What'll it be?

Sorry. No autographs. [Indie gameverse petrel. oc, au, ask, and crossover friendly. nsfw welcome and tagged appropriately. multiverse, multiship.]

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Farewell Blues

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knifepointexecutive:

Proton was very much just being dragged along. And largely, he didn’t know why; this seemed to be a rare Boss-and-Petrel thing, and he was just the reluctant third wheel, following three paces behind because the Boss Man had given a direct order. The only sense of it that he could really make was that Petrel might have insisted on his presence; they were best friends, after all, but it would’ve made more sense if he were tagging along with him, and not…

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Petrel grinned toothily at his Boss’s clear appreciation and satisfaction.  There was no denying the purple-haired Executive had a habit of being a big talker.  He was as loose with his boasts as he was with everything else that came out of his mouth and he’d been caught embellishing things more than a time or two in the past.  Certainly it had gotten him into plenty of trouble prior to his Rocket days, so he wasn’t offended and couldn’t blame his Boss for doubting he’d accomplish the task they were about to enjoy.

“What can I say?  I do live to amaze and amuse.”

Looking back behind the mafia boss, he spotted his usual partner-in-crime.  The long look on his face was a point of concern; it seemed like no matter what the taller male did, nothing could erase the haunted, defeated look on Proton’s face.  Petrel’s grin faded a second before he paused in his gait to allow Giovanni to pass on ahead.  When the forward momentum of his sluggish pace finally drew him close enough, Proton would find himself tugged in closer to the other Executive’s chest with an arm around his neck.

“Look, kid, anything you want, just name it, a’right?  I’ll see that it gets taken care of.  This is a night to just relax and enjoy ourselves.  I don’t wanna see yer hand empty or ya face turned down ‘cept when the whiskey gets ta be too much, hear?”

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tinyxpunk:

          ♪ “Floating, falling,          Sweet intoxication,          Touch me, trust me,          Savour each sensation.” ♪

Off in her own little world again,  it seems.

          ♪ “Let zhe dream begin,          Let your darker side give in,          To zhe power of zhe music zhat I vrite,          Zhe power of zhe music of zhe night.” ♪

Unable to resist the pull of music, he sneaked up behind and hunkered down fairly low to sing softly in her ear.

“Let your mind start a journey Through a strange new world, Leave all thoughts of the life You knew before...

“Let your soul take you wear you long... to BE!

“Only then... you can belong to me.”~

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Farewell Blues

Petrel had been waiting outside that bar for what could have been hours, maybe even days before the heavy shadows of a pair of familiar men drew him out of his reverie.  The truth was, the last thing the purple-haired Rocket remembered was closing a call with his Boss and pocketing the phone before he pressed himself up against the brick and mortar behind him to wait.  Jazz, soft and smooth, thrummed against the walls and he could feel it in his bones, even through the thick rain coat and dress suit he wore.  Something about a saxophone and piano never failed to steal him from the moment and get him lost in time.

As though he’d been asleep all night, he opened his eyes with a slow laziness that belied the excitement he felt.  In front him stood two of the most important people in his life and behind him stood one of his most recent-- and a personal favorite-- accomplishments.  A wide, toothy grin quickly dashed all illusion of the sleepy drunk he might have appeared moments ago and he pulled himself forward to formally join his comrades.  With one hand pressed to his chest and the other curled around the handle of the front door, he gave a short jester’s bow.  It was gonna be a good night.

“Gentlemen, it’s a pleasure to see ya this evening.  I gotta say, when I heard about this place, I was a little skeptical on just how magnificent she was.  Now I can say with utmost certainty that there is no place like ‘er.”  He put both hands, fingers splayed about his chest as if to excuse himself.  “But don’t let me spoil it!  Just feast your eyes... on this.”~

With a dramatic pull of his arm, he tugged the heavy door open and immediately a haze of smoke drifted out from the dimly lit bar.  Petrel leaned heavily on the edge of the door to keep it open and gestured inside with a grin and a nod of his head.  Although he needed to see the expression on his superior-most-high’s face-- after all, this whole thing had been a set up for the Boss man himself-- his gaze lingered on the younger of the two, as if gauging his response more closely.  He was happy to have Giovanni there tonight, but happier still to see Proton out and about.  Christ knew the kid needed it more than anybody.

As his guests stepped inside, he shoved his hands in his pockets to pull a half-crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter out.  The nicotine in the air already tickled and delighted his lungs, but he needed more and only something from the source would do.  Self-satisfied eyes wandered over the black and dark violet lounge where to the trio’s immediate left, dozens of folks sat at white tablecloth’ed tables with glasses of wine and fine, imported beer in hand.  At the furthest reaches of the left-hand side was a raised stage that took up the whole wall and reflected in the wall-length mirror behind them was a three-person jazz ensemble playing something to soothe the soul.

With a cigarette placed loosely between his lips, Petrel lit the other end and closed his eyes in time to a particularly strong note on the saxophone.  He drew in a long drag from the cigarette and plucked it from his lips between the first two fingers and gestured to an empty booth along the wall that had a decent view of the stage while still remaining apart from the rest of the crowd.

“I do believe you will find our table just there, boys.  All set up and waitin’ patiently for three handsome, young, hard-workin’ gentlemen like us to take a seat and enjoy ourselves.  On the house, of course, courtesy of one Grencia Eckener, owner and proprietor of this fine establishment.  Shall we?”

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shiirakeru:

“Isn’t it enough that I’m letting you go afterwards? I mean, what if I am not pleased with whatever you’re going to do? Wouldn’t that be bad for you? Why not just accept me  letting you go unscathed?”

“Er--”

Well, that was logic he simply couldn’t argue.  Better alive than too proud to let something go and Petrel was nothing if not willing to be smart versus vindicated.  With a nonchalant roll of his shoulders, the cautious quirk of his brows faded to that easy, toothy grin and he shrugged one shoulder.

“Well, alright, then!  Can’t really argue with that.  Yer room or mine, princess?”

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engulfingflames:

Flannery batted her eyes up at him to portray the most innocence she could possibly muster. She didn’t know why Petrel was so afraid! Maxie was a good guy! And so was Petrel! Surely they should get along! Flannery was just their common denominator!

“Nonsense! If my dad remembers you, its probably fondly! He won’t start anything… I like you too much, and hurting you would upset me… And I think that’s what he’s trying to avoid.”

She touched her chin after he lightly nudged it, smiling and shrugging. How would she describe him?

“He’s not lousy per say… But… You know what? It doesn’t matter, I don’t wanna talk about him! Has Proton been treating you well?”

“Yeah, yeah, a’right.  I guess yer right.  Dad’s gotta watch out for their little girls, I guess.  Sure he was just tryin’ ta put the fear’a God in me so I didn’t get the wrong idea about’cha.  I get it.  Gotta kid sister I’d pummel the daylights outta any dumb fool gets too close for, y’know?”

He gave her an easy smile, nothing over the top or cheeky.  It was easy to smile when talking with Flannery, particularly when talking about Ani.  His nose wrinkled a little at further mention of the schmuck that was responsible for the bandage across her face, but he nodded his understanding.

“I hear ya.  Now what about Proton?  Treatin’ me well?  Shit, like anybody could mistreat this mug!  Nah, but he’s a’right.  We go way back me’n him, so y’ain’t gotta worry ‘bout us.  He can be a real prick sometimes, but nothin’ compared to ol’ blue and breaker of my balls, ya dig?”

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knifepointexecutive:

He was trying. To sleep.

Or maybe not explicitly trying, since he had more like passed out half-strewn across his couch, arm draped over his head as though he had been drunk himself. But as it were, Proton had taken a rare, much needed break from his work, just to have it interrupted by the obnoxiously loud and off-pitch sound of his drunken best friend, and that could only mean he was in for a busy night of a much different kind.

Rubbing his face, Proton groaned as his sat up, reluctantly waking with every fucking note. “Peet! Peet, shut the fuck up!”

No, he didn’t actually expect that to work, but he’d kind of hoped it would. But, since it didn’t, it was with sudden force that Proton pushed himself up and made his way over to the door, thrusting it open so he could see just what kind of mess he was dealing with this time.

And was it ever a mess. And off pitch, loud, fucking– Okay, you know what. Annoyed, Proton just took a free hand and unceremoniously slapped it over Petrel’s alcohol-ridden mouth.

“Petrel. What. The fuck.” 

The sound of Proton’s clearly exhilarated voice from behind the closed door brought a wider smile to Petrel’s face.  He pushed off the wall that held him upright and staggered forward the last few steps.  He had to steady himself to keep from just colliding into the door, otherwise before Proton suddenly yanked the door open, he’d have swung it open himself and belted out another chorus to his buddy.  When he came face-to-face with the other Executive, his mouth opened with a greater smile and the intent to say something in greeting.

The smile was quickly replaced with confusion as Proton’s open palm met Petrel’s face and then the confusion melted into a frowning pout.  The force wasn’t particularly violent-- well, not murderous exactly-- but it was still enough to make the taller Executive trip a step or two backwards before righting himself.  He raised an accusatory finger, intent to read Proton the riot act, but it came out as a very slurred.

“Th’fuck ‘assat fer?”

[siren-hatane]

Illusory Link

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siren-hatane:

A clear blue sky, perfect temperature… it was a perfect time to be outside. As such, a rocket gruntess wasn’t about to let the day go to waste. She stood in a clearing near the forest, a lively weedle at her feet. It was time for some target practice.

Anyone who trained pokemon could pick something out as wrong with the picture within the second. “All right, Incinerate, on that boulder over there.” She commanded, and perhaps even more surprising was that the bug pokemon complied perfectly, spitting out a burst of fire that nailed the side of the stone nearly flawlessly. “Well done, you’re getting better and better at aiming that.” She praised, focusing all her attention on the pokemon and not her surroundings, where someone may have been watching…

Fancy that!  Someone was watching!  Well, “watching” was a bit too involved of a word for what exactly Petrel was doing.  More like “aimlessly meandering” as he strolled the grounds.  It was too damned pretty to be cooped up inside and he had time to kill before his next big meeting.  So, with hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched to give anybody who looked on a backache, he made his way across the sunnier spots that surrounded HQ.

Casually he looked around himself, mostly intending to take in the scenery, and just so happened to catch a peculiar sight.  Since when did weak ass Bug-types know Incinerate?  Too curious to resist, he turned slightly to head in the grunt’s direction and stopped a few feet behind.  He wasn’t particularly interested in hiding his presence, but the female seemed pretty focused on what she was doing.

“Oi.”

He had planned to clear his throat and announce his presence, but he simply couldn’t muster the motivation to put that much effort into the alternative.  Man, what was it about warm, sunny days that made him so damned lazy?

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formersnagem:

To your surprise: The unrecognizable entity’s gift certainly be rid most atrocities unsatisfying your outcome on this day, alcohol is prohibited for numerous reasons you neglect acknowledgement of. A retained probation lead by the red-headed chick whom bears peripheral vision no other Human can possibly obtain at birth. His kind gesture influences a smug formation upon your features.

“God damn, ‘n a bottle o’ Jack Daniels too. I haven’t ingested th’ stuff in what felt like months, maybe even a century.” Idle banter is pointless; your rightmost digit extends its accepting grasp forth, its unoccupied opposite fishes out your handy-dandy, geometrically cylinder-shaped spare shot glass. Your index and thumb impatiently unscrew the beverage’s cap and disregards its skydive unto Earth’s soil, pouring the liquid into your glass afterwards. “Whomever y’are, ya’ practically saved my life. Y’ have my sincerest respect, not all o’ it, but a decent amount.”

The Rocket grinned toothily at the other male and leaned into the table in front of them both.  With his lower back flush against the lip of the furniture, he leaned his elbows back to prop himself up.  In one hand, he held a pack of cigarettes and the other a shot glass of his own.  He lifted his shoulders in a bit of a shrug and held his hand out steadily while his new friend filled his glass.

“Hey, man, think nothin’ of it.  Ya looked like ya could’a used a drink and I am not one to be stingy.  Drinkin’s always better with a buddy, y’know?”

He turned lean more heavily on the elbow whose hand was clutching the cigarette pack so he could toss back the alcohol with a quick flick of his wrist.  A harsh exhale burned through his lungs and he sighed with content before setting the glass back down on the table.  Rolling his head toward his drinking companion, he gestured lightly with his chin.

“So who dragged you through the ringer today, kid?  Or are ya just always lookin’ like that?”

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knifepointexecutive:

A groan snuck through the protection of Proton’s arms. He was really going to insist? Bullshit. When did Proton ever even say no? But he couldn’t get one day… 

With a tired sigh, Proton lifted up his face just enough too look over his arms and stare at Petrel in awkward silence as he tried to figure some other way out of this. He was stubborn alright, but Petrel was persistent. And honestly, he was kind of too tired for that kinda fight either, so he grumbled and put his head back in his arms.

“Fine. What’re we doing.”

“Man, you gotta work on yer listenin’ skills.  I said we’re goin’ out!  I’m half starved and need’a drink.  So get off yer ass and get movin’.”

The lanky Executive leaned hard against the doorway of the other’s office, arms folded sloppily across his chest.  Truth be told, Petrel needed neither of the things they were headed out for, but at the very least it would be a good excuse to get the stubborn brat some fresh air and food in him.  Maybe even get his mind off of... whatever had made his mood suddenly drop lately.  Proton tended to be incredibly closed-off, but Petrel had no doubt he could work his magic on his friend and try to help.  If nothing else, annoying the fuck out of him would get him somewhere, right?

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geoforza:

Giovanni rounded a corner tentatively, lead only by morbid curiosity. Upon seeing him, Petrel immediately stopped singing, and greeted his Boss with a ridiculous smile. Bewildered, Giovanni could only stare at the Executive for a few moments in silence before immediately doing a 180 and walking away.

“…I suppose I can’t fault him on his spirit…”

Although his singing had indeed stopped, the presence of his Boss did not diminish the dopey smile on his face nor the warmth buzzing in his veins.  He stepped off the wall and nearly tripped over his own feet in the process, but after somehow managing to right himself, he offered a sloppy salute in recognition of his superior.  The smile faltered a little when Giovanni turned away, the expression replaced with a little bit of a pout, but then he simply couldn’t be bothered to worry about it.  Instead, he mimicked the Godfather and turned on his heel, skidding forward several paces before coming to a stop and then picking up his lazy pace back down the hallway.

“How great thou art...”

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[I’m finally trying to be active here.  Be a pal and share me ‘round, will ya?]

About | Rules | Team | Fans

[geoforza]

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geoforza:

geoforza:

This is my E M P I R E of G L A S S. 

Independent, mixed-verse Giovanni.

Semi-selective, non-private.

18+ with NSFW/triggering content tagged and cut.

OC friendly, most multiverses accepted, multiship.

|HQ|REGULATIONS|DOSSIER|REQUESTS|

|Art Credit|Editor Credit|

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(Completely unsurprising confession here: mun is a total fuckin’ nerd.  Like, holy shit.  Whenever I see that one “If They Had a Kid meme,” floating around, I get “If I Were a Rich Man” from Fiddler on the Roof stuck in my head.  It ain’t even intentional, it’s just the way I read it in my head.  On a similar note, whenever I go in my drafts and change it from “Save Draft” to “Post Now,” I read/hear it in my head in the same tone as the way the Council chants “Vote now!” from Star Wars Episode One when Queen Amidala calls for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Velorum.  Somebody fuckin’ help me because I am dying.)

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knifepointexecutive:

Eh… Proton was used to this. Petrel had a habit of invading his space and sort of just demanding his time and attention. Usually, Proton needed the break in one way or another, and eventually ended up not minding at all. But today, the purple haired Executive’s presence just made him sigh and bury his head in his desk.

“Not today, Peet.”

“The fuck d’ya mean, ‘not today?’  Do I look like the sort ta make plans in advance.  C’mon, get up.”

Although his tone belied none of it, Petrel was very much aware of the other’s shift in attitude and behavior.  The laziest Executive hadn’t the slightest idea what might’ve happened to have brought about this change, but he didn’t like it and he wasn’t about to let it continue.  At this distance, even though the other male’s face was buried in his desk, it wasn’t difficult to notice the way his uniform sagged a little around Proton’s frame.

“I mean it.”

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biohazardism:

      “Jou can survive a few hours vithout food!” Irritation is now clear upon Lambda’s features. This was suppose to be the other them yet they were nothing alike when it came to anything. Personality to gender. This was like looking in a broken mirror.       “Oh, I understand a concept of a gut time, I’d tell jou it but I don’t       poor foolish second mich to get all scared. Vorking meinself gets mich       avay from zhe idiots at zhe base, helps mich gain respect from zhe boss,       && in zhe end I just feel like jou need to earn jour pay.”

“Well, yeah, I can survive a few hours without food but it’s already been a few hours since I last ate!  I may be a lazy motherfucker, but I get it done when it’s time to get it done, y’know?  Can’t let this beautiful physique wither away into nothing!”

Not that fast food was exactly going to do his “beautiful physique” any favors but that’s not the point, alright?

“What, you think a vicious motherfucker’s gonna scare me?  Man, I work under Archer, before that, I worked under Giovanni, and even before all’a that, I’d already seen some shit, lemme tell ya.  I’m a difficult man ta scare.  Just because I didn’t let the shitty parts of life make me into O Great and Mighty Sourpuss, don’t mean I ain’t never seen it.”

He waved his hand dismissively.

“Anyway, that ain’t the point either.  Point is, I’m hungry from working my ass off and I think I deserve a little lunch break!  Gettin’ some extra vacation outta the deal ain’t bad at all.”

[virxdian-pride-deactivated20160]

[ text ]:A Disney princess dress arrived today. When did I order it?

                                      <= Backward | Petrel | Forward =>

[TEXT: Petrel] How[TEXT: Petrel] Am I supposed to know-[TEXT: Petrel] I just got a text from a stranger[TEXT: Petrel] Asking[TEXT: Petrel] When they bought a fuckin’ Disney Princess dress.[TEXT: Petrel] You tell me.

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[Text]: wait shit

[Text]: this ain’t proton?

[Text]: fuck all

[Text]: uhhhh

[Text]: feel free to ignore this

How the fuck did I mistype Proton’s number?

[pickyerpoisons-archive]

Petrel was drunk.  He was very, very drunk.  It was clear in the way he staggered-- swaggered if one were to ask him-- down the hall of headquarters.  Every few steps he took were aided by a hand steadied on the wall to his left to keep himself from tumbling forward onto his red-cheeked face.  An occasional snicker came from his mouth as he “walked,” interrupted only by a quiet tune hummed beneath his breath.

For all the joyous person that Petrel was when he was sober, alcohol only managed to increase this capacity tenfold.  A stupidly gleeful grin was plastered across his face that didn’t falter despite how his vision blurred beyond navigation at times.  With each passing step, the hand on the wall became more frequently necessary and the tune on his lips grew louder.  By the time he came to a swaying halt outside someone else’s office door, he could keep the words quiet no longer and suddenly he was bellowing, half in-tune and half very much out of it, at the top of his lungs.

“Oh Lord, my Boss, when I in awesome wonder, Consider all the works thy hands hath made, I see the stars, I hear the mighty Earthquake, Thy power throughout Kanto proudly displayed...

“Then sings my SOUL Gi-o-va-nni to theeeeeee How great thou art! How great thou art!

“Then sings my SOUL Gi-o-va-nni to theeeeeee How great thou art! How GREAT THOU ART!”