#nik rp

[a-totally-legit-farm]

starter for @seafoam-surfers | nikoma & reece

Nikoma's eyelids split open, as salt spray hit his face, and the horrid sun cooked his denim-clad body. The first thing he saw was sand - he was face down in the disgustingly warm material, it’s fine grains seemingly worked its way into each and every crevice in his body.

Next, he saw the ocean, and some weird-ass bird sitting just past the waves. Nope, not a bird. A surfer, with dark brown hair and a blue board. Surfers. He must not be in Pelican Town. He dragged himself to his knees, scanning his immediate surroundings, the heavenly glare blinding him almost completely.

A van. Green - or blue, or something. Nikoma didn’t know colours. A burnt out fire pit, surrounded by neat piles of beer cans - and an empty bottle of whiskey. And next to them all, reclined a man, shirt off, sunglasses on, beer in hand. It couldn’t have been any later than 10 AM.

The man looked at him, grinning, and the monster hunter couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “What the fuck...”  He couldn’t pull his amber glare off the tanned man lounging on the beach - something about the guy made Nikoma irrationally irate.

[a-totally-legit-farm]

“can i get uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh number 12 with jinn and nikoma”  Location Starter Ask | 12 - A Graveyard | @askfarmerjinn

The spattering of bad choices could be heard in the dead of night as Nikoma heaved his stomach contents into a bush. It was a toxic concoction - every straight liquor under the sun, mixed with hotwings and ginger ale. The swordsman staggered up from the dirt, reaching for support. His left hand gripped cold, solid stone, as his right wiped the vile ichor from the corner of his lips.

He squeezed hard on his rock anchor, staring off into the dark as he reconsidered his life choices. He definitely shouldn’t have had the hotwings; he had already eaten yesterday, he didn’t need to again today. Oh well, he’d know better next time - plus, it was his first day back from the city, and Gus had missed him. Or his coin. Either way, it was a prime time to get fucked up.

And 12 hours later, here he was. Cold dirt on his knees, seeping through the black, ripped denim, a fotunes worth of alcohol seeping into the earth, and to top things off, he’d managed to get a splashing of vomit on his shirt. Fucking hell.

Fine, it was time to go home then. One step. Two step. And suddenly the world was upside down, he folded over the rock slab he was clinging to a second earlier. With a thud, he was on his back, his neck cranked at an odd angle against the waist-height stone. 

What sort of shitty fucking town puts slabs of rock in the middle of the place? Nikoma growled softly to himself under his breathe, his head still spinning. He scanned the dark area, noticing headstones and flowers, illuminated with starlight. Oh, that would explain the rocks.

The drunk swordsman began pulling himself up, wrestling against his sword sheathe and he slid up against the headstone that had attacked him. Right. Time to go to be-

His thoughts stopped, as he noticed movement near the hedge. Two green bushes seemed to move independantly, silently. In an instant Nik was crouched, his sword bared, ready to lunge at the potential threat.

“Oi, who’s there?”

[a-totally-legit-farm]

     “8 w/ Nora and Nik?”  Location Starter Ask | 8 - The top of a cliff | Nora, @shearwater-springs

Fucking finally.

It had been a long treck up the mountain side, and it’d been a while since Nikoma had been required to climb anything steeper than a metropolitan hill. Regardless, his athletic form had powered him up the side, fueled by nothing but whiskey and sheer hatred for his taskmaster, Jenna. She had sent him up into the wild on a search for “Dwarfen Technology”, with little to no explanation to what that was or what it looked like.

Nikoma dropped his backpack, the clanging of empty bottle ringing across the range. He stretched, attempting to soothe his acid-filled muscles. He too fell to the ground, throwing himself on his ass like he did to his bag, hands now dusty from the course soil on the mountaintop plateau.

He looked out across the Valley, the town and farms beneath, and then back down the path from which he came. And headed straight for him? Another local, red-brown hair blowing from the mountainside winds, large backpack on their person, and... A guitar?

Nikoma grimaced as his legs refused to move; he was too sober to continue into the mountain range. He pulled a flask from his jacket, and took a deep swig. “Guess I’m gonna have to talk to someone.”