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SweetCyanide

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Everything posted by SweetCyanide

  1. 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
  2. SweetCyanide

    a funeral with no tears [pluto x hildebrand]

    “You!” Shirin points at Pluto like an accusing blade. Too blunt to pierce him. So he stands there, frozen, recollecting himself before a familiar face that glared daggers into his soul as if he was some sort of fiend. He parts his lips for a brief moment — to think of something to say — but he continues to freeze, mouth dropping open while they continued to exchange their own share of surprised blinks and stutters. “You—I—” Pluto glances at his coat, and to Varda, who was clearly amused, then to Shirin, who was obviously vexed. He places his palm against his chest with a soft mutter that expressed an innocent bewilderment. "Me..?" Why he was so taken aback by this sudden arrival was because; Shirin looks furious, the opposite reaction of what Pluto had predicted. Also, because of her appearance, he's noticed about how much memory of Shirin begun flooding in the back of his head. An unpleasant feeling, he believes, but because of her interruption, he may have yet to give the box some other time. “You bastard." Her words cause him swallow a lump in his throat. When she paces towards him with impatient steps, Pluto squinted and readied himself for a sudden jolt of pain. "How dare you show up here without saying anything beforehand.” Shirin holds him in a tight embrace, and Pluto supports her weight as she leaned forward with fatigue. He takes a step back to allow her to melt in his arms, despite his initial reaction perhaps a few seconds ago. The silvery man sighed deeply and rested his chin atop her shoulder. She smells unpleasant. He'll try his best not to say it to her face. Instead, he mutters something that could have him punched either way. "It seems you've missed me." He says it so briefly that Shirin already untangled herself from him. After she asks for Varda's forgiveness, she turns back to Pluto. He tightens his gloves and grits his teeth. Uneasily. "I will be back for as long as I am needed. I'm afraid I cannot assure my stay will be too long." He remains stern, even when he glances at Shirin. "I wont leave too soon, of course." Then, he brings his hand up to his mouth, diverting his gaze away as if avoiding eye contact. "I've yet to offer my.. condolences."
  3. SweetCyanide

    — pluto, the gilded

    PLUTO of HILDEBRAND l'amour est un oiseau rebelle — que nul ne peut apprivoiser, ✦ ✦ I N F O temperament: melancholic species: a ceramic human age: early twenties chosen flower: brugmansia suaveolens birthplace: tellus mater date of birth: unimportant, does not remember who is he: the golden crow, the former seneschal and courier of house hildebrand ✦ V I T A L S height: 5,7 weight: 139 lbs gender: male hair: cloudy grey eyes: pale blue, silver under the right light. his left eye appears to be dark and damaged. skin: smooth like glass, breakable voice: polite and pleasant — untrusting ✦ M E N T A L behavior: cold and apathetic, gentle and generous. his words are often fake, but his smile is not. difficult to have a conversation with; it is unlikely of him to speak unless requested to. hopes: to obey. fears: he shows discomfort around crows. dislikes insects. likes: pleasantly reacts to butterscotch, milk tea, and classical music. ✦ S K I L L S 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 etiquette 6: expected to hold his own in combat 7: able to play an instrument to entertain ✦ G O L D E N - B L O O D E D has the ability 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 use it to replenish himself. the gold in him is also magical, switching between purification and acidic properties. under certain circumstances, he cannot control these properties. ✦ F R A G I L E L I K E A N A N T I Q U E he is breakable. susceptible to blunt force trauma rather than lacerations. when shattered, he reforms himself by picking up the pieces of his body. if fragments are lost, he will create new layers of gold that will act as a temporary substitute. gilded marks signify he's possibly lost pieces of himself over the years. he does not tell her the flowers are poisonous.
  4. SweetCyanide

    — pluto, the gilded

    ` UPDATED.
  5. SweetCyanide

    Let's Make A Deal [Stormlands]

    He wondered what excuse he had to offer. Ramsey crouched low atop the Casimir, becoming increasingly foggier to notice due to the pelting rain albeit the dangerous light in his hands. Woo-sah. Beaming like a hot rod, a rippling shot pierced the wind and exploded in a shower of dust, rock, and golem viscera. Ram watched and squinted through the scope as the freezing Golem struggled to light up and take a few steps forward - before falling to it's knees like a slowly-collapsing hunk of debris and finally, landing flat on half of it's face. He sighed into his speakers, (which probably amplified his breath) aimed his sights on the coming blue lights, and assessed the situation from a higher ground. From what he can guess - through the rain - is that he's helped shoot down the Golem who's been trying to pound the man dangling on a horse their way. And, assuming that he was friendly, (because it seemed that none of his crew attempted to shoot him) he took the chance to, well, shoot him himself. With painkiller, of course. Reloading his sniper with a special-grade piece of healthy ammunition, Ram shot him with some love. Along with it was a BANG that sounded louder and possibly slower than the rest of the shots called as the sharp painkiller found it's way whistling into the man's good shoulder with a bit of struggle. Assuming once more he wouldn't fall off the horse due to the split-second pain and impact of the shot, he turned his pelted gaze towards the strange threats that howled every second they came hurling around. A voice in the back of his head began to echo as he pulled the trigger again and again, reloading the magazines every now and then. Unconsciously, he begins to think; I thought this was some kind of penalty job. BANG. Weren't we going to hand out supplies, or something? BANG.
  6. SweetCyanide

    Project Destroy Tia

    I'm not dead yet 👍
  7. SweetCyanide

    Whisper of the Wyrm

    Looks like pulling out the big guns ended up exciting these pirates, an opposite effect Tommy was going for. She expected to, well, scare them away. With a chainsaw. But it ended up encouraging them to fight - a mistake on her part. Now that it was a stupid move, she's hiding behind a barrel, remembering never to bring a knife to a gunfight. And speaking of gunfights, she is hilariously bad with a gun. Finger kept loose on the trigger, Tommy scowled thinking about the mockery Ares would lose himself over. She could already imagine him rolling around, that little white bastard laughing himself to death - oh, she'll show him- A bullet whizzed past her ear, an explosion of splinters coming along with it. She was too terrified out of her ass to take a sneak peek and aim, so her hand came up like a whack-a-mole and pulled the trigger, narrowly missing twice before shooting the third one and hearing a comforting SHIT, which prompted her to hop out behind the barrel and dive in with her axe. Grip steady as it should be, the rust found it's way into the pirate's neck. The blood dripping from the blade made her steady grip slippery - her white jacket painted in a blissful amount of red. A moment of relief washed over her as she watched the goon drop dead - that moment quickly cast away once she made a cursory glance to her left and saw another pirate. This time, sprinting with a blade meant just for her. Obviously, she reacted by shooting him - then missing, then shooting again - and missing the second shot - and the third - until she said 'fuck it' and whipped out that gnarly pink chainsaw from the keychain on her belt. Staying low, Tommy lunged forward, starting up the saw after forcefully plunging it through her victim's abdomen. She felt every muscle and organ tense up against her - and like a hot knife through butter, Tommy ruthlessly ripped and tore, the warcry of Puppycat mixing with the rumbling screams of pain of a dead man whose stomach narrowly opened up. The sight of it was disgusting. The feeling of it, was absolutely great. Shrinking the saw back into a keychain, she stepped back and looked down at her crime against humanity. Tommy was covered in more blood now, having torn apart a man whose life she would have thought about sparing - and now has his entrails currently splattered against the greasy floorboards. But hands possessed by the devil, look at what she's done now. She let a shrill exhale pass out from her lungs; a breath filled with fatigue, guilt, and carnage. "Elias!" Shifting her body to the side and judging by a quick peripheral look and sound of voice, it appears she has found the endearing storyteller quivering behind - perhaps, one of the other crew members she hasn't properly introduced herself to yet. Sprinting at them like a maniacal bull was definitely not one of their own - a man whose grin twisting with every moment he neared closer with a sword in hand. Instinctively, Tommy reached for her gun- Until she was suddenly hit in the back of the head with a handle - followed by an amused duet of hearty laughter, then punched in the face and pushed off the ship without a second thought. "SHI-" Tommy fell into the ocean that night. Unable to register what the hell just happened - her primal instinct began to scream - her brain telling her that she is in the water. And by utter luck, Tommy does not know how to swim. Tommy pulls out a small knife and stabs it into the side of the ship, beginning to scream and beg for Gaia's mercy, hoping someone have heard her panicked screeches over the bullets and blades - her elvish dialect swerving in from time to time while she clung on for dear life as the tides drowned her again and again, struggling to keep up with the pace of the Wet Dog. Meanwhile, Ares was still out cold.
  8. SweetCyanide

    Destruction des morts

    Smoking pipe in his right hand, Raccoon sharply inhaled through his nostrils as loud and as long as he can - the snorted air garnering his friend's grimace as she crouched low on all fours - inconspicuously perched atop a roof's ledge. After about a few seconds of annoying the hell out of Mugo, the shaman suddenly paused with a chest pounding with pollution, cheeks filled to the brim with ethereal smoke. What came out of his mouth next was not a slur of self-induced case of the jitteries, but a thick ring of smoke dramatically fading into the breeze. He went on suddenly on a coughing fit, having sucked in a bug - and begun wheezing black smoke through his facial orifices. It took him more than a few seconds to get rid of the itch in his throat, the cloud of unhealthiness surrounding his vision and ability to balance on the ledge. Right beside the semi-aquatic 'imp', he rolled up his sleeves and fixed his glasses. With a posture proud and stout, he deepened his voice incredibly low. "Do you smell that?" Asked a husky Raccoon, whose question was directed at Mugo. In reply, she yawned. Closing his eyes in contemplation, he placed his hand upon her head, patting her slowly. "It's the smell of dange- AH-" He yells in surprise when Mugo nearly bit his hand off, reeling away and pausing a few seconds - then cleared his throat to regain his low voice. "It's the smell of danger." Suddenly, Raccoon dramatically whipped his head to the side with a handsomely furrowed gaze, intensely focused eyes focused toward the direction of; WAK. The WAK. He doesn't know exactly what WAK stands for, but the spirits have told him, and they have told him, that it is time. For WAK. He shifts his attention toward the red glowing symbols on his skin, watching his tattoos dance in a show of flickering lights. "And what do we about.. danger?" He asks again, snapping his fingers and halting the magic in his wrist. This time, Mugo picked her ear. "We approach danger like we are danger. But we're.. like, more dangerous! The plan is, we head down there, go say hello to those dudes down there like; Oh, we're so cool, check out how cool we are - you guys definitely need us - and then they're all like; Aw man, you guys are so cool, you should definitely come with us and kick some vampire butt. And then we're all; Hell yeah man! And when get in the WAK, and we go all KAPOW! BAM! KA-PHOOEY! PEWPEWPEW!" Raccoon puffed the smoking pipe, then exhaled a large amount of smoke through his mouth. "You get it, right? My awesome plan? .. We're so gonna wing this." He glanced beside him. "Right, Mugo?" Mugo has disappeared. ". . . Mugo?" Mugo was down there. She left Raccoon halfway through his questionable speech, having jumped to another roof and landed on the concrete with a forward roll. It was getting past her bedtime, and well, she wanted to get this over with so she could sleep. The entrance was decorated by a mess of dead men painted on the concrete, their blood flowing through the cracks. The atmosphere brought by these deaths has dragged the temperature lower - something Mugo somehow appreciated. The air's been stuffy all night, it was nice to get a breather every now and then. But, well, she's not too happy about the dead guys. Hopping to a severed head not too far from where she was standing, she crouched down and decided to do a little inspection despite her initial response by sticking her tongue out and cursing in mandarin. A group of people approaches while she continues to examine a face of a dead man. Drained? Check. Teeth marks? Check. Possibly consumed by none other than a vampire? Check. Does it taste like it was consumed by a vampire? . . . Her blue tongue hovered over the bite marks, and slowly, she brought the severed head near- "MUGO, NO!" Raccoon swatted the head out of Mugo's hands, frantic. "Do NOT eat people! Bad! Wh - hey!" She gave him a rather annoyed look. "Don't look at me! You just tried to lick a dead dude!" A silent pause. Mugo brought a finger up to her face and found that it had a residue of blood left on it. Raccoon suddenly gasped, incredibly offended. "Don't. You. Dare." In perhaps a few seconds of time, Raccoon would have jumped on Mugo like trying to save your dog from swallowing a sharp bone. He would have, if it wasn't for the arrival of the rest of the group seemingly watching them from quite a short distance. The shaman's jaw dropped at the sight, of two beautiful women. And their lovely friend too, of course. His eyes blessed, he almost felt like crying. Witnessing double blondes at a place and time like this? Pretty blondes? Bless Mother Gaia. Almost immediately, he stood up, grabbing Mugo by her hood and pulling her up like the tiny midget she is. He rested his elbow on the top of her head, flaunting a handsome pose, then flaunting a dangerously smug grin to the pair of women that had him internally screaming. When Mugo sucked on her bloodied finger, Raccoon suddenly cleared his throat. "Ladies. And ehrm, dude. Buddy, guy, man. How - how's it, uh, going?" @Stumbler @Wade @amenities @bfc @Mag
  9. Hey guys, sorry for the inactivity lately.

    There's been alotta shenanigans going on right now, most of them related to me physically perishing but hey, I still got my other leg. I was actually planning on tossing in an AFV, because writer's block kept hitting me for months on end but I was like; nah dude, so I stayed up all night trying to get a post

    But I didn't get a single post out

    I delayed a couple of threads, I'm really sorry about that, so I promise I'll get most of them done by tomorrow

    So thank you guys for being patient with me,
    I'mma pass out right now
    Nighty night

    Sorry for being inconsistent

    Happy halloween, I'll have something special soon!
     - Cyanide

     

    1. Wade

      Wade

      Stay spicy my boi 🔥

  10. SweetCyanide

    Project Destroy Tia

    well at one point he probably smoked a joint, who knows 😘
  11. SweetCyanide

    Project Destroy Tia

    HA! I FIXED MY POST! You are one smooth criminal, cyanide ~
  12. SweetCyanide

    Project Destroy Tia

    dangnamit now i gotta redo my post sorry bout that guys, ill have that fixed in a couple of hours or so
  13. SweetCyanide

    Destruction des morts

    They say those who can try and predict the future end up having to walk with their heads on backwards in the afterlife, so that they are unable to see what is ahead - forever doomed to see what is behind them no matter what direction they take. Raccoon claims whoever said that 'must be outta their fuckin' mind'. Nestled quietly on a rooftop with the crickets surrounding him, he listened intently to the spirits who answered his call - and thus, was placed in a state of tranquility suitable for talking to souls who took comfort in the moonlight. The raccoon-haired man who was taking note of all the gossip passing out his ear is known as Lotor Loyola - or, well, Raccoon. An easygoing, skirt-chasing lunatic who had an affinity for animals. Around Raccoon was a circle of his magic - sitting on a purple pool as white little spirits crawled and jumped on him. He is a shaman you see, a literal bridge who connected to the material world and the ethereal world. Currently, he is in a vulnerable state that can be easily taken care of in a matter of seconds by an unforeseen force or simply knocking the guy out cold with the right amount of ya to his yeet. And presently, he is in such vulnerability by just meditating on a rooftop in Tia - while Tia was getting boned. Obviously, he needed someone to watch his back while he turned his on the literal dragon that was already reigning all sorts of hell. Slowly, slowly.. SMACK "ARGH, WHAT THE HELL-" His voice cracked, scaring the spirits off his body and shutting down the purple pool around his criss-crossed legs. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK- After realizing the person assigned to protect him has just begun attacking his head, Raccoon snatched the bladed fan sharp enough to possibly butcher his cranium in half. Luckily, it was the blunt part of the metal so he wouldn't bleed. But that wasn't the point. "Sorry - SO-RRY! Man - you don't have to get all physical, dude! I was getting to the good par-" Then his words trailed off, raising his hand from the fist raised at him. He nervously blinked. Significantly younger than she looks, the blue-skinned girl hitting Raccoon is who they call Mugo. A very short semi-aquatic demi-human Raccoon likes to compare to an imp - from the attitude, to the tail. And judging by Mugo's actions, she's clearly had enough of his shenanigans. She leapt forward to snatch her fan, glaring into the shaman as if almost cutting him wasn't enough. As a literal fish out of water, Tia felt like the bane of her existence. A foreigner, she underestimated the simple words of 'you probably shouldn't bring a jacket, it's pretty humid' and is now suffering. Fanning herself was not even a viable escape, as the humidity worsened under her shirt. Gaia knows why the air is still stuffy even at night, but it's a good thing she kept the black-yellow jacket around her waist. Besides - there are hundreds of reasons why meditating here of all places was a bad idea - but Mugo couldn't possibly point them out because of the drastic language barrier. Sure, he can read her mind - and sure - they've known each other long enough to figure out what they're both saying - but can he understand her in Renovatian tongue he's probably never of heard at all? Of course not! So she sat there, pouting and growling - waiting for an answer. Raccoon was quick to take note of her attitude, clearing his throat and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Sooo," He hummed, taking out a talisman from his pocket and tracing his finger down the ancient symbols inscribed on the paper. "Tia's going to shit - and um, I don't mean it's going to the toilet - but you know what I mean." Raccoon paused to squint at Mugo through his glasses. "Right?" She glanced back with an empty expression. "Right, o-kay." He hummed, while screaming and sirens ensued from an approach of a threatening monster - combined with the ambiance of street hustles and gunshots. You know, all the shit. "And," He raised a finger up, grinning stupidly wide with a smug expression. "I know why." This statement caused the demi-human to yawn, who was fanning herself. "The spirits told me what they've seen - and I'm telling you man! It's the wildest shit - you ain't gonna believe it - but I know you will! You will, cus' it's true." Mugo glared back with an unimpressed look. "It's bout to go down, ov'r there-" He pointed that finger to the direction of WAK, where Mugo stared with a high amount of curiosity. "right there, like, you see that? It's right beside - yeah, yeah! You see, you gotta learn why you should never doubt my gut feelings, cus' they never bullshit me, man." Her face zeroed in with confusion. He was always awfully cryptic in the strangest ways she could remember - that his hunches mean life or death or whatever nonsense spills out of his mouth the next couple of minutes in a blur of jittery; 'Dude, follow me!' or, 'Yo, you feel that?', and 'My feet are tingly - that means something.' - so it took a couple of seconds to figure out why in the hell he's been dragging her along for the past couple of hours in their errands here in Tia, until - It was another couple of seconds before they exchanged contrasting stares, Raccoon building up excitement as Mugo slowly grimaced. "You know what we're going to do." Mugo shook her head. ".. Yeeaaah-" And shook her head. "Yeaaaaaah!" She placed her forehead on the end of her fan. Raccoon raised his hands up in the air in a sort of victorious pose, gesturing gang signs and laughing in a sinister voice. He scrambled to his feet and jumped up in energy he should've lost by lack of sleep, pointing once more to the direction of the WAK - obliviously not taking the time to look up at the sky to notice the massive fight in the air that could've left him rambling on and on how utterly cool it is. She supposed it was a good thing. "HA! YEAH! I am - awesome!"
  14. SweetCyanide

    Let's Make A Deal [OOC]

    I might have to ask to be skipped for this round. The consequence of procrastination's hot on my trail Just imagine Ram doing paperwork with a tiny puppy on his table 👍
  15. SweetCyanide

    Project Destroy Tia

    Would it be possible to slide me in Group 1? 😗
  16. SweetCyanide

    Project Destroy Tia

    If exams don't beat me to it, I'll help defend the city with some new goons. 👍
  17. SweetCyanide

    the best among your darlings

    ares bc he's trash
  18. SweetCyanide

    a funeral with no tears [pluto x hildebrand]

    When Pluto watches Esme forcibly drag Iyalon away with the brightest smile on her face - in a reckless shuffle, a matter of fact - he is tempted to tell them not to run in the halls. But he keeps his lips sown shut, lifting an inquisitive brow as soon as Esme and Iyalon disappeared from his field of view. He does not know if it is intentional, or another one of Esme's playful habits - but he will make do of this time to speak with the newly appointed Lady Hildebrand. He keeps his gloved hand over the gift in his possession, feels the pain in his wrist as if someone - something, was pulling at his own veins. After all, he's come all this way to - “I see.” He glances at Varda, whose faint smile assures him of her sorrow. “Of course you are welcome here, Pluto. Do not think we will not welcome you with open arms every time you come home to us.” He is guilty for underestimating House Hildebrand's kindness. “Will you be taking up your old duties as well?” Pluto nods with a firm line across his lips. "Of course, my lady." After sneezing in the Lord's hall, how can he refuse? The amount of dust he has collected in the air by inhaling was frustrating enough, but to witness a grey layer of dust against the manor's antiques - was horrendous - pitiful, even. “Long has the position been empty, as we have found no other with your critical eye for detail,” Pluto pouts as he watches Varda dirty her hands. Perhaps a few seconds later, his face lights up as if he has remembered a vital memory. He reaches inside his oversized cloak, looking for the certain gift he has planned to give the Hildebrands in the memory of Strom. Until, that is, he spots Shirin running towards him.
  19. SweetCyanide

    Serial Killers Wanted

    My milkshake brought a boi to the yard
  20. SweetCyanide

    Serial Killers Wanted

    My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard
  21. SweetCyanide

    Let's Make A Deal [OOC]

    @Song Sprite Yep, he's a doctor from the military 👍 I'm completely down with whichever you choose - but be warned - he's not good with people.
  22. SweetCyanide

    choking on flowers

    iv. Really, he is not cold. Though even the slightest touch of his fingers could make the hairs on anyone's arm stand straighter than an corseted aristocrat, Pluto is naive. Perhaps it was his ghostly habit that caused his kindness to be underestimated—the habit of materializing only when he is called or when he is needed, and completely disappearing to who knows where. This caused him to create a strange detachment to the others in the household, his name uttered like a myth and a rumor—and even then, he appears to be listening. Watching, rather. And for those who do spot him, he is always admiring the flowers. On an particular afternoon where the rain has ceased and showered dewdrops over the gardens, Shirin runs up to Pluto and taps his shoulder—the pale servant immediately jumped by the unexpected touch. She laughs at his relieved sigh. "You've been looking at those flowers for quite some time." Shirin teases as she caresses the petals, her devious grin only widening from his flustered flutters. "Perhaps," A pause. "you're looking for bugs?" "N-No, I haven't." He responds, placing his hands behind his back. "No, I-I'm not." He answers, drifting his eyes away. "I just think they, er, look pretty." Shirin hums and nods, "That's true." then leans forward. "What are they?" "Um. Angel's Trumpets." He answers again, briefly and soft-spoken. "A pretty name for a pretty flower." She smiles—another pretty sight. "They remind me of you." This compliment causes Pluto to smile shyly, the corners of his porcelain lips curling upwards for but a brief second. One more glance at the trumpets, and his smile was reduced to nothing but a firm line. He does not tell her the flowers are poisonous.
  23. SweetCyanide

    choking on flowers

    i. It begins when he is formed in water. When he is against the sands of Casper, and where he lays in the wheat fields of Ursa Madeum. It starts when the wife of Lord Hildebrand cradles his shattered body to hers: stains her skirt with golden pools of metal and glass. It is not long before he is taken in to serve House Hildebrand—perhaps the youngest servant to ever clean the halls and clear the weeds. He looks to be ten when is in fact one, and will look twenty when he is a decade. Everything that moves and sways past him is alien, and he gasps and frowns at the sight of it. It will take him more than time to steady a cup on a plate. But before he is dolled up and ready to make tea—it is decided he is to be named. He is Pluto—House Hildebrand's future seneschal and murderer.
  24. SweetCyanide

    Let's Make A Deal [Stormlands]

    Some time before he is convinced into diving headfirst into disaster. "Kyle." "Ye-Yeah?" Doctor Robicheaux, or, Doctor Ram, as most call him, is shining a penlight into a patient's eye. His jaw is grim, vantablack eyes squinting like some kind of disappointed dad. Ram had some sort of reputation for being an absolute wildcard; the surgeon who once forgot how to count, and the same surgeon who performed an operation on himself. He spins the pen around his fingers. "Who the hell," He presses a knuckle, hard, against the breast bone. "diagnosed epidural hematoma?" "Doc?" "Or-" He glances at the clipboard in hand, pushes up the rim of his glasses to the bridge of his nose, sleepily. "acute, subdural hematoma?" Kyle stutters. "Uh-" "Gellhorn," He clicks the pen and inserts it into his coat. "Gellhorn? Probably." Kyle continues to watch Ramsey examine the patient on the bed. ".. Something wrong?" "What?" "Uh," He asks again. This time, more clearer. "Is there something wrong?" "Midbrain hemorrhage." "What?" "Or," Ramsey began scribbling on a pink post-it-note with unreadable penmanship, "residual damage from subdural hematoma." and slowly mouthed his words as he wrote. Spinning on his heel to turn behind him, he gave the note to Kyle by slapping it on his chest and dropping the clipboard into his hands. "Tell him to consider life support and possible organ harvest." "Organ harvest? Wait-" The medic spun to the side as he watched Ramsey walk out the room. "Unless he finds a miracle saver stashed in the vault," He gestures. "tell him I said good luck." Perhaps a couple of minutes later, Ramsey finds himself half-asleep in the elevator. Leaning against the corner and comfortably placing his head on the wall, the pressure brought to the top of his head brings him a drift of dizziness - his eyelids that are heavily shut adding more weight to the temptations of, God, I need to sleep. And when has he ever had a wink of it? As far as he knows, the last time he's slept was probably.. well, a week ago. He fights the impulsive urge to slide his hand on the multiple elevator buttons if it meant having five more minutes of- The vibrations on his back pocket jolts the doctor into hitting the back of his head into the corner, muffling a groan to avoid further attention from the couple of others in the elevator. He picks it up without looking at the number, not even once. A mistake, he soon found out. "Yeah, it's Robicheaux." "Hey, girlfriend." A feminine voice replied. It was somewhere between the lines of terrifying enthusiasm and downright mockery. "What-" "You free today?" He swore he heard the sound of a can opening. "..No. How'd you get my number?" "That's not important. I'll tell you what is, though." "Did you get food poisoning again?" Ramsey watched personnel walk in and out of the doors. "Get your ass to Fitzgerald's. Seriously - consider the expiry date, Sinclair." He glances down at his phone just to end the call - continues to melt into a self-induced coma in the elevator. That is, of course, when it began ringing again. Click. "Chemical poisoning. I see. I'll have you treated tomorrow with Dr. Wilde. For the time being, lock yourself in a room and never speak to me. Ever again." End call. . . . Ring! Click. "Please leave me alone." "Wanna go do something cool?" "No." "It'll be fun. I promise." "No." "Not even a minute?" "Not even a second." He glances up. One more floor until he gets off. "Aww. Come on, Doc." "I'm not taking any chances." "I could get you a day off." "I'm not taking that chance, either." "I can convince Delmara to think you're sick." "Almost convincing." "Hey - I'll ask you one last time." It is then that the doors open with a bright ding! When Ramsey seems fit to strike her again with another harsh 'no', he stops in his steps when he finds Echo Sinclair waiting for him. She was probably taller than he was. "Wanna go do something cool?"
  25. SweetCyanide

    Whisper of the Wyrm

    BANG - went the warning shot, and down went Ares. At first, she was confused as to why. Tommy asks, "You dead?" before realizing their ship was being raided, that her good old friend adrenaline was booming unconsciously in her blood. She whistles - at first seeming like a hoot to bring attention to her, but is actually a call of magic that releases the bindings on a keychain dangling from a belt. The chainsaw held in her right hand is puppycat, painted pink and decorated with stickers. Donning a furious face, Tommy pulls the handle and let's er' rip. In comparison to the rougher, meaner, tattooed mercs in the Wet Dog, Tommy was freckled and short, a sweet little half-elf with a candy bar sticking out from her back pocket. But hey - looks are deceiving. She's gotten in street hustles before, so delinquents and no-good goons are outta the question. But what are pirates? Well, Tommy thinks they're no-good goons on boats. "Oi!" She stumbles, on Ares's legs. "Back the fuck up!" In her right hand, puppycat growls for blood, for carnage. If Ares didn't get knocked out with a bullet, he would've held Tommy back - he would've said something like; You see that red hair? She looks just like my aunt Rox. But meaner-lookin' - cruel and cold kinda feelin'. Wanna know why? The half-elf is drawn to the woman's taunting gaze - stares at it as if looking into a pitless abyss. She's the captain of the goddamn Siren's song.
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