#muzevhia

[williamtshakespears]

Gone to the Cats

@muzevhia

Michael wondered how he got himself in these kinds of situations. He trotted along the streets of London... as a cat. A dark brown cat, almost black in color, with his same yellow-green reapers eyes, only more slanted than usual. He hoped to find a familiar face to somehow help him in this new predicament. 

[decayingmilk-blog]

Yes! I'm glad you remembered me

I hope you’ve been fairing well. I’m a bit saddened we hadn’t had the chance to role-play.

[decayingmilk-blog]

Ah, alright! Thanks. And I have not recreated the account. I'm debating whether Facebook is worth it to be honest.

Facebook has been horrid towards role-players lately, though this has been happening for a long while. I’m sorry you lost your account. At least I have contact with you on here. 

[decayingmilk-blog]

Do you have a desktop/PC theme by the way? (Hey, I was a Sebastian on Facebook Roleplay BTW. I got disabled though) When I try to load up your blog, nothing shows up but pure whiteness.

I know it’s you, doll. Hello.~ I didn’t know you were disabled, though. Did you remake an account? And yes, I had a theme, but I took it down for reconstruction. You could most probably see my posts by looking up my blog as a sidebar, as mobile does. Just search up my blog’s name, find it in search, click on it, and it should bring you a side pop-up of my blog showing you my posts. @muzevhia

[panglossiann-blog]

@muzevhia

               [ϫ] — In a poisoned corner of Salem’s edge, gun fire sparked. If there had ever been a place closer to hell, the Commonwealth had yet to show it to him. He didn’t believe in the gruesome past, men were frightened and jealous of their adversaries, and that’s all the witch trials had amounted to. And still, the Museum here played tirelessly to the witch burnings, spitting fire at the rouge adventurers that thought it’s crippled walls were safe.

They weren’t. It was still a hell hole.

The light he got was meager, dulling flicks from his pip-boy switch because something decided his means of vision was hindering to them. He wished his gun was that of some war-old cartoon, where it popped with a bang and lit up for a second. It could have helped, against the slow occasional blink of white tinted glare that his wrist gadget gave him. Then again, it made the time seem something reminiscent of an old horror movie, things he’d watched at drive-ins through motor screens.

With every brightened click, there’s something chasing him. Wretched bodies hissing and scrabbling for his limbs in shriveling hunger. He tried so hard to go off by ear instead of just sight, blasting shots into the dark at decrepit creatures out for his blood. As if rabid Ghouls weren’t the bane of him enough during the daytime.

The butt of his gun bashed, kissing the skull of a dying man torn ragged by rad waste. Blood spat, it stuck to his uniform, but honestly he couldn’t tell how crimson he was at this point..

And then he had to fucking fall over something in the scrabble, he fell roughly onto what felt somewhat like the crest of an arm into a shoulder joint, probably one of the models that had its neck slid through tangled rope as some kind of morbid little nod to how death existed in every century. But he kept his focus, even from the floor.

His rifle gave blunt bangs of it’s hard-shell bullets.

He could be a dead man too.

[panglossiann-blog]

u lil betch i'll eat whoever i want :///

i’m telling ciel youre in deep shit now m8. and raymond would be awful to eat he’s the happiest son in america. i know he lost his whole family and all his friends because they all died and he watched his wife get murdered while his baby was torn right from her arms and his son is missing and he would literally be crippled with guilt and self-loathing at the end-game because of how many people he’d murdered but STILL. he’s WEAK.

[panglossiann-blog]

What kind of immortal beings does Raymond belive in?

you’re not eating both of my sons sebastian

As dull as it is, he doesn’t actually believe in anything of the supernatural kind. He likes to read about that kind of thing, he’s pretty big into comics, or was when they were abundant (a guilty pleasure now though), but he doesn’t think of them as anything more than pretty cool fiction. The closest he could get to anything vaguely immortal would really be himself, considering he’s over 200 years old at this point. That, and the ghouls littered around the place. But he doesn’t actually know if they can live forever. A long time, sure, but things have to die off eventually, right?

The nearest he could get to believing in that kind of thing would be something like aliens. And that’s only because he’s seen a UFO. No, really, if flew over Cambridge Police Station. He wouldn’t make that up.

[panglossiann-blog]

🔐

Raymond is, unsurprisingly, easy enough to gain the trust of. He values the people who share the same goals that he has, or who have the same overall do-good tropes to them. But the most solid of trust for him might as well be how much of his comrade or companion he knows as a person, instead of just an extra set of hands. A trade in life-stories, maybe it’s a lot to ask, especially now when people are so tentative and self-reliant, but that’s what Raymond would consider to be one of the most important things about a person. If they’re willing to lay themselves out and trust him to listen and not hold or judge, he’ll be willing to carry their burden with them. And let them hold his, too. He isn’t so selfless that he’d push them away from his own troubles, if they’re willing to pay him the same aid.