumites for their services and not the Caligos. How disgusting…

A rare serious look crossed his features while virulent thoughts clouded his mind on the subject he wished to avoid the most in a mental debate. On one side, there were the Caligo’s need for justice, and on the other side, there were the supposed ‘friends’ in the special ops team. Had he really had them so fooled and blinded as to continue his guise? And not only have that—to continue it and rise in the ranks to become a subleader next to a certain post traumatic stress victim? Oh, man; people really needed to get better judgment. Then again, delusions of their ‘supreme’ race ran amuck in their vision to really see anything else. It was pretty sad. Chuckling a little under his breath, the blue eyed young man shifted weight to his other leg and placed a hand over his hip, a serene expression finally able to make itself known, a mask never to be cracked. He tugged at his sleeve a bit in boredom, pondering on a good way to pass time before the attack would happen. The only thing that bothered the subleader was the fact that people were going to die. It was terrorism through and through. And he supported it in his own way. He would have that blood on his hands. ‘War can’t be won through peace,’ he thought to himself begrudgingly, casting a look to the ground. A nudge to his arm caught him mildly off guard. With a raise eyebrow, he glanced back up to see a young woman in slack, khaki dressing, with a cup of punch in each of her hands. She smiled wistfully as her Divumite hues closed sincerely. Emerald tresses were curled beautifully as she handed out a cup nervously to the nearly six foot tall diplomat.

Blinking a couple times in confusion, registering what exactly was going on, he took the cup and looked at it quizzically. “It’s just punch, sir. I just…thought you might want some since it’s probably boring watching us set up,” she shyly stated, giggling a little at his inspection of the dully painted crimson liquid. He nodded quietly before smiling to himself, turning to face her afterwards to mirror her kindness. “You can call me Rouny, miss,” he told her in a charming tone, mustering as much charisma as he could to divert the start of that conversation in his favor. It was a simple use of diplomatic skill, in all actuality. If one could instantly gain the floor and favor before the others, then their words would be heard, and their convictions would be understood—and they would take that chance at first sighting like emaciated vultures. Then again, weren’t all politicians animals and fell into that category with no effort at all? The thought made the blonde’s smile a little broader as he took a sip as to be polite. The girl smiled in return, bowing slightly before nodding. “Roun-it… Rouny… Are you sure?” she asked, looking over his uniform with uncertainty in her eyes. She knit her brows together, still contemplating the informality she was offered. Perhaps not all Divumite people were as bad as he thought; her innocence was something that all should have kept treasured instead of their prejudice. “Positive.” Cue another saccharine smile. The two bantered back and forth for a while before another young man came to retrieve her. Her name was Madeline; she had two younger brothers and no mother; she was twenty-two years old; and she was an aspiring cook.

With context clues, the diplomat could only see that she was betrothed, too. In response, he had no quarrel with the young man that had come to steal her away like a thief in the night. Unfortunately, that man was also her employer. Mercy didn’t care about the colors of anyone’s eyes, it seemed. Nor anyone’s love. Glancing a little hurriedly at his watch the moment she left, he massaged the back of his neck and let out a gentle sound of frustration. He should be by that arrogant p***k, Tighe, to keep an eye on him. Damn some nobles, really. It didn’t help that in all the meetings Finnegan would attend, he would always convince most of the supposed ‘unbiased’ people to lean in favor of that supremacy ideal. At least Rouny was able to smack back that charisma on the floor with his own words to balance out the room again. Oh the joys of the staring contest between him and that noble that would follow, though… The make up wearing, arrogant man would probably rub the fact that the special ops had to watch over him in the other diplomat’s face as a sort of ‘look who has more power’ sort of thing. Well, at least he would if tonight wasn’t his last night alive.

How could one show off when they were buried six feet under? As he made his way towards the stairs on that floor, he placed his empty cup on a random table near a Divumite clique and placed a hand over his titanium deck of cards in his holster. His piercing eyes declared an immediate tunnel vision despite walking calmly and at a steady pace, the doors that had that stair symbol being his target all the while. He had time. He had luck. He had cards. As he slipped up the stairs routinely and clandestinely, he pulled out his deck and began to shuffle. How many possibilities could he have? Again, fifty-two factorial. A big number. With a hum to his step, he had finally reached the third floor, and the cards were still being shuffled by the shark.

Wait, no; peacock.

Paulin would take offense to working with someone with that analogy being used. Sharks weren’t graceful enough for the vain fowl. Argh, and now his thoughts were stuck on his cocky faunatek instead of the upcoming battle that should really concern him. ‘Alright, Rouny; you just need to think it through elaborately. You can fight for the rebels while still appearing to be for the government. Easy. Well, at least it should be if the cacophonous din of battle facilitates the venture,’ he pondered, his shuffling slowing just a tad, delicate fingers tapping against the titanium top of the Ten of Clubs. Decisions, decisions. He still didn’t know how exactly things were going to go down. He doubted that the rebels would really attack surreptitiously—especially with certain people on their side. Smiling wryly to himself, the subleader shook his head and continued to seek out the snooty noble. The birthday boy wasn’t the priority to him, anyways. Nor to the rebels. After all, ignorance is bliss—and boy was he pretty ignorant in the eyes of certain politicians. The first hall leading from the stairs was rather empty, and the twenty-five year old could have sworn he felt something watch him as the temperature dropped. Oh come on; the ghost wasn’t supposed to be there during crowded nights…or did he get that wrong and it was actually on legitimate ball nights? Brushing it off, he merely continued until the warmth of a working force of people changed the atmosphere. The complex was almost byzantine in nature, but being as enlaced with politics as one could hope for as an aspiring young child, visits weren’t as rare and spread out. It was then that he spotted a familiar albino with those icy cerulean eyes, enjoying a glass of fine wine while nonchalantly sauntering away from terrified looking Caligos trying to clean up a mess he had no doubt made.

The table they had set up with a wine fountain was flipped over, and the wine fountain machine short-circuited and charred the tablecloth. The three Caligos assigned to that table all had quivering lips and hands while they scurried to clean everything up. The blonde gasped quietly and completely forgot about the pompous p***k that caused the mess as he slipped his cards back in his holster and jogged his way to the unpaid laborers. He knelt on the ground and began to clean up with some discarded towels and napkins, not offering a single word to the shocked Caligos. Did that man have any shred of compassion? Any at all? He was answered when he heard his named being chimed from the snake itself. He stood upright and at attention like a good soldier, having that casual—okay, so it was more like a glowering—staring contest with the noble that had a price on his head that night. In the smuggest way the albino could command someone to escort him, he commanded Rouny. Ohhhh he knew this was coming considering their debates and how they almost always ended in a stalemate, leaving the brat striving for an actual victory in whatever ways he could. He stood there waiting for his escort, bony fingers drumming over wine glass pretentiously.

“Yes, sir,” the subleader forced himself to respond.

With a silent apologetic look to the Caligos, he found his way to the side of man that was vainer and even narrower minded than Paulin himself. And that was actually saying something. He took out his deck of cards again and began to shuffle them idly, keeping a vigilant watch around every corner in escorting the ticking bomb that was going to be both defused and permanently out of commission if justice was on the right side that night. But then what would happen to the people like Madeline and the Caligos? His thoughts were again interrupted but another nudge on his sleeve. He stopped walking and glanced down to see a young teenage boy with chocolate eyes with an innocent smile and a flower in his hand.

“It’s from my sister, Madeline. She said that—” Swipe! Before he could finish, the white haired noble had crassly and rudely swiped the flower from his hand and crushed it mercilessly, his cold eyes gazing unto the Caligo. Rouny’s brows knit a bit in sympathy before looking back to the Caligo, seeing the poor teen recoil in fear. “I-I’m sorr—” Flower petals cascaded through the air upon the chocolate hued little boy. Tighe gazed upon the boy as if he were the plague, clearly disgusted and annoyed. “How pathetic. Why would you wish to taint such a beautiful flower with your venomous touch? Just touching something that's been ruined by the likes of you Caligo… I think I feel my hand stinging already. And this subleader here should be thanking me for salvaging a pure hand for the night! Disgusting! Get out of my sight, putrid creature…” he spat out with a sickly sweet smile, masking any negativity from cameras, “And do not try to convince other people otherwise. They will not believe you if I were to tell them that my dear escort was deathly allergic to that flower now, will they? My word against yours? And his word combined with mine?” The teenage boy started to cry before running off, shouting apologies between humiliated sobs. He grasped the card in his hand dangerously, the titanium cutting into his palm before he was able to shuffle again, abstractedly. The other diplomat shot the blonde a coy smile before continuing. It took a couple counts to ten before the double dealer could continue walking alongside the pompous noble.

When they finally reached the observatory, the blonde stated with a charismatic yet condescending smile, “And please, before I forget, sir—your scarlet eyeshadow is absolutely stunning. I am sure that your mother could never be prouder of another daughter~”

At that moment, a cold and biting feeling splashed on his face, and stings dotted here and there, spanning to his neck. Tighe had swiftly thrown his glass of wine harshly at his face. Without another word, the noble stormed into the observatory, silently livid. With a quiet sigh, Rouny tucked his deck of cards in his holster once again and knelt to start picking up the glass shards that didn’t get stuck in his face. He had a couple shards that felt like splinters. Ouch. After getting the big pieces off the ground, he cleverly tossed them before the door for anyone unfortunate enough to enter or exit to step on and ruin their shoes. Or feet. Depends on how thin the soles were. Regardless, he then took out a single card out of those possible fifty-two factorial combinations—the seven of clubs—and used it as a mirror to target the inflicted areas of his face. He picked out two major ones and about a dozen smaller ones that hardly left their marks.

The two major ones were located embedded in his right cheek and nape of his neck, each about an inch by inch long but only embedded about a centimeter in. He glanced at the blood on the two major pieces with a dull stare, shrugging as he tossed the pieces with the others by the door, watching crimson drip out sluggishly from the wounds. Again. Ouch. He poked at the ends of his drenched hair with a sigh. Well, at least not much of his uniform got dirty—just the top. Ah well; he’d get a towel later, and he’d shower after the battle, anyways. Overall: the comment was worth it. With a sly smile still plastered on his features, the doused diplomat leaned in his corner nonchalantly and began to shuffle his cards to see just how many combinations he could knock out in yet another shuffle.

Perhaps there was a chance—that one in almost literally over a million chance—that he would run into that same pattern shuffled that day.


la❜ ✴ do you think i`m ➠ ( NICE )
laetitriumphaTHE SUN IS SHINING EVERYDAY, BUT IT`S FAR AWAYlaetiTHE SUN IS SHINING EVERYDAY, BUT IT`S FAR AWAY
laetitriumphaTHE SUN IS SHINING EVERYDAY, BUT IT`S FAR AWAYlaetiTHE SUN IS SHINING EVERYDAY, BUT IT`S FAR AWAY
laeti████⋮ALL THE RIGHT FRIENDS
laetitriumphanteslaetiOVER THE WORLD THAT`S DEAD . SO YEAH , WE`RE GOING DOWN OVER THE WORLD THAT`S DEAD . SO YEAH , WE`RE GOING DOWN
laetitriumphanteslaetitriumphanteslaetitrium▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ IN ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
laetitriumphanteslaetitriumphanteslaetitriumphanteslaetitriumphanteslaetitriumALL THE RIGHT MOVES IN ALL THE RIGHT FACES . ALL THE RIGHT MOVES IN ALL THE RIGHT FACES . ALL THE RIGHT MOVES
laetitriumphanteslaetiALL THE RIGHT PLACES⋮████
laeti

[Lewmu]

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lewmulewmulewmuSET ME FREE LEAVE ME BE I ✪↓DON'T WANNA FALL ANOTHER MOMENT
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til the moment i'm gone
lewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewy o u h o l d m e w i t h o u t TOUCH y o u k e e p m e w i t h o u t CHAINS i n e v e r w a n t e d a n y t h i n g s o m u c h t h a n t o DROWN i n y o u r l o v e a n d n o t f e e l y o u r RAIN
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til the moment i'm gone
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til the moment i'm gone
lewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmulewmu██║ ███████ ▌██║████████████████████████║ ██ ▌███ ║██████████████████████ ▌██║ ██████

”Wait, don’t hold it like that! It’s going to drop!” The dark-haired boy listened listlessly as two ball attendants shuffled by, each carrying an impossibly high stack of chairs. ”No, dude, I got it. I got it…”

CRAAAASH! Sigurd’s eyes shut immediately. His body clenched up at the deafening tumbling of chairs on the concrete sidewalk. He thought he might have screamed, but in the sudden addled state his mind fell into, he wasn’t quite sure. The traumatized soldier huddled up against the stairs at the Renaissance Monument’s front entrance, propping his shaking form against the frigid, metal railing. He flashed through brief moments not long past—a monstrous, mechanical spider ripping right through an armored mech… suddenly being surrounded by a deadly metal grip...

Stop… he feebly pleaded to himself. Tense, blue eyes darted around, half-hoping that a certain blond would run up to comfort him, but praying at the same time that he wouldn’t have to deal with yet another instance of being the weak, ruined one. It wasn’t as if he needed a prince to ride up on a white horse to rescue him.

”Yeah, I don’t got it. Hang on, will ya? Gotta pick these things up.” After scrambling to stack the chairs again, the attendants scurried away without another word.

Sigurd wasn’t sure what to tell himself anymore, what magical combination of thoughts and words could lock up that sinking feeling that lingered all too commonly within him nowadays. Vacant eyes stared past the horizon in a fearful trance; he couldn’t relax. He could never relax anymore, especially after losing his wits over fallen chairs. If that shook him up, then waiting for a mission, waiting for those gunshots and explosions and the monstrous clickety clack of Faunatek gears made it seem as if he were waiting to die. With the bustling ball setup tucked behind the door, the lone Divumite had excused himself from a few minutes of patrol after telling his teammates that he needed fresh air. Even outside in the frigid night, fresh air did not quite reach the shell-shocked soldier. His breath hitched in disjointed intervals. Bone-white arms folded over his chest, clenching his shoulders, desperately holding the air-locking fear inside. This is a mission, he told himself over and over in almost a mantra-like chant. This is a mission. They need me. I can’t break down now. Sigurd clenched his eyes shut, hoping to shut away the helplessness looming above him. He wanted nothing more to give in and sob the night away. Silent curses echoed through his heart, chastising his broken self. How long would it be before he stopped feeling haunted anymore?

He was drowning before even a single gunshot cut through the night.

The door creaked open behind him, but he didn’t notice amidst his burdens. ”Out here by yourself, Sigurd?” a deep voice drawled as footsteps shuffled closer. No response. Sigurd just kept staring into the distance. A thick, fleece-lined coat draped over his shoulders, and he finally looked up to see Lacertes, his doctor and a member of Sanctgardian nobility. ”You’ll catch a cold if you don’t take care of yourself. I may enjoy your visits, but I don’t want to see you that much.” The lean redhead adjusted his spectacles with an easy smile as he plopped down beside the soldier. A calloused hand brushed Sigurd’s bangs aside. Lacertes took in his faraway gaze with a curious look. His pinky finger grazed just under Sigurd’s eye. Though he was used to the doctor's examinations, the thin-framed man recoiled at the close stare. ”They call this a thousand yard stare,” Lacertes observed. ”Telltale sign of combat stress. When you were first admitted into my care, you were locked into this gaze for days. You were so broken up… a completely shattered man, and today, you are the same. What happened?”

”Doctor Lacertes…” he mumbled in an awkward greeting. ”Some chairs… they ended up falling. It got really loud.”

”It’s all right. Just relax. Everything’s going to be okay.” Easy for him to say.

”When will I be back to normal, Doctor?” Sigurd asked him. Lacertes withdrew his hand and shot him a concerned stare. A moment of silence passed between them. The soldier reached a pale hand to the coat, gathering it over his shivering torso almost to hide himself from the lack of response. No news wasn’t necessarily always good news. Oh, God. Sigurd’s voice lowered into a mangled whisper. He didn’t want to ask, but at the same time, he had to. It would drive him crazy if he didn’t hear the truth here and now. ”…W-Will I ever recover?” He clutched the coat tighter, taking in the faint mix between musk and smoke. Sigurd had grown to hate the combination—going to see Lacertes meant that he wasn’t winning the fight against his broken and battered self. It was cold, though, and Lacertes had made such a kind gesture lending the coat to him, so he didn’t bother to brush it off. Painfully heavy eyelids, worn from days without any real sleep, draped over his sky-colored eyes. He was afraid, even more so than from terrifying battle conditions or having to step into a Faunatek again, that he would linger in a state of combat trauma forever.

”I don’t know,” Lacertes replied with a sigh. ” It’s something that you can’t really brush off so quickly, but maybe over time, you’ll become desensitized to it.” The doctor reached casually into the pocket of the coat draped over Sigurd’s shoulders, pulling out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Sigurd wished he could feel warmth from the dull fire that ignited from the lighter as Lacertes flicked its wheel. ”I can’t say for sure, though. When you showed up at the hospital, we were surprised you were even alive.” The doctor held a solemn look on his face as he dipped the end of a cigarette in the flickering flame. His patient shuffled awkwardly. ”You know, ordinarily, I wouldn’t have released you from the hospital as soon as I did. You’re a crazy one, wanting to dash back out into battle like that.”

I never said I wanted to go back to battle, Sigurd stopped himself from saying. ”I had to,” he asserted. ”They need me. Sanctgarde needs me. There’ve been too many people lost to these rebels. If we don’t stop them, then… well, I don’t know what will happen.”

”They need Sigurd Windsor, the Faunatek pilot,” Lacertes corrected. He gave his patient a grim look. Sigurd steered his vacant gaze away. ”You, my dear, should still be recovering if you ever want to become this man again.”

”I’ll give them whatever they need. Anything but that.” The soldier’s voice escaped his lips with a contorted firmness. His breath hitched. A cutting wind rushed past them, and Sigurd buried himself in the coat to keep what little warmth he still had inside. ”There are other ways I can be useful.”

”Of course.” Another chilling silence passed between them. ”Well, I’d better head back inside. Governor Fitzroy’s birthday party is going to be perfect if I have anything to do with it.” Sigurd forced out a weak smile. ”You stay safe, all right, Sigurd? Don’t stay out here too long. You’ll catch an early death.”

“Yeah.” Sigurd gave a slight nod. His eyes trailed over to the warm coat over his shoulders. ”W-Wait, Doctor Lacertes… your coat.”

Lacertes grinned. ”Just give it back to me at your next check-up. Who knows, maybe it’ll be your last!”

”Maybe.” With that, the redhead retreated back inside, leaving Sigurd alone underneath the moonless sky. The trauma-burdened soldier had to appreciate the stillness of the night. That meant that nothing was going wrong, at least for now. Maybe if they were lucky, the tip off about the rebels would have been false. His lips curled into a bitter grimace. If only. For now, though, there was no sign of the terrorist group lurking about. There was only silence.

…and more silence.

And all of a sudden, Emil? Out of nowhere, the brunette suddenly charged forward to embrace Sigurd in a warm hug. The sub-leader jumped in astonishment at the affectionate sneak attack. ”Oh! H-Hi there, Emil!” he greeted, patting his subordinate casually on the back while scrambling to ward off all the jitters and worries before the pilot could take another look at that vacant, thousand yard stare that Lacertes brought to his attention. ”What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be scoping out the ballroom for rebels?” Sudden panic sunk into his chest. Wait, his excitable subordinate hadn’t heard his conversation with his doctor, had he? His narrow shoulders tensed in worry under the heavy coat. Sigurd couldn’t have the troops figuring out about his condition—he had to keep a strong image so that they knew he would always have their backs in a fight. What if they started worrying about him? He couldn’t help his leader command a group with pity. Maybe Emil hadn’t heard anything, though. It had been a little bit since Doctor Lacertes returned to his ball preparations. If anything, he figured Emil would bring the topic up if he had heard.

Instead, the energetic pilot brought up a much more humiliating topic.

Sigurd watched in sheer horror as Emil waved a downtrodden plush figure in front of his face, claiming that it was some special edition series doll they were going to hand out at the ball. Oh boy. The creepiest part about these dolls was that they held a surprising likeness to him, right down to that beaded anklet he always wore. At the sight of the plush's strand of royal blue beads, he felt the compulsive need to make sure his own were tucked securely inside his boot. Unlike him, though, Emil’s plush wore a puffy, sparkly ballgown and a matching tiara. ”Wow, um… t-that’s very nice, I guess,” he replied with an awkward chuckle, turning an almost impossible shade of white as he stared at the wretched thing. It stared back at him with its gloomy, blue eyes. ”I didn’t know you like stuffed….” Sigurd trailed off immediately, trying to figure out what to call the monstrosities. ”Um, stuffed… things. Never saw you as the type.” A tired sigh escaped his lips. ”To each his own, right?” Holding the coat steadily against his form, Sigurd hoisted himself back up on his feet. He reached a bony hand to help Emil up. ”Let’s get back inside. We can’t stay here much longer… we’d be open targets for the rebels and all.” His expression darkened in a grimace halfway between worry and complete nervousness at the thought of the rebellion. It was that sinking feeling again. ”It’s gonna be okay,” he reassured Emil while trying to snap himself out of those persistent jitters. ”Let’s take care of them like we always do.” He'd have time to feel helpless and scared later, once this was all over. Now was not the time.

He knew that, but why was it still so hard to breathe?

[MiDNiGHT rhapsody xx]

__________ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
_____ ⊰☆ xMY HEART WAS BEATINGx SO FAST ❤
_____ ⊰☆ xthat time when we passed each other by x ☆⊱


THE ROAD ↺ PAINTED CR!MSON BY xx ━━━ＴＨＥ ＳＥＴＴＩＮＧ ☼ ＳＵＮ
( x r e a l l y xx y o u xx a n d xx m e xx s y m m e t r i c x t a r g e t x ) ________________________________ ( x r e a l l y xx y o u xx a n d xx m e xx s y m m e t r i c x t a r g e t x )
x
██ ❂ ████║███│▌██│║█║██║▌█████║█║█▌ __________________



The washrooms were utterly ridiculous. The red-haired woman pursed her lips disapprovingly as she propped a fist on her hip, hazel eyes roaming across the marble sinks and burnished copper taps, the delicate gold wire mapping across the mirrors and pristine rose arrangement in a crystal vase, and the wallpaper. So much could be said about the wallpaper. Yes, she had to admit, it was very tastefully done. It would also have cost a ridiculous amount. And this was only the first washroom she’d walked into! Shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the Divumite, the woman turned back to the mirror to adjust her makeup. As she did, she let her mind wander.
It was not yet eleven, giving her a few more moments before she was to put her plan into action. It was a simple idea: get in and put a knife through Finnegan Tighe’s throat. A foolish plan doomed to failure, perhaps, but she had at some point been an idealist. On the off chance that such a plan would work, the rest of the rebellion wouldn’t need to wreak utter havoc on this part of the city. Erion wouldn’t have approved if she’d said what she’d been thinking, at the time the plan was hatched: let the bastards burn. There were Caligo working in the building; they were supposed to be better than the Divumite nobles who had pushed them to this point. They weren’t supposed to bring the building down brick by brick and write off the Caligo as “unfortunate accidents”. Isadora knew that, which was why she’d offered the low-causality option of possibly just assassinating Tighe. There had been some discomfort at her volunteering to enter the mansion alone and vulnerable, but she hadn’t become one of the two leaders of the rebellion by sitting down and batting her eyes at Erion. The thought was rather… disturbing, in fact. All the same, she was entirely capable of taking care of herself.

She knew perfectly well that she was setting herself up for failure, but that was no reason to not try. The actual battleplan had been drawn up; she was just the starting act. In fact, the only problem Isadora could really identify was just how she was going to leave the building. Having no idea where she would end up when the battle started or when her cover was blown, she had to mentally prepare herself for everything from jumping out a third storey window to navigating a chaotic mess of people and broken things. And then there was the issue of actually finding Miysis… At least Chrise would be easy to spot. Getting close enough that her Faunatek’s built in contract scanner could locate her was another story. But that was later. For now, she had to forget about the rest of the plan and keep her mind on her current objectives.

With one last glance in the mirror, the woman blew a kiss at her reflection and sauntered out, an action made all the more impressive when one considered the fact that she was walking around in six inch heels like they were nothing. Added to the flimsy little black dress and a slash of crimson lipstick, she would have looked entirely at home on an advertisement for “escorts”.

Isadora was very proud of her disguise.

Stepping out of the washroom, the woman made her way towards the nearest source of noise. The ballroom on the first floor was swarming with people – she could hear the raging debate between silk ribbons and nanoflames even though the door – and she had to get through them because she had absolutely no idea where Tighe was. She wished she could blame their contact, but it wasn’t like Milata could predict where the damn noble would be. Isadora faltered for only a split second, long enough to steel herself, before sauntering into the ballroom like she owned the place. She just had to be haughty and arrogant and as rude as possible. With that thought in mind, she affected a bored expression and added a more prominent sway of her hips to her gait.

Eyes wandering around, gaze not landing on anything for more than a second, she took in the sheer size of all the snowy white tablecloths and the glittering towers of fashionably arranged glasses around a wine fountain. Idly the woman wandered over to the one being tested and grabbed a glass from the center of the display as she passed. Even as she brought the champagne glass to her lips, she could hear chaos exploding through the room as the workers – Caligo, she realized belatedly – scrambled to stabilize the structure. The champagne wasn’t bad, she thought as she continued to walk, deliberately not meeting anyone’s eyes as she scanned the group for any hint of an arrogant, white-haired Divumite noble. But as the chaos died down and she still hadn’t caught a glimpse of Tighe, Isadora dropped her empty glass carelessly on a table without looking. That had the desired effect, as someone finally took a second look at her and realized that the woman was Caligo.

”H-hey! What’re you doing in here?” Isadora looked the woman up and down, letting her gaze linger on the slightly stained uniform and roughly where her stomach would be. The corner of her mouth shifted upwards into a slight smirk. ”Get out! If they” There was no doubt in her mind who that they was referring to, based on the way the agitated way the woman was gesturing at her. ”find someone like you here, we’ll all get in trouble!” Isadora shrugged, an action that almost made her dress fall off, and widened her smirk a bit. There was a particular look in her eye that made her think that the woman had already ended up on the foul side of the Divumite contempt, and recently. Perhaps Tighe? It was worth a shot.

”Sweetheart,” she began, voice sickeningly sweet. ”I’m a present. What do you think I’m here for?” The Caligo woman took another look at her clothes and came to the appropriate conclusion. ”That’s right, so fetch me Fitzroy so I won’t break my ankles walking up all those stairs.”

”Th-theGovernor?!” Her incredulous stare was really starting to get on her nerves. ”But he—“ ”Is probably pissy as hell because he hasn’t gotten around to, hmm, sampling the wares yes.” Isadora cut her off suddenly, crossing her arms in annoyance.

”Seriously. Get on with it. You’re wasting my time as well, okay? Your boss up there worked out some deal with Her Royal Bitchiness, but he’s, like, not going to pay up until he gets some and the b***h queen is so ******** ugly it’s a miracle his eyes didn’t bleed so now she’s sent someone young and pretty here to sweeten the deal before tomorrow night. Meaning me.”

Silently counting down from three as the Caligo woman blinked in confusion, Isadora hit zero and threw her hands up in exasperation. ”You know what? I give up. I’ll look for him myself. You just stay here and, I dunno, clean or something. Whatever.” Turning on her heel, she walked out of the ballroom.

Not on the first floor. The second? Isadora climbed a set of stairs, wincing slightly, and peered down the hall. It was certainly lively enough, but she didn’t know enough about Tighe to determine if he would be the type to hang out around his social inferiors or spend the hour before his meeting brooding about something or another. Finally, she decided against the second floor because it would be harder to find an exit. At least with the third floor, the ceiling was also an option. Miysis could break through walls with ease. With that thought in mind, the woman wandered down the hall, putting enough urgency in her posture that it would seem like she belonged. As long as no one looked at her face, she would be fine. Hence the dress. As she passed by a hall, she caught a glimpse of white hair just before it disappeared down a corner. Isadora waited a few seconds before following, giving them ample time to walk off. She couldn’t be seen actually stalking the man.

At the end of the hall was a small antechamber that… she ran the blueprints through her head. A room that led to the observatory. Excellent. One last check down her dress to make sure the knife was still hidden, and she all but knocked the door down in an attempt to startle the Divumite.

”Delivery! How do you want me?” Her voice rang through the mostly empty room. Even before she finished speaking, Isadora had already registered that the only person in the room, leaning in a corner, was a blond Divumite she recognized as Milata. So he was supposedly playing bodyguard to Tighe? Well.

Giving no sign that she recognized him, Isadora flashed him a bright smile and sauntered in his direction. There were probably cameras tucked all over the rooms, and the last thing she wanted was to neutralize their spy. ”Well,” she murmured, brazenly invading his personal space, ”aren’t you a pretty one.” In her heels, she was almost as tall as the spy. They were almost eye to eye, and she pouted at the bits of blood dripping down his face. ”Poor baby went and cut himself, hmm? I can lick it better if you want~” Hazel eyes had already taken in the stained uniform and bits of glass glittering innocently in front of the door, and she was close enough to Milata to smell the wine. Isadora drew the appropriate conclusion, along with the fact that Tighe was likely in a bad mood. Well, he’d be in a worse one after she got a knife in him.

Running her fingers down his arm, a sly smile crossed her face as she leaned in to whisper in his ear: ”We’ll start soon. I’m making suggestive comments about whips and bloodplay so blush, Milata.” She paused for a moment, then sighed theatrically and stepped back. ”Too bad you’re too pretty to be Tighe. Ah well.” She blew him a kiss anyways and walked up to the observatory door, casually stepping over the patch of broken glass. Two sharp raps on the door were accompanied by a cheerful lilt in her voice. ”Lord Tighe? Your present’s here. And I’m damn gorgeous, if I say so myself.”

The door opened, and she came face to face with the man who would be dead before midnight. Isadora pursed her lips and winked, even as his face contorted with disgust. ”Caligo whore…!”

She made sure he could see her roll her eyes, even as she leaned in. ”Oooh, baby don’t be like that. We can still have some fun. That’s what I’m being paid for, after all~” She shrugged, making sure that her dress was more precariously resting on her person. The redhead was pretty sure that if she made any sudden movements, the thing would literally fall off. ”I mean, like, I’m being paid from now until midnight. Something about giving you something to do” A slight smirk. ”while you wait for something or another. Whatever. Madame didn’t bother telling me, the stupid b***h.” She took a step into the room, slightly amused by the way he moved back, just a little. ”I mean, I’m being paid already, so why don’t we have some fun? I brought rope and everything.” Somewhere, in the back of her mind, behind the whore mask, Isadora was hoping in vain that she wouldn’t be knocked down. It would be rather difficult to explain the knife.



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_____ WEIGHED DOWN BY THE THOUGHTS ┆❂
___________________________________________ t h a t xx c l a m o r xx s o xx l o u d l y xx o n xx t h e xx i n s i d e xx o f xx m y xx h e a d _________________ CAN'T xx SEEM xx TO xx FORGET
______________________ ( x i x stand x alone x but x then x turn x back x )
I KNOW I HAVE TO FACE THE SUNSET
S H A D O W S XX T U R N XX R E D ____________ S H A D O W S XX T U R N XX R E D x

[tinyhero pika]

_________ ✦ ____ ✦ ____ ✦ ____ ✦ ____ ✦ ____ ✦
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__________ IN THE FORGOTTEN CENTER OF THE WORLD STILL, FEW HOPE AGAINST THOSE WHO BARGAIN THEIR SOUL __ SUMMONED BY THE DERANGED, I'LL WREAK HAVOC IN THIS MENACING AIR
__________ IN THE FORGOTTEN CENTER OF THE WORLD STILL, FEW HOPE AGAINST THOSE WHO BARGAIN THEIR SOUL __ SUMMONED BY THE DERANGED, I'LL WREAK HAVOC IN THIS MENACING AIR
.
█████ ██ ▌⋮*DARKEN» ██████████ █ ████ ▌▌❜DARKNESS ᴀᴍᴏɴɢsᴛ ᴛʜᴇ 《 Ｎ Ｉ Ｇ Ｈ Ｔ 》
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__________ ⇢ ｌｉｆｅ ｇｌｉｔｔｅｒｓ; ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｄａｒｋｌｙ ｌｏｏｍｉｎｇ ｈａｔｒｅｄ┊ ｉｎ ｍａｄｎｅｓｓ ✴

Patience was not Chrise's strong point.

For many people, the simple fact that a mission had begun - even in it's preliminary stages - would have been enough to kick start the heart into adrenaline overdrive. The passing of time would seem ever not enough; it would fall away all too quickly, fading into it's passage, never able to be obtained again. A rush, a high, a rising feeling that could have been good or bad; many people 'lost time' when engaged in such endeavors. This was not the case for the dark haired Divumute. Time never ran fast enough until the games actually began; where others may have thought there wasn't enough time to fully prepare, to Chrise, there was too much time to waste. Anything that didn't start immediately would inevitably drag on and on until the action actually began, time flowing slower than individual drops of sand draining from an hourglass. Patience was never on her side because she had none. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike - that wasn't in her nature. If she could have had it her way, the Renaissance Monument would have been charged straight into, careful 'waiting around' and 'planning' not needed.

However, she supposed that sometimes, she had to listen to her 'superiors', and sometimes, she had to go with the flow of the rest of the group. Sometimes.

That didn't stop her from the exaggerated sigh that seemed to shake her entire body, a drawn out noise to excessively express her impatient displeasure. Even the hum of her Faunatek's systems couldn't calm her; only the basic systems were active, as she was supposed to be conserving it's energy for the real mission start. Strategically placed in a well concealed hideaway of lush foliage - as long as the black machine crouched and curled into itself, that was, as Valravn full standing would be beyond obvious - she awaited orders a mere charge away from the front gates to the unsuspecting Sanctgarde sanctuary. It would have taken her no time at all to launch her precious Valravn into high gear and storm the mansion; tearing out the door or, even better, a wall sounded like exactly what she needed to get over the incessant boredom that sat on her shoulders like heavy-handed dead weight. It didn't help that she was babysitting Miysis, the Faunatek of their resident queen - actually, that was probably the part she minded the least; having Miysis with her. What made it especially irritating was that under her watch were two very capable, powerful, grand Faunatek, one of which in her direct command and the other one following closely behind under a clever, self-sufficient AI program. Two Faunatek, still no word of attack. Two Faunatek, sitting idly, wasting away their potential...

" Tch... " the small noise escaped through her clenched teeth, as eyes snapped closed in irritation at the thought. Being held back was positively the worst. " Remind me again why we're doing this? " she casually asked out loud, head lolling to the side to rest on the edge of her shoulder. Vibrant orbs of blue slipped partially open into a lazy scowl, falling upon the one active monitor in the cockpit of her machine and studying the image of Isadora's Miysis. It was almost as if she was talking to the company of the other Faunatek - even if that thought seemed utterly ridiculous in itself. With how Chrise regarded Faunatek, however, maybe it wasn't such an impossible thought. " When did we become such obedient dogs? Maybe storming the building without orders doesn't sound like such a bad idea...~ "

Stretching out further on feline like limbs, Chrise's legs and arms extended out around her. The position she had placed herself in was rather awkward; something that only a girl with flexibility and ultimate comfort in her machine's cockpit could really find appealing. Her body draped horizontally across the seat, her head, arms and shoulders hanging off of the left arm rest and her legs dangling off of the right side. Only her back was upon the actual cushion, cupped into it as she sprawled out across the seat and over the edges. Long tresses of black locks spilled from her shoulders, falling like a river as the tips caressed the floor of the cockpit. Her arms stretched as wide as they could go, hands locked together by her fingers as they gently grazed the wall and controls of the machine. Her legs kicked back and forth childishly, burning off what minimal energy she could as she played the obnoxious waiting game. The plan had originally been to wait for a cue before storming the place, but Chrise hardly had the attention span for such a thing; what were they waiting for, anyway? That woman Isadora to try her hand at a quiet assassination? Like hell something so subtle was going to work; from everything Chrise had seen of the Divumite community in the corrupt world of Sanctgarde, nothing managed to find success against them unless it was a display of raw, unbridled force. Chaos, confusion, destruction - brutality. It was why she became a rebel in the first place, after all; she was here for the rally, the fight, the war. Not the patiently-sit-back-and-stare-at-the-wall plan that they apparently thought was a good idea. Another sideways glance at the small LED clock that blinked in the corner of her eye resulted in a swarm of curses as it appeared only four minutes had passed since she last checked. What was even going on out there? The longer they waited, the higher their chances were of getting spotted before they could begin... And, on top of that, they were wasting precious time, too. Time Chrise could have spent doing better things. Like destroying the Renaissance Monument.

In a sudden fit of overworked frustration, the girl rolled onto her side while remaining sprawled in the chair, turning her entire body to face the front control panel. Her arm stretched out, a finger falling to glide against a lit-up green button on the panel. It gave way to the pressure of the tip of her finger, and immediately the center screen of the machine came to life, revealing the blinking white image of a simplistic megaphone design against a black background, text arranged neatly underneath to read 'COMMUNICATIONS OPEN'. Propping herself on the arm that had ended up trapped under her body in the roll, her unimpressed stare bore into the design as she pulled herself slightly closer, lips falling just above the black speaker that dressed the front panel.

" Oiiii, I don't know about the rest of you, but the longer I stare at this stupid mansion, the more I want to bash it in~ " she cooed, even thought the bottom notes of her words were laced with defined irritation. She wasn't sure who was listening - the scatter of her teammates who might have had their communication devices on, or whom might have been sitting on their machines with the minimum systems started, just like she had. Anyone whom could have afforded it, she supposed; some people, such as Isadora, for example, more than likely shut means of discussion off in fear of getting caught. " You can only dangle a steak in front of a lion for so long before it's going to bite your hand off with it. This waiting game is killing me. " Each word had an almost sing-song seduction to it; a cat like charm that was just as deadly as the subjects she spoke of. The words of someone who wasn't exactly the text book definition of safe; there was an underlying madness in the playful coo of her chords, even if she was amiable enough to her comrades. The same analogy could probably apply, though; that hungry lion could only starve in front of a feast for so long. And what she hungered for was battle; the start up and action of her precious Valravn, and the ash, fire, and brutal destruction of something her 'fellow' Divumite found precious. " C'mon, it feels like we've been invited to the party and we're anxiously just standing at the doorbell, ready to ring... Isn't anyone else feeling this? God, if we have to wait much longer... "

There was no doubt what was meant by that last sentence. Chrise was a bomb, ready to go off; and once she did, there would be no stopping her, plan properly executed or not.

Pulling her finger away from the communicator's button and flipping a switch beside it, activating the automatic communications system to run so that even when she did not hold her finger to it, it would remain active, Chrise pulled herself out of the precarious position she had rolled herself into. She slowly dragged her body up, pulling her spine against the back of the chair and leaning into it, exhaling another exasperated, timeless sigh of frustration. Her hands slid against each arm rest, fingers drumming impatiently against the metal bars. Her legs crossed over one knee, one foot bouncing up and down repetitively, doing anything to keep her mind busy. Sometimes she hated the plans of this group - really only at moments like these, where they were forced to do these sorts of aggravating measures to try and remain steady for the perfect execution of a plan. It was positively infuriating as far as she was concerned; did Erion and Isadora really think this was the best choice of action? Waiting around like patient little dogs? Any second now and they might be discovered, and yet still, they sat here and did nothing. All she needed was that order to charge... or enough time to snap, disregard all orders and charge anyway. That might have worked, too.

Gently, her head fell to the side, resting on the back of her pilot's seat. Her blue eyes came to quietly fall on the side panels and details of the Valravn's inner construction, and amidst her frustration her expression may have softened just a bit. Each line in it's metal hull, each glowing button, the warmth she felt from the pitch black gunmetal that composed it's innards... she seemed to relax under that expression, drawing in on herself for but a moment as she focused everything she had on her existence within that machine. Her breaths steadied in and out, fluctuating in perfect, smooth intakes. Breaths of air that would be drained from her once she began piloting; it took no effort at all from her part to leave these basic systems running, but once Valravn was officially started up and running, those oxygen particles that drew in through her nostrils were the property of her precious machine. Just a few moments from now... yes, that's right. In a few moments, things would begin. In the dead of night, they'd descend upon the unsuspecting Divumite bastards. Chrise knew the nature of the mission - it's objective was to see to the end of Finnegan Tighe, a sly monster whom had his hands in the war that was the very reason for Chrise's own traumatization which brought her to this point - abandoning her own kind, turning to the Caligo and become the mess of a woman she had descended to. Chrise's precise objective wasn't exactly in line with that, though. Sure, if she came across Tighe she'd bring him down... along with everything else in her path. Chrise was the chaos of the team; raw strength, ashen destruction - and probably one of the first to meet with any other Faunatek resistance that may have come from the military once they realized their precious Renaissance Monument was under attack. Someone else would have to tend to the Tighe specifics, so to say; Chrise was much more interested in the larger picture. Everyone had their role, and she was good at her own.

Well, good when she was permitted to be active, anyway. Her face contorted once more, scowling at the wall she had just moments before been so lovingly gazing at. Flicking her face forward to the front of her machine once more, a malicious smile curled upon her lips as her turned down brows focused her glare on the audio-only communication transmission she had started up just moments before. None of her allies could see her face - though they probably knew her well enough to imagine it, anyway. With such a cutting tone, it was probably impossible not to envision what sort of expression the wild woman was wearing.

" What the hell are we waiting for? " she spat out impatiently, at her wits end. " Damn, this is torture! Let's just get it on with! There's no way I'm sitting here much longer...! "

◆ __ ◆ __ ◆ __ ◆ __ ◆ __ ◆ __ ◆ _____________________
✦⋮*ᴡιᴛʜᴛʜᴇVALRAVN»
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
A CITY WHERE CHAOS IS THE ONLY KNOWN RULE, I WILL FLY
A CITY WHERE CHAOS IS THE ONLY KNOWN RULE, I WILL FLY

[Fausty The Lamp]

███ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███

The shuffling of countless footsteps could be heard as a handful of hired hands made their way from one side of the manor to the other. In between the clicks of his shoes against the marble flooring, one could hear the help talking to each other, ordering each other to take care of their jobs. Jonah strolled through the foyer unnoticed as he stared at the design of the interior of the building.

Like the exterior, the interior was well designed and intricate. The manor was a sign of wealth, and like most signs of wealth it was unnecessarily intricate. Jonah was by no means filthy rich, but he was well off. He likes to try to live classy, the owner of this residence was living obnoxiously and extravagantly.

Unsurprisingly enough, Jonah could walk around the residence undisturbed. His attire comprised of clothes that signified wealth, making him look like a guest of the owner. He walked around nonchalantly, so as to not attract attention. Most of the people seemed to be too busy to notice him anyways. Though it was that and the fact that Isadora was grabbing their attention more than he did. “She might as well be naked.” Her attire was something that stood out very well compared to his more subtle attire. It was hard to miss Isadora and her skimpy outfit. Luckily enough, Jonah sees enough skin from other people regularly, or else he’d be ogling her as well.

At least she was distracting enough so that he could leave some ‘‘things’ around the mansion as he explored. Some of those ‘things’ were simple devices like motion detectors, mini cameras or microphones. However, most of those ‘things’ were explosives. Contingency plans were always nice.

The task was simple enough or at least that was how he saw it. It was a relatively mundane assassination job, nothing new for most of the rebellion. Originally when the plan was hatched, a majority of the group simply opted to burn down the mansion or to blow it sky high. The accuracy of doing that was not all that reliable however and the casualty rate of bystanders was not something most could ignore. The only reason why he was planting explosives was in case something happened and in this line of work, something always happened. But someone offered an idea to replace the concept of just accepting the casualties, to just assassinate the target and the target alone.

The target was your usual wealthy scumbag fat cat who has a hand in the politics. For the rebellion, it usually meant that the fat cat has some sort of issue with the caligos, otherwise he’d be left alone for the most part. As far as he knew, the rebellion wouldn’t go picking useless fights. They were supposed to be a group with a purpose, not some gathering of angry children. And as long as they kept to this sort of modus operandi, Jonah would stick with them for the time being.

Anyways, the person who proposed the plan to assassinate just the target also opted to go in alone, assassinations can only be sneaky if you don’t have an entire rebel army charging in at once. Isadora decided she would be the only one to do it and stated she’d be fine doing this on her own, ordering everyone else to go on stand by. Jonah did not sign up as a foot soldier, so he didn’t listen to orders all that much. He just went in without her knowing. There was nothing more boring than just watching someone else play the game after all.

Jonah reached into his coat and pulled out a gas mask when he turned the corner. The gas mask fit over his face rather nicely, hiding his identity. The filters were locked in place, something he found to be comforting. Sliding on a pair of gloves, he reached around the inside of his coat once more till they got a hold of a metal canister. The canisters weren’t marked and were of a simple design, although the top was covered with a rather intricate looking device with an antenna.. Placing a couple around the hallway, Jonah pulled out a different looking canister as he approached a door. A couple of voices could be heard from the room.

“Who is that woman?”

“Is she supposed to be here?”

“I don’t know. Lets call it in for now. We can never be too careful.”

The door creaked open as Jonah turned the knob. The two guards staring at a group of screens turned around and spotted a man wearing a gas mask and fancy clothes. “Who the hell are you?!”

A ping could be heard as Jonah pulled the pin. “I’m nobody.” The canister hissed as he tossed it at their feet. A rather pale looking smoke began to fill the room as the door behind Jonah was closed quietly. The guards attempted to pull out their guns but began to cough losing consciousness shortly after falling to their knees.

It took only a couple of breaths of the smoke to knock someone out. It was powerful, odorless, non lethal and it make those affected by it a little groggy afterwards, so most of the time they don’t remember what happened before being knocked out. The gas dissipated after a short amount of time.

Jonah stepped over the unconconscious bodies of the guards and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from one of the guard’s pockets. The countless static screens began to flicker from camera to camera, displaying different areas with each camera. Removing the mask, Jonah placed it on top of his head and lit a cigarette as he plopped down into a chair. Cracking his hands and neck, Jonah began to fiddle away with a keyboard. “Lets see if the owner got their money’s worth for this security system.” Countless security screens began to pop up as he began to madly tap the keys of the security console.

It would have been simple enough to disable everything remotely or through the use of some gadget he kept in the back of his closet. But even if something is simple, it doesn’t mean it is entertaining. It was boring to have everything be so easy and simple. The only person who’d be more bored than him would be Chrise.

Smoke filled the room as an idle cigarette burned away undisturbed in an ashtray. Feet propped up on the dashboard, Jonah made himself rather comfortable despite the fact he was sitting in the middle of the security room of the rather prestigious Renaissance Monument. He rocked back and forth in the chair, it was clear that he was already done.

The cameras stopped recording footage and most of the recordings from the day were completely wiped away. Although the cameras were still working and displaying what was currently happening, since he wanted a sneak peek of what was going on. It gave him an overview of the situation, who was where and who was doing what.. The first image he saw was that of a familiar red haired woman, Isadora. Her actions were....interesting. It was like he was watching a rather kinky stag film. If you looked at if from a subjective standpoint, this would be creepy and would technically be peeping.

This was not the first time he saw her do this, but it certainly didn’t lose its entertainment value. Maybe it was because he saw a somewhat more reserved and refined manner in private company with friends. He could see what she was doing and hear what she was saying, ”I mean, I’m being paid already, so why don’t we have some fun? I brought rope and everything.” It gave someone like him a few chills when she spoke.

“I wonder if she’ll act like this outside of these jobs if she gets drunk... Or I can just drug her.” Jonah didn’t have much remorse when he tested on what he would call ‘friends’. To him, friends were about the same as test subjects, but at least he called them by name. “It’s a shame that I disabled the recording function. I could sell this or something.” Jonah grabbed the cigarette and leaned back in the chair as a voice chimed in on the communicators.

" Oiiii, I don't know about the rest of you, but the longer I stare at this stupid mansion, the more I want to bash it in~ "

Chrise was a rather impatient fellow, he knew that from the extensive time they have spent together. She usually acts like a child on a road trip when it came to him upgrading her faunatek. Her possessiveness was like that of a child as well, it was sort of entertaining to say the least. She’d probably bite the hands of people who asked Jonah for upgrades or inventions if he didn’t stop her.

" You can only dangle a steak in front of a lion for so long before it's going to bite your hand off with it. This waiting game is killing me. " He could recognize to tone of her words, you pick up on things like this when you’re technically in a relationship with a battle hungry sociopath. Though, that would be the pot calling the kettle black.

" C'mon, it feels like we've been invited to the party and we're anxiously just standing at the doorbell, ready to ring... Isn't anyone else feeling this? God, if we have to wait much longer... "

Jonah could probably say something to Chrise and get her to be a bit more patient, but that was a bit too troublesome to do. Also she’d probably be a little jealous that he was in the mansion while she waited outside. And it was funnier to see if someone else would respond.

Even if the two of them were in a relationship, he did not order her around like a soldier and she didn’t treat him like a tool shed, for the most part. It was a mutual relationship. One side got toys, the other got to do tests. There were other details, but that was the basis. How they got into that relationship, well that is another long story.

" What the hell are we waiting for? " Chrise was probably on the end of her rope, which wasn't that long to begin with. " Damn, this is torture! Let's just get it on with! There's no way I'm sitting here much longer...! "

Jonah hit a couple of keys till one screen switched to a view of the exterior of the mansion. He could see a shadow of a faunatek hiding, the shape of which told him that it was Chrise’s. Switching on his communicator he spoke, deciding to respond to Chrise before she rammed into the mansion. “You can wait a minute or two. Depends on if Isadora decides to kill the target or if she plays around with him.” A sizzling could be heard as he put the cigarette out in the ashtray. “It shouldn't take that long.” His gaze turned back towards the image of Isadora and Tighe. “He sees a pretty sight or he sees a knife. Either way, I’m being entertained sitting here waiting for the outcome.” Chrise could probably surmise that he was inside the mansion now, and she was probably a little jealous since she had to sit outside at a distance. Jonah smiled to himself and sat back, “If you can wait for her to be done, I've got some fireworks that can make this more fun or something. Just calm yourself for now.”

[ninefoxes]

numinex ciindo two of clubs reflection emil pueto ███████ tab ███████ tab ███████ tab ███████
numinex numi i cannot ` erase the sudden feeling of ♕》*unease !
hi cindo ilu
ciindo
　
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◝EVERY PERSON IS *⇣BURDENED WITH !SOMETHING ━
numinex format for ciindo <3FOR THE SAKE OF A FUTURE WHICH WE KNOW NOTHING ABOUT, WE WILL GAIN THINGS AND ABANDON THINGS, HEADING FOR THE PLACE THAT FLEETINGLY CALLS.
cindo cindo cindo cindo cindo cindo cindo (ciinas i fly, i fall to your side × as i fly, i fall to your sideciin)
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There must've been something about the way he paced from one end of the room to the other that made it seem like he was looking for something to do.

"Hey, you mind lending a hand? The faster we get this set up, the quicker I can get out of here." Emil turned towards the voice, eyes questioning. "Just move these boxes over there, okay? Before she really shoots me down." the man gestured at the only scientist in Sanctguarde who would wave around a rifle, before setting the two boxes he was carrying down and scuffling away, no doubt to carry the next batch in.

”Wait, wait, wait, what?" Emil's eyes widened as he looked from the boxes by his feet to Lotti. Oh, there was no way. Lotti was scary enough without the rifle; he had no intention of going anywhere near her when she had a rifle in hand. ”No, I don't have time to move around boxes! See, I'm ... hey—!" He trailed off, frowning, as he only saw less and less of the attendant's retreating back. ”Don't just leave me here—'sides, what were you carrying, anyways ... ?! You better not be slacking off --" Sighing in defeat, Emil bent to examine the boxes on the ground. They were sealed, so he settled for shaking it around. Upon hearing nothing that would help him identify the boxes' contents—much to his disappointment—he decided that he didn't really have to know. Curiosity was a bad thing anyways. Geez. He shifted so that he was in a better position to lift the two boxes, one on top of the other, up and to wherever it was that they needed to be. With a deep breath, Emil stood up, hefting his new load up in his arms as he turned his head to see around it. ”Where did he want them ... ?" he walked towards the center of the ballroom, where the majority of the decorations were being set up, grumbling about the lack of work ethic present in the mansion and its subsequent consequences. He wasn't really looking where he was going, but he didn't think it'd matter much. Emil had been in the military for a long while now; he wasn't so unaware of his surroundings that he'd trip over something on the floor and fall face flat or something of the like.

But he wasn't so skilled that he'd notice something drop from one of the boxes he was carrying.

Phwooooooooo.

Eh?

Emil stopped mid-step, confused. Was the floor ... squishy? His foot had just ... sunk into something. Wait, what? Glancing down, he saw a small plushie with a shoe-sized dent in its stomach. At the sight of the doll, Emil wasn't sure if he was more relieved that he hadn't sunk into the floor or annoyed that it was one of those dolls—the ones that Lotticiel manufactured and had practically gone viral throughout the city, the ones that were fashioned after none other than Sigurd Windsor, their subleader. Emil had never seen the appeal in them; why would he need the dolls, if he dealt with the real, life-sized one almost daily? Of course, they were also expensive. Reeeeaalllyyy expensive. But he couldn't simply leave it lying there, where other people may come across it now, could he? Besides, Emil recalled hearing something about limited edition plushies and it just wasn't like him to refuse something that not everyone could have. So, balancing the boxes on one arm, he carefully bent down to snatch the plushie from the ground and tucked it into his pocket. He'd return it to the first person he saw and then find the guy who'd shoved his chores on another, Emil decided.

It was too bad that the first person he came across, after avoiding the piles of clutter and decoration, would be the one in charge of all the fanfare. There was a reason why Emil hated luck.

”L - Lotti! ... here! The boxes. I'll just put them here. Because that guy," Emil dropped the boxes in front of the scientist, ”said you needed them?" Why did that come out as a question? ”Except he kind of ... just left. Which is what I'm going to do. Right now. Okay? Don't wanna get in your way. Or something." Backing away, Emil was just short of turning tail and bolting out the door. That wouldn't be very polite of him.

So instead, he took three steps away from Lotti, and then turned tail and ran. No one could accuse him of not trying.

Avoiding anyone else who may potentially tell him to bring things to Lotti, Emil slipped away from the ballroom and its buzz, opting to go outside instead. If anything was going to happen, it would happen outside, where the use of Faunatek wouldn't be as inhibited. Or at least there wouldn't be a mansion in the way. He wanted to be the first in a fight, the one who'd make the biggest impact, get the wildest thrill. It was what he was here for, wasn't it? Already, he could feel his heart racing—although whether that was from Lotti or simply the anticipation of a sure-to-come fight, Emil wasn't sure—and he itched to hop inside his Faunatek, inside Dynaste, and make things explode. It would be so wonderful.

"... W-Will I ever recover?"

Emil hadn't realized he'd started walking, but upon hearing that familiar voice, he stopped. Peering around the corner, he could see Sigurd with another person. From what he could tell, their expressions were grave as they discussed something or another.

"I don't know ... you'll become desensitized to it." Wait. What was wrong with Sigurd?

"... we were surprised you were even alive ... I wouldn't have released you from the hospital ..."

Emil tensed. He frowned. Of course Sigurd was alive! He was their ever-so-skillful sub-leader; who would be surprised that he still lived?

"... they need me. Sanctgarde needs me." That was Sigurd, being noble as usual. Of course, that still left the question of exactly what was wrong with the dark - haired male.

"... there are other ways I can be useful." Eh? Eh?! What was Sigurd thinking? He wasn't ... no, it couldn't be, could it?

"... catch an early death."

What.

Emil's hand closed around the plushie that he would've otherwise disregarded, and slowly, he pulled it out of his pocket. There was no way he was going to throw it out now, was there? Emil decided right then and there. He'd have to start collecting these things. But first.

After the other person left, Emil stepped out of his hiding spot—it wasn't really a hiding spot, he'd argue—and ran towards Sigurd, throwing his arms around the other male empathically. There was nothing wrong with hugging him, Emil reasoned, after all, Sigurd was going to die, wasn't he? That was what they were discussing so morbidly, no? He noticed how tense Sigurd was and that only made him want to comfort him more. Instead, he drew back. ”Everyone's running around in there, and and and Lotti--" he paused, ”--she's chasing people around with a rifle." That was reason enough to escape the ballroom, wasn't it?

”Oh! And also, look at what I found!" he brandished the plushie and waved it in front of Sigurd. Held side by side, the resemblance was uncanny; Emil really needed to invest in them. At Sigurd's remarks, Emil grinned, shaking off the earlier heavy atmosphere. ”Hey, I never knew how accurate these things were; I've decided to start collecting too! And I'm gonna start with this one." Even if he had stepped on it. Well, it didn't have any marks on it. Not really.

At Sigurd's next words, Emil frowned. Whaaaat? They were going back already? Damn. But he figured he should play nice with Sigurd, after all, he didn't have much time left. ”Of course it'll be; the rebels have nothing on us!" As long as they did enough to justify blowing up the mansion with Dynaste. Spirits once again high, Emil headed inside with Sigurd in tow.

”Hmmm? I wonder if the rebels are gonna show up at all. Or maybe they're already here!" Emil frowned, ”That'd be no fun; if they're going to show up, they better make a big entrance!" Distracted, he didn't notice anything wrong, not until Sigurd pointed it out, really. Of course, Emil was aware of their mission; he was aware of the rebels' target, but looking around, amidst all the rubble and attendants, Emil saw no high-up noble. ”Hey, maybe Lotti scared him away with her rifle." That was all he could offer: a tentative suggestion and a sheepish grin.

But he couldn't help but feel disappointment at the prospect of the mission being over before it even started.

[shiny ponkan]

On the second floor of the Renaissance Monument, the aqua gray-haired man strolled quietly down the hallway, keeping a watchful eye out for anything out of the ordinary. The bells had just tolled eleven, meaning that soon the rebellion would strike, and things would then be chaotic, much to the young man’s distaste. But for now, the floor was calm and mostly empty, with only two maids standing on high step ladders several meters ahead, cleaning the windows.

He was standing beside one himself, and he paused to look out through it now, at the many lights of the city of Sanctgarde. Normally he would enjoy such a view, but tonight his mouth was set in a line. His sister was out there, had been away for a while, and though he knew she would be well protected at the capital, he still worried for her. He turned away from the window and began walking down the hall once more, deep in thought. Is she eating enough? Sleeping well? I hope guys don’t go chasing after her…

He hated being away from her, hated not being able to protect her from anything and everything dangerous.

He sighed, and though it was a soft sound, it still managed to echo throughout the great hallway, surprising one of the maids, whom turned her head sharply and lost her footing with a squeak. Her foot nudged the bucket of water and it wobbled precariously.

Fortunately, he was close enough, saw it happen, and reacted reflexively, dashing over to catch her with his arms. He fell backwards from the force of the impact, but a little pain on his behind was nothing compared to the injuries the girl could have sustained. Then, the bucket toppled, physically missing them by inches but soaking them nevertheless. His hair dripping wet, he blinked the water out of his eyes and looked down at the girl.

“Are you okay?”

She was clinging to her squeegee so hard that her knuckles had begun to turn white, her hair was limp with water, and a frightened look was still in her eyes, but other than that she seemed fine, and she nodded to show that. The other one came down to help them up, and both murmured their appreciation before they left, their cheeks flushed from embarrassment that could be from shame or contact. Of course, Kharon did not notice a thing, having already turned to leave. He had work to do.

He continued ahead on his patrol, shaking his head vigorously to rid his hair of the water, like a dog after a bath. The girl’s presence on him had prevented his pants from getting splashed, but his shirt was another story. It was completely wet, and clung to his form in a way he could not stand. He considered his options briefly, but he really only had one solution. He hoped people would not mind.

In one swift motion, he took off his shirt, pulling it over his head, exposing his torso to the open air. Much better than wearing a soggy shirt.

He rolled up the shirt and tossed it to the side of the hallway. It would only get in the way if he kept it with him, so he reasoned he would just come back and get it later. He brought his arms over his head and arched his back to stretch, the sting of the fall already muted from time and motion. His gluteal muscles would probably be rather sore on the next day, but for now, when it mattered, he was fine. One good deed done for the day, he thought to himself with a slight smile, unaware that he had actually been the one to cause it. Reaching the stairs and finding nothing amiss or even anyone else around on floor two, he headed down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Perhaps Sigurd would have new instructions or information for him.

And it was just his luck that he was heading towards the front doors when they slid open to let two of his comrades through. Sigurd and Emil. At once his expression broke into a grin. They had not seen him yet, having been too busy conversing with each other to notice him stealthily walking over. The brown-haired young man had taken the time to circumspect the area, but somehow had overlooked him, turning back to his companion once more. At this chance to surprise, Kharon broke into a purposeful stride, and within seconds had an arm loped around Emil’s shoulders and a wide smile for Sigurd. He loved these two like brothers, and nothing could hide that fact.

“How is it going for you two?” he asked as he ruffled Emil’s hair, affection clear in his voice.

His bright blue eyes met Sigurd’s, and he instantly took note of the uncertainty within them. The other man was worried, nervous; for what reason specifically Kharon was unsure of, but it was there, and he didn’t like it. He continued speaking, hoping to reassure the young man in any way, if only just a bit. “I found nothing amiss on floor two—really, there’s nothing there at all—so I thought I would come down here to see if you had any other plans for me.”

[l BEELZEBUB l]

All around were familiar places. Sanctgarde, in the conical cast of the street lamps and the burning lights from windows, glittered and glowed. There was no warmth from those bright lights, though. The city was cold, and not because of the chill carried by the nightly breeze. It was a thing that he had taken no notice of previously. He had never thought to. But a change in perspective tended to open one's eyes.

Brinks blinked, his gaze gliding across their surroundings. The Renaissance Monument stood at the center of his vision. It blazed like the morning star, illuminating the night and obscuring the true stars that hung overhead. And where there was light, there was shadow. The darkness had been pushed back, relegated to hiding out of reach of the garish rays. It sought refuge in corners and alcoves, where the light could not reach it. Brinks too was in those shadows.

More than once, he had given himself a look over. His thin fingers fiddled with buttons, unhooking and re-hooking them countless times. He had smoothed out hems and wrinkles that only he seemed capable of perceiving. He had patted himself down, trying to divest his attire of the nonexistent dust he was certain was there. He restrung shoe laces to his liking and adjusted pockets and folded collars. And still Brinks did not seem satisfied with his disguise. It was a simple uniform, not so dissimilar to the ones that the workers of the monument were mulling about in. Among them, he would hardly stand out. Such was the intended nature of a disguise, after all. It was unfortunate, then, that they had been unable to find one that suited Ciel's smaller stature.

It was a surreptitious glance that he stole, looking at the boy from the corner of one eye. Then, just as quickly, Brinks forced his sights back toward the mansion, not wanting to be caught staring. He didn't like eye contact as it was. Awkward, he thought in private. So often, he stared at people's lips when they spoke, only so as to avoid penetrating stares.

Finally, his fingers ceased their fidgeting and fell away from the line of buttons that ran down the right side of his chest. Instead, he began to thrum nervously against his opposite palm. Brinks could not remain still, knowing that throngs lied just beyond the doors of the Renaissance Monument. He didn't do well with people. Silently, he tried to calm himself. This isn't a social, his thoughts tried to reassure, it's a mission. I won't have to make small talk. I won't... I won't... I won't.

Betraying his anxiety, the mantra slipped from his lips in a hushed rush. "Won't-won't-won't." He didn't seem to notice that he'd moved from thought to speech, focus having been taken by something outside their target building. A small group of the attendants for the celebration were moving chairs. They were unloading the things and walking tall stacks down the sidewalk, toward one of the entrances.

That was their invitation inside.

Sucking in a ragged sort of breath, Brinks motioned with his head in the direction the workers had moved. A second later and he was stepping from the shadows. The man crossed the street, skirting the grandiose steps that served as the grand entrance to the mansion, and moved along the sidewalk, following in the footsteps of the attendants that had run off with their toppled stack of chairs.

Brinks heard them before he actually saw them, their voices traveling all too well through the crisp air.

"Oh, man," one said, his voice raising in pitch when he said the second word, "don't tell me, you believe that stupid story?"

"It's not stupid! I'm telling you!" This was the second individual, much more animated than his companion sounded to be. "It's real! I know this guy who—"

"What guy? You're just making this up to try and freak me out."

"It's Brodhi. He said he always gets chills when he goes upstairs!"

"Yeah, because the heating's on the fritz, I bet."

"Dude, you are no fun at all," whined the young man. "But how do you explain the voice that people hear? You can't blame that on the heating!"

"I don't know, but there's sure as hell a million other explanations before you jump to 'ghosts'. What are you," the other asked, "five years old? Maybe someone's left a window open and it's coming in from off the street? Or maybe the voices are traveling up the vents or something? Not everything has to be a ghost."

"Oh, yeah? Well, if you're such a hot shot, why don't you go up to the second floor, huh?"

"Why don't you shove a sock in it and help me move these chairs?"

"Bawk bawk! Chicken!"

"You're one to talk. Shut up and—" The conversation faded from there, the attendants having moved too far off for the rest to be heard clearly. It went from muffled words to silence in a matter of moments.

Brinks, who had not made it a point to step out and make his presence known, had heard every word of the conversation. For a short moment, he turned to look at Ciel. There was a ghost in the Renaissance Monument? Brinks didn't believe it. Perhaps he was a pessimist in a sense, but he believed that once you died, that was the end. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

He broke off the awkward exchange of looks. Instead, the brunette focused on the mountains of chairs that were being toted indoors. "Let's take some chairs," he said, finally breaking the hush that had fallen. Once inside the monument, they would be in a better position to lend backup if the need arose. Assuming that Chrise didn't come barreling in and kill them all in the process.

"This waiting game is killing me." The woman's voice hummed in his ear, the discreet earpiece hidden by the mop of brown hair that sat atop his head. "What the hell are we waiting for? Damn, this is torture! Let's just get it on with! There's no way I'm sitting here much longer...!"

Where Brinks maintained his usual muteness, Johan came across the channel. Well enough, he thought; the mechanic was the worst possible choice to play mediator to someone with such a hair trigger. He was the worst choice to mediate anything, he would have to admit.

"You can wait a minute or two," assured Jonah.

Brinks hoped that Jonah was right in that. While he did not agree with much of what Sanctgarde stood for or the actions they so clandestinely took, neither did he want to see it so thoughtlessly destroyed. Not just because he had some lingering attachment to it either. Wanton destruction, he knew, would only lend credence to the authorities; they could easily prove that the Rebellion was nothing more than a group of terrorists and anarchists.

None of this he voiced, though. The thoughts remained locked within his head.
BRINKS = 6F7486
OTHERS = 2C2D35