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SweetCyanide

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About SweetCyanide

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  1. SweetCyanide

    a funeral with no tears [pluto x hildebrand]

    Iyalon is embarrassed, yet it seems his grey-haired friend finds nothing wrong with such a manly embrace. It is surprising - absolutely, to the Hildebrand family that Iyalon would display such emotions despite always keeping his lips tight in an eternal glare. Pluto finds nothing of it, nothing of surprise that comes to him that the burly knight would hug him for minutes. Besides, this was not the first time he has shown such affection, for he is the type of man who always tends to keep his feelings inside. Pluto thinks that it is manly - at the same time, cares nothing about it. And so, he nods with that gentle smile of his, turns his metallic eyes towards the sisters of Hildebrand who seem fit to burst in a compressed laughter. The crow was confused as to why, and he blinked in response to their innocent delights. He continues to think nothing of it. You need not apologize, Iyalon. We’re all very glad that Pluto has come back to us. Pluto smiles. The sharp pain and buzzing of a bee keeping itself firmly behind his back. “Come," His heels move almost immediately in soft steps, careful not to make a noise. “Will you be needing your quarters back, Pluto? I’m afraid Shirin has taken up your rooms in your absence.” Ah, of course. "I am afraid I may, my lady." Behind him, he hears noises that may have caused his head to tilt. "I plan to accompany House Hildebrand until it seems that I no longer needed. I plan to do that, of course, with your consent -" He pauses to think, "and with the consent of the.. others." During his visit, the former seneschal notices many things different about the Hildebrands and it's manor. It is now dusty and dirt speckled - not pristine. The pots and vases are filled with flowers meant for the dead, and unlike before, the servants do not seem to smile. He knows Lady Varda is now quick to tears, the bags under her eyes confirming this assumption - and Lady Esme is more quick to throw her needy arms around him absentmindedly, trustingly. The same goes for Iyalon. And of course, with the fall of the house's Lord, there is an air of sorrow embedded deeply in the gardens that continue to live while all else around it, dies.
  2. Thanks! 😘

    1. SweetCyanide

      SweetCyanide

      i love him 

    2. Alexei

      Alexei

      Haha! Good, he's a precious boy.

  3. SweetCyanide

    Whisper of the Wyrm

    ▶ Unlike the ocean, Ares's trashy garage music rocked harder than the ship. He scratched the back of his head with a yawn, hisses when a scab rips off and the blood ruins his white locks. The pain reminds him of the stench of a molding cell, something he clearly does not want to be reminded about. But he's had trouble remembering ever since that bloody incident, so why should he have trouble forgetting about that? He scrolls down on his phone, traversing through detailed paragraphs he himself typed minutes on. What worries him truly is that he'd lose a good chunk of his brain cells - but at the same time, he's one smart son of a bitch. Sooo - "Did you fart?" Holy- Ares almost looked offended when he whipped his head to his side, shoulders easing when he realized it was just the half-elf. He forgot he dragged her along with him. "Uh," He takes the earphones off, "Wh - no?" "Well. It's either a dead dude or some birdshit," "I'm pretty sure it's probably your breath," Ares gestured, "Walking back into your face." Tommy squinted. "Yeah, I farted." Tommy and Ares were on night duty because 'teenagers sleep late'. They were a little pissed that they had to watch the ocean the entire night, but mostly pissed at the fact that they were right - and they're just pissy because they don't get to sleep on the job. The halfling fidgeted with the enamel pins on her white jacket, a key chain dangling from her belt. Unlike Ares, Tommy was listening to a stranger's story with the rest of the crewmates staying up late however they can. Obviously, the white boy couldn't care less, and began to type restlessly on his phone. Tommy smacked his arm and urged him to listen, and he scoffed, turning his gadget off and unamusedly turned his attention and his crossed legs towards the interesting stranger. In the middle of her words, he spots something in the ocean - but his eyes are immediately diverted back to the storyteller with repeated slaps on his lap. Unknown to them, something hides in the dark and lovingly listens to her with sleepless eyes.
  4. SweetCyanide

    Wandering Roads

    Raine is confused. She is not sure what to do when the tall knight places himself between herself and the children - so she stands there idly and with a curious stare, chewing on the sweet fruits and peeking out from his side. He is too kind for his own good! This man's cheerful attitude melted her almost immediately when he teased the children back, a tad oblivious with his hearty laughter as a girl slipped past him. First she is taken aback, when the child clutches onto her dirty robes and looked up with eyes waiting to witness a spectacle. It took a moment for her to realize, that this is the same child whose mother glared daggers into her soul, and Raine pouts in pity. She kneels on one knee to grow the glass flower from her palm, petals reflecting light like blinding glitter. Instead of having her pick it from it's stem, the witch generously plucks it for her and places it behind her ear - kisses her forehead with magic. When the child laughed so shyly, Raine smiled when she slipped away in a flustered scamper. To her, child-like joy is incomparable to gold. Harshal glances over his shoulder but the mage is already patting the shimmers off her cloth, glancing back at him with an inquisitive blink. When he does this, she completely stops mid-action and stares at him in a sweat. By his demeanor, (and how the witch has understood) he is implying that she should join the scary woman and the scarred man, but Raine keeps staring at him until she looks over to her side - to the scary woman and the scarred man - and to Harshal, with a skeptic poise. Before she could open her lips to ask, the knight returns his attention to entertaining the needy children before him. Raine does not want to join their conversation - she is too scared. She doesn't even know how to join their conversation! Like she is glued on the concrete, she freezes in place, expecting him to turn back and answer - but he continues to amuse the children. Raine is puzzled, bamboozled! To join them out of the blue and speak of her name - is that not rude? After she speaks of her name, will she crack a joke? Despite her doubts, she decides that it is customary - she did not want to come off as rude and highly, and Harshal seemed he wanted her to converse. In the middle of her dilemma, a bird of fire has flown down beautifully and up into the air where it crackled into lights that shone brighter than the sun. The sight of it is calming. It reminds her of her own magic - yet it is much more livelier, more fiery. She takes a sharp breath, takes a moment to recollect herself. A moment where she feels herself at peace, in drowning sleep. Yes, she says, it is customary. It can't be that hard. Her body is moving like some sort of switch, fear aggressively clicking it on and off between the decision to stay behind the knight or approach the group. Her foot takes a step forward - it stops, then for another five seconds - takes another. The two of them seem to be having fun. Will I make them uncomfortable if I decide to butt in? She takes a huge lump down her throat, her legs trembling underneath black robes. I do not know anything of this land, she continues, even if I have visited for years. Moving much more slowly, she hears their conversation pour like a thinning hourglass. Would it be better to leave? No, that is anything but 'better'! But, she dosen't notice them noticing her, even if you cannot stand this, does not notice their awaiting faces. This is for your own good! "E-Er," Accent or not, "Sal-Salu-tations..!" she decides to speak her name, bows her head slightly before coming up with a nervous quiver. "I-'m Rain-Raine."
  5. SweetCyanide

    a funeral with no tears [pluto x hildebrand]

    "It is a bug, milady." He answers only briefly, a beckoning smile forever curling at his lips with one eye squinted. The light on his silvery earring bounces off his cheek, a bright light of his own shimmering brightly as his eye fell on faces he will not forget. He bows — “You never do arrive on time, even then,” — but is immediately taken aback as his Lady Esme wrapped her arms around him tightly, feeling her gracious frame against his own, despite stepping his foot back to avoid stumbling with her. He is not sure if his lady had found comfort in his arms, for he is cold like snow, and his body is as rough as a statue. But to ask if he had found his own solace.. His hands hover behind her back — and they hesitate. The harmony of a stiff piano and a graceful voice, his own words in a panic because of a royal child's silly banter across a small river, the alluring eyes of a silver woman that led him to believe he was incapable of innocent temptations. Metallic eyes danced downwards before those hands eventually rested — the action followed by one more tight squeeze that had Pluto grin gently. She has grown taller — by an inch. He is not surprised Esme had greeted him in such a warm embrace. “Hail and good tidings, Golden Crow.” The hug leaves him, his hair slightly disheveled as he held his head low in manner before he nodded back up with the same old smile. When Lady Varda takes his gloved hand, there is a second of pain that splits him apart, but it is only for a brief moment. “We've missed you here.” When she smiles back at him with a heavy heart, her words would have melted his own. The sweetness of Lady Varda is something he has held dear, the pure innocence of a child glinting in her generous eyes. Of course, he does not speak of anything when he notices the bags under those same eyes, the red stinging silently at it's corners. ".. I believe that I have been gone for too long, then." He muses, tracing fingers down his glove with a pained brow. “You’ll have to excuse the small welcoming party, as the others are quite busy at the moment and did not want to be disturbed. I'm sure they’ll show themselves sooner or later.” Ah. Of course. He knows two particular siblings that certainly loved to stay inside their rooms. One sibling never stopped inquiring him of his blood, and the other simply had him fetch materials back and forth. Aspen had always unsettled him with barrages of scientific excitement, but Nai always jumped Pluto by his own voice and orders. There was something about him that had him run like an alerted — dog despite Pluto watching him grow from a child to a man. Curious, he wonders if he will still act the same around the hermit. “Nevertheless, we are so glad you’ve come, especially now.” If Lady Varda were to roam the halls, her shadow will always follow. “Of course, Iyalon wanted to see you immediately.” A grin comes across him, his eyes shining brighter. Almost immediately the man had pulled him in tightly in an awkward hug — but a hug so awkward it had him squeak a gust of air as his knightly arms squeezed him close. “You are an idiot who still chases after bees,” Iyalon's words made Pluto laugh out of breath, patting him on the back reassuredly. If his neck cracks, it will be the first thing to deal with the moment he is allowed once more in the halls of the manor. But still, he does not understand — why there is a need for such affections.
  6. SweetCyanide

    a funeral with no tears [pluto x hildebrand]

    "Please, wait here." Says a young servant, sharing her curtsy with his bow and walking away with a head held low. When she leaves with a loud slam of a door shut, it is a few minutes that pass before his right hand began to crack. The shaking movement of this hand makes the pieces of his glass skin fall off inside his glove - suddenly clutching his wrist as he kept it from trembling. There is a shrill breath that escapes him, inhaling and exhaling as his chest gradually eased to a content sigh. Pluto felt the alloy in his thumb pour a sharp slit of pain. Pluto closed his eyes. Pluto waited. . . . A-choo! Pluto sneezed. He stood dumbfounded, stopping in his arched posture once the air left his nose. Holding his other hand to his face in a confused look, he blinked, he turns his head to the side as if a gold antique vase in the sunlight offended him in a silent curse. It can't be, says the young man as he moved towards it in a stiff gait. Pretty white orchids decorated bloomed from it's golden hold, fresh water beading on it's petals as it glittered brightly. And under the sophisticated flowers.. His pain has already subsided now that he has found something to be dealt with. Gently caressing the vase with a gloved hand, he pouted with brows furrowed. It's dusty! This will not do, not at all. In his naturally-driven manner, he will not leave this room until this vase has been dealt with. It would be better for him not to realize that all the other vases in the Lord's Hall has had a layer of dust sprinkled upon them, for they have not stayed clean ever since his Lord had passed. If it would seem that way, his visit to the Manor may as well be a cleaning chore to tidy up the estate for it's sake. He does not think when he uses his robe to rub off the dirt, does not know if someone, something has already been watching him from the start. Upon looking closer with one eye, he spots something yellow, something with wings, something with six legs - And that something was an insect. He is offended by the mere sight of it, offended even further as the buzzing thing had tried to charge into him, bouncing off his face in a dizzied flutter. Oh, how he hated insects - the writhing little things that crawled under nooks and crannies of the household. Termites has once attacked the manor's very walls, and for more than once has he had to dispose of them. So he grimaced as it flew above him, getting up on his feet to jump up and kill it in with his bare hands - but to no avail. It slips past him like the slippery little bastard it is, buzzing annoyingly around the hall. He will not let that honeybee roam his lord's very halls, he does not care if the little thing is important to the orchids. With that in mind, he chased the honeybee. He clapped his hands in every direction, slapped a column like stone against stone, and nearly even fell on his back. At one point he eventually used his own magic as an act of frustration - but still, the little thing had slipped past his reach. Exhaling and inhaling with hands on his knees, Pluto is out of breath because of a mere bee. Enough is enough, he says to himself. Watching it land on the floor for a brief moment, the young man pounced on the insect like a predatory housecat, trapping the mere bug in his hand and- "Ahem." He looks up, bee in hand. And he stands up, suddenly smiling.
  7. Whenever he wore a robe, the young man was often mistaken for a woman. This happened as he payed the coachman with a fine pouch of coins, uttering a word or two — then, suddenly, the old man was taken aback by a boyish voice. If it were not the prominent Adam's Apple on his throat, his pouty lips could have attracted men to his side. And that, was disturbing. Though oblivious and never has he wanted to admit, he always had a feminine grace. He has once wanted to be as manly as Iyalon, has wanted to stand tall with a heavy iron chest and a sword at his side. But, like the tide, his former ideals and aspirations were all washed away in an instant, a red ocean bringing his wishes along with it. Before he has brought a shoulder to cry on, secretly hid animals in his quarters. Now, he feels nothing of love. He may slit a mutt's throat with his blade in an act of curiosity, but he will still feel nothing. And no matter how hard he will try, he cannot shed a single tear for the death of his Lord. Pluto has changed, and he will never be the same. A gold coin dances through his glass fingers, flicking it up into the air and watched how it splattered in his palm like melted metal. His own silvery eyes studied it's spiraling movement, how he made it trickle off his fingertips and onto the music box in his lap. It bounces, however, wildly jolting up and down as the carriage found it's wheels struggle against the harsh terrain of the road to Ravenel Manor. He blinked when it happened, placing the wooden box between his thighs and attempting to decorate it's exterior once more. And when it kept happening, Pluto patiently kept doing it all over again. Then his eyes squinted as the gold went up to his face with one big bump! Like it's natural state, it dropped off his cheeks and onto the wood, where intricate patterns scatter his canvas. Still, he did not react. Instead, he tilts his head like how a dog would, taking the music box in his hand and examining it in his eyes. And he licks his lips, holding the box now with his two hands and stared down at it with hilarious, unnecessary attention. He wants it to be perfect, a habit he has grown into during his time of service. Perhaps about an hour passed as he still glared at it with peculiar eyes, the carriage eventually coming to a stop as the man who sat outside pulled on the reigns and yelled at the stallions to halt. He licks his lips again, curiously looking out the window. Well? Are you going to step out? And he did. The black robe draped on his shoulders followed behind his boots, taking his feet toward the direction of the manor. The gilded music box in his hands is stuffed into the robe's inside pocket, carefully shielding it against the soft pellets of water that fell on him. But it was not really raining, the rain had just passed. Instead, it drizzled while the sun shone down on the damp streets, blanketing the people with it's gentle heat and chilling cold. And the people whom he passed by shared their share of hushed giggles and coy smirks, both men and women chattering their own banters. But it was mostly the women. The men just teased him. But some did not whisper the way the others did. It was because they all found his face familiar. However, he is too easy to spot. Before he knew it, the pouch hanging from his belt was stolen with one swift motion. He blinked, looking down and realizing the lost item has left his reach. Then he looked to the thief, watching silently as his feet splashed wildly against the street's murky puddles. He did not turn his heel to run after the ragged child — instead, he let it happen — let the kid run off with his money. He holds a partially gloved hand to his hip, pouting as he whirled his head the opposite direction. It wasn't the box, he sighs. As long as it wasn't the box, the rat could have his wallet. Besides, he could make as much money as he wanted to. And so, the young man continued on his way to the manor, unwavering in his almost robotic steps as he was watched by bewildered passerbys who watched the strange situation happen before their eyes. It was awhile before he had now reached the tall gates of the manor, looking up at the sturdy wood that towered over him like an ant. He tilts his head, a silvery earring following his action. His hand would reach out to caress the black wood, eventually trailing down onto it's menacing door knocker. Then he licks his lips, fingertips dusted with a nostalgic feeling he cannot remember. The metal is clenched in his palm, powerfully knocking on it with an loud noise. At it's echo, he pulls down his hood, revealing his grey hair and metallic eyes. He expects a servant to come open the door like he would, waiting in the sunny rain as the droplets glittered like light. He is not nervous, no. He only feels that this is necessary. @ourlachesism @ethela penna
  8. SweetCyanide

    — pluto, the gilded

    — he is as cold as the gold in his veins. Pluto of Hildebrand 1: a yellow malleable ductile metallic element that occurs chiefly free or in a few minerals and is used especially in coins, jewelry, and dentures ▆ INFO. temperament: a melancholic at heart species: a ceramic human age: he is but a young man occupation: wayward wanderer birthplace: tellus mater date of birth: unimportant, does not remember who is he: the golden crow, and the former seneschal and courier of house hildebrand VITALS. height: 5,7 weight: 139 lbs gender: male hair: cloudy grey eyes: a pale blue, sometimes silver skin: smooth like glass, breakable voice: pleasant and kind — yet untrusting MENTAL. behavior: cold and apathetic, yet gentle and generous. his words are often fake, but his smile is not. it is difficult to have a conversation with him, because it is unlikely of pluto to speak a word. hopes: to obey. fears: it is difficult to tell what he is afraid of. however, he dislikes insects. spiders and ants, most probably. likes: pleasantly reacts to butterscotch, milk tea, and classical music. SKILLS. 1: excellent with the blade; in cooking and in battle 2: extensive knowledge of sophisticated dishes 3: fine stamina and patience, as expected from a servant 4: good organizational and communication skills 5: proper etiquettes 6: expected to hold his own in combat 7: able to play an instrument to entertain GOLDEN-BLOODED. he is able to manipulate the malleable gold in his veins, allowing it to crack through crevices of his ceramic like-skin and alter it freely, whether it be forming a hardened spear, a soft absorbent shield, or lifting himself off the ground. he may also control gold outside of his body such as coins and jewelry — and occasionally use it to replenish himself. the gold in him is also magical, switching between purification and acidic properties. ✦ his body, however, is very fragile. depending on the opponent, his gold may render useless against enemy attacks. it may also shatter/brittle under the cold, or it may melt due to the heat. over usage of his magic may break pluto, and it takes time to recover from a shatter.
  9. SweetCyanide

    Wandering Roads

    "What part of Renovatio are you from, friend?" "Er-" There's a gasp that takes itself upon the hidden witch, a sudden anxiety overwhelming in her voice. How did he know? At his question, the hood looming over her eyes is pulled down further down below her nose, a little bit of cream smudging itself on the corner of her lips. It wasn't her appearance, was it? She was sure that her face was as hidden as a mole under dirt! Or was he able to see through that face, another wielder of magical vision? Perhaps, she talked rather funny than the rest of the people here - Ah. She talked funny. Upon that realization, her pale fingers touch themselves against her lips, blinking in amazement that someone was able to recognize her foreign speech that easily. She licks the cream off her lips, coming back to the question that had the man grin a happy smile. She would see it, if she stopped looking at her fruit the whole time. Pausing for a moment with a dumbfounded look, she would answer his question - ".. A-Avy - Avylon." - in stutters. And while this was true, she never truly lived near the cities. Raine lived on the outskirts of Avylon, in the harsh lonely wilderness in an area where even the beasts would leave alone. And depending on the type of beasts, she may even befriend them. As she spoke, however, she somehow tried to make her accent less distinguishable, but did not succeed. It was difficult trying to twist your tongue the opposite direction. She wasn't from here anyway, the man figured that out, so she wasn't sure why she tried to hide it. Perhaps she was too bashful to admit, clutching a sweet bowl of fruits in her white hands. However - there is a sudden curiosity overtakes her shyness - her eyes blinking once again with another glint in their blue colors. There is a burst of anticipation beating in her chest, she does not know why, but- "Your accent is familiar," then her thoughts were interrupted when the knight suddenly walked off. Hesitant and skeptic, she whips her head around to see if she should follow him, as he quickly disperses into the crowd. Taking in a gulp in her throat, she decided to follow him. The white serpent snaked around her neck peeks out from her scarf, questioning his mistress - to be suddenly dismissed once again to the robes of his hiding place. Her shoes clinked against the floor, hurrying toward the knight before she was to be separated from him like a child running up to their disappearing parent. "I come from Kalopsia, the land beneath your Renovatio." And that was when her eyes glittered like stars. Kalopsian? A smile curves her pursed lips joyfully, a pretty sight. But a sight she does not want seen, a fabric mask placed above her nose that would cover a big grin. She pinches the hood that shadowed her eyes, lifting it to look up at the tall man who walked in front of her. It's true! The grin widens in excitement, a radiant shine that was rare to see from a shy witch whose tendency was to avoid having to talk to others such as herself. And without a thought, her mouth began to move on it's own. "Kalopsia.." She says, a voice overwhelmed by her joy. "That's wonderful." I said that out loud. Although masked, and wishing that her voice was a little too muffled to hear, her hand is brought up to her mouth again - a tad surprised she thoughtlessly spoke. But it did not matter much anyway, because they have arrived at their destination. There were more people now. Oh no- Her anxiety is welling up in her chest like an overflowing sink, but it did not show - not through the robes. Raine gulped down a lump in her throat, suddenly terrified of having to talk once again. The bowl in her hands tremble a bit, as the eyes behind the hood took note of the knight, a scary woman, and the scarred man (who she believed was his friend) were diving themselves into a conversation. It was something she was not used to, talking to anybody other than her familiars, or the beasts. She wished she had not decided to travel, wished this habit of hers would stop her from becoming more and more lonelier- "I'm Harshal, by the way." But everything is reset, as the knight spoke of his name. Harshal? As she stood there, remembering to remember his name and not knowing what to do, she eventually found her eyes on the scarred man. There is something she sees in him, but she cannot tell. "It's ... Cora." Cora. I'll remember that too. There is something peculiar about this man, something not common to her knowledge. In her eyes, there is a unique magic spilling out of him. But what is it? Curious and interested - perhaps, maybe - "Look!" Then a voice rung in her ears, her body shifting to the side towards the source of the voice. .. A child? Oh, no- There is a group of children running towards the witch, a few faces she's seen, some that were entirely new. These must be the friends those kids have run off to, the friends they've decided to tell about her magic. She glances to the group of people that Harshal has brought her to, then to the approaching children who all stopped in their steps as they giggled about and cheered happily about. "This is the man I was talking about-" One chimes in, "That's not a man! It's a girl!" and so did the second. Eventually, their banters had all reached a certain point where they have all childishly asked of the witch for another display of her illusions. An exhausted sigh escaped her almost immediately. Not only was this a strange situation to her and the others, but she has just purchased flasks of magic she has yet to drink. Why can't these kids just leave her alone?
  10. SweetCyanide

    Two if by Sea (Last Chance Raid)

    Character Name: Ramsey Robicheaux Affiliation: Terran Military Location/Objective: Assist the severely wounded - Evacuate - Rescue Protect Shanti! Allies: @Aleksei @amenities @Fierach Enemies: His ouchies "Thank-" The adrenaline's gone. Shit. And like the past, everything from before comes back to haunt him. There's a yell of pain that escapes him, a tense curling at his finger's tips. It eventually trailed off into a suffering 'ha, ha' and then into a vulgar curse. Not only did the top of his head pounded louder than a sledgehammer, but there was all sorts of pain rippling off of his body. His neck, his back, his rib cage and his crack. He squirmed in pools of his own pain, curling into a ball with Shanti in his arms. Those were all minor injuries, though. There was a vital spot in his body that absorbed the bone-breaking crash, something even his vest wasn't able to prevent. Bruises and rashes aside, a rib has popped. If he inhaled, he could feel the rib suck in - if he exhaled, he could feel it pop out. This immense discomfort and suffering limited his breathing, taking in shallow and desperate gasps to avoid that feeling of his own bone poking at what he could believe was his lung. Air sucks in sharply through his teeth, his furrow forever wrinkling in torture. Even if the minor pains eventually receded like the red tide, everything else kept fluttering like bloody butterflies with a little shimmy of a limb. He can't move in this state, can't even think. Just a few more seconds and he'll - "Y-you.." But there is a sweet voice in his own flaming tartarus. "..k?" He looks down. A drop of red stains this stranger's face, the blood coming from his wildly bleeding nostril that trickled off his chin. It takes him a moment to fully register what she's said, a stern ebony glare staring back down with an exhausted squint. Huh. . . . She's prett- ".. Yeah-" A horrid cramp in his foot cuts him off, "No," he hisses, a free hand going out to stretch that foot while his other trembled behind Shanti's back. It passes in a couple of seconds, a heavy chest gradually easing into a contented sigh - but he hissed again, because he's forgotten about the bone in his rib cage. The free hand hastily unbuckles his vest to get a chance to breathe, weak wrist shaking and fingers fidgeting all the while. "W-w-wh...eere?" "Uh," He took gasps in short gusts of air, uncomfortably breathing in and out. Shanti seemed to be in a hurry - forcing herself to sit up, but knocked back down again. "The.. beach. I'm Ram." He says, barely. But she's in shock, as she turned her head to the battlefield. ".. And I'm gonna get you outta here." He's not sure if the elf even heard him, in her state she could've fainted in his hold. Her tight fist on his jacket moved by the way he tried to catch his breath, eventually getting up on his feet and lifted her with him once the blue shield above them crumbled like glowing glass. But he stumbles a tad. No, it was not his legs, or the dizziness that struck him like a drunk arrow - it was the monster behind them, the slain beast falling into the charred sands with a loud thud. This doesn't deter him from walking away, though. Suck it in, he tells himself. Get that champagne- Behind them, as they walk into a safer distance, their savior catches up to them and asks them; "How the hell did you two get out here?" Really- His head tilts, a blank stare was his answer. It seemed that the guy regret asking them that, judging by the look on his face. When he asks them another question, a question stupider than the first, the private just continues to glare at the man with his grumpy old resting face. The doctor almost looked offended when he and his men mistook him for a civilian, like the woman in his arms. His jaw shifted to the side as he grit his molars against each other. Sure, he's a medic - but goddammit he was in the military. Yes, he knows that doctors don't need military training but he doesn't need to be evacuated, goddammit - he's in the uniform, god - DAMMIT- "I need cover - taking this woman to the tents." Robicheaux nodded to him, a gesture of respect and gratitude despite what his attitude implies. He always looked angry, anyway. Whatever his answer was, he turns on his heel, headed in the direction of the medical tents. And when he does, a few men accompany him, along with - "Kyle." The young man would have stopped in his heavy steps, if it weren't for an injured soldier draped on his back. "Er, doc-" "I want my alcohol." He nodded with a lump in his throat. When Private Robicheaux gets to the tents, he's probably going to bother the other medics because he broke a rib. From above, thunder punishes the Terran Military's forces and their mages. He needs a break. [ The good doctor (and Kyle) leave to the medical tents with Shanti.] Character Name: Ares Shezmu Affiliation: Himself Location/Objective: Prison | He just wants to get out Allies: Murderers and one-eyed bastards Enemies: Literally everything else A bullet ripped him a new one right through his leg. The fleshy hole in his calf was so big that you can see the other side right through it. Obviously, the guy fell to his knees, yelling in absolute torture as the pain sent signals through his body faster than the bullets that flew at him. He found a temporary cover behind a concrete wall, helped by a stranger who freed him of his metal prison. Blood gushing and adrenaline pumping, he thought of his wife - his granddaughter, how they'd done them so horribly wrong- SLAP "Jerry get your shit together, ya big BABY-" Ares's hand was not a good one to be slapped by. It was all bone - except his bones were made like metal, cushioned very slightly by a leather glove that hid the atrocity. The man before him was a filthy no-good like everyone else here in the cells of Last Chance - but he cowered, whimpering like a dog before the force of guns and shields. His appearance was sad, sure, getting emotional in the middle of a breakout, (and the fact that his leg is absolutely screwed) but judging by the situation they had right now, Ares had no time to be all depresso. "MY FUCKIN-" "I don't care about your DAMN-" A bullet rips right past his ear, making the kid wildly throw his head downwards to avoid any more gunfire. And the gunfire continues and continues, until he's left to hold his ears from getting himself deaf. Jerry's dead now, caught by a bullet to the torso. Ares scoffed while he is to hide behind a corner, cruelly leaving Jerry behind for the soldiers to claim. It's cold, sure, but he's always had a habit of saving himself. When the gunfire stops, it is only for a while. Cold sweat is trickling off his temple now, a heavy weight in his chest that begged him to pant silently. Step, step, step. They are nearing closer, his mind yells at him, while he reaches for a handkerchief in his pant's pocket. There is a grimace forming with furrowed brows, a disappointed look directed right at himself. Fuck. "WAIT-" I can't believe I'm doing this. A soldier swiftly turns on his heel to point and shoot at the corner, but they are met with a boy with white hair, a teenager who stood out strangely from the rest of the inmates here. Well, what can he say? He's handsome- "WAIT WAIT - WAIT!" Stupidly, he's waving the handkerchief in the air as he kneeled on the floor. His eyes are sealed shut as he did so, the action questioned by the group of soldiers who pointed at the guy with slippery fingers tugging eagerly at their triggers. A silent pause is held between them. When the silence keeps lingering, however, Ares opened his eyes to see the military staring right back at him. He forces a grin back down into his lips, clearly thanking Gaia that worked. However, his joy is cut short. "Don't shoot-!" . . . "..Please?" "Sorry kid," A hoarse voice responds him. He swore he heard the guy chuckle. "Orders are or-" If they could see it, the flurry that sliced gashes through their vests were a barrage of swipes coming from his boned tail. It had no skin or flesh, just the raw skeleton that danced it's way through their bodies. Ares was dancing, too. In a way. Like the boys on the street who spun wildly and broke down hard on the floor with a sick beat. You know, breakdancing. Except it was breakdancing with blood and guts, the three soldiers who were initially glaring down at the guy were now staring in different directions - eyes open as their bodies laid there. He jumped himself back up, dried blood stained by the fresh blood, whipping the red off his spinal tail. Surprised that it worked, Ares even cracked a big smile. Until he went out with a - BANG. [ Ares is shot in the back of the head and dumped in the body dumpsters outside of the prison of Last Chance. When they are to be transferred on a truck, his own corpse is nowhere to be seen. ]
  11. SweetCyanide

    Two If By Sea (Last Chance Raid OOC)

    Darn! My plan of escape has been bamboozled! Welp. Time to go Plan B, I guess
  12. SweetCyanide

    Two If By Sea (Last Chance Raid OOC)

    oh man, I'll get to finally finishing my last post tomorrow! it's been a busy week. sorry for not posting as much. 😵 also, very curious, where will the corpses in the prison be dumped? incinerated, thrown outside, you know! that kinda stuff! 😚
  13. SweetCyanide

    Welcome to the Festival of Blades (Ursa Madeum)

    jk i'll have this guy spectating like the lil kid she is
  14. Skool's here.

    Y'ALL KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS

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    1. roboblu

      roboblu

      RELATABLE

    2. ourlachesism

      ourlachesism

      BOI DO I KNOW IT 😅

  15. SweetCyanide

    Two If By Sea (Last Chance Raid OOC)

    oh god i gotta break out ares soon or he's absolutely fucked
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