The City of Durem - A GM Thread ♦ WALK-IN/OPEN

[onyx2047]

Location: Market District/black market/en route to yuen's Ensemble: undergarments & a tank top


There were too many. As Leon blasted the men out of their way he grabbed her wrist and started to run but she yanked her arm out from under his fingers.
"my things!" she grabbed her bag, boots and weapons having to kick and punch a few but not many. Breaking into the hall way she lost Leon. Onyx would run into the opposite direction and down the stairs.

Long raven black hair flowed and whipped all around her as she ran. She was hopping little flights of stairs worried that whoever those guys were would be chasing her. She booted out the side door once reaching the main door. The woman...was still in nothing but her gitches and a tank. Adrenaline had taken over and her feet felt like she had wings about her ankles. That woman was a friggen track star at this point. Onyx would run northeast about 3 blocks before banking into an alley. Her chest rose and fell hard as she crouched down to open her bag. She pulled out her clothes and dressed. She put on her flat boots, and her jacket. Custom back holster with weapons went back into the bag as she did a quick repack. Gloves to her hands onyx briskly walked on.

Her feet burned so badly! She walked until she heard voices...the area was gritty and the people shady. It wasn't the slums. It was the black market of Durem she stumbled upon. Always looking over her shoulder she managed to buy a few things. She truly just wanted a bathroom. Onyx would stop into this dingey, hole in the wall of a heavy metal bar. In the bathroom she locked the door and cleaned up the blood that was all over her. No wonder people were looking at her like she was the plague!!! She had some bruises. Onyx would cover it up with a little makeup. Back out on the streets she walked on by vendors and groups. She over heard a conversation.

"yeah its in the red light district I think. Um...China town? I can't remember now! Anyways, franko told me that apparently Yuen Enterprises was run by the triads!"

"pft. No way. How would franko know?"

"you know franko. Stole the wrong guys s**t, got busted banging the guys woman. He ran there he says. He said its like people won't go there cause their scared its true. Only high rollers because they aint afraid of s**t!"

Onyx got to thinking after what just went down, that might be just the place she needed to be right now. Onyx would seek out this place and hideout for awhile.

[Shigekuni Genryusai]

Location: Downtown Durem

The sounds of the city filled the air, crowds of people moving about on their daily business, cars and trucks moving throughout the streets as citizens headed from once job to the next, or even perhaps to their homes in this place. from one of the many darkened back alleyways came a figured who was looking to do something similar, find a way home so that things could be settled and solved once and for all. the only notation of that figure that was off from the usual hustle of the city was the soft clack of wood against the concrete, footwear clearly not that of the common man or woman, but something slightly different.

It was stepping out from the alley that revealed the figure for what it was, a man. that man stood tall at six feet and four inches in height, a full four inches of that height due to nothing but the upraised teeth of the wooden geta upon his bare feet. up from those bare feet a familiar piece of clothing, a hakama. the long silken cloth flowed from waist to ankle, blowing in a breeze that may or may have not being created by the sheer presence of the person that stood there now. the waist of that hakama was decorated though, not left plain as in times past. a bag of holding adorned the right hip at his side, one capable of holding up to five-hundred pounds of materials and items. what was inside of this bag, one could only speculate at this point. having been a merchant in times past it could be a safe bet that the usual wares of his career were housed within. but was the safe bet always the correct one?

The main draw of the waist was likely the most decorative item that the man had worn in years and years, a sash. the pure golden threads of the obi sash gleamed with a metallic sheen, one that would perhaps give away something that was not meant to be known right away, or perhaps it was just the way the fabric was made, this man was one to have expensive things after all, so it was of no surprise that he owned a golden sash to wrap around his waist and show off his social status. that golden sash gave way to not one, not two, but three separate weapons adorned about the male's waist. it was those weapons that would reveal just a bit more about this being, about this man. those that knew him, perhaps would know of at least one of these weapons, those that watched the Heaven or Hell tournament would know of at least two.

The first weapon was something of a mainstay, a weapon that in name alone served as a symbol of times past, Danzetsu; Severance. this weapon was one that perhaps those here would recall, a weapon seemingly summoned up into existence after a loss had occurred here. it was shorter now than it was then, downing in size from a full six foot sword down to three feet and two inches in total length. the hilt of that very weapon was nine inches total, wrapped in a solid black cloth that not only provided a superb grip to the blade, but oddly enough matched the unrevealed blade of the weapon. down from that hilt was the guard of the sword, a golden hand-guard in the shape of the endless knot, one of the eight auspicious emblems and a former emblem of an organization, one that had been lost due to circumstances beyond the control of a single man. the rest of the weapons length was the blade, a blackened blade concealed in a golden metal sheathe that placed the katana blade down at right hip. that blade down style was something this being was known for, as most didn't wear their swords in this fashion.

The second weapon was off on the right hip, situated so that only the hilt was partially visible, as the rest of the weapon was hidden under the sash that he had worn for his current quest and task. that hilt though was immaculate to look at, a glance alone could allow one to tell that the weapon was crafted masterfully by its creator. that wooden hilt was carved with finger grooves so precise that it would likely only fit the users hand with any sort of grip and comfort to it. the rest of the foot and a half length weapon was taken by the blade; a foot long double edged blade. some called this weapon a short sword at that length, to him it was a dagger, a large dagger, but still a dagger none the less.

The third weapon that was visible upon his person was worn along side the first, another sword that was situated upon his person. this sword was quite a bit different from the first though, the entirety of the weapon seemingly composed of wood, including the area that would be known as the blade. for those that watched the Heaven or Hell tournament they might have seen the weapon a time or two, drawn out in the preliminary round, but not truly used. this left one only to speculate the exact nature and power that the weapon itself held, if any at all. that weapon was known to him simply as Ishiki, The Stone-Tree.

From the waist up the being wore nearly nothing, if all one counted in that aspect was mere clothing. there was one article of such upon his torso, long flowing kimono draped over his shoulders. the colors of that kimono were a mix of pinks and reds, a pattern of flames in the lowest of lights flowing through the silken material. over all it was a beautiful pattern, wonderfully done and fitting of only the finest kimonos. but this was of little draw when the other aspects of the man were so blatant. muscles bulged, twitched and flexed with each simple movement, for a man of his size he certainly was quite ripped, more so than any had previously seem him as before. there was something more causing him to be that muscular, but what that was, one couldn't pinpoint with nothing more than a glance. the would have to delve deeper for such an answer, below the flesh and muscle, down to the bone.

Among this muscle however, were scars, a fair share of the hideous markings that defined a warrior. there were slashes that seemed to be fully closed among his chest, a series of quick marks near his left pectoral while a long slash ran from his collarbone down to his waist. the right side of his torso was just as marred by these things, burns running from his stomach all the way up to where they couldn't be seen anymore near his right shoulder. those burns seamed to seal a bit of metal armor or something upon his torso, armor that covers from about three inches above his waist all the way over his right shoulder. in the front the armor ran up about an inch from his belly button and covered part of his right pectoral before cutting over to his shoulder. those that knew him, knew the man could identify what that piece of hardware was, and it wasn't quite armor, though it served the same purpose time and time again since its attachment to his flesh, his soul.

The arms of the man were mismatched, an oddity to be sure. his left arm was quite normal in appearance, a mass of flesh and muscle, flexing and pounding with muscle that still easily trumped any being his size and weight, a sign that the feat wasn't just associated with his torso and the muscles therein. the right arm however was metal of some kind, a shining silver devoid of flesh, allowing the true nature of what was half revealed during the tournament; that the arm was clearly not real, a fake forged from metal. still, it held bulges of metal in the shape and tone of muscles, and could be seen as real, had it been covered in false flesh. those that had seen him before might have noted the difference between the arm now and then, the false flesh gone, and nowhere to be seen.

up from the torso of this man was the head and neck, the features that would finally fully reveal and divulge the identity of this being, but things even in that region had changed for this man, new scars and markings, and even new styles presented themselves thereon, starting first and foremost at the neck. at the front of the throat was a long slash that seemed to drag across the windpipe with ease, a deep scar that showed he'd had his throat slashed open at least once. settled above that scar was another, a thin but noticeable hole that had been sealed, a stab that punctured his throat at some point in life. other than those two scars it didn't seem there were anymore, at least for the time being. teal blue orbs of perception glowed with energy as it coursed through his body.

Hair blew suddenly, as if from a force unknown. whether or not there was a breeze to give the hair that sway, it seemed to move. locks of sandy brown hair shifted slightly, allowing a single lock of hair to move from the head and hang down in front of the male's face. the man standing there in the middle of Durem was none other that Shigekuni Genryusai, the so called Demon Samurai, and the ex-shinigami himself. with a turn from the alley the male stepped forward, trying to figure out just how to get home to the villa from the city of Durem.

Blind Fighting: N/A
Spirit Bending: Available - Spirit Charges 10
An Opened Mind: N/A
All Other Skills: Available

[Morgurg Thunderbum]

Location: Outskirts of Durem

There was a storm coming.

To the east, fat black clouds blotted out the sun and there was a constant drumroll of thunder that could be heard from the heart of the city, if only faintly. Although the curious onlooker would note that the flashes of lightning seemed to come from the ground, not the sky. A curious circumstance, at the very least. One that made little scientific sense, but Gaia was always a place of mysticism and arcane. Perhaps it was some sort of retard wizard spell gone wrong, an upside down storm where precipitation rose from the ground and electricity sundered the clouds.

No, that wasn't quite the answer. The answer was much simpler, though no less stupid.

The truth of the matter was that some upstart Glorwut had challenged his boss Morgurg to a race for leadership of Da Ruff Ridas. It may have seemed silly, even nonsensical for them to ride instead of fight for the nob's position, but you have to consider that most of these races were death matches. In fact, Glorwut was now thirty minutes dead. His bike's gas tank had sprung a bullet-related leak, which Morgurg capitalized on by swinging up beside him and then triggering the oversized turbine strapped to his warbike's rear wheel. The backblast did a fine job of making that little upstart snotling go up in smoke and securing Morgurg's position of dominance amongst the ridas.

That wouldn't be the end of the race though, oh no. Once you got da ridas going, there was no stopping until they'd had their fill of speed and violence and anyone will tell you, orks love them some speed and violence. Which was unfortunate for anyone on the roads outside of Durem. The bika boyz were going to carve a swath of destruction through traffic, rumbling up the wrong side of the road (orks aren't fond of things like traffic laws) and tearing through motorists with dakka, choppa, teef and fists. Morgurg himself reached out and plucked the engine out of a passing convertible with his cybork arm, which he then tossed at the closest following bika-boy, flatttening his skull and sending his piddly, inferior steed pinwheeling over and over before crashing into a tractor-trailer and detonating gloriously. The nob guffawed as he gunned his engines and plowed through a series of compact cars, their shrapnel like a summer's rain on his thick hide.

As his jet-powered warbike exploded out of the rear bumper of the last car, he let loose a warcry that was answered by every last one of the ruff ridas until they had a chorus that shook the very cement foundations of the roads they pillaged.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!"

[Ruthless Pulse]

Downtown Durem

The brunette strolled down the street to the thump of music coming from her earbuds. Her shoulders and hips shook to one of Parov Stelar’s upbeat songs. Money in the pocket, Jessie grooved down the sidewalk lighthearted. She whirled around passerby’s and danced with anyone who hopped in with her. She just shimmied her way by the strange looks she received and rocked out to her hearts content.

Standing at around five foot four inches, Jessie stood at about average height. Her brown hair was tucked back in a loose bun. Long hair was a hassle when tattooing. There’s no way I’m gunna chop it off though! She wore a black tank top with a tattooed Marilyn Monroe illustration that dipped at the neck modestly. Dark blue jean leggings hugged her hips. Her feet were decorated with a print of the British flag on her high-top converse.

The day had been long for her, taking time to sit down at a tattoo convention in hopes to get her name out in the city. She had made a point to make her portfolio neat and presentable so more people were inclined to pick it up. The more people that picked it up, the more customers she would receive. Luckily, her small little ploy at work and earned her a decent amount of cash. A few customers were already eager to come back after they healed to get more work done. Scorrrrre~! The thought alone added an extra little skip to her step and glide.

Mid-stride, Jessie spotted a shirtless man. One of her shaped eyebrows arched up high. Okay, no way in hell would I deny myself eye candy. But really? The sight made her slow her dancing down, although she still bobbed her head to the music. Finally, she realized she hadn’t been paying much attention to what was around. So sue me for having a good time, she thought to herself. Peeling her eyes open to have a look around, she found a long line of people and a discouraged man leaving the front of it.

Man numbah one, imposing and broodish coming from a dark alley. Man numbah two, sweet old man who seemed rather disappointed about something.

Her stomach made a dying whale sound, and for the first time she managed to look embarrassed. Covering her stomach with her arms, she hurried on her way down the sidewalk. Nothing's gunna bring me down except for an empty stomach, ugh.

Edging her way around both men, she continued on to find herself a night’s rest and some food to stuff her face with.

[Pandumb]

arrow Noble's District

Damnatus

KR-KRAASH

The sound of the blast struck Tenkai's senses like the toll of a bell, stopping him in his tracks. It wasn't too close, but not far enough away for him not to hear it. Not that hearing it was particularly necessary. It wasn't the sound of the blast that caught the monk's attention, but the foul, corrupt energies of the Warp. Tenkai cleared his mind in order to perceive it more closely, resonating through the deathless void in crooked ripples. It wasn't the usual hum of hatred and violence that Tenkai normally felt coming from the direction of the Yard. No...this was something much different, and yet undoubtedly familiar.

This is bad, thought Tenkai, turning in the direction of the Warp Blast. If his senses were correct, then there was only one person who could have caused such a disturbance. Tenkai had lost track of the sorcerer in the past month, and he wasn't about to let the same thing happen a second time. No matter what the reason was, bringing the corruption of the Warp into Durem was never a good thing. At least the Yard was somewhat self-contained. This was in the middle of the city itself, supposedly coming from the Red Light District.

Tenkai dashed across the rooftops and bounded from one building edge to fire escape after another, making as much haste as possible. Tenkai was not necessarily a long-range sprinter, but he was agile enough to travel via rooftop. His robes caused him to blend in to the shadows of the rooftop, each jump leaving him little more than a black blur in the skyline. He knew he wasn't going to get there as fast as he would have liked, but the monk wasn't about to rush headlong into a conflict that he knew nothing about. Tenkai needed to assess the situation first, but that wasn't going to happen when he was still so far away.

All he knew right now was that there was terrible sorcery at work, and that was never good for anyone.

[Fiend The Bunny]

arrow Exiting the Door from Sigil to Durem - Downtown Durem

James stepped out from a nondescript door in some random alley in Downtown Durem. The unkempt blonde mohawk on his head was quickly rubbed through by his patina colored right hand, the rough metal catching on some hairs here and there. "Home sweet home." The lithe youth said with a chuckle, his wrapped left wrist still bleeding a bit from his previous encounter with Makar Streea.

He exited the alley with caution, eying the streets with care. Durem wasn't the safest city in the world, and add to that his lack of a patch and his former reputation for being a bit of a coward and it was highly likely someone would try to start something if he wasn't careful. James was the toughest human in this city, no doubt about it, but he was wounded and he was volatile.

More then that, he was tired. He had just given up his only shred of self assurance, the only thing he had ever found that made him feel right, and that was the leadership, and more importantly, The Skull of The Front of Armament was not his back anymore. He just wanted to go home, lay down and go back to his normal life as a mechanic.

He had his fun as a brawler, and he lost his right hand for it. He sighed, drawing a red cigarette from his pocket and placing it in his mouth, a quick dig and the lighter was out and back in quickly. The red cinnamon smelling smoke filling the streets as he walked down them, head lowered and eyes averted from those he passed.

It was the best way to keep people from ******** with you in this town, to simply vanish amongst the crowd. Sure, a metal fisted, blonde mohawked former gang leader smoking a strange cig wasn't exactly invisible, but in the world of Gaia lots of things could hide amongst the monsters and madness.

The former Kingpin of The Front was hanging them up, despite the poster for the GTB VI burning a hole in his back pocket, screaming for him to enter it. His eyes still had fire, even if his mind was all but defeated. James may have left Makar with more physical damage, but it was clear Makar crushed him psychologically.

James was standing at the three pronged fork in a very dangerous road. He either lost himself to his wild anger, becoming a pawn of a Chaos God like his father, quit the life entirely and went back to being a coward and a weakling, or returned to The Front with his head low and ready to stand below Makar.

At the very thought, his anger boiled. If any fork was drawing closer, it was clear which one he was dangling over the edge of. What stared back over that edge was something that killed his father, his mother, presumably his brother. And it would likely kill James too.

For the molten eyes of Khorne were already slowly turning their eyes to the Son of Kong.

[Pump Action Phoenix]

Downtown Durem

Faye Moss

Edging her way around both men, she continued on to find herself a night’s rest and some food to stuff her face with.

It's a shame one of those men had no intention of just letting her go.

Because as soon as she got close enough, sticky fingers found their way into her back pocket to pluck out her wallet. Then he was off, the thief running in the opposite direction to make off with his ill-gotten goods. Muggers weren't all that uncommon in this neck of the woods and people made a path for the fleeing man, not caring near enough to intervene and stop the man.

Well, except for one man.

A dark specter of death that just happened to be walking on the same little sidewalk. As fiery eyes witnessed the crime unfolding before him, the man closed his fingers around a .440 caliber firearm hidden under his jacket. He drew the hand-cannon with one smooth motion and sundered the night with a single shot. The crowd that had parted a moment ago to allow the thief's escape suddenly dispersed, not eager to deal with an upset gunman. The shooter was revealed as his cover scrambled off like startled mice. A six foot tall dark-skinned creature with fire for eyes and a military crew cut. A middle-eastern force of nature who looked down at the young lady with a visage blank of any emotion.

Then he stepped past her. He strode on long legs down the sidewalk to bend over beside the mugger with a fresh hole in his lower half. The dark stranger bent over and picked up the pilfered wallet, wiping some blood off it on his victim's jeans. Then he squeezed the trigger again and splattered the thief's brains all over the pavement. Without a pause to pray for the deceased soul, the man strode back to the thief's victim. Assuming she hadn't started to run as soon as bullets started flying, he would hold her stolen goods out to her while looking at her with the same blank face he had just killed a man while wearing. His visage didn't change at all, nor did he speak a single word.

[Paidi tou Selini]

arrow Red Light District

SARQ

Elliterate

DXVII

Aduven Kroww

Sins of an Angel

Damnatus

Nooope. Selini could pick up straws as well as the next person, all things considered, but she tended to draw her last one at giant otherworldly monsters. She wanted out when s**t was only mildly going down. Now that she was the puppy in a growing hurricane, well... only one word came to mind: Nope. She could only hope the vampire (and whatever else, for that matter) was occupied enough to ignore the faux pas she was about to commit.

The ritual dagger would get to serve its true purpose after all as she brought its razor edge to her open palm and drew a deep, unbroken line of crimson. She winced with the pain, but her lips opened with a soft gasp that did not quite match the situation. Beyond that small appreciation for the finer things, however, she dared not make any more sound. Instead she busied herself with a little art project upon the filthy ground, using her own blood as the paint.

Blood Magic was simple. At its most basic it was merely the exchange of vitae (the essence of all life anywhere) for power. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the power. But it also followed a formula upon which she was beginning to find depressing parallels to the rest of life: the exchange is never even. Unlike most other forms of magic, which tended to offer one for one trades, with blood magic you must always sacrifice more than you gain. It was also a very sinister process that would accept the sacrifice of many others for the benefit of a lucky (or clever) few. It was a process that would keep taking and taking, never satisfied, until the entire thing collapsed under the immense weight of its own hubris... only to start all over again. How much had she sacrificed, and for how little gain? That thought alone was strangely foreign to her. The whole thing was so insanely abstract that even its most simple, basic forms could drive an adept mad. And yet this was her world of preference. Or... perhaps it was simply an inescapable part of her existence. After all, she held one distinct advantage over other practitioners of this unique art. She was quite literally made for it. Her blood was pure power; a single drop enough to fuel an entire ritual (so long as it recognized vitae and not souls).

Which made the next detail slightly more important. A well-studied scholar might recognize her symbols as a rite of translocation. A recall spell, of sorts, where the first point had already been fixed. It made sense, considering she wanted to get out. Except... she was drawing the entire ritual in her blood. The amount of power suddenly present in the small alleyway was absurd. Was she truly trying to escape and, in her panic, simply not realizing certain details? Or was she trying to recall something here? Because if that was the case, and if the vitae saturating the ritual was any indication... it was going to be huge.

[Ruthless Pulse]

Her stomached dropped immediately as the thief took off with her hard earned money. Before Jessie could begin to give any real chase to the man, another stranger had stepped in. A deafening sound and the thief's body crumpled before her. Blinking, she watched the shooter step forward and approach the dying man. Without any misgivings, he grabbed her wallet and proceeded to hand it back to her.

To run, or not to run, that is the question.

She turned her head and examined the man for a moment out of suspicious eyes. Her lips pursed briefly, noting the very blank expression he had and was giving her. "Thank you?" was all she mustered for the moment. Delicately, as if not to irritate her dark savior, she plucked her wallet back into her safety. Opening it, she thumbed through the bills to make sure everything was there.

Forcing her shoulders to relax and exhaling out her tension, she looked back to the man again. "Thank you, really," she said more sincerely. She would have been a little more relieved if he hadn't just killed someone and felt absolutely nothing about it. Cold blooded man... With a heart? Typically, that would sound appealing. In a movie anyway.

His blank stare was starting to unnerve her. "Quit that," she said bluntly.

[Pump Action Phoenix]

Faye Moss

"Quit that,"

"Quit what?" The man responded, eyebrows furrowing together a little. His voice was as deep and imposing as the rest of him, and gravelly as if he'd smoked every day since conception. Truth be told, he wasn't trying to unnerve her. He was trying to return her wallet. The whole poker face just came naturally. The stranger opened his jacket with the hand not carrying the gun to reveal a black ballistics vest with a white scorpion painted across the abdomen and more ammunition than hairs on his head. He holstered his weapon under his arm and then zipped his jacket right back up, hiding all of the weaponry away before looking back to the young lady. He'd finished his assessment of her.

She had balls.

She'd just seen this big a** dude execute a man on the street and she had the audacity to tell him to stop staring? If he was a malicious man, he'd have hurt her. Of course, if he was a malicious man, he wouldn't have given her wallet back. "You're welcome." He finally said with a small nod. Her nerve had garnered her more than a little respect from the mysterious shooter. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and looked over his shoulder at the corpse. "I would uh. Suggest we leave before the local thugs or the police show up." The GPD was a ponderous force, slow to react but not something that the man wanted to tangle with. He had no desire to kill men simply doing their job, as ill-prepared as they were to do that job. He was more than just a mindless murderer.

And so off he trotted. He walked down the sidewalk at a casual pace. Not sure if the woman would follow him or not, and not fussy about whether she did or didn't. He'd gladly be another urban legend, a specter of retribution that appears from the crowds to strike down evildoers. Although there was some sincere hope that she wouldn't go to the police and try to get his dark a** hunted down. Mhhh. That'd be trouble if she did that.

[Ruthless Pulse]

Lokas Samandar

And so off he trotted. He walked down the sidewalk at a casual pace.

Downtown Durem

Jessie shrunk a tad bit at the sight of enough protection and bullets to take on a small army. And he’s worried about the local PD? she thought to herself. Her curiousity was indeed piqued by the scorpion on his vest. Curiosity killed the cat though, right? As she was about to take a longer look, the man had closed up his jacket and proceeded to walk away. Okay, hardly satisfied.

Peering briefly past the man at the corpse, she looked back to the stranger that was leaving her in the dust. Okay, so he killed someone. But he killed someone to protect me? Or to get my money back anyway. From what she had seen in her wallet, everything was there and accounted for. Weighing the options, she also considered her current living situation. Maybe.. He’ll point me in the right direction. Or kill me. Y’know. Whichever.

”Ohhh, hold on!” she called after him. Catching up to him, she shoved her hands in her pockets as they walked side-by-side. One last look over her shoulder at the body she was leaving behind, and she washed the image from her mind.

”You obviously don’t want anything, so why?” She glanced at the man, making sure to catch his eyes before casting her eyes own to the sidewalk. Any flicker of emotion she would snag on, and hope to glean some kind of understanding ”And what’s your name?” she asked casually. Play it cool, play it cool. Jessie was still trying to gage him, a friend or foe.

[3N19MA]

XXXXXXXXXXR e n S h i n i c h i

Location.... Main Street, Going Down Town.
Ren is seen on location c-walking down the road.
This young man clad in red, and darks. In casual like baggy clothing to make himself look more like the wannabe gang bangers who roam the world. Ren's crimson colored eyes half open as he is dancing, shuffling down the side walk like he already owned it. Baggy long pants with a button uup dark shirt all little big for a man of his size. Standing at 5 feet and 9 inches. 150 pounds of slightly muscular white meat. Dark brown hair poking about from the baggy long red hood that hangs over his head.

Ren's hands, and arms out moving about as he seemed to be stepping like a pro at least he had the dance moves down set. His bottom lip has a visible piercing with a simply silvery stud, and his ears have silver lopes in each ear. As far as weaponry goes he doesn't seem to be holding on to any, however this doesn't mean much as he could be hiding them. He does, couple of butterfly knives tucked away into the back of his belt by some kind of case. Like his insane terrorist father, Ren has a strange, and yet dark demonic like aura, but his aura is more watered down with some human elements.

[Pump Action Phoenix]

Downtown Durem

Faye Moss

”Ohhh, hold on!”

Now that certainly was curious. She'd follow a murderer she'd just met? She was either very brave or very foolish. Lokas's pace slowed enough to let her catch up before returning to speed. He looked at her with his eyebrows furrowed together once more in a scrutinizing expression. As much as she was trying to figure him out, he was trying to figure her out.

Faye Moss

”You obviously don’t want anything, so why?”

"Because." He started to answer her immediately and then stopped. There were a few things he could say off the top of his head, because the man was scum, because he was a predator who preyed on good people, because he just ******** hated thieves. None of them were good answers though. It took him a second to formulate exactly what he wanted to say into words, and while pausing may have made him seem a bit slow it was more a precaution than a disability. "Because, what would you have done if you'd caught up to him?" Lokas asked flatly and looked at her once again. Navigating streets was easy, he had plenty of senses aside from his eyes to keep him from bumping into things. "Not to insult your intelligence, or anything." He quickly added, he wasn't trying to be condescending. He was trying to make a point. "I didn't check, but he could have had a knife, or a gun or at the very least he'd have tried to fight you if you took it back. You might have very well ended up beaten and penniless and I couldn't let that happen." Lokas shrugged. That's why he'd stepped in. Perhaps it didn't answer why he'd killed the man over the mugging, but ah. That was a simple answer too if she wanted it. This was a rather uncompromising man who'd lived through two decades of war and violence. His idea of justice involved cleaning up the streets for good.

Lokas's feet seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go though, even as he watched her with all due curiosity. At an intersection, he made a quick turn down the road and easily wove past a group of loud friends. Clearly, he knew where he was going. It was also funny how the question of his name was completely forgotten about in his little speech.

[Ruthless Pulse]

Downtown Durem

She jutted her chin at the man as he scrutinized her, her hands still in her pockets. He just killed a man, I should be the one doing all the scrutiny. BAH! Still, she kept her eyes averted to the ground to watch where she was going. The man had a habit of having his guard up. Smirking to herself, she realized he was just as clueless about her as she was him.

”Lokas Samandar”

"Because, what would you have done if you'd caught up to him?"

Kick’em in the friggin’ groin, that’s what. she thought vindictively. When he continued, the core of what he was trying to say sunk in. Yes, she was unarmed. Yes, she was untrained in defensive combat. The only thing that Jessie had going for her was that she was small and knew how to run. And I suppose I have no misgivings about fighting dirty if it means winning.. Like the man had just said, if the thief had been armed, she would have had no chance.

”Lokas Samandar”

“You might have very well ended up beaten and penniless and I couldn't let that happen."

The statement startled her, causing her to look up at the man. The crowd dispersed easily for him, while she had to weave her way through them. One of the girls had elbowed her in the rib while passing. Jessie looked back at her with a quick glare and thought to move closer to her rescuer. Her insecurity may have subsided at the slightest, but she found she could not completely trust him yet and kept a comfortable distance.

Her attention back on the man and his words, she studied the side of his face. ”I kinda figured. Otherwise I would have high-tailed it in the opposite direction,” she explained. Lowering her eyes again to look at the British flag on her Converse, she wondered about her luck and what she was getting in to.

”You never told me your name,” Jessie pointed out.

[Pump Action Phoenix]

Downtown Durem

Faye Moss

”You never told me your name,”

The man suddenly stopped. He turned his fiery gaze onto her once more with a new expression. One eyebrow slightly elevated and a tiny upturn to the corners of his lips. Was that a smile? It at least looked like the beginnings to one, or as close to one as this stoney b*****d could manage. "No. I didn't." He said calmly. She'd already figured out that he was just as unsure about her as she was of him. His name was something dangerous to give. She could go to the police with his name, and well. That would end poorly for everyone involved. He'd have to come up with some way to escape their clutches without killing anyone which would probably involve tear gas, flashbangs and distracting explosions and he'd have to relocate to one of his other safehouses set up in the city... It would just be a mess.

But, he was at least willing to give her a shot to earn his trust.

"Food?" He posed the question before she got a chance to object to his stubbornness about the name issue. One hand slipped out of his pockets and jabbed a thumb at the little greasy burger-joint they'd stopped in front of. Lokas had known exactly where he was going after all. One of the first things he did when he scouted out a city was locate and memorize the location of restaurants that weren't likely to attract a lot of attention. This hole in the wall had a cheerful little sign with faded red paint that proclaimed "B rger-Boss: You'l ne r be disapp inted!" A few of the letters had been lost with time, but the smell that wafted from the place as people left with their greasy paper bags was nothing short of divine meat heaven.