A quick survey across his broad surroundings caused the prodigal reaper to grin gleefully. Grabbing the handle of his megaphone, the Grim Heaper yelled enthusiastically.
“ATTENTION, ALL OF YOU ZETTA SONS OF DIGITS! You are now in the presence of greatness - my greatness. Behold!”
A large, inexplicable junk heap had been crafted behind him. There was no doubt … the eccentric youth had made his mark, once again.
■■■He stares. He blinks. Picks his nose. Flicks it off to the side.
❝You again? Eh?❞
⊰☠⊱ — Mild curiosity is what brought him to a place like this. Hadn’t been the first time he’s ever boarded a train nor set foot in a subway. More lowkey than the other train stations, though subways were more prone to having a couple of skeevy knuckleheads brewing up some trouble. Sometimes ending in a massacre or shedding some blood. More likely for a brawl or theft to take place. The former mercenary paid no heed to such things, usually keeping to himself— unless the situation called for it or his body decided to make the first move against his wishes.
It never ended pretty when it came to that.
However, in a place like this, it was the most efficient way of getting to places— seeing as he had no personal access to a vehicle. Though had grown accustomed to traveling on foot. Where the eyes of the heat weren’t scrutinizing his every move. Not much history shared between the law at Hive City, if any, compared to his history with Chado-san and a few officers at Ergastulum— despite being aware of the charges against him.
At this moment, he didn’t have that luxury.
The unbearable heat vexed the deaf man to no end, due to how crowded it was at the subway. Feeling the occasional glances tossed at his direction, disregarding the masses of inhabitants situated to their seats— patiently waiting. Unintentionally meeting the gazes, their wandering eyes zeroing in on the dog tags around his neck, hanging low, engraved with brief information about the Tagged. His kind, much like domestic pets, would be seen sporting the dog tags everywhere they went. Their only identity they were temporarily allowed to have and would completely eradicate without a trace the day they kicked the bucket.
No proper funeral were held for them. To the eyes of Normals they were nothing but lowly animals— monsters that served a single purpose, to be used by them and would get disposed off once they lose their purpose.
The habitual mar of a frown the aloof man wore, accompanied by the furrow of brows—recollecting the memory of his fallen kin, their existences erased from the memories of the Normals. Although not the same was said to the rest of the Tagged.
Rays of light peered through window panes— disrupting his musings as the light nearly blinded the disgruntled Tagged, dead fish eyes roved in search of a nearby spot with some obscurity. A number of heads perked up as he trudged towards the shaded, desolate area; inquisitive gazes boring holes on the bulky mass that made his body. Dog tags clanked with each bouncing step, the heavy steps of boots reverberated off the walls of the subway— coming to an abrupt halt; situated himself on the cold wall.
Absentmindedly, hand strayed back on the hilt of the ligneous replication of a katana, gaze subtly scouring his packed surroundings. Gaze coming to an abrupt halt, glancing at a dubious man, clad in black accompanied by the typical shades and hat, possibly a guy with underground connections which meant something was about to go down— soon. The very same man seemed to lay his focus on something— someone. That someone being a man with an eyepatch, hinting a look of surprise once the other seized the duffel bag from his grasp. The eyepatch look briefly reminded him of his pal, Worick. Though the patch was on a different side.
The Tagged assumed the man was either caught red-handed and was about to get wasted here in the open or something unexpected had happen— which will result in the same. Those guys didn’t play around— big-headed lackeys who believed they were invincible and untouchable all because of their connections. The former mercenary usually took care of guys like him whenever he was running a job for main families that ran Ergastulum.
It wasn’t his business to stick his nose where it didn’t belong, watching as another one of the black clad man’s pal came up from behind the eye-patched guy. This was the deaf man’s cue to divert his attention elsewhere, going back to minding his own business. However, it was too late as he locked gazes with the man that was going to get wasted by the hands of those flunkies.
A single thought crossed his head at that very moment, watching the man’s lips part— obviously speaking directly to him. 'Man, this ain't gonna go down well.' Vexation blatant in his visage, calloused hand roughly swept against the back of his neck, Nicolas figured it wouldn’t be too problematic to lend a hand— this once. Though the man that had dragged him into his little problem would owe him one. He wasn’t one to do things out of the good of his hard, there was always a price to pay.
In a situation like this, it wouldn’t do both of them any good if he were to sign back in turn, the underlings would probably assume they were up to something suspicious. Which meant he had to resort to that— to talk. A tedious and irksome task it was, not to mention exhausting. ❝ᴀIɴ·T ᴍY ғᴀUʟᴛ﹐ ɪDɪOᴛ. ᴛʜAᴛ ᴡAs Aʟʟ ᴏN ʏOᴜ. ɪ ɢOᴛ ɪᴛ.❞ Tracing the guy’s line of vision, lips thinning, spotting the bag in question, reaching for them. Nicolas hadn’t nearly expected the weight it gave off, but the shade and clattering felt familiar. Taking a gander at the bag, peering through an opening, a silvery glint caught his eyes. Ah, so that’s what they were. But why was he carrying that many? While he was struggling to find one himself.
However, musings interrupted yet again, he found himself in a familiar situation. How many times had he been held at gunpoint? So many that he lost count. It wasn’t even funny anymore. Not too mention how dull this routine was.
Grimacing disdainfully, disinterested gaze swept over to the one-eyed man, the man quickly pulled the trigger. Quick on his feet, seeing no point in using his wretched, sorry excuse for a weapon, Nicolas lurched towards the man who fired at him, bullet lightly grazing his cheek as Nicolas kicked off the ground, steel boots connected to lackey’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him as the man choked up blood— holding him in place underneath him as the man writhed in agony.
Before the other underling behind the one-eyed man was able to pull the trigger, Nicolas burled the bag in his possession— hitting the guy square in the face. ❝ʏOᴜ ᴏᴡE Mᴇ﹐ ᴘAʟ.❞ Putting emphasis on the friendly word, tone gruff and guttural, an unsettling, darkened smirk tugged at his lips— he disinterestedly gazed at the chaos that ensued. By now, the myriad of passengers were desperately haphazardly scattered about—in an attempt to escape to somewhere safe. Least now the one-eyed man was able to get his hands back on his bag of weapons. Maybe now he would be able to see why this man carried many swords on him.
Here’s to hoping these guys didn’t call for some back-up. However, the fates weren’t smiling upon them today.
☾ ■■■Stern gaze fell upon the visage of the other, having felt his gamble being paid off. The dragon in question took hold of his heel dragging along the dirtied surface of the subway floor. Stopping straight in his tracks as the bag of weapons slammed into the lackeys face. A murmurr of anguish retort was heard but cut short by the sudden swift up cut landing Masamune’s fist against the others adam’s apple. It left him in a spurt of gasps and choking; at this point Masamune wouldn’t care if he was dead. You don’t just threaten his life and get away with it.
Extending his hand out to grab the handles to his weapon bag, Masamune gave a quick spit onto the writhing body. Taking out a sword peeking from the opening, he’d no sooner look to the other. Grimacing look upon his face as he can only assume the worst at this point. With the people having alerted the other sections of the train, obvious mayhem was to presume.
❝Yeah I damn owe you big time and once
our asses are out of this mess. Hit me
up on that. ‘Cause I damn well dragged
you into this damn unkewl pahty.❞
Improptune slur of his english accented words escaping his lips with a slight smirk; he was excited. Eyeing the sword held by the others hand, it was his own to see it carried by someone aside from himself had been both an irking and new experience. The rough wrapping along the hilt had been worn from his hands and no one else, when weapons chose their masters. He wondered faintly if this one had felt betrayed by him.
”This train is currently being hijacked
you can thank your two friendly
neighborhood so called ‘heros’
for that. Unless, we are promised
safe passage off this subway.
No ones getting off this train alive.”
The curt stop of the intercom had been dismissed with loud static and a chiming ding whilst a woman began to sound off the next stop. An automated message that had now been left useless to the ever moving subway. Loud yells could be heard from both sides and the few left within the same cut off that Nicolas and Masamune stood in. Had stared at them angrily shouting a number of profanities Blaming them for what was to occur and what would occur.
Silver embedded with red;
He ended the mans life that had been hit hard by the other stranger settled quietly besides the dragon. His head had been cut off clean, and the blood dripped down from the angular way the samurai held the sword. With an electrifying look, he stared daringly at all that had yelled at them. Shutting them up in silence.
❝You go through the train and you tell them
if they get in my way they’ll end up just
like him, you see?❞
Screams of horror permeated the air and Masamune out of annoyance to the loud screeching tried to clean his ears out. Very much casual about it, his small tactic to scare off the last several people within the subway as they had scampered off. No doubt to send the others into a further frenzy, though he knew if he bounded through the train with his bloodied sword. There would be very little who opposed him; more importantly. The threat that could have regained conscious could enact further harm onto the innocent bystanders. More or less, perhaps set up a surprise attack upon them if they had their backs turned. So the lackeys death was prominent and important; the air of war was a foot and the samurai was not about to lose to some simple common crook with a gun.
The cantering of the subway chugging along through the tracks had brought about several inquiries his mind also hadn’t completely grasped the idea of. Never really understood the mechanics of trains or subways, he simply road them. A part of him hoped this guy was far more versed in this words mechanics than he was. Seeing as he’d been through several instances of words like this for only 3 years. It wasn’t as if he was born and bred on the streets of a city.
❝I take it you don’t want to die eh?
Being stuck in a tunnel makes it hard to
wanna jump out and book it. Any idea
on what to do? ❞
Masamune’s only eye collectively stared upon the other again. Toned muscles again catching him. The way he held his own sword within the palm of his hands had amused his samurai tidings. It wasn’t completely improper, though that it reminded him of a certain style two damiyo of his lands would hold it. Was he fast? Or was this just how he held it? Questionable intellect came to mind, but hes rather interested in this individual. Able to read in between the lines and follow the flow of things, not to mention his ability to keep up in a fight was more than a welcomed sight. It was a prize he wasn’t about to let up on.
She didn’t exactly believe him, but… the compliment was nice. She wasn’t one to really argue, especially with a man like this. He didn’t seem to back down from an argument it seems. At his words, the dancer nods her head.
"I've been here for a few weeks, but I'm
still a bit lost when it comes to finding things…
A-And I’m not used to a setting like this…
Wait, you’ve been here for years?”
He simply states staring still at her choice of clothing even now. Though he doesn’t make a deal out of it.
❝What’s got you wondering
or lost—hell even confused?
If you came from any home
like mine. You’re bound to
find yourself lost for a while.❞
Immediately, hands reach to grab the loose end as she fixes her scarf. For a moment, it was like he stopped in his tracks, though she can’t imagine why. That was, until he starts trying to pronounce what she just called him. Blinking once, then twice, it’s not long before a slight tug upwards of her lips appear, amused at his actions. French was something that not everyone could take up easily, and it made some quite entertaining results.
“Monsieur,” she repeats, slowly, to help him out.
❝Munsw-our… Forget the
scarf. The hells language is
A foreign touch on her ears shocked the viera into offensive, sharping her senses from the sulking. Never has anyone dared to break through the woman’s personal space. If the frigid glare didn’t instill warning,her clipped words would persuade otherwise. In a fluid motion, she gripped onto the offender’s wrist and twisted until the entire arm was locked behind his back. The other hand was used to push his head against the table, rattling the glass of its contents.
"You," Face completely devoid of emotion, it was her voice that delivered the menace, "You dare?"
❝Didn’t I just do that?❞
Ｃold surface slammed against his face, the stickiness of the wooden counter had been evident of it’s use. Scent of alcohol inundated his senses nearly numbing them with the mixture of smells that only came to stank. The only uncomfortable notion at this peculiar moment as he stared at the startled ‘bunny’ who seemed grossly agitated.
❝You know I’d let go of
me if you don’t want to
end up in the same
position. I’d even take
advantage of it—those ears.❞
“Youkai…!?" Pupils dilated quickly as if a mental trigger had just been pulled, her expression growing blank for but a moment.
It was no surprise, though. As one who had been hunted and killed under that very same title, she had deep trauma associated with it. “And what if I was, human? Would you hunt me? I’ve killed many who’ve uttered that claim to me in the past, even though a youkai is not my identity.”
☾ ■■■Ｔhe snap of an expression that overrode her face had even caused the samurai to become a bit taken back. He of course, lets go with much respect to her watching as she looked so empty and solem as if she had been in this very moment lost. Words reaching his ears could only make him fathom what had happened to her.
❝Hnn, is that so? Well a good thing
you killed those who hunted you.
I did the same thing too, when I
was. Heh. But if ya aint a Youkai
then you aint one. Here I thought
I’d been loookey.❞
Brooding was not a quality known from the viera. Typically she wore a stoic mask to conceal any true emotion underneath. Or occupied herself with a few thugs equipped with wandering hands. Or a combination of the two, depending on the occasion. But today was a particularly fretful evening for her. Failing to “borrow” an airship from another drove her to a rowdy bar to quell the itch. The itch to relive her life as a sky pirate, rather than scurry about as a mere test subject.
And so she stared emptily into the glass containing a soft amber liquid, at a table away from the facility’s vibrancy. Since she took precautions to ensure none would disturb her, Fran was confident she would finally have a night alone away from her apartment.
Except one certain individual watched her from afar, intrigued by her bestial characteristics.
❝What a nice set of ears ya
got there. Heh.❞
Ｈe notes how dreary she looks and if anything that was the primary reason for his approachal. Truthfully, her ears and tiny tail that peeked out from her behind had been a sight for sore eyes—but even the dragon was a bit more respectful than that… Or… Well he liked to believe. Walking through the vibrant bar that seemed to only make his interactions of the norm. Arm rested upon the table whilst his other reached out to touch her ear.
Soft and fuzzy.
He loved it.
She always forgets just how long her scarf really was. Length was never what mattered to her, but rather its quality and usefulness. She’s had it for awhile; a gift from her mother, it’s a prized possession, and she takes care of it to ensure it’s safe. Of course, with how light it was, it was bound to cause some problems eventually, but she doesn’t see it coming as it’s suddenly being pulled at from behind. Turning, emerald eyes widen ever so slightly as she, gently, tries to tug it away from the stranger.
“M-Monsieur, what are you doing?”
❝Mon..Su-our? The hell
Ｉgnoring the fact that he had just been tugging vehemously at her scarf. The dragon drops everything in regards of discovering what this strange new word had mean’t. Infact he liked it a bit too much. Repeating the word afterwards to himself trying to get it right.
"I suppose the outfit doesn’t make me stick out as much as I’ve feared."
They hadn’t talked much. If anything, most of their interaction had just been right place at the long. Daylen had seen some of the man’s incidents, such as racing a horse around the city with prince Edward, but that was about it.
But it at least was a help that he wasn’t the only one stuck in this city for so long. A year now of gossip, drama, and random nudity.
“Daylen Amell. It’s quite alright, from what I remember we haven’t really talked. Might I ask for your own in return?”
❝Eh, not when your outfit
is a lot more normal then
what I’ve seen.❞
Ｈe tilts his head slightly, taking in the others form with much interest into what he wore. The dragon supposed.
❝Date Masamune. Just.
Masamune. Alright, fess
up. Whats with your get