Welcome to Gaia! ::

It had been months since Izzy had made much of an appearance since her massive loss during HoH. Many believed that she had hit rock bottom and decided to hide her face from the world while others thought she had gone further into her own insanity... Although both options seemed highly probable, it wasn’t entirely true...

This is her story...

BING.

“Welcome to Kentucky Friend Chocobo. May I take your order today?” The words poured out of the punker’s lips as though it were molasses. A long yawn left her lips as she peered forward to what was infront of her. She wasn’t at a bar, nor was she at home with her loveable bird. Izette was standing behind a counter as a small line of five people stood in front of her. Rather than wearing her normal hellish attire, the young adult was wearing what appeared to be a red and blue uniform with a large white name tag labelled “IZETTE” in rather huge bold letters.

Izette had gotten a job.

And since her education was no higher than one of a ten year old, there really wasn’t much options for her. She didn’t have any experience other than causing pain and drinking, and quite frankly Ryke wasn’t really giving her much of a choice to be lounging around at the apartment anymore either.

This was Izette’s own nightmare.

Compared to her other chipper co-workers, the punker looked as though she wee to strangle someone. What made matters worse was it seemed that for once in her life, the punker was without an eyepatch. Apperently, it would have become a hazard on site if she wore it. So instead, she wore her visor on her head at a slight angle to block anyone’s view of the one side of her face.

“Hi. Um, I would like to get your Chubby Chocobo combo. But instead of fries, can I get a salad with low fat dressing and an extra large Diet Cola.” Izette’s fingers whizzed over her grey contraption which they seemed to indentify as a register and froze as the words Salad left the rather large whale like costumer’s lips. Looking up, the punker knew it was going to be one of those days.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have salad. We just have fries or onion rings.” Not like the woman really NEEDED it. Each of her fat lumps seemed to cause her floral pattern shirt to ripple slightly as a red tinge filled her apple like cheeks. Izzy couldn’t even make eye contact with the large woman; she was simply staring at the white pearls that looked as though it were strangling the woman’s neck. It was a death trap of lard, and the thought that Izzy was helping it grow made her cringe slightly.

“Well since you don’t have a HEALTHY alternative. Than I will just get the sandwich than.” The snide comment began to cause some severe eye twitching from Izette. Normally, she wouldn’t let a soul talk to her like that, but something was holding her back. It felt almost as chains were holding her down to the ground from her wrists. For some reason, the punker was required to keep their differences aside and finish this order.

With a force smile, Izzy looked up from the pearls and me the sight of the gluttonous swine. The layer of makeup that covered the woman’s face was almost astounding, it almost seemed like it was a world record right there as it appeared to almost be an inch deep. Swallowing her pride and laughter, Izette continued. “Will that be everything for you today, ma’am?”

“No, you idiot. I would also like to get a bucket of Chcobo legs with barbeque sauce. But can we make it grilled instead of fried. I’m trying to watch my girlish figure.” Izette had to bite her tongue on that comment. But her signature grin of mischief never left her lips as she continued to press buttons on her machine. It was clear that she wasn’t exactly in the great white beast’s good books, so instead of putting a fight with her and telling her that the buckets of Chocobo didn’t come fried. But why should she bother with the little details? Afterall, Izzy is an idiot afterall.

“Alright, so. A Chubby Chocobo Combo with just the sandwhich and an extra large diet cola and a bucket of Chocobo legs with barbeque sauce? Grilled not fried.” She almost seemed like she was a student reciting a poem back to her teacher. The large woman seemed pleased that her order was finally getting somewhere, but an uneasy feeling settled over her as she witnessed the never fading grin. Something wasn’t right about this. “12.50 please.” Hesitant, the woman handed her money over and was met with the pleasant surprise of change. With a quick whisp, the punker reached for a tray and placed it on the counter top before moving about the room. It was practically like a jungle as there were various contraptions to make various edible delights. However what was more mysterious was the random hole in the wall that contained various dividers. As though it were a message from the Gods above, various foods fell into their designated slot where the front staff would only grab onto it but despite how fabulous contraption, Izzy went to pour the woman her poison with a large goblet in hand.

After a few minutes, Izette placed three blue and red containers on the tray and returned to gaze at the not so patient costumer. Her arms were crossed over her rather gigantic bosom. With everything in place Izette’s pale hand grabbed each of the corners and handed it to the woman. Before Izette could even speak, the tray was quickly snatched out of her hands and the woman stormed off. Shrugging, the punker returned to her position of cashier as another sheep moved forward in the line.

“Hi, welcome to Kentucky Fried Chocobo. What can I get for you?”



“WHERE IS THAT LITTLE b***h?!” A large uproar was heard from the dining room causing various heads to turn. But Izette never moved, naturally she only did what she was trained to do, she was fulfilling orders. With loud stomps, the sea of people moved out of the way as the large obese woman stormed up to where the punker was standing with a small container of fries in her hand. It hadn’t even been five minutes yet, and the woman was back seething as ever.

“Can I he-“ A loud slam echoed through the silence and interrupted Izzy as the tray slammed against the table causing the order underneath splatter everywhere. A trail of cola dripped onto the floor steadily as the tray above revealed its contents. It was the blue and red bucket that Izette had handed to her before, but inside contained what looked like fried chocobo instead of grilled.

“Do you know what this is?” The woman’s words were sharp as knives, and yet calmly, Izzy only blinked a few time before moving closer to examine it. With a few small humans and placing her hand to her chin, Izzy than placed the one piece she had moved to her face back onto the tray and looked up at the woman.

“There is no doubt about it, that there is Chocobo.” If looks could kill, this would be the one. The woman looked as though she was ready to murder Izzy. And yet, no fear filled the punker’s being. Instead there was a smile, she knew what she had done wrong and yet she thought it was hilarious.

“It’s FRIED. I didn’t ask for FRIED. I wanted GRILLED. Are you retarded or something?” The woman didn’t seem impressed, finally it was Izzy’s turn to speak. Turning, the punker took a look at the menu and looked as though she was searching for something. Finally, after finding what she was looking for Izzy turned around with the same malicious look to her than before.

“Well, if you actually took a look at the menu you would see that there is indeed no grilled Chocobo anywhere. And all things considering, you did come to a restaurant that has FRIED in the name, it is safe to say that your apparent health isn’t exactly in our best interest.” It seemed that the kitten had claws. Izzy almost seemed proud of herself as there was really no need for violence even! It seemed that the punker had learned that words were better than actions sometimes.

“How dare you speak to me like that you...you...you disgust me! You are like the scum on Gaia’s shoe! I bet you haven’t even passed the third grade with mannerisms as poor as that. Your mother must be a moron for that mouth of yours. And if you EVER consider speaking to me like that AGAIN, you will look at me with both eyes and not have that ******** visor hiding your whole face from me.” At that moment, the woman reached over for Izzy’s visor. Almost on impulse, Izzy’s grin fell off her face and her own hand went for the woman’s wrist. Slamming the large woman’s arm on the counter, Izette moved herself right up against the hard surface allowing her pelvis to feel some of the liquid dribble onto it. But she didn’t care, with her one exposed eye the punker simply stared at the woman who almost looked as though she was fearful for her life. Many customers around the two of them began to panic, and yet none of them moved with curiosity on events that were going to happen. It wasn’t everyday that this sort of thing happened.

“Now you listen to me. You can insult me all you want. Hell, I don’t care. I’m numb. But there are two rules I got. First, you don’t EVER insult my mother. And second of all, you don’t fix my hair. Or I swear to the Gods I will cut open your throat open and all of your lard will pour out onto the counter and we’ll make more fried foods for the year. And believe me, I don’t make threats...I make promises.” As Izzy spoke with her free hand she reached to her belt and grabbed a hold of what appeared to be a handle. With a quick click, a shiny familiar friend came out to say hello. Lightly, grazing the sharp edge against her victim’s neck with every word, her threats were never empty.

“H-H-H-...I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER!” The woman’s voice was filled with nothing but fear as the color drained away from her face. With a smirk Izette snapped her knife closed and released the woman’s hand and pushed herself off the counter. Once having a free hand, the woman stumbled backwards knocking a few people out of alignment. Slowly but surely, the punker never made a sound as she returned good old Betsy back into her shealth.

“Fine...DOMINIC. You come talk to this fat ******** of a whale.” A loud insulted sound left the woman’s lips as Izzy than leaned up against the wall and placed her leg up on the counter using it as a rest. In almost a ritualistic sort of fashion, a tall skinny older man came out from the back. At the sight of Izzy, he then rolled his eyes and was about to open his mouth. “Lemme guess, I’m so sorry for my staff. Here, let me make it up to you by providing you a free meal and coupons to our store. And Izette, this is the third costumer this week. You can’t be doing that. I’ll have to write you up. You know what, I’ll do better!”

The man stood silently as he watched with rather wide eyes as the punker removed her shirt to reveal all of her tattoos and the fact that she didn’t have another shirt underneath it. Now standing with a black bra on and her jeans she removed her hat and caused most of her hair to cover the right side of her face. With her black and white stripped arm, the woman slammed her uniform onto the ground and glared up at her rather fearful manager who was now able to see the wide variety of shealths that the batshit insane woman carried on her.

“You can put it on my file that you fired me since you don’t got the balls to do it yourself. And than you can carry on like nothing ever happened and keep helping to enforce the whales! Don’t worry, you are doing your part in saving the whales by giving them a ******** EXTRA LARGE diet cola with FRIED Chocobo. Help them eat themselves to death. Don’t worry, I won’t be here to stop ya’ anymore. Mother ********.” Shoving her way through the crowd, Izette stormed out.

Guess it was back to mooching off of her friends again for her!

Sigh.

Stepping out of the restaurant, Izzy could feel the rays of sunlight hit her pale flesh. It was nice and warm and it allowed some of her faint scars to glisten ever so lightly. They were her war wounds, and yet she was so proud of them. Once having the fresh air hit her lungs the punker woman dug into her pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a silver case. Popping it open, a small reflection of the lid sparkled onto the cement as she reached in a placed a paper cylinder to her ********.

Slamming the case shut, Izette quickly frisked her pants in search for something. A slight groan left her lips as she knew that her lighter was nowhere to be found. Quite frankly this really didn’t seem like it was a good day so far considering that she had lost her job and now she was lacking in a lighter. With a slight grumble the woman was about to put the cylinder behind her ear as she soon noticed that there was now two men standing before her with a jacket fully extended to her.

“Oh Joy. My knight in shining armour is here.” Her tone was very sarcastic as she spoke between the words. And yet, despite having a rather sour sounding tone, she was grinning in almost an amused fashion. The two of them argued almost as well as Ryke and herself.

“Well sorry to interrupt your p***y ********. But if you guys really wanna be my heros, do either of you have a light at all?” Izette than waved her homemade smoke in the air as though it were a toy or something at eye level in attempts to grab their attention. She did take notice of the coat that the man was holding, and she simply shrugged it off along with the comment of the sheaths. Izzy really wasn’t ashamed of her curves or her breasts. Instead, she placed one of her hands above her belt where each of her sheaths sat. There was roughly six or seven of them, all of which sat rather flat against her abdominal area. It may not have been as fun to know where they were, but it went with the outfit that she was wearing today.

“I seemed to have left mine with Reggie.” A boyfriend perhaps? There seemed to definitely shoot down his chances to woo the woman over with his charm and elegance. Both on which was definitely not something that Izzy was accustomed too.

Happily, Izette snatched the zippo out of his hand and flicked the metal so that small sparks shot about. With a drag in, smoke left the woman’s lipstick covered lips and her tenseness seemed to relax. After a day of dealing with stress and idiocy; nothing like nicotine to help wash away the pain, that and alcohol. That would have been helpful at that point too.

"You can keep it, he won't need it no more. So....you a fighter?"

Grin.

Her smile wasn’t as sweet and innocent as before, but rather it almost turned into something sinister. It was a malicious as a small child’s, for some reason it almost seemed to be full of amusement. Removing the cigarette from her lips and loosely kept them between her fingers. Smoke slowly danced around her tattooed arm.

“Depends...” There almost seemed to be a slight eye twinkle beneath her hair that was covering her right eye. However, despite how cliché it may have looked, the piece sat rather naturally without fail. A small giggle left her lips as she took another puff. A small orange glow shone as she allowed the toxic fumes filled inside it.

“Does it give you a hard on or something?” It was a very valid question. Considering how much the man had been gawking at her since he had made himself apparent to her. Maybe the man wanted her to flex for him next, afterall yes, she may have been a little curvy, but she was toned. And with a rack like hers that were happily exposed at the moment, Izzy was a man’s dream. Except that she was lacking all of the lady qualities.

But really, it seemed this fellow didn’t particularly care.

The punker sat quietly and listened to the man as she puffed on her smoke. She almost seemed like a chimney. He wasn’t very flattering at all. In fact, he seemed more interested in beating the pulp out of her and then take her out for a drink. Most women would find that to be repulsing...

But he was a man after her own heart.

Removing the cancer stick from her lips, the woman tapped some of the ash off of the end. Her smile never faded. But despite how hard he seemed to try and release his magical powers, it didn’t seem to effect the woman. She sensed nothing, perhaps it was because of all those years of drugs and rock and roll that had messed with her head.

Izette watched the man continue to lick his lips in anticipation for her to make of move. But instead, she only looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. Apparently she found his attempts rather, well, strange. Even for someone like her. But with a shrug she only looked at him strangely.

“So, let’s make this a simple dance of sorts. No woo-woo horseshit. Just good old faithful. Alright, suga’?” Her fist pounded slightly against her hand that was holding her smoke and she cracked her knuckles. Izette’s terms really sounded all that simple, and quite possibly idiotic. But in this age of Gaia there was no telling what sort of mumbo jumbo people were going to pull out during a hand to hand brawl.

Now if she was going to listen to her own rules was another story entirely....

The punker seemed to remain perfectly still as she now witnessed Ziginz seemed in a completely utter sense of bliss. Moving her hands so that she would finally take the last draw out of her cigarette she watched him crack his knuckles as though he were trying to pop every little blood vessel he hand in there.

"Awsome, simply aws-


Due to the position of his face, the punker’s fist no longer against her chin and shot upwards due to the height difference. Izette may have been petite, but this gave her the best of moments, especially when she was requiring an ash tray. From this angle, his flesh was the perfect substance for that. If Zinginz was not paying attention she’d probably manage to hit his nose and have the end of her cigarette enter his nostril leaving a severe burn. However, if he was quick enough there may have been a chance for her to hit other sections of his face. Either way, it was quite clear that Izette was not a lady.

And in the game of brawling, Ready Set Go never really seemed to apply.

There was a smell in the air which smelled distinct of wine, cheap perfume, alcohol, cigarettes and the oil used to polish metal and machine parts. They say chaos is a sort of order that we do not understand, but if that were true then this place was perfectly organized, broken into chaos, and then organized again in a way even the celestial forces that forged the universe could not understand. He wasnt sure of those were curtains, or towels or maybe both. In the corner was a pile of...something, it was black and moldly and smelled of deep fried bird. It could have been clothes...once. Or it could have been a pile of cans and garbage covered by clothes. The mold matched the two dollar checkered wall paper, and the various spots where it had tore and the dry wall beneath that, or the pipes were visible beneath that. Little black spots that scurried everywhere frantically when the lights came on, and a single man peeled three pink Rent Due notices and one canary yellow Twenty Four Hour Eviction notice.

He laid them on top of a stack of manilla folders held in one arm and quietly shut and locked the door behind him. Despite the rust gathered on the joints of the door, or the way it likely usually screamed like the devil escaping hell...it was absolutely silent.

Equally silent, the man made his way to the kitchen. Or rather, he made his way to a mountain of dishes dried in a hard water filled and bespeckled sink, and a square metal outdoor table with rusted legs covered with four dozen cans...approximately, from his first count. The man in contrast to the room was neat to a flaw. He wore a knee length black jacket, a black vest, a deep blue dress shirt, a black tie and black vest, his shoes were polished and his clothes bore not a single wrinkle. The look on his face made him look absolutely snobbish, but who wouldnt in a place like this?

"So this is what passes for living conditions nowadays?" He said, and neatly began stacking the cans into even rows clearing about half of the table so that he could lay the folders neatly down on a dry square of plastic table top. A had moved to slid out a chair that by all intents and purposes should have squealed as it dig across pre-existing furrows in the linoleum. And then, tucking the rear of his coat under him he say, in a chair home to several shirts and half a cushion. He sat facing the door. His fingers interlaced and then came to rest on the stack of files and away from whatever scurrying creatures seemed to instinctively afraid to get within several feet of him.

And he waited, with his mismatched black left and right white eyes peering from behind black rimmed glasses and set patiently on the door.. Because this was Miss Izzette Asis Prechtel's home, and she would be back eventually.

Patience was something all killers are taught. From assassinn's to the lion stalking the plains, every killer knows that if it waits long enough its prey will falling place and death will come and work its efficient work.

Maximos, was particular patient. He did not move, he did not stir for every second of the time it took Izzy to arrive he was still. The very first motion that made the man seem something more than a statue cast in black silk and finery was the smirk on his face when he heard the punker coughing out a lung into the sink. The smirk widened when the reddish blob hit the inside of the sink with a noticeable splat. It was gone however when she turned the corner.

He didnt know if she missed him, or ignored him but Maximos said nothing. He had enough of a close encounter with Ms. Prechtel to know that if she was prematurely startled he was likely to end up perforated by one of her 'babies'. Maximos did however offer Reggie a very formal and gentlemanly bow of the head as she turned her back, assuming the duck recognized him of course. By the time Izzy turned around, Maximos was sitting very calmly and his eyes fell squarely on her eyes.

“What the ******** are you doing here? And how the hell did you get in?” Inwardly, her voice secured the fact that he was in the right place at the right time. It made him grin a grin that stretched ear to ear and would have flattered the devil himself. He was just plain charming. Thats just the kind of man he was. In a smooth soft voice he said, "Good evening Izzette."

And answered all her other questions with a smile.

“And more importantly, did you take my last beer?” This was a question was probably very irreverent to the situation. But arguable it would shape the way this encounter continued. Getting between Izzete and her beer was bad business practice. Maximos very simply, very politely, and very immediately replied, "No."

And he did it in such way as to cut the head off the possibility that he ever even could do something a thing. Instead, the gentleman in black lift a single can from the pile of empties and shook it so that liquid could be heard sloshing instead and then set it down in front of himself but across the table. "I believe that is the last can with any substance. Come Ms. Prechtel, join me. Have a seat and wont you?"

And perfectly timed with his offer of a seat Maximos slid his foot forward and shoved the chair opposite him and in front of the warm and half empty beer out, completely without sound. Whether or not she sat, Maximos continued.

"I have a job for you Ms. Prechtel." At which point he placed the gathered notices on the table beside the beer and smirking said. "You need a job dont you?"

And then Maximos opened the manilla folder in front of him, pulling out a small rectangular sheet of paper more commonly known as a check and presented it to wherever Izzy was currently stationed. The check was made out to her, and carried a sum beneath it of a single digit number, followed by six zeroes. Beneath that the total was written out in plain print. The suited man let the number register for a moment and with something of a smug smirk said. "Do I have your attention yet?"

She was completely right, Maximos wasnt being himself. In the few moments they had shared this sullied space Maximos had been professional. Almost clinical with his approach. Everything calm, everything measured and set. Even now he sat so calmly, a small curved grin on his lips that could mean absolutely anything.

“You got my attention. You know, most boys who want me to spend the night with me so they can put me to work usually call me first.” Oh it was perfectly clear she had the wrong idea, but Maximos didnt even try to correct her. Izzette may not have had everything, but what she had she knew how to use. Her curves, her posture, her tone, even her placement just inches away from Maximos' face. Let no one say it wasnt a skill. So very close with little more than curlicue of smokey breath to separate them. Maximos evenly present the picture of a calm and controlled man, and Izzette knew all the right steps to tear that apart. “So, what kind of job did you have in mind, sugar?”

Maximos could have slid his seat back. He could have fidgeted with himself nervously. He could have stood up and walked away, he even could have flushed with blush and began avoiding her eye contact but he did none of that. Instead, his eyes rolled from the table top where his folder had been set, and directly to Ms. Prechtels eyes. There was no ferocity in his gaze, no anger, he looked at Izzy like he might eat her right there and then, and not in the sort of way men pay for.

"Straight to business then?" He said as his hands slipped from each other, and pressed flat against the manilla folder, spreading out to its edges, and then farther. One hand was placed precariously beside her leg and just before it might touch her...it stopped. And Maximos chair slid back, yet he did not. He shoved the chair away as he stood. He moved so close their noses would touch if she didnt back away, and in a voice just barely above a whisper and yet every bit as silky and graceful as the curls of smoke from her cigarette he said. "It will be very, vigorous work."

Maximos was standing now only the slight angle of his head allowing this to be reminiscent of a conversation and not a kiss. He took a breath, and let it out slow and almost longingly. The hand so very close to her leg rose, his fingertips tracing up her thigh. So gentle, it might even have been an accident. Or was it?

"We will positively..." That very hand began to rise in the space between their bodies. It never touched, and yet came so very close he could feel her body heat through his skin. His hand moved forward, just inches from her neck line. As if he might hold her head, as if he meant to close the distance and he simply breathed the next words. "...make a mess."

He took a short breath, a gasp, a pink tongue licking his lips. "And..."

With all the finesses of master pick pocket Maximos performed two actions at once. His hand swooped down, into exactly the spot in her shirt, and or bra in which she had hidden the check. Then grabbed it and slid it back out. At the same time he leaned back and using his other hand, picked the manilla folder up off the table and flopped it in Izzy's lap.

"...you'll get paid when the job is done. If its done." In a flash, he was back to the casual aplomb of mere seconds ago. A calm smirk on his face, and eyes that gave away nothing. His voice lost all hints of longing and bated breath and returned to being a smooth and proper as it ever was, albeit hinted with a bit of amusement.

Maximos had certain ways of acting around a Lady. Certain niceties and propernesses that must always be attended and monitored. But, as oft said...Izzette Asis Prechtel was not a Lady. Maximos slipped the check in his jackets inside pocket, chuckled softly and then gestured to the folder in Izzy's lap. "Money is the least of the rewards my employer is willing to offer you. Open it."

If the woman in question agreed she would be met immediately with a sheet of paper she was likely used to seeing. This was an official form from a hospital. It looked very similar to the release forms countless doctors had tried to get her to sign, only at the very top of the page it said Transfer instead of Release. And in place of her name was another name she would find very familiar. Mr. Martel Prechtl. The sheet did not state where he was being transferred too but it did say that the purpose of the transfer was so that he could receive...a very long medical term for a procedure which used the words Genetic and Replacement and Treatment at least twice.

Maximos made a dismissing wave. "Dont pay attention to the details, it isnt the treatment that matters. And dont get your hopes up. Thats all fluff for the mundanes. He isnt going to be cured. He isnt going to live as long as he should have normally. What matters is that my employer is willing to offer you a guaranteed five year extension, during which he'll..."

Maximos made the appropriate air quotes. " 'Magically' show dramatic signs of recovery. And at the end of the extension he'll return directly to where he is now and live out what days he has left."

Maximos adjusted his tie, slid his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and continued. Unless, as he imagined she might have wanted to do...she was going to attack him. "Likewise, Ms. Prechtl, you will be offered a similar extension. Or rather, a temporary relief from the ailment inflicted upon you when you use your unique talents. No coughing, wheezing, aches or pains...so long as, and for the duration of the time you are willing to use your talents to partake in this job."

His smirked stretched to a full blown ear to ear toothy grin, and the man in black tapped his eye, or rather tapped the eye on his face that corresponded with the covered eye on Izzy's face. Just in case she played off the talents he was referencing. "And then you'll also receive the money. I'd believe its a very generous offer. So...what do you say?"