#rp.

[moonscxrched]

Slowly, Diane would notice something off. Sound and color being sapped out of her surroundings as a violet-tinted smoke wraps around her before coalescing into the shape of Gin.

Forsaken...child of Light and Shadow...

It was Gin's voice, but wrong.

You may try all you like, dear Sister, but Gin will never be rid of Us. We are in her very essence, you see.

Shadowy tendrils reached towards Diane, wrapping around her in what would be a suffocating hold for any living being.

The work of the Doctor...now you...all incredibly futile. We will have her. And your world...

How many times has Lord Felscythe lectured her about the sanctity of doorways?

But the figure of Gin in her yard had been hard to ignore. How did she get there? How had she managed to wander so far? Was she alright? Was she in danger? In pain? And by the time she was close enough to see, No, this was not Gin at all, it was too late.

Though she no longer needed to breathe, a body dislikes the restriction of movement. She makes a valiant attempt at escape for a few seconds, kicking out her legs; before she stills.

"You cannot exist without her. Malignant though you are, you cannot kill her, for without her Light, your Shadows cannot persist. If our efforts are so futile, then why persist in this state? Take her soul. But you can't do that, can you?"

[infinity-cantos]

@nebula-gaster / Continued from here (X)

Guns turned, rubbing her eyes before answering.

“Way back, me and Roth saved him from gangsters from Greed. Y’know, drug money and debts. Sawing off kneecaps, that kind of problem shit.”

Guns then grinned, pointing towards the opposite wall. There, in a prominent space, was a poster for Sinful Seas. It was a swashbuckling porno production. Cheap sets, bad acting and plenty of awkward sex scenes. The review taglines read “Three Stars! They waterboarded me for my review” and “A insult to bad taste” and finally, “Fuck you I hate you. Please go away."

The pirate on the poster doing an adventure pose is . . . . Roth Kruger. Yes, that is DEFINITELY ROTH KRUGER. Sure, it doesn’t say his name anywhere, but that’s him in the blue with horn intact. He goes under the name of “DICK HAMMER”, a name so cheesy and stupid, only Roth could have conjured it. Then again, it was 1980 so maybe he was onto something. Guns even laughed at the poster, snickering.

“Roth HATED this film. He destroyed every copy he came across. It’s sooooo bad.”

[hellcab]

@nebula-gaster

Right now, Roth had nothing better to do than chow down on cheap, chili cheese dogs. He ordered four, one for Buzz. Messily, Roth worked through his second hotdog. The scene was demoralizing, horrible to bear witness.

Two, very attractive succubi walked pass. Roth made eye contact, as they cringed and one even mumbled “eww, gross” as she looked away. Roth didn’t see what their problem was ( despite his jacket covered with cheese and chili ).

Cleaning up a bit,  Roth looked over at Buzz. Yes, he hated him and also enjoyed being around him. But he mostly liked him while also mostly hating him. Their friendship was complicated and complex.

“So, after lunch. Whattaya, say we go smash televisions. Or . . . I don’t know . . . file our taxes together.”

Truth is, Roth was bored today. He doesn’t really know what they should do today. Overhead, he could hear the distinct sound of the fluorescent lighting. That electronic buzz that drones on and on.

“Actually, fuck taxes. I’m so fucking bored right now.”

[the-last-command]

@muses-by-kai

All signs pointed here, to a monument of all-consuming industry. The Poseidon Oil Refinery was a good hiding place. Plenty of vantage points, plenty of spots to ambush any pursuers. Ares knew this was an ambush, that Jakob and his hired thugs were waiting.

Ares wasn’t going to keep them waiting, not for long. After all, it was either here or now. Sooner or later, he’ll find Jakob again.

Why delay?

Pass the chain link fence, Ares moved quickly towards some outlining structures. Old storage sheds, built like barracks. There was old barrels, wrecked Poseidon energy trucks nearby. This place was cleaned out, over scavenged. Soon enough, the whole refinery would be torn bit by bit.

Moving closer, Ares kept his eyes on the pipes overhead. Large, industrial pipes to funnel crude oil for processing. Off to his right, there was what seemed to be an entrance into the refinery interior. The door was opened, with a chain dangling on the handle. Ares creeped up and paused, thinking he hears someone inside. It might’ve been Jakob, maybe on of his thugs.

Readying himself, Ares moved inside expecting violence. He expected someone normal. Someone human, at least.

What he came face to face with subverted those expectations.

Standing tall, it was a Securitron. Not one of Houses, but something else entirely. A rouge machine? Perhaps, maybe something that “worked” here at the refinery. Ares had his gun ready, untrusting as always.

[strawcynic]

Mandala Effect - { Buzz / Yossarian } - CLOSED RP

@nebula-gaster

It was morning, it felt like morning. Yossarian wasn’t sure, he just felt that it was. Slowly, he rises out of bed, yawning and stretching.

He hoped this time he could really wake up. Still, he’s discouraged. Still, he clings to that small hope like religion. It’s just hurting him even more in the end.

Though unprepared, he heads out the door and walks the hallway. He tries not lingering on the empty rooms of former “cast members”. Yossarian’s mind turns to what Caine has in store for everyone. Whatever it was, Yossarian was dead set to stay out of it.

The last adventure saw the group solving a murder aboard the Orient Express. At first, Yossarian was pretty pleased with the adventure. Until his head was unceremoniously kicked off the train and into the cold, cold snow of The Swiss Alps. He had Jax to thank for that.

Heading down the stairs, he reached the common area and found nobody. Thankful for the peace and quiet, he sat down and laid back. Sometimes, the ambiance of the circus was calming.

Suddenly, he thought he heard someone sneaking up behind him. His mind jumped to conclusions.

“Jax, it’s too early. Knock it off okay-”

Yet, he turned and saw nobody was there. At that moment, he felt something strange coming over him. It could hardly be described as fear. There was ab genuine feeling of tension around him. A growing, gnawing panic, which creeped up his spine. Getting up, he walked back and then out of the corner of his eye. He sees him.

A strange, motley stranger lounging back on one of the couches. His clothes were almost late medieval jester flair, covered with ever changing patterns of Mandalas. His head resembling one of those school yard paper fortune tellers. The best sort for asking who will be your date, or what your favorite color was. It turned, its "mouth" opening just a tad bit revealing red, blue, yellow and green colors inside.

By now, Yossarian’s fear was replaced by complete confusion. He straightened out, head tilting as his eyes narrow a bit.

“Uh, excuse me. Who the heck are you?”

[edensbite]

@wampirszy | starter call.

" obsession can be hell from which you'll never be free. "

[thx-lost-yxars]

@nebula-gaster

Scratch was fifteen miles outside Vegas, when his bike broke down. Bad fuel cells, just his luck.

He pushed the bike for another two miles, but night was almost here. He knew better to stay on the road at night. He needed shelter.

He spotted the old smokestacks in the distance. It must’ve been a factory, or power plant from before the war. It was good enough. He just needed somewhere with walls and a roof.

Hiding the bike, Scratch made his way inside. The place was decrypted, falling apart. Prospectors came through and gutted this place. Now, all that remained was the bones of the building. Soon enough, that will go.

Scratch walked carefully, making sure not to cause much noise. He held his revolver, his eyes watching the dark before him. The wind howls outside, it seemed a storm was picking up.

He saw one room, seeing the faded letters of “M NA ER OF ICE” above. Grasping the doorknob, he twisted it and pushed in. The office was a mess, with overturned desks and emptied filing cabinets. Scratch figured this would do for the moment.

Placing his gear down, The Fiend tried his best to relax. He felt tense, that something was wrong with this place. It was just an old building; he tried telling himself. It’s just that old fear, the stuff passed down, that tells him he should be fearful of the dark.

But he can’t shake the feeling.

Sitting down, he slouches in an old office chair. His gun on the desk, he looks around the room.

That’s when he hears it.

It sounded odd, like something was moving around in the hallway. Scratch hopped up, grabbing his gun and moving towards the door. Back against the wall, he waited. His mind screams that something is outside. That there’s someone, or something, just beyond the door. Reaching over, Scratch locks the door and steps back.

They’re closer now, whoever they are.

Too close.