Welcome to Gaia! ::

Jack thought that University was something he could have done. If the Negaverse had not come along when he was ripe and willing and plucked whatever respectable, decent human being there had been left inside of him to mold. He simply did not see the point in pursuing a career in academics, when he had the means to take whatever he pleased from wherever he pleased without any danger of getting caught. Proustite avoided senshi at all times when he could help it. Civilians were easy.

He made money by robbing banks.

Liked wasting time attending frat parties with stolen firetrucks and then throwing wads of cash into the crowds of drunk freshman from the roof, shouting Katy Perry lyrics into a megaphone he'd swiped from someplace else.

"CAUSE BABY YOU'RE A FIIIIIIREWOOOORK!"

He was like mother ******** Robin Hood. With better pants.

Tonight Proustite was on his way home from one such party, sans fire truck, when he spotted Olga leaving the library. He ducked around a nearby corner, tapped his lips with a finger. And then he summoned a youma. It manifested in front of him, fully formed-- an oversized beetle with the personality of a border collie. He snapped his fingers, pointed at Olga.

Obedient, the beetle barked and then scuttled into view. It trailed after her, snapping a pair of black pincers.

Jack was nothing if not shameless. He lit a cigarette while he waited for Olga's outcry, hands cupped around the flame to protect it from the wind-- and then he heard her. She did not sound as frightened as he'd hoped, but he was the sort of creature who took what he could get. Proustite pocketed the lighter, exhaled a cloud of smoke around the dart clamped between his lips, and then stepped out into the open.

He cracked his whip. It snapped in the air, and the youma scuttling around Olga's feet came to a halt. It reared up onto its hind legs, looked from Olga to Captain Proustite as though uncertain about what to do.

"Don't be afraid," Proustite said. "Carl won't hurt you now."

He stood tall and confident not fifteen feet away, shoulders broadened now that he was more man than boy. He snapped his fingers, and Carl returned to pince at the ground around his ankles.

"What's your name, girl?"

Sol?

Proustite doubted the honesty of Olga's answer, after the way she'd stumbled over her words, but did not actually care whether or not she'd told the truth. A stranger's lies were inoffensive. He did not need to know who she was to enjoy himself with her.

A smile started on the corners of his lips, and then split his face in two.

"I am called Aurostibite," Proustite said. His teeth were very white, and there was a playful sparkle in his eye. He wondered what the consequences might be for impersonating a fellow officer, but it was a fleeting thought.

As if this Sol was going to go and tattle on him to Metallia.

He crouched low, and scritched the underside of Carl's chin. The beetle scuttled happily on the spot. Proustite puffed on the end of his cigarette, and then turned his head to exhale away from the youma.

"I know he's ugly," Proustite said, "but he's not so bad. He likes to play fetch."

He fished in the front pocket of his jacket. Pulled out a starseed- pilfered from the chest of an overzealous gym bro with too high an opinion of himself. It glowed a vibrant red in the palm of his hand.

Carl made an excited scuffling sound. Proustite made sure that he'd seen the starseed, and then lobbed it into the air as though he were skipping stones. Carl yelped and scuttled off after it. He caught it in mid-air, before contact with the ground.

Proustite was grinning when Carl returned, starseed clutched between his pincers. Proustite took the starseed back, and then turned to Olga. Offered it to her.

"Wanna try?"

The intensity of Olga's reaction to his little game of fetch told Proustite several things. First, that she knew a starseed for what it was. Second, that she must have understood what that made him. He gazed at her, expression thoughtful. Tapped the starseed against his lips.

Carl scuttled impatiently at Proustite's feet, waiting for him to throw it again.

"You are not very good at this game, Sol."

Of the soldiers that made up the ranks of the Negaverse, Proustite knew that he was not the most frightening. He did not care to be. He was flashy and obnoxious and had earned most of his keep by scraping the barrel of acceptability. He collected starseeds. Turned them in when he was supposed to. Occasionally ordered a lieutenant to fetch him tacos. Avoided Generals when he could, and then did as he was told when they found him.

"Relax," he told her, lips quirking at the corners. "let's start over, okay? Okay."

Proustite gestured at his extended hand with his chin. The starseed glistened on his palm, a little light of red and soul. His grin widened.

"Have you ever wanted to touch someone's life before?"

That's what killing was.

'You're---um---not going to touch my life, are you?'

Sol's fear was so palpable Proustite could almost taste it. He considered her with a thoughtful look on his face, head bobbing in time to a private rendition of You Ain't Nothin' but a Hound Dog. It looped in the back of his head on a silent record. He grinned at Olga, teeth flashing white, and then used slight of hand to slip the starseed back up the sleeve of his jacket.

"Nah, sweetheart," he drawled, "I'm not going to touch you anywhere you don't want me to. I've already met my quota tonight."

From his other sleeve Proustite produced a second cigarette. He flicked it into the air with his thumb, and caught it between the press of his lips. His face lit up like the sun, and he struck a victory pose in front of Sol with his arms outstretched.

"Not bad, hey?" He waggled his eyebrows at her, twin cigarettes bobbing up and down with the movement of his tongue. One of them glowed red at the tip. The other did not.

"Magic," Proustite said in answer to her second question. He showed sol his jazz hands, as though he could make electricity flow from one hand to the other with just the wiggle of his fingers. It was not a lie, exactly. As an officer of the Negaverse he was capable of doing things with his hands that no ordinary magician could. Not that Jack was like some kind of Houdini or anything-- he had practiced slight of hand as a young boy, knicking candies from the convenience store on the outskirts of the trailer park where he'd spent most of his life. It was something that he'd learned in part to pass time. In part because it made everything else easier.

"You should see me with a deck of cards. Never had any video games or anything when I was a kid and my grandma plays a mean game of poker so I learned from the best. She's got a nasty backhand too so I'm pretty light on my feet."

"Now," he chose a seat on the curb, and then patted the cement next to him. Carl scuttled up for pets, pincers clicking excitedly. Proustite chuckled, puffed on his cigarettes, and scritched underneath the youma's chin. He gestured to the empty seat at his other side. "If you're done being scared of me, why don't you sit down and tell me about yourself. You can start with your real name."

He twinkled at her.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"Sure can," Proustite said. He quit scritching the underside of Carl's throat. Took the second cigarette from his lips, and attempted to light it by sucking on the butt of the first until it glowed red. He pressed them together. The second cigarette took the flame.

When Proustite exhaled, he aimed the cloud of smoke away from Olga's face. It missed Carl too-- the youma was not tall enough to be affected by the pollution of his lungs.

"They took away my magic once," he drawled. "They didn't like something my buddy did, and punished us all for it-- well, punished some of us."

Proustite fit the second cigarette back into his mouth. He puffed on the ends of both of them. He stared off across the road. Considered Olga's story with a tilt of his head. The things that she'd said rang a little bell--

"Mmmm!" He exclaimed suddenly, as though struck by lightning, the sound muffled around the cigarettes taking up half his mouth. He reached inside his jacket, started fishing in one of the pockets. "I was there."

Proustite retrieved a copy of the contracts that he had presented to Tristan and Caitlin in the depths of the Haunted House. It was hand-written, covered in red stains that looked a bit like blood but were really just pizza sauce. He showed it to Olga with a grin.

"At the party you're talking about. Apologies for the way that you were handled, sweetheart. My colleagues often make better bullies than they do diplomats. Here," he shook the contract at her, "read this."

The details of the contract were simple. Whoever signed swore fealty to Captain Proustite, and promised to fetch him whatever ******** complicated Starbucks drink he wanted. Whenever he wanted.