#vipcridae

[scurriilous]

𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐔

@vipcridae​ closed starter

  ‘ Heavy is the head that wears the crown ’ is a doltish phrase ; this swamp King holds his head high upon a throne of rancid flesh and marrow with ease, a man who KNOWS NO HUNGER & REIGNS CRUELLY. Long gone is the cloak of the Akatsuki - replaced instead with a similar garment that shrouds his shoulders but bares his chest, collar brimmed with the fur of an ermine, body a dull cut of raven colored cloth. His hands are devoid of jewels, the only accessory being the rosary that hangs from his neck. High and mighty, Hidan sits ( DIVINE ) upon the aforementioned throne - though metaphorics aside the seat in truth is quite mundane, perhaps a bit larger than your average - that’s planted in the heart of the Cult’s headquarters.

  This is paradise. The Garden of God. But there’s a SNAKE in the glasshouse. 

        ❝ Somebody's getting fired. ❞ Jests the Ruler to the Charlatan, referring to whatever idiot let this serpent slither in. He didn’t have to turn to recognize the presence of the blasphemous creature, but magenta eyes find themselves narrowing in their direction nonetheless. 

                                         ❝ Who the hell let you in ? ❞

[frogprinceus]

starter for @vipcridae

It was a little weird to sit with them at the same table again. He considered Orochimaru dead for a long time, and even longer they were enemies. But everything has changed now. If not for Orochimaru, they would not have been able to win and Jiraiya would not have been able to see Minato one last time. It looks like they could be friends again. Jiraiya did not dare to dream about it.

"I never thought we could drink sake together peacefully like this again."

He finally said, smiling at Orochimaru.

[umbralrosa]

@vipcridae​ summoned The Achromatic Despot

玫:

Violets blinked slowly at the flower in front of them. A simple tulip all the way out of village boundaries is not a common thing to spot. Perhaps someone was too far out and dropped some bulbs, enabling such a normally domestically-grown flora to prosper. Though, as the despot regards the red countenance of the petals settled upon a tall green stalk -- it does not bare as much question as the presence lingering in the shadows of the forest surrounding the small clearing.

The pale figure stands tall, then. White asymmetrical silks held together in the center by a black sash, long sleeves veiling dainty hands with somewhat long fingers, and even longer ‘nails’ as black as abyssal depths and as sharp as claws. When they turn, snowy hair flows like water to settle at the back, with those violets -- framed by the smoky hue of red-violet along the lids -- were very fixated to one specific tree. They did not blink once. Rosy lips remained closed, watching and waiting. Not like the wary sort of prey, no. This woman stood to kill. She was prepared -- simply waiting to strike. Still and towering straight like a life-size doll.

When they open, her sharper canines and second-incisors come into view. Those were not just for show. “Hiding is futile, masking your energy signature is useless when I can feel your heart beat, and smell your scent of where you last were... You can run if you want to, but even that much is pointless.” her voice was monotone. It was surely capable of sweeter notes, but not here. Not for a stranger. “Staring for longer than normal spans is a signal of interest or ill-intent. If you do not choose to unveil yourself now, I will perceive your observation as a threat, and I will kill you.” It was certain. She was not a hesitant person to do so, and both her tone and gaze made that transparent. One was not allowed to simply watch her unless she chooses to tolerate it.

[shatteredxlookingxglass]

⚔️ (reverse) and/or 🛡️ :')

⚔️  -  a  starter  where  our  muses  are  fighting  and  my  muse  admits  their  feelings  for  yours.  (  add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  admit  their  feelings )

🛡️  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  protects  yours  from  a  fight.  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  protect  mine. )

// @vipcridae

He’s not a loud, gregarious sort of man by any means, but Dan rarely finds himself at a loss for words; he also rarely finds himself sprawled backwards upon a messy bar counter either, bloodied and staring up at Orochimaru, whose pale cheeks are flooded rosy with warmth, drunken or otherwise.

Not drunk, no. They hadn’t even had the chance to empty one tokkuri’s worth of sake together when some tipsy idiot tried to throw a punch a bit too close to Orochimaru, possibly intending to hit another patron nearby, or possibly thinking themselves brave enough to take on the Sannin, one might never know.

Dan, while watching the chain of events transpire outside his companion's field of vision, shifted to block easily and immobilize the drunk Chunin just as quickly, he was unable to account for the position of a porcelain cup that shattered in the fray between him and their assailant, its shards cutting his cheek.

There is a certain code among Konoha’s Jonin - unspoken to be certain, but upheld nonetheless. When furloughed and taking leisure where it might be found, petty squabbles should be avoided, especially in the locales frequented by shinobi and civilians alike. Unfortunately such unspoken codes were often flouted when some fool wished to test their mettle or simply make mischief under the influence of strong drink.

Tonight’s instance is minor to say the least, a mild inconvenience more than it poses any real threat. The only true threat was the damage to be done in the civilian sector if high ranking shinobi really started intentionally throwing fists, which would undoubtedly result in destruction to a service facility, and potential injuries to other patrons. It falls upon both he and Orochimaru to control the situation, and as expected, this is accomplished with minimal effort.

This isn’t what has Dan so stunned.

After they dispatch the rowdy group and see to their ejection from the bar, Orochimaru’s voice subsumes every other thought in his head, partly chiding in their teasing way. The rasp of their voice holds the edge of fanged venom, reminding Dan in not so many words that he shouldn't have gotten in the way, even if he thought they were at risk. 

Reminding him about how these days, watching someone they love bleed unnecessarily is something that they find rather vexing. 

All Dan can hear is that word, marvel at the way it sets his heart alight. The way it makes him feel utterly alive. Unafraid of the potential pain it opens them both up to, unafraid to speak in turn, with words that get away from him far too quickly. 

Right now Dan feels brave, and though his own cheeks burn, he looks up at them directly while they press a clean cloth to his cheek, and a smile spreads slowly across his lips.

“I suppose I was trying to prevent someone *I love* from being vexed by an unfortunate interruption to an evening meant for relaxation, but here we are.”

[cursedfortune]

@vipcridae continued from x.

The cool grass was a welcoming feeling to a witch who was so often chilly. Warmed by the exertion of dueling Orochimaru who had proved to be just as mighty in a weakened state. But before she could imagine the body they strived for their counter was heard, a bark of laughter abruptly escaping the witch where she laid. The look she tossed them stole the words from her mouth, she has been on the receiving end of their stamina, they had nothing to prove. It’s a typical tease from her, full of questionable meanings and potential innuendo that is neither confirmed nor denied.

...But what if they felt otherwise? Orochimaru never shied away from the fact they missed what they had, they wished to achieve what she possessed. They sought, they strived, they demanded their desires be met. She loved it. That ambition to crawl forward towards one’s goal if they could not walk on their own two feet. It was no lesser than the other in her eyes. Yet they may feel it differently, she must acknowledge. Though Mortem’s morality differed greatly from mortals there was no denying she was attuned to the emotions of a soul and often sought to balance them. It’s a softness not many would except and it’s not a thought she wonders about if they have seen. Her only interest is being the support they need and in her experience, the health of the mind and soul equaled the health of the body.

The witch tilted her head to observe as they rolled over, finding her gaze now turned upwards to peer through her lashes. Their pretty eyes are hard to pull away from but she does, if only for a moment, to glance to where they trace. A touch so light and yet her skin reacted all the same as they traced along her arm. So responsive to something so soft despite the fact she had endured one stabbing after another as though it meant little. Will was such a funny thing, especially when experience existed alongside it. How used to pain she was but so starved for such a simple touch.

Mortem lifted her gaze to Orochimaru’s, taking in their expression as they spoke. Their tone. There’s a moment where her eyes wander off to the side, past them to the sky. To somewhere else. “You shouldn’t.” She murmured. What she is, what she has made herself to be is something damning. There was a reason her tale is one of warning, spoken on the tongues of mortals who knew to hate a witch they’d likely never meet. Everything she has done to herself was not solely to survive, but to terrorize. And she did it so well that no good deeds could ever make up for all that she has done.

They shouldn’t want to be like her. They shouldn’t want this body, these traits. “You should want more.” Mortem looked back to them. Be better than she. If they wanted it all they should have it, not be limited to her specifications that have made her the bane to all. They should want more, to be more. “You’re so capable of attaining things I have no means of access to. You are not bound by the same rules as I. You can have more and you should seek it. I am not a worthy goal when it comes to the potential you possess, lovely.” The witch mused, hardly in a tone that belittled herself - it was simple truth to her.

“You have nothing to prove to anyone, Orochimaru. Especially me. You’re formidable now which only leaves me to imagine what you will become. Your soul is so bright it burns through bodies. For you a weak body is not a sign of weakness, it’s an acknowledgement of your strength. Something I’ve known since we met.” A hand lifted, fingertips grazing along their jaw for a moment before she shared with them some of her energy. A little bit to help rejuvenate them somewhat, to keep well their body. The brief act alone seemed to please the witch aplenty.

[cursedfortune]

Swordplay

Swordplay.

@vipcridae

Orochimaru wasn’t known for being predictable, which was one of the things she enjoyed most about them. Unpredictability was something she shamelessly indulged in when it came to other she has come to show favor for. Beyond just enjoying their personality and that inventive mind, Mortem found they always had something to delight her with. They were an endless depth that she had only just willingly plunged herself into.

Which is what made this so thrilling. To see their dance of violence, one that may not be aimed to try and intentionally kill her but the witch nonetheless encouraged. It wasn't like they could keep her down for long. In their weakening body she prospered with stamina that far exceeded that of a mortal with immortal ambitions. That’s not to say that Mortem’s prowess in combat wasn’t formidable; whether it was appealing to an unexpected strength or her endless cunning, the witch was certainly glad to provide Orochimaru with a partner that wouldn’t quit so easily. Something she believed they could provide her well now and certainly even better later.

They were full of such a menacing grace. Experienced beyond the years they looked. With that experience Mortem utilized it to make sure she didn't do terrible harm to. While she may welcome their all she focused not to return it - promising instead for a raincheck on such when Orochimaru was in far better condition. Survive to see the result of their good work.

The snake’s resourcefulness never ceased to amaze the witch. Their blade through her collar parted pale skin and meat, but it’s the grazing against her bone that had Mortem hissing as the sharp kiss of pain bit harder and set her nerves alight. But she still had tricks left to use. Where most would seek to remove themselves from the weapon she held fast, sank deeper upon it to close the distance and make it far too awkward to dislodge their weapon.

Mortem slotted her knee between their own, ankle hooking around back of theirs as the witch gripped the weapon in her. Her coal gaze sparked with life, thriving off this match of theirs - holding their blade purposely as she used it as leverage to send them both to the ground where she landed atop their frame. A beast of persistence and durability; Mortem's legs caged Orochimaru's sides as she quietly released a breath she had unintentionally held. That is how formidable they were even when in a weakened state, capable of stealing a witch's breath in favor of concentration.

Her fingers held tightly to the weapon held hostage within her; curled over fine steel that was stained red with her blood as her body in turn curled over Orochimaru’s. Long tendrils of plum cascaded down, partially curtaining the two from the rest of the world. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she peered down upon them with such pride. For them. For herself. But her lingering stare faded her smile a touch, though hardly in a negative way. Thoughtful, as Orochimaru often was thought provoking. “While I’m sure you in top form is quite lovely, I cannot help but see the beauty in your mortality.” There’s a truth that Mortem could not hide if she wanted to, yet often laid unnoticed by most who engaged with her. A quiet passion, a soft sentimentality that was expressed in her actions more-so than her words typically.

For a moment here that’s not the case. “But to see you prosper in body that befits your desires and potential, there are no words for such wonder.”

This was correct. This is what she was meant to be doing. Here now with them. Disheveled, hair fanned out across the ground, the rapid beating of their heart - each breath she heard so clearly. Signs of fatigue never looked so pretty. While Mortem understood their pursuit of life and the extent they wished to go she couldn’t help but think about how true her words had been at the start. They’d make a lovely corpse. Entropy would do such beautiful things to them. Yet, likewise, the potential of life burned brightly in their favor. Such abundance that even Mortem yielded with no consequences to be handed out for Orochimaru’s attempted body snatching when they first met.

There was too much. They were too much. And she was quite happy to be here. Bound by such a strong purpose.

But anyone with an ounce of wisdom would see it’s hardly what they’re wrapped in that’s so potent. It’s their very soul. Despite all her interest in seeing them decay, she’s pleased to aid them in living. They have such potential still. So easily pleased by their existence. So at home in following her nature and having it align so wonderfully with their own. Ambition, boldness - it never looked so good.

Mortem’s lips curved into a smile as she brushed aside a few obscuring strands as she leaned closer, intentionally aggravating the wound she possessed into bleeding further upon them. Perhaps it would be too bold to tease them about how pretty they looked on their back like so. Were they truly tired or did they just allow themselves to be caged this long? The jokes began lining themselves up but all that came out was, “I’ll get off you now. I wouldn’t want to burden your fatigue in the slightest.” Catch your breath, precious mortal. You’re not allowed to quit on her so easily.

With a light laugh the witch pulled herself free of their sword and rolled over to lay beside them. The wound healing quickly without the weapon lodged within now. Perhaps there’s another thing that’s pleasant about being in their company - Orochimaru’s worldliness and longevity have certainly brought a touch of old comfort to a witch who has been without another soul who gets it. It’s hard to tell for certain, given she has never experienced such, but maybe this was what it was liked to be spoiled by the presence of another?

[damnedance]

「SC」 | koji & @vipcridae​ ;

          boiler appears outside orochimaru’s lair with a loud characteristic poof, a noisy entrance that a feverish koji doesn’t register at all. with his left arm and flank completely crushed by his fight with jigen ( or rather, isshiki ), the clone is painfully aware that there’s no way of him recover himself on his own - he needs help, if he wants to survive his wounds. 

          by logic, he knew he should’ve returned to his creator - but his gut, that weak human side of his, told him not to do so. amado had set him up on a fools errand - to fight a battle koji had no hopes of winning. however, contrary to his genetic template ( jiraiya, one of the three great of konoha ), koji refused to go down like this; there are so many things he wants to do, so much to unravel about life. 

          he always thought of himself as nothing but a tool and yet - when it comes right down to it, koji cannot help but fall into the sweet temptation of human emotions, the fear of death greater than he thought it would be.

          which is why he comes to orochimaru in hopes of their aid - there are but a few who have knowledge and technology enough to handle his enhanced body, if anyone could help him it would be another one of the sannin. trying to locate the godaime was not on his plans, he was bleeding out and on the verge of losing conscience. in the end, orochimaru was his best ( and closest ) option.

          being carefully let down to the ground, koji groans in pain - only now noticing a shadow over him.  he’s got no way to reach out and, in his best efforts to remain awake, grunts painfully:

          ‘ help me, please ! ’

[cursedfortune]

@vipcridae​

The witch had finished her morning routine of chores that needed doing, which only freed up time to invest in the ones she wanted to do. Sat comfortably in the warm grass she worked away, sharpening her longsword silently - the hum of insects, the distant cawing of crows, the occasional leap from a fish within the nearby stream was all she heard. Save for the way the stone smoothed the edges of her blade.

So why did she hear all of these sounds and yet not the one thing that mattered? The soul she had sensed approaching. With all its effort to stay quiet she really shouldn’t be surprised that she couldn’t hear a thing. And yet, the beast that she has always been was all the more alert by such a feat. Only her hunters were ever successful but Mortem knew well already this was not one of them. They rarely traveled alone and never were ones to remain hidden and chance her attention.

And besides that, none of them ever felt like this. Something about it is vaguely familiar but not in any way that’s personal to her, no. The potential of this soul was so potent she could feel it from a distance. Hell, it was thanks to her very nature she spotted them - otherwise there was a chance the soul would have been missed entirely.

Consider her intrigued, not that she’d do anything about it just yet.

The last thing the witch wanted to do was acknowledge and scare off whatever was there. Let them approach in their own time. This sentiment is thought as she raised to her feet, stabbing her sword into the grass now that it had been primed. Awaiting her should she have need of it. But in the meantime Mortem continued to busy herself, collecting the tools used into her basket.

Who are you, curious soul? What are you? This energy was layered so thickly in mystery. Unique in its existence. Dare she say she was excited, regardless if this one was friend or foe.