#james retson

[thefreelanceangel]

Kill Me - Chessi putting an end to Retson

Gunsmoke blew in eddies across her vision, curling lazily as the breeze picked up. Her abdomen throbbed; blood stained her buckskin leggings and her white shirt was now red. 

Violet eyes, glassy with dumb hurt, shifted to look up at the man lowering his gun. His face was largely expressionless, but there was a sneer in his gaze that reflected lightly on his thin-lipped mouth.

“Should’ve done this years ago,” he said, flicking away the apple core he held in his other hand.

Her vision was swimming, but everything was strangely tinted, as if gazing through lavender glass. 

There were two more steps and he leveled the gun with her forehead, pausing only to lift a foot, using it to push away her upraised hand. “Think after this I’m going to find that Kurzick and blow his brains out, too. Finish off what I started.”

Although her heart was pounding in her ears, the frantic race of an organ struggling to stay alive, Chessi heard those words. Heard them and went cold as her vision darkened. A sweep of aubergine blurred everything, and she was only dimly conscious of moving. 

Despite the blood staining her clothing, pulsing out of the holes he’d shot into her, the blonde lunged, bursting out of the swirling shadow that had abruptly coalesced around her. 

Retson looked down rather blandly, almost curiously. Her arm was in his chest, and there was a dull ache that was spreading with the blood now welling from his flesh. 

Teeth bared, Chessi’s eyes went a vivid, almost electric violet, and she brought herself within kissing distance. “No,” she hissed. “I don’t think you will.”

It took a twist and a wrench to drag her hand back out of his chest cavity, and she looked at the lump of muscle and tendon clutched in her fingers. “…huh. You do have a heart, after all.”

[thefreelanceangel]

Slate - Subjected to night after night of broken objects, small fires, bloodcurdling screams and half-remembered glimpses of a rotting corpse courtesy of Retson's specter.

He didn’t want to do this. Not in the slightest. 

...but there was only so long he could run on so little sleep, especially when he was in the middle of trying to build a gods damned house. Splitting logs was easy enough when the axe didn’t suddenly crack in mid-swing. Hammering a frame for a wall together was simple when the hammer didn’t go missing. And it was a sight easier to build a house when half the wood didn’t end up charred and useless every morning. 

Slate knew who he’d pissed off, but the bastard had deserved it. Apparently he was slippery enough that even Grenth hadn’t gotten a decent grip on him and enough was just fucking enough. 

Rather than risk the safety of those he’d been trying to protect--Danika and Heathern most of all--Slate dragged himself to the one place in Tyria he wanted to never see again. But it couldn’t be helped. No one he knew could handle this quite like she could. 

And when the parlor door swung open, Slate braced himself for the lecture of a lifetime as he sighed, rubbing at his stubble-coated face. “Hey Hesperia... Sorry for bustin’ in like this, but I got somethin’ I need yer help with.”

[thefreelanceangel]

"You want to live? You'll live a wiser woman. There's a spot in your spine, right HERE, and if it's severed you'll basically be a head on a sack of meat." Without further ado, the scar-faced man rammed his chemical-smeared knife into Chessi's spine, right into the aforementioned spot. And then he walked away.

The blonde’s body started to crumple forward before it jerked stiff. Violet light gleamed as her head tilted forward as if a hand lifted the chin. Blood pulsed in time with her slowing heart, coursing down her back and staining the light scale mail she wore. 

“Now him,” a raspy voice intoned, “I like.”

[thefreelanceangel]

look into my asura-made eyes, caprirapriarpiairca

“Now however do you expect me to notice anything in those tinker toys you call eyes?”

| Hope | Love | Passion | Hate | Resentment | Envy | Indifference | Confidence | Insecurity | Greed | Desire | Optimism | Spite | Hostility | Kindness | Warmth | Intelligence | Experience | Trauma | Aggression | Gentleness |  Arrogance | Pride | Lust | Cruelty | You’re soft | You’re trusting | You seem honest | You’re humble | You’re cold |You’re closed off | You’re reserved and guarded | You’re unfeeling | You’re remorseless| You’re heartless | You’re inhuman | You’re frightening | You’re frightened | You’re devious | You’re unpredictable | You’re struggling | You’re lost | You’re broken |You’re disheartened | You seem headstrong | You seem difficult | You’re stubborn | I see hope | I see purpose | I see absolute conviction | I see compassion | I see a shining light | I see shattered remains | I see something familiar | I see a friend | I see an enemy | I see a lover | I see thirst for blood | I see malicious intent | I see pity | You’re pitiful | I see darkness | You’re unwavering | You’re pure | You’re noble |

[thefreelanceangel]

 The Rotgut had its off hours--not every evening saw a full house, every glass in usage, every seat taken. It was, however, in those off hours that the most lucrative business tended to happen. 

 Not necessarily lucrative for the bar itself, but Kuai hua found those quiet moments between serving drinks to afford her the greatest amount of gold. One did have to spend money to make money though. The payment awaiting the expected man was tucked neatly into her bodice, clinking softly with every step as Kuai hua moved through the building, gathering empty glasses. 

 Donnelly had stepped out to find himself a pleasant prostitute to while away his evening, leaving the Rotgut to Kuai hua alone. It was enough to send the last few people hunching over their drinks out quickly--the Lotus had not been in that fine of a mood of late. No one wanted to receive one of her ‘special’ beverages. 

 ( @jamesrektson )

[thefreelanceangel]

 It was difficult to collect. 

 It was notoriously dangerous to obtain. 

 And it was the one ingredient that she didn’t have the time to chase down. 

Why a thrice-damned Ascalonian nobleman would come all the way to Kryta to order a poison, well... They always thought they were covering their tracks. He’d been shaking so hard that Kuai hua had been dangerously close to laughing. All of his side-eyeing and anxious twitching as he stared at the glass she’d served him, blurted out what he wanted and then gone pasty white at the audacity...

Nobles. 

It was no skin off of her pert little nose, however. The ‘Retson’ recommended by Maeve had been exactly what she needed. Kuai hua idly reminded herself to thank Maeve by not slipping her any more doses of Sin’s Wages.

Three to five days... That was all the time she needed to gather the remaining ingredients and inform the twitchy little nobleman that his order would be ready in a week. 

[thefreelanceangel]

 A stray drop of blood rolled from her hip and fell into the water. Capricia’s gaze didn’t shift to it; she continued to bathe the gouges in her flesh with a wet cloth. It was easier to heal the damage when she could see the extent, and the man’s volley of bullets had caused more than she’d guessed.   One gash across her ribs, another beneath the line of her jaw and a third opening flesh over her left hip. Copious bruises, an arm that still ached despite the quick healing she had done while watching him for incoming attack, and a headache that wouldn’t quit. Even hours later, her head ached.    And it hurt to breathe. Likely cracked or broken ribs from the blows from the man’s strange hammer. Retson. That was the name he’d identified himself as, speaking through some manner of asura technology to a group she expected would have arrived shortly after she’d used the lake to make her exit. He’d been standing near the water, looking at it without a hint of emotion. Only a homicidal determination that Capricia had nearly laughed at.    Despite the pain plaguing her every move and the bone-deep weariness from exerting so much of her elementalism, the blonde was in a surprisingly good mood. She had even managed to ignore the fact that she was quietly planning to find this Retson again and flay the skin from his chest.    “Or this because he hasn’t visited your chambers since you were fifteen?”

  For that and that alone, Capricia would hurt him and relish it. Would find a way to add another scar to that bedraggled hide of his and take a trophy. She would use that as her bastion against the rage he’d incited and silence the quiet part of her that felt the pain of her injuries and wished for the authoritative demeanor of a particular soldier to ease her disquiet.    Yes, she would flay him. Retson’s hide had looked to bear scars enough already that it would dye well and she would make a coin purse or narrow belt of what she took from the man. She had started the fight, after all. And she would finish it. 

[thefreelanceangel]

Quietly Searching

 Her inquiries were delicately phrased and subtle, and she never left any of the carts she visited without purchasing. The apples were taken to the orphanage and donated, because it wouldn’t do for Josef to inquire about an abrupt increase in the number of apple-based dishes on the table. 

  This man Retson was of some importance to her husband, and so Jacintha aided in his search as discreetly as she could. There was some benefit to having haunted Josef, having seen Blackclaw when they did not know she was there, and she knew what James Retson looked like. 

  So she made her own round of searching through the Reach. Mindful of danger, Jacintha wore demure clothing of plain fabric, left her engagement ring locked in her tiny jewelry box at home and made sure to keep a concealed dagger in her sleeve. Incorporating her hours out on the street into her daily tasks for Mrs. Pevensie made it easy for her to return home with no questions from that worthy lady, and she didn’t shirk her share of the chores. 

  ...but her musical instruments, artistic supplies and dancing slippers lay dormant while she put her time to doing what little she felt safe to offer her husband’s search.