Destiny City proved itself a potent ground for anarchy, for experiments into entropy, for the progression into Chaos that loomed inevitably on the horizon. The early afternoon sun lazed across the buildings, casting slight shadows from any jutting precipice or business sign. Few youma lingered in these parts, for even the darker locals proved inhospitable for the creatures that preferred to lie in wait. Such times were reserved for civilian life, for brisk errands or familial obligations or various classes intended to improve a future that he may not even possess.

But Bischofite wanted no part of his civilian life right now. To don a mantle of power entailed shirking the responsibilities he held as Alois Scholz, as a run-down misanthrope that now lacked a job and a lukewarm sense of direction - as a result, the Saarlander found little reason in disregarding his Negaverse duties of late. He craved worlds of wonder caked with power, with all the possibilities inherent in his powered abilities. How long had it been since he traversed the city under the guise of Bischofite? How long had it been since he warped a human life? How long had it been since he even drained someone?

He found it strange that he missed such a tepid activity.

Now perched atop a steepled roof, the misanthropic general peered through the long shadows cast across the ground, the jutting arrow crowned with his presence, as went unnoticed by the populace. They muddled through the cusp of day heedless of their surroundings, the trees that stood shuddering in a low breeze or the haunted gaze of a passerby or a misplaced cat that wasn't a cat upon close inspection. With a sneer, Bischofite's fingers curled into the lip of the shingles, cracking their surface. He hated it, hated their complacency with an utterly benign life.

But the misanthrope already had a project on his hands: the garden of swollen fruit.

Bischofite stood atop the apex, rising to his full height as he peered toward the thinning throngs of cattle below. Fewer still petered into the alleys, or rarely-traveled side streets sporting weeds from the cement cracks. Others still fostered a wariness for the city's strange phenomena, and maintained their paths along well-lit roads, with a plethora of strangers to play the part of meat shields. And some of the remaining, he supposed, might crawl into the darker stretches of urban hell to don a visage similar to his own.

But their goals never mattered. As he paced the edges of the rooftop, he surveyed for potential. He looked for demeanors - those few that struck his fancy through haughtiness or dejectedness, joyousness or deviousness. And he looked for those who never glanced skyward, who saw naught but their own destinations.

Those were his first pick.

chimarii
hope this is ok! if aaanything needs changing, let me know! this is your awakening rp and i want you to be happy with it!