#tcrp.starter

[nghtshvde-blog]

                 Nightshade wasn’t sure what kind of reputation she had in Toxic City. Sure, all Poisons had one, but the brunette hardly indulged in their following. Before Anthrax’s death, all Night cared about was following her big brother’s orders. She wasn’t aware of the ins and outs of each sanction-- hell, she didn’t even care... especially not now. Everything was red. People, places... she was angry and pissed and there wasn’t a soul who didn’t know it. Thankfully, poisons weren’t celebrities. They were vigilantes that hardly had the spotlight, and she was grateful for the privacy. Besides, what would people think if they saw their precious Alchemist reading in Pulp Kitchen, of all places? 

It was routine, almost. Night hadn’t started regularly loitering around the bookstore until Ben had passed, subconsciously allowing a bookstore to be her place of grieving. She couldn’t confront the pain but instead, had found solace in classic literature. Which is probably why the distraction in front of her had warranted the nastiest look Night could give. Brows knitted with a clenched jaw, the brunette slammed her book on the wooden table, ice clinking against the glass of her iced coffee from the aftermath. “Sit somewhere else.” She ordered, forgetting she had left her Alchemist persona at the door of the cafe. “Now.”

[fcxglcves-blog]

foxglove lifted her head at the approaching footsteps. she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere in particular right now. no clients, no meetings with eve. right? still. better safe than sorry. “is there something i can help you with?” she smiles prettily up at the interruptor of her calm.

[belladonnaflower-blog]

It really was a lovely orchid. Bella spotted it from across the room, standing proudly in its flowerpot. She liked the color, dark and lovely, a shade she ought to have known the name of. Nobody bothered her as walked towards its side, in awe of its beauty. Then, with a calculated glance to see if no one was watching, she poured half the content of her wine glass in its pot.

Yet, just as she twirled what was left of the liquid in the crystal, she noticed someone looking. They had been hidden to her by one of the babbling bodies in the crowd, and Bella had missed them before.

She met their gaze. There was a moment of calculation, a glimpse of nothingness in her face. Then, leading a single finger to her lips, she hushed. When she stopped, her face was no longer vacant. She was smiling.

“Do you know how to keep a secret?”

[mickeyslim]

Mickey had spent enough time being a black cat, a broken mirror, spilled salt. She ruined, cursed, and broke – sometimes her own life, at times others. A self-serve bad omen. Even if she showered and combed through her hair and shook out her pockets, bad luck seemed to hang on her, an extra appendage on her shadow. Perhaps because she knew what it was to poison your own chances, or perhaps because she was a bitch and a fool, Mickey stopped for the small twinkle she passed on the ground, pinched the loose change in her fingers, and turned it over. 

At the approach of footsteps, she looks up, unaffected and unbothered. The woman takes another drag from her cigarette and narrows her eyes.

“It’s only good luck if it’s face-side up.”

A glance downward. It’s tails.

[ofxgrabba-blog]

when: morning, probably around 10 or so. where: prospect park who: anyone, hi(:

Donnie was going for a run in Prospect Park, his dark eyes, encased in those long curly lashes that his mother loved oh-so much, scanning his familiar surroundings.  Morning runs were something that he used to do as a kid, and even the first morning after he came back to Dertosa, like some sort of subconscious clockwork, he found himself navigating through the park as if he had never left.  He ran past the huge tree that he crashed his bike into when he was 8; they were playing Fast & Furious.  Then as he made his way down the bend further down the path, was the bench that he took his first girlfriend to watch a sunset.  As he jogged through memory lane —literally, he laughed to himself, a bittersweet thing.  Ah, home.

He never thought he’d be back in shitty ol’ Dertosa, but he didn’t hate it nearly as much as he did when he was a kid.  Perhaps it was because he knew more now; he wasn’t shielded from the grittier parts of the town anymore, kept away from the uglier side of city-life.  Instead he embraced it, and it embraced him back.  The Toxic City welcomed him back with open arms, leading him to anything his heart desired.  

Even now, in Prospect Park when he was sweaty and out of breath and all he desired was to grab a seat, another bench bloomed before him.  And it was the best bench in the park; right in near the edge of the hill and overlooking the entire city.  Except it wasn’t quite what he had wanted — there was a person sitting there.  With a small sigh, his steps slowed down as he neared the bench, his eyes trained on the scenery before him.  The sun was just creeping, shining down and illuminating the buildings of the city.  He glanced over at the person seated at the bench, offering them a small smile,  “You mind if I sit?  I have a feeling I’m gonna be looking at this for a while and I’d rather do it seated.”  

[rebelliumhq-blog]

who: open to all when: post-frenchie’s dramatic exit where: a corridor off of the main event room 

There was only one reason Nick was in his current situation instead of still laughing on the curb with French and that reason was Cassidy. Sure, he may have actually whooped out loud when French’s fist connected to Tall, Blonde, and WASP’s jaw, and maybe he’d gotten a little rowdy himself arguing with the guards escorting her out of the building until they decided to help him out the same way, but he'd be damned if he'd stay on his ass cracking jokes outside while his best friend remained stuck in there with the mob after Toxin blood. So, Nick had nicked a spare pair of black trousers from the catering company  (  – just a bit too tight, but what the fuck else was he going to do when he’d been stupid enough to go in something as identifiable as red fucking striped pants ), shoved the offending suit into the bushes in the museum's narrow side gardens, and hauled himself sideways through said bushes until he was crowded up against a window. At least four of the sangrias in his stomach from gossiping with Frenchie said excellent idea.

The floor inside was at his waist and the bottom window pane had been slid up just an inch, for the sake of circulation Nicky guessed, still too awkward for him to heft from his angle while he caught his breath. But there was someone on the other side. Someone who could potentially take one look at him and call the police or, if he was really lucky, decide to go the nontraditional route for philanthropy. Whatever. He was gonna get back to his date one way or another, even if it ended with Cassidy bailing him out at the end of the night. 

Nicky smoothed down the collar on his button-up, knocked against the glass twice, waited til the poor bastard inside glanced down for the source and then put on his best pleading kicked-orphan/drunk Oliver Twist face as he mimed opening the window before pressing his hands together for good measure, prayer-style. Talk about the kindness of fuckin’ strangers. 

[lithiumlegacy-blog]

where: underground cage match when: friday, august 17, evening who: open to all

Instead of running to the bar as soon as the first fight ended, Raleigh instead leaned his forearms against the railing of the upstairs balcony. He was content to people watch, gaze blankly passing over the bloodied and beaten loser in the ring. It wasn’t necessarily how he had expected to spend his Friday night but he’d been extended an invitation nonetheless, a simple location and password being slipped to him by one of the lab’s favored customers. 

There were a mix of people surrounding the cage tonight - from blue-collar workers just needing to see some sort of release to blue blooded patrons of the sport, dropping money on bets like it was nothing more than spare change. 

Raleigh was currently focused on one of these blue bloods, taking in his dark suit and slicked back hair. He seemed to find the blood on the cage floor distasteful, his mouth turned down with disgust. Beside him, his date didn’t seem to find the blood as vulgar or violent. Instead, she only watched with interest. Raleigh’s lips twitched slightly at the sight of her shrugging off whatever her date was saying. Whatever it was, the sight of the man deflating considerably caused a sharp grin to spread across the drug’s face.

As someone new stepped up beside him, joining him in his current hobby of people watching, Raleigh cast them an interested glance. “Place your bet on the final matches?”

[psiolence-archive]

✘ o p e n location: some lil chinese food joint in the jade district time: whenever. probably late night. like 1am but can be earlier.

He’s in his zone. The smell of grease in the air, a steady film of THC coating the nooks and crannies of his brain, the sound of woks sizzling and a huge fish tank bubbling (salt water, of course, those were quality)---that was al the man needed in life. The only thing that could disturb him is someone tapping against the glass, bothering not only him, but the fish.

 In the moment they were one in the same, he and those slippery phylum chordata. He imagined himself in the tank, feeling the soundwaves of the large finger tapping against the glass. He was a fish, and he was bothered.

“Man, don’t you know you ain’t supposed to do that?” he muttered. “You’re, like, scrambling their brains n’ shit.”