₊𖥔 ݁ ︎︎ ︎

❝ 𝐴𝑁𝐷 when the ʷᵒʳˡᵈ 𝖿͟𝗂͟𝗇͟𝖺͟𝗅͟𝗅͟𝗒 comes to 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝...

[conquerorshaki]

HE WOULD TAKE SUCH COMFORT—- ᶜᵒⁿ۹ᵘᵉʳᵒʳˢʰᵃᵏⁱ˒ An independent video game and animanga multimuse, starring 𝒅onquixote 𝒅oflamingo from ワンピース. [s]low activity, est. 6/26. —-IN KNOWING THAT THERE WOULD BE NO TOMORROW. A thematic exploration and comprehensive mapping of several expositions, 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐... domination achieved through intellect as often as brute force, freedom valued above order, authority, and tradition, protecting innocence while accepting one's own damnation, and legacy measured by those who continue one's ideals, 𝖺͟𝗆͟𝗈͟𝗇͟𝗀͟ 𝗈͟𝗍͟𝗁͟𝖾͟𝗋͟𝗌͟. ͟

⁰¹ MAIN BLOG. ⁰² ROSTER. ⁰³ ASK MEMES. ⁰⁴ ART CRED.

[halacska-fins]

I like to HC that Cora plays with the straps of his hood while yapping

[queen-of-andor]

New official art for Cora-san's birthday (which ofc features Law,too!):

[conquerorshaki]

thinking of a way the dimidaughters couldve maybe possibly survived getting packed up like newports by e money during the events of village…

theyre essentially humanoid swarms of mutant flies. hypothetically, each daughter cldve maintained hidden 'reserve colonies' elsewhere in the castle. destroying the visible body wldnt necessarily destroy every insect tied to that daughters consciousness. instead of 100% of them during their fights, maybe only 75–90% of each colony actually is. the rest are on reserve... someplace else, or anywhere else where the fights happen.

PLUS!!! as their bodies crystallized after their defeats, a tiny fraction of the insects making up the active swarm COULDDD have gotten away through cracks before the cold wiped out the rest. those survivors would be far too few to reform a body right off the bat, but still enough to preserve the colony. considering how fast blowflies reproduce and reach adulthood(or some shit. idk man), id give it anywhere from a few months (the most being ~a year) before the colonies get big enough to regain coordinated behavior/imitate their humanoid forms/gradually recover the daughters memories and personalities

the main point is that their consciousness isnt stored inside a single fly. its the organization of the swarm itself that encodes who they are. once enough insects exist to recreate those communication patterns, bela is bela again... not because 'one special insect survived', but because the colony rebuilt the same network

speaking of bela, theres no doubt in my mind that shes reconstructing first. i wldnt be surprised if she already had reserve colonies before ethan even showed up. she was also only exposed to cold from a single shattered window, so i dont think its unreasonable to assume a much larger percentage of her active swarm disengaged before the colony collapsed. cassandra had a breach blown open in the wall + daniela had the skylight opened above her, so theyre not nearly as fortunate v_v daniela DID retreat from the cold though unlike her older sisters, which cldve allowed more insects to break away before the colony failed... but the amount of exposure was so extreme that she still lost more of her swarm than anyone else

cassandras recovery is probably the slowest. much of her insects didnt prioritize escape-- much like bela, but shes working against a much larger volume of freezing air flooding the room here, so shes probably got SIGNIFICANT LOSSES and a slower recovery

[conquerorshaki]

One of the few times you'd get a look of confusion from BELA is if you asked her why the world is divided into rulers and servants. Hierarchy isn't just an arrangement of power. It's the architecture of civilization itself. She thinks that people are unequal, albeit not in the crude sense that some lives have no value... more so in the sense that every person has a proper station. Some have the temperament to command. Others have the temperament to obey. Erasing those distinctions would, in her mind, cause chaos rather than justice.

She thinks of herself as privileged on top of obligated. Nobility carries responsibilities. The castle must be maintained. Traditions must be preserved. Servants must perform their duties, and in return they receive protection, purpose, and order. It's a reciprocal relationship, though one whose terms are dictated entirely by the aristocracy... that being her Mother, and her.

This is why Bela's cruelty is usually restrained. She doesn't kill because disorder offends her. She kills because punishment restores order. If a maid spills wine, it isn't mere clumsiness. It's a failure of discipline. Villagers resisting aren't exercising freedom. They're abandoning their place. For her, violence is regrettable, but it's nonetheless legitimate when used to preserve the social order.

Because it reflects poorly on the Dimitrescu family as rulers, I think (one of the) largest points of contention between her and her sisters is their unnecessary sadism. A noble who indulges mindless cruelty isn't demonstrating strength but failing to govern with dignity. On the other hand, Bela probably sees herself... as compassionate. She 100% believes that hierarchy benefits everyone. Servants are happier when they know their duties. Peasants are safer when nobles govern firmly. Freedom sounds attractive only to people who fail to understand the burden of responsibility.

CASSANDRA, conversely, doesn't have any patience for theories. She doesn't really care whether hierarchy is traditional or divinely ordained. She only notices one thing, which is who has power over whom. But this isn't to say she believes in a constantly changing hierarchy where the strongest always deserves to stand at the top. She assumes the hierarchy is already obvious. She knows who the predator is. And that predator is her.

Strength isn't an abstract principle; it's an identity. Cassandra's power is proof of what she is, with laws, social customs simply being the decoration that surround an already established fact: some beings dominate, and others exist to be dominated.

Lady Dimitrescu's middle child doesn't romanticize nobility. She enjoys it. Power is exhilarating because it removes consequences. It means she doesn't have to justify herself, compromise, or consider the feelings of those beneath her. If someone weaker suffers, it's not a tragedy or a moral question... rather, the natural result of coming across someone stronger.

People often describe Cassandra as sadistic without taking into account how indifferent to things she is. She doesn't even recognize ordinary humans as moral equals capable of being hated. They're just prey: nothing more, nothing less, with the pleasure of hunting them coming from pursuit and not from the likes of ideology or justice. As such, she laughs at political arguments about who does and doesn't deserve power. Deserving isn't relevant. The powerful have power because they've taken it. The only reason anyone questions that is because they lack the strength to enforce their own will.

And even more unlike Bela, Cassandra doesn't need to justify hierarchy. She doesn't speak of responsibility or the obligations of rulers, as such concepts are unnecessary restraints— stories told to make obedience easier.

DANIELA... well. She's never needed to be ideological <3 so she's not.

She grew up inside a castle where every desire was met before she knew she had it, making the machinery of aristocratic life invisible to her. She never wondered where anything comes from because she never had a reason to ask (and NOT because she isn't incapable of understanding).

The peasants in the village exist somewhere between livestock and household staff. Necessary. Useful. ...Forgettable. She can't imagine lacking what she's always had, and if someone told her that some were starving, she'd legitimately ask why. Unlike Bela, she has no elaborate philosophy. Unlike Cassandra, Daniela has no fascination with power. She merely accepts the world exactly as it's been presented to her. Mother rules. She and her older sisters obey Mother. Servants obey them. Villagers exist outside the castle. Everything fits together ^_^

This arrangement is as natural as gravity. If Bela defends hierarchy with reason and Cassandra defends hierarchy through strength… Daniela doesn't perceives it at all.

[kaisources]

꒷꒦꒷꒦༉‧🕯️‧₊˚.THE DARKNESS SEEMED TO BREATHE . . a collection of HORROR ROLEPLAY SENTENCE STARTERS based on horror films. genre: horror, thriller, mystery, crime.

The city is full of beautiful surprises.

I dreamt you killed me.

Are the police after me?

Let's see who was killed today.

How do I know this isn't the usual swindle?

I don't know what's happened to me. I've got to get away.

Why do you buy my paintings?

I don't feel very well. I must get some air.

It was an air raid during the war.

Only death could be quieter than this.

Listen, I don't exist to make profits. I'm not a stockbroker.

You can't kill me with that. Come to bed.

Hey, what're you doing? Leave me alone!

Didn't you hear anything?

When I cleaned up today they weren't there!

It's over 25 years since I last stepped inside that villa.

Do you believe in spirits?

I believe in spirits, there's no question in my mind.

I suppose you heard the girl died near the wall of the villa.

Stop, you're making me dizzy.

What's the matter with you? Are you crazy or something?

Why do you have to behave like this?

Why did you cry out just then?

Look out, look out! The roof is falling!

I felt as if someone were pulling me down!

It was as if it wanted to hurt me deliberately.

I don't like the house, and the house obviously doesn't like me.

I find that your wit, as usual, is tasteless.

May I ask just why you're so interested in the house's story?

Don't listen to that! They don't know the truth about her.

We have a very gifted medium in the town, you should to them!

Why don't you come with me tonight?

Spirit, don't you want me in your house?

You want me all to yourself, don't you? Is that why you tried to kill [name]?

If some madman is going around putting flowers under your walls, I couldn't care less.

Your questions reminded me of an old story. A doomed love story.

Nobody, nobody would ever believe me.

You didn't care? Why not?

Come in, come in. What do you want to know?

Don't go. Please, don't go.

You'll kill it like that. Better dead and red.

Have you gone crazy? What are you doing?

Why did you run off the other day?

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't want to.

I wouldn't like the people in the village to know about it.

No, I don't. I only know she was killed here.

This house was abandoned.

I'm going to tell you something that I've never told anyone.

What are you looking for?

I don't know who I'm fighting. I can't find an explanation!

What is there to explain?

A girl who died here in this house. Now she haunts this house.

I suppose you are the normal one.

What do you do with yourself here all day, since you're obviously not doing much work?

Who are you betraying me with?

Everything I do and am annoys you, doesn't it?

We have guests tonight. They're all quite mad.

Why do these things keep happening?

It's like, someone in the house doesn't want me here.

It's your imagination, [name]. There's no one else in this house but me.

You're going to call the spirit?

Please stay. You mustn't leave now. At least stay for the séance.

Sometimes the spirit shows its presence by playing on it.

Bring your chair and sit around the table, please.

It's modeling clay, in case the spirit wishes to leave an imprint.

During a séance, anything can happen.

I want you all to put your hands on the table. Let your fingers touch, forming a chain.

Oh, my god, the ghost!

There's something very unusual in the air tonight.

Before we make contact, one word of warning. Do not ask personal questions or mention the subject death.

From now on, nobody breaks the circle.

Give us a sign of your presence.

Spirit, give us a sign!

How did you die? Who killed you?

Turn on the light quickly! Something's fallen on the table!

Break the chain. Turn on the light, please!

It's an omen of some kind.

Is there anything you wish to tell us?

Stop it, all of you! I know what you're doing!

Do you think I'm so stupid I'd believe this?

The spirit wants to leave.

Who is that? My chair's shaking!

Someone tried to strangle me! Get out of here!

Go home! Everyone, go home! She doesn't want you here!

[conquerorshaki]

It was a poor man from the village.

Or perhaps from somewhere beyond its borders. Cassandra neither knew nor cared enough to distinguish the difference. Such details were beneath her notice. Mistaking its lavish halls for a vault ripe for plunder rather than the den of predators, what mattered was the audacity of his intent to fix his hungry gaze upon the splendor of Castle Dimitrescu. Dressed in threadbare rags and buoyed by a fool's confidence, he fancied himself prepared, equipped with an empty satchel waiting to be swollen with stolen riches and a blade he believed would be enough to ensure his safe return. Oh, how laughable! Men like him always mistook desperation for capability.

Cassandra sensed his intrusion the moment he crossed the threshold, informing Mother of the unwelcome guest without delay. Once she assured her that the pitiful creature posed no threat, she was granted free rein to amuse herself as she saw fit.

Rather than appear before him as the towering huntress she is, Cassandra dissolved instead into a cloud of insects drifting through the corridors that shadowed his every move. Patiently she watched him double back upon himself, curse under his breath, and slowly succumb to the labyrinthine design of Castle Dimitrescu, whose endless halls seemed almost eager to shepherd him deeper into its waiting jaws. She could have ended the chase a dozen times over, BUT WHERE WAS THE PLEASURE IN A HUNT THAT ENDED BEFORE FEAR HAD TAKEN ROOT?

Only when he wandered into the Hall of Ablution, stopping before the basin to stare at his reflection in the crimson pool— hesitating as though he could hardly believe that it was really filled with blood— did she decide the game had ripened. The handful of insects he swatted from the air circled tighter and tighter, coalescing into the silhouette of a woman. From the swarm emerged eventually Cassandra herself, elegant as a noblewoman and smiling with the satisfaction of a huntress who had stalked her quarry from the very first step, content to toy with her prey until the moment she chose to sink in her claws.

MOTHER: “ CASSANDRA, THE MOST VICIOUS. YOU INHERIT RAGE AND BLOOD, MY GIRL-WOLF. YOU COME SO CLOSE TO DISAPPOINTING ME; DO YOU NOT REALIZE THAT IT IS NOT ENOUGH TO BE A MONSTER? YOU MUST BE A WOMAN, ALSO. A MORE TERRIBLE CREATURE CANNOT BE IMAGINED, AND I WILL ENFORCE THESE BARBARIC STANDARDS UNTIL YOU ARE THAT. YOU REFLECT MY TEETH, THE IRON-CLAMPING VIOLENCE OF THEM. YOU ARE YOUR MOTHER'S STRENGTH. ”

The fitting moniker draws an almost imperceptible reaction from the middle child. Cassandra's gloved fingers twitch inward, curling toward her palm as though instinct urges them into a tight fist, but the motion never fully forms. Instead, the restrained flex serves as the only sign of what stirs under her otherwise composed exterior: a reflexive response to her mother's words, BORN OF FIERCE PRIDE. To be recognized by @dimitresca in such a manner is both validation and expectation and she wears the title like a badge of honor, quietly luxuriating the acknowledgment while tempering the exhilaration it awakens within her.

A smile— small, yet unmistakably genuine— tugs at the corners of her lips before the weight of Mother's expectations and the many warnings woven into them thusly cuts across it, drawing the faintest tightening at the corners of her mouth. The implication that she required reminding needles at her pride, but the feeling doesn't survive for long. Cassandra swallows the offense whole, burying it without hesitation underneath a mask of effortless poise and unquestioning obedience.

“ Of course, Mother. ” She replies without hesitation, voice smooth and dutiful. She offers little else beyond assurance that the lesson has been heard, because she's long since learned that there is little to be gained from lingering on such conversations. It's always some variation of the same response: agreeable, carefully chosen to placate and bring the exchange to a graceful close before it drifts into lectures on the virtues of... feminine refinement. If Mother didn't seize the opportunity to remind her, Bela would. Ever the eldest, ever the heir apparent, she had a talent for echoing Mother's expectations with perfect fidelity. Cassandra found the resemblance equal parts admirable and insufferable, preferring instead to let her actions speak where lectures so often lingered.

Dissolving into a cloud of blowflies, she disperses into the furthest corners of the armory, the swarm filling the chamber with an agitated hum as it indulges the restless twitch that had earlier stirred beneath her gloves. The insects converge once more, eventually knitting themselves into the silhouette of her body before she reaches for a heavy morning star resting from a nearby weapons rack. Cradling the instrument, she draws an oil-soaked cloth along its iron shaft and cruelly studded head, wiping away the dried remnants of blood and grime until the dark metal regains its muted sheen.

Only then does she take up a whetstone, running it with measured strokes over every sharpened flange and protruding edge. Does a morning star rely upon a razor's edge? No. BUT EVERY POINT CAPABLE OF BITING INTO FLESH DESERVED CARE. The miffed middle-child remains acutely aware of herself throughout the act, shoulders drawn back and spine held impeccably straight. If Mother insists that a lady should expertly balance poise and monster, then Cassandra will see to it that even the maintenance of a weapon fit for butchery is performed with the grace of a noblewoman.

[gamerism]

RESIDENT EVIL 5 ● SHEVA ALOMAR

[conquerorshaki]

doflamingo core

[theoptia]

Euripides, from Hekabe, Grief Lessons: Four Plays; translated by Anne Carson

Text ID: CHORUS: To the blood she goes—

[inkiedraws]

I haven't gotten to Dressrosa yet but from what i've heard, he seems like a lovable skrimbly bimblo who could do no wrong.

:)

<:)

[conquerorshaki]

“ That clown bastard... ” The words come out like gravel.

A thick, meticulously rolled cigar is trapped between the taller former Warlord's teeth, its wrapper creasing beneath the pressure of his jaw as he grinds into it with mounting irritation. It is an obscenely expensive smoke, rich with layers of cedar and worn leather, chased by bitter dark coffee and a faint thread of cinnamon that lingers across his tongue. These flavors are meant to be savored, to demand patience.

Ordinarily, the slow ritual of smoking imposed a measured rhythm, comprising of a long draw, a held breath, and a controlled exhale. People mistake that cadence for the cigar's work when it's merely the body echoing the mechanics of calm. THE NICOTINE DOES NO SUCH FAVOR. It seeps into the blood, coils through the nerves, sharpens rather than softens, feeding the edge beneath his skin instead of dulling it. Even the familiar bite, the expensive indulgence, fails Crocodile now. None of it can blunt the flare of contempt burning in his chest as the newspaper crackles in his right hand, his fingers threatening to tear through the page bearing the impossible headline that crowned the Cross Guild's greatest fool as its supposed leader.

MIHAWK: “ I'M DOING MY BEST TO UNDERSTAND THIS, JUST LIKE YOU. ” [ * ]

The sand-manipulating pirate doesn't so much as spare @reunion a glance when the swordsman speaks from somewhere at his flank. Only a dismissive tch slips past the cigar clenched between his teeth, accompanied by the barest turn of his head in his direction, just enough to acknowledge that he'd heard every word.

Humiliation is an insidious thing, not a passing sting but a seed that buries itself deep, sending roots through pride. Crocodile can feel it taking hold of him, winding tighter with every second his gaze fixes on Buggy's grinning face, every fresh reminder that the world now believed him to be the mastermind standing above men who'd spent decades carving their names into history with blood and fear. What's worse, he's been recognized as an Emperor of the Sea because of this ludicrous lie...

...NO. THE WORD HUMILIATION ISN'T ENOUGH TO EXPRESS HOW HE FEELS.

Crocodile rises, that single admission alone being all the provocation he needed. “ Enough. ” The chair scrapes faintly against the floor before he steps away, his fur-lined coat rustling with the confidence of a predator committed to the hunt across his shoulders. This is the second time Mihawk doesn't earn the attention of his eyes as he passes him, the newspaper left crumpled in his wake. “ We're going to Karai Bari. ”

[literatureandfairytales]

“Man, after all, is stupid, phenomenally stupid.”

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes From Underground

[reunion]

mihawk's peace of mind is a precious thing to him. his presence at these meetings was never about loyalty to the government, but purely to fulfill a duty to convenience. the status of warlord was a barrier that kept the pests of the sea from bothering him much, and the revocation of it would mean a return to the life he had grown too comfortable to return to. while his strength as the world's strongest swordsman has never relied on any government title as a crutch, he'd be a liar and a fool to deny the peace of mind it grants him— two things the man isn't.

naturally, of course, he had conditions for his attendance.

first and foremost, a bottle of wine and a glass. second, whether he comes in 'too late' or 'too early', the fact is that he still answered the summons, and no marine with an issue with this can scold him for it. third, the matter of seating. if he's going to forgo his comfort for however many hours they leech from his day, he'd rather not sit next to anyone who thinks he's here to mingle. two of the quietest, most unremarkable marines in the room will do just fine then. men who knew to stay quiet and in their places beside the former marine hunter himself.

disturbing his peace was a dangerous game to play that only ended in one winner. the marines knew that. pirates far and wide know that as well, for the most part, and the ones that didn't would always share the same fate as... well, he never bothered to learn the fool's name. one of many unremarkable faces, in the end.

what is the cost for a peaceful life then? the answer boils down to this: for a time, the endurance of something annoying. or rather, someone. sometimes it's both.

...as he said before, the devil is now in this room.

the heavenly demon's presence is the very antithesis for what mihawk preferred: he was all noise, manipulation, and flamboyant theatrics. he still had his eyes closed even after the man arrived to the meeting room. there was no need to open them just yet, he knew it was doflamingo by the disturbance in the air and the nervous shift within the cadets. with eyes still shut, he can tell the moment the marine's heart sunk in his chest and the panic that rose to obey the order to leave the seat. then, he hears the rustling of a feather coat. lastly, the smell of a particular cologne strengthens right next to him.

“ ... ” mihawk hadn't moved well after he claimed the seat beside him. still sitting back, still with his ankles crossed where his feet rested on the table's edge, still with his hat tilted low and shadowing the top half of his face. a slight tilt back and those red pearls for eyes were revealed to be focused on the man closest to him, all without turning his head. “ in a better world, ” his voice comes out flat and steady. he's never one to be riled up by mere provocations. “ ...you would. but we don't live in a world of such mercies. sit down properly, donquixote, before you knock over my glass of wine. i shouldn't have to babysit you. ”

[conquerorshaki]

“ Properly? Like you? FFUFUFUFUFUFU! Where are my manners?! ” Doflamingo drawls, the laughter spilling from him with exaggerated delight as though the very suggestion were the punchline to an excellent joke.

Indulging Mihawk's oh-so-gracious correction, he peels himself out of his thoroughly disrespectful sprawl— one leg draped over the armrest closest to the swordsman as if the chair were little more than a prop— and straightens for the briefest of moments. The movement makes it startlingly easy to appreciate the gulf between their statures, his towering frame unfolding until he's nearly sitting at his full height before the illusion of proper etiquette vanishes just as quickly. With an easy shift of his weight, he tips the chair onto its rear legs, lifting both long legs onto the table to cross them neatly at the ankles.

His fingers come together in a lazy steeple over the broad plane of his muscled chest, shoulders sinking into effortless leisure. “ Careful, Hawkeye. Keep telling me what to do and people might start thinking I take orders from you. ” Doflamingo's smile curls wider, all teeth and amusement, making it abundantly clear that he doesn't believe a word of what he said. Settling deeper into the chair despite the supposed correction, he looks entirely too pleased with himself. “ Now we both look miserable. Though I suppose on you it's less of a mood and more of a permanent condition. ”

Silence settles over the chamber once more, and with it comes the unwelcome return of Doflamingo's earlier thoughts. The quiet is anything but peaceful. He knows this room, not only as one of the Government's convenient monsters kept on a leash but as a god. Memory does what memory always does while he ruminates... tempts him with familiarity. He remembers why he started bothering @reunion to begin with, now. The guards who kept their eyes lowered, the suffocating perfection of the architecture, the scent of polished stone… once, none of it was for show. No summons. No waiting room. No Marines pretending they held authority over him. He once belonged here by birthright before lesser hands saw fit to rip that inheritance away.

The memory lingers like grit beneath his tanned skin. With annoyance being far too small a word for it, he laughs louder than necessary. Lounges more than etiquette allows. Props his boots atop furniture they were never meant to touch. If the World Government intends to parade him through the Holy Land as one of their weapons, then the least he could do was leave scuff marks on their polished furniture while he waited.

“ Speaking of miserable… ” He lets the question hang just long enough to be irritating as he taps his fingers together, idly. The silence stretched long enough for it to become almost respectable and Doflamingo is having none of that. “ Word is you've been haunting the East Blue lately. What exactly possesses THE WORLD'S GREATEST SWORDSMAN to waste his time drifting around the weakest sea in the world? ” He chuckles. “ Were you hunting someone… or were you simply bored enough to terrorize children? Surely there was something more interesting waiting for you there than Krieg's pathetic little fleet. ”

[conquerorshaki]

FULL MUSE LIST & DIRECTORY. (updated as of 7/20) While staying true to the core canon, all of my muses are shaped by personal headcanons and my own interpretations.

[ * ] RESIDENT EVIL!

| | Bela Dimitrescu. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

| | Cassandra Dimitrescu. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

| | Daniela Dimitrescu. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

| | Sheva Alomar. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VERSES. VISAGE. WRITING.

[ * ] ONE PIECE!

| | Charlotte Katakuri. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

| | Crocodile. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

| | Donquixote Doflamingo. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

| | Donquixote Rocinante. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

| | Monkey D. Luffy. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

[ * ] FINAL FANTASY 7!

| | Angeal Hewley. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

| | Yuffie Kisaragi. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

[ * ] HONKAI: STAR RAIL!

| | Mydeimos. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

[ * ] YAKUZA 2: KIWAMI!

| | Ryuji Goda. CHARACTER STUDY. META. VISAGE. WRITING.

[perativered]

plotted starter * @conquerorshaki ( sheva )

RACOON CITY , LEAD UMBRELLA EXECUTIVE ▇▇▇▇ estate ... the city burns ; the quiet that had lingered replaced with the erratic motion of escape & survival , Ada navigates through it. jacket tucked and bloodstained like ringlets around the ends of her sleeve ( marking the detachment from person & what is left jaw snapping like a piranha at the sight of flesh something to be taken care of ) gunpowder clinging like second skin to the operative collar.

dark optics are trained on the path ahead twining till it opens ; impressive is the first thought that comes to mind. narrow grandee gates mark the symbol of wealth of a businessman who bathes in the riches of his contribution. the shining image of welcome to corporate America !

hues hover over the possible entrances that can be taken ; few windows are cracked glass littered on the cut grass & the door remains shut nestled between two sterile white columns ( best to use the passage of windows that lead to the second floor ) the front door is an invite to anyone or anything that may have lingered. ▇▇▇▇ must be gone by now fleeing in a scurry , those types never want get their hands personally dirty after all. forget & relocate.

heels dig into stable edges ; forearms press up lifting her weight ... a mental note to ask for consideration of climbing gear to be incorporated into the next task given. ada manages though , climbing in. met with the stillness that contrasts the mess outside ; still air & the flickering of a light left on.

crossing the distance as she makes her way across the hall. jewel toned wallpaper bathed in the darkness that acts as vignette to sight acoompanied by paintings hung in certain spots to match it , her handgun slightly raised ( the office in interest is ahead through oak doors ) palm reach to press it opens the slight creak echoes through the vast space & one could miss the signs that are telltales of a another presence. confirmed when she turns ; sight raised and the spy is met with the opposing raised handgun pointed at her.

" i wasn't expecting company. "

her tone is smooth ; calm & collected with the hint of amusement that rises from edges it not the first time the spy has faced the end of a barrel . Ada doesn't have to guess is for the same thing she is ( * no other way someone else would have been aware of what this estate holds if not given the same information. ) " we're here for the same thing though it seems , so let talk. " what stay's hidden in ▇▇▇▇ office. she waits for the response , knowing better then to lower her weapon down first only a fool gives a stranger that opportunity to strike.

[conquerorshaki]

Raccoon City's downtown streets are lined with abandoned storefronts: quaint toy shops with shattered display windows, pharmacies ransacked beyond recognition, eateries frozen in the middle of service, and boutiques whose mannequins stand like silent witnesses to the catastrophe. Burned-out vehicles clog intersections while flickering traffic lights continue their futile routine over bloodstained asphalt.

Reaching the gates of ▇▇▇▇'s sprawling estate, Sheva pauses, sharp brown eyes methodically sweeping the grounds for signs of movement. No security patrols protect the inside of an estate surely barren of its owner, and no wandering infected awaits their next meal. Instead, the unmistakable evidence of forced entry greets her: broken splintered wood, shattered glass, and some doors that hardly sit flush in their frames as they were supposed to. Tightening the grip of her gloved hands around her handgun, she slips toward a rear entrance, easing the door open just enough to disappear inside.

The mansion's first floor lays draped in oppressive darkness, interrupted only by pale shafts of moonlight bleeding through the windows. Years of training takes over as her gaze sweeps each corridor, every shadow, and every doorway, cataloguing potential threats while searching for something far more valuable than money or luxury. Sheva moves room by room, rifling, opening, inspecting spaces too numerous for a single occupant. THE ESTATE IS EXCESSIVE IN EVERY CONCEIVABLE WAY; somewhere underneath the extravagance, the operative expects to find what brought her there... anything proving Umbrella moved viral samples beyond African borders. If someone else already searched the mansion, then they'd been after the same answers.

“ I could say the same thing to you... Ada Wong. ”

The words leave the operative in a firm tone, her accent lending a clipped sharpness to every syllable as she places a name to the woman standing before her. Her handgun never wavers from its mark; if anything, her grip tightens. While she doesn't lower it outright, the muzzle shifts just enough to show Sheva isn't looking for an immediate firefight. @perativered is dangerous, resourceful, and almost certainly withholding more than she's willing to admit. Still, if their objectives really overlap, exchanging bullets would only jeopardize the mission and destroy whatever evidence remained hidden within the estate.

Sheva studies Ada in silence for a beat, searching for even the slightest crack in the mercenary's composed façade before speaking again. “ Maybe we are, ” She replies evenly, “ but that doesn't tell me whose side you're really on. ” Her finger rests poised alongside the trigger, disciplined and ready. “ YOU'VE GOT ABOUT THIRTY SECONDS TO CONVINCE ME THIS CONVERSATION IS WORTH HAVING. ”

[grox]

Steps on a landmine and you can clearly see my body get blown apart and launched into the air but you turn around and I'm right behind you cleaning my ears with a q-tip