TwistedMUCK - User contributions [en]

2022-08-11 - Welcome to Twisted, Scott

2023-10-22T09:01:04Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = Welcome to Twisted, Scott |Summary = First impressions say everything, so when Scott meets robotic bards first thing what does that say about Twisted?..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = Welcome to Twisted, Scott
|Summary = First impressions say everything, so when Scott meets robotic bards first thing what does that say about Twisted?
|Who = [[Fazbear_and_Friends]], [[Scott]]
|Date = August 11th, 2022
|Where = The Usual Restaurant
|Log=
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Usual Restaurant

You walk into a very large restaurant with high ceilings that leave the rafters exposed. Fluorescent lamps hang from the ceiling, adding light to the floor and tables. Windows adorn the sides of the place, looking out onto the chaos that is Twisted. On some of the walls are paintings, photographs, and holograms of different movies, and a number of people who tend to visit the UR - caught as they're singing karaoke. The hardwood bar rests at the back of the restaurant, surface polished and shiny and all-together spotless (most of the time). Behind the bar are the various beverages that are serveed, and a giant mirror. There seem to be an inordinate amount of different drinks. A large stage rests in one of the corners of the restaurant, with an amazing sound system and a few microphones strung around it. Multiple round wooden tables are in the room, and a swing door leads into the kitchen. Another door leads to the dance club, and another to the gym. And of course, there's an exit. A large fireplace nestles in one of the walls, with a beautiful stone chimney that flows up and out. A long spiral staircase rests near the entrance to the kitchen, leading to a second-floor balcony that overlooks the UR itself. The lights up there are a bit dimmer than those down below.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is... a brief *stutter* in reality, and a moment later a 5'8" Caucasian catboy in a labcoat, scarf, and baggy T-shirt and cargo shorts steps out of the Employees Only door and then just... stops, like he forgot what he was doing. And then continues staring into space, before putting out a hand to lean against the wall, and walking unsteadily to the nearest chair to sit, still staring into space for a moment.

It's the Usual and the usual types of clientele are present dining and talking and enjoying the reliable atmosphere and friendly staff. There is live music being performed on stage that seem to be covers of classic rock songs. Hardly a second glance is given to the catboy that steps out of the Employees Only door. A busy waitress carrying a tray with a number of orders passes by him with a smile just as he takes a seat. "I'll be with you in a minute," she affirms before she weaves around the tables and chairs to deliver food and drink.

His ears twitch and he lifts his head, turning to look at her for a moment, then looking down at himself and patting himself down down with a mildly alarmed expression. "Um... I'll be right back..." he mutters, quietly, and hurriedly walks to the bathrooms before freezing in place and looking between them for a few seconds before sighing, pushing open the Boys' door, and walking through.

There's the sound of a faucet and a splash, and then the rustling of paper towels. Then a catgirl emerges from the same room, wearing now even-more ill-fitting clothes, and with bright purple hair down past her waist instead of dark brown, though her ears and tail match the old hair. Her face, collar, and some of her hair is a bit damp. She slips onto a barstool and smiles at the waitress before looking around to see who else is here, tail curiously swaying.

The servers seem to be handling those eating at the booths and tables and those at the bar are usually served by those tending it, but the latter are busy, too. After a bit, the one waitress passes the catgirl at the bar after exiting the kitchen, returns the smile given her, and reaches over to pick up a menu. "Just a moment. Sorry for the wait," she offers as she steps beyond and into the dining commons to make her way over to a table. She pauses, looks around, but apparently there's no sign of the customer that was just sitting there a bit ago. She shrugs to herself which catches the eye of a nearby customer, there's some friendly banter that gets lost underneath the music and conversation, and then she's heading back to the bar once more.

The Usual may be the Usual, but there are a few details off that may mark this is not being the same Usual that the catgirl may be familiar with. The general layout, the placement of decor, and the atmosphere are all close, but not quite. Maybe it's just the faces in the restaurant. Or the patterns of the flooring. Or the smell of the air drifting in from outside as the door opens and closes from those coming and going. Or maybe it's the tall colorful animals on the stage playing a cover of I Love Rock 'n' Roll by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts.

The waitress drops the menu in front of the fresh face there on the counter. "Sorry about that. Welcome to the Usual. Here's a menu, but you can order anything you'd like and our kitchen staff will do their best to make it. Can I get you anything?"

"It's fine." the catgirl answers. "I'll just have, um..." she thinks for a moment. "A chocolate milk. Wait, do I have any money?" She fishes a wallet out of her back pocket, peering inside. "Yeah, I'm good." she puts the wallet away again.

"That's all for you, hun? Just a moment, I'll get that to you as quickly as possible." The server hustles away, but not before stepping aside to catch a request on a drink refill.

"I love rock and roll, so put another dime in the jukebox, baby! I love rock and roll, so come and take your time and dance with I love rock and roll, so put another dime in the jukebox, baby! I love rock and roll, so come and take your time and dance with me!"

A powerful ending to a powerful repeating melody, the performers on stage playing those guitars and a keyboard take a moment to accept any applause. The bear with a top hat lifts a hand. The purple rabbit's ears lift up higher. The chicken tilts her head to the side with a beaky smile. The fox peers slyly about the diners. The catgirl may feel a direct stare.

"Thank you, true Fazbelievers. Without your support, we would never be able to celebrate such musical creation with those like you wonderful little boys and girls," says the bear. "As always, we're happy to accept requests between songs- between songs so don't be afraid to step on up -- on up -- and tell us what's on your mind."

The temporally-displaced catgirl has skipped over Fazbear and Friends AND Five Nights at Freddy's, so she simply sways a bit in her seat to the music. When the band stops playing and TALKS, though, she looks over, eyes flicking between the band members as she tries to discern whether they are simple automatons or something more. After a moment, she slips off her seat and approaches the stage, looking the fox up and down.

Much like other entertainment venues that use such things, the performers on stage don't actively react to anybody that actually approaches the raised area used as a stage. The motions made are a little stilted, but the craftsmanship and appearance of the bear, bunny, and chick are amazing in detail. They rather look just as alive as any other bear, rabbit, or chicken person might. Their faces have great emotion in such motion. Even as the catgirl walks up, the fox doesn't move in position. He seems to stare at the point where she ''was'' rather than where she ''is''.

Unlike the other three, however, the fox may have been made with similar craftsmanship and mechanical articulation, but where the other three might pass as something alive he is tattered and some of his mechanical insides show. There is no curtain to hide the band in-between songs. The four seem to remain mostly still in the interim.

...except that the fox's one visible eye is now turned to gaze at the only person that has walked up.

She looks at that hole in the chest. The internal structure seems overly simple for any chassis that might be used for a robot that's a *person*. And then she looks up and the eye is looking right at her. She steps back, her tailfur all bushy. "Guh. Look, I just wanna hear... I dunno. I like video game tunes, honestly. I'm just a guy with weird musical tastes. GAH. Girl. ...I like 80's music too. And electronica."

One by one, each of the band members turns their heads to look. It might lead to an awkward moment that only amplifies that odd anxiety displayed from such a tell-tale tail. Something's not right h-

The rabbit cracks up into giddy laughter before partially doubling over. The fox, bear, and chicken all sigh as the rabbit does this and each have a playful beratement to offer. "Bon!" "Ya just couldn't do it, could ya?" "That be the way the bunny bumbles." All four have a good laugh.

"Cheer up, little girl," says the bear. "We were just playing a little game and Bonnie made us all lose. You win!" The sound of party blowers comes from...somewhere. The other three cheer in unison. "We'll have to work hard to come up with a song that matches all of that." The ursine crosses his arms and side-eyes the rest of the gang smugly. "But you better Fazbelieve we can do it. What's your name, little Fazbear Friend?"

The catgirl looks confused and a bit alarmed as they... laugh at her?! But now they're acting like people, and that feels... oddly natural. At the words 'little girl' she perks up a little, cheeks blushing slightly, tailtip lifting and twitching.

Her... name?

She looks away awkwardly, wringing her hands. "I... don't know. I mean... I'm... Scott, but... That's not a girl's name..." She tilts her head forward and holds her hand to her head. "Ugggh, this is complicated..."

"Arr, what a cute name for a pirate lass," chimes in the fox. "Grab hold o' ye sodie pop and ready to set sail."

"Oh mah stars, dear. That there's Foxy the Pirate Fox," introduces the chicken of the vulpine with a hook hand. A hook, that is, that lifts up the eye patch covering his right eye so he can grin toothily. "And that's Bonnie the Bunny. He's just a box of giggles today."

"Sorry, Chica!" apologizes the rabbit while flashing an equally apologetic smile toward Scott. "I can't help it. Meeting new friends is always so exciting. It's great when people come up to talk to us. Most people like to act like we're not even real."

The fox mutters under his 'breath', "Not sure most of the people around here be real, either."

The bear spreads his arms wide. "And I'm Freddy Fazbear. Together we're Fazbear and Friends, your favorite musically-talented pizza-fueled traveling band seeking mysteries to solve and adventures to have." Yep. They strike a pose. Together.

"Now we all know each other so we ain't strangers no more, sugar," notes Chica the Chicken with a lingering Southern drawl.

CUTE?! That makes the young girl's face go red. After a moment she can speak again, "I-I'm only a pirate of video games though... a-although I guess that's the kind of pirate that drinks sodie pop... err, soda." She looks between them as they're introduced, and smiles, "It's nice to meet you!" extending her hand to shake each of theirs in turn. "Well...You do kind of... you pretended to not be real to me, too!"

"Mysteries to solve and adventures, huh...?" The catgirl looks thoughtful. "...I..." she smiles again. "I like meeting friends and having adventurers! I've met so many wonderful people here at the Usual!"

Now, the band members are considerably taller than the average person. As such, any hand-shaking is going to be with hands that are quite large. The bear's and rabbit's fingers are thick and tipped with claws. The claws are not made of keratin, however, and seem softer but still firm. The chicken's fingers are more feathery in design. The contact is plush, soft, inviting.

The fox's one hand is not covered in any sort of material and the fingers are metallic and mechanical. He does not offer a handshake. He merely exposes his silver and gold teeth in a grin.

"You said it! Now, you get out there and show Mabase what fun you can have and we'll work on finding a song just for you," insists the bear.

Soft.

She touches that hand a couple more times, staring at it.

And then: She turns to go get her chocolate milk, but pauses and turns back. "Show your base? What?"

The bear, chicken, and bunny show no signs of understanding the confusion. They just smile. But, the fox...

"Yer ship be blown into a new port, lass. Best drop anchor and moor yer vessel and send ye first mate out to gather supplies, aye?" The Foxy fellow speaks with a far less enthusiastic tone, as if he knows something the others aren't letting on, but has to say it in such a way that he doesn't...get...in trouble with them?

The one-eyed pirate turns his gaze from the catgirl to the door leading outside. It's not the door used to arrive, but it's the exit to the building.

''A distant memory.''

''The village called Truce. People saying that Magus's army is attacking. A girl who looks like her. She followed people who said they were heading to TASK's headquarters. But what happened next? DID that happen?''

The catgirl holds her hand to her head. She sips her drink, then strides to the door, looks outside.

''This isn't NeoTokyo.''

"I'm... sleepy." She turns to the animatronics. "It was nice to meet you... I guess I'll stay here for tonight."

She finishes her drink, pays with Metropolis money, and then... touches a spot on her scarf, turning into a cat (ZAP!), and climbing up to sleep curled up in the rafters.

|}}

2022-08-17 - Amidst the Junk

2023-10-22T08:33:48Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = Amidst the Junk |Summary = 'Costa Rasht' stumbles across a tech-savvy individual in the Scrapyard while looking for upgrades. |Who = Rocket_Racc..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = Amidst the Junk
|Summary = 'Costa Rasht' stumbles across a tech-savvy individual in the Scrapyard while looking for upgrades.
|Who = [[Rocket_Raccoon]], [[Scott]]
|Date = August 17th, 2022
|Where = Mabase Scrapyard
|Log=
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mabase Scrapyard

Connected along the southern side of the Plowse Bridge is a shoddy elevator which descends to a drifting chunk of Twisted far lower than the rest of Mabase City. From here one can see the exposed rock trailing off like stalactites into the darkness. Because it isn't level enough there's no humoring the idea of a proper sky here, artificial or otherwise. To give illumination dozens of bright lamps have been arranged to light what has become Mabase's Scrapyard. Here the unrestored and forgotten random chunks of buildings, vehicles, or whatever have been unceremoniously dumped. For the most part things are pretty organized with cars in one pile, building pieces in another, chunks of city streets piled like a wall along the jagged edges of the scrapyard, but mostly things are still in disarray. Currently no one works here full time and the organization is mostly due to necessity as people have plundered bits and pieces.

The previously mention elevator comes to a halt just outside the remains of an old service station which has been repurposed as small workshop. Luckily the building already had a two bay garage making it easier to drag machinery inside to work on it. There are two automotive lifts inside the bays with toolboxes shoved full of whatever tools could be found. Once the lifts stop working that's it, so hopefully there's a mechanic around that might know how to fix them. The awful squeal makes it seem like it won't be long.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The junkyard is visited by something new: A 12-foot-tall humanoid machine covered in red-painted armor plates, mostly a 'torso' with stumpy limbs and no head, a tiny window in the middle of the chest. It walks somewhat ploddingly, finally coming to a stop next to a pile of junk. The front opens, revealing a cramped cockpit with a catgirl sitting inside -- she releases her seat belt and slips out of the machine with a grunt, surveying the pile for likely-looking spare parts.

The noisiness of the massive lift to and from the scrapyard keeps any activity less-than-secret. Still, people do come and go often enough. These are usually those that specialize in scavenging to resell in order to make a living more than casual individuals. Heavy machinery noises are also pretty normal to hear. Not everybody has the strength to move pieces of junk around that weigh hundreds of pounds with ease...sort of like what that large raccoon wearing a yellow hoodie is doing with a piece of metal and plastic larger than he is.

Disappearing behind a small pile of sorted miscellany, the sounds of a loud think are only followed by the illumination and sound from a cutting torch. The main engineering station seems a little dead at the moment near the entrance, but that doesn't seem to stop activity within the massive junk and scrap storage zone.

The catgirl swiftly notices that 1. there's an organization to the junk here, and 2. there's someone else here presumably doing their own salvage work. She approaches Rocket after pulling her goggles over her eyes and adjusting the straps. "Hey, uh--" she pauses for only a second or two to take in his appearance before continuing, "do you know where I might find some... hmm, well, first, I need a cart or something to move parts, and second, seeing the condition of the stuff here... do you think there's any chance I might find one of those newfangled LCD monitors in working condition? Technology has come such a long way in the future..."

It would seem that the fuzzy ringtail has own goggles on, as well, although using such a powerful plasma arc cutting torch around even marginally exposed fur seems a dangerous prospect to those with some sense. The animal continues to cut a slow trail in the metal for a few seconds more, almost as if he didn't quite hear what was being asked, until he finally pauses.

Without looking up from his work, the raccoon talks -- because talking raccoons are apparently a thing in some realities -- and explains a few things, "Not everyfing is sorted, so you may 'ave t'sift frough some o'va fings until you find what you want." Cockney? "Use whatevuh you find a'use around 'ere. Lot o'va sorting is volunteer work, innit, so if you 'ave a'take somefing like a cart or what-'ave-you off to wherevuh, just bring it back."

The raccoon guy begins cutting again. "If you'uh trying a'retrofit somefing, make sure you 'ave a proper measure of your voltage and amperage," he half-yells as the noise gets louder from it all. "TRANS!" he yells before cursing, stopping his cutting angle, shifting, and starting again. "You need a transformuh and a measure of power inversion, offset your charge with capacitors, but it entirely depends. LCDs are incredibly 'eat and shock sensitif! Va's a'bump and tumble kinda shock, innit. Not electrical!"

She nods at the explanation of borrowing the cart. "Well... honestly, if this setup here is for public use," she rubs the back of her neck, "I might just use this." At the caution to measure voltage and amperage she rolls her eyes. "Pff, I'm not an idiot." As he shouts something about a TRANS her ears perk up and she looks startled, then relaxes. "Ah. Much of the system is DC anyway, so no transformer or inverter needed. Well... I'll need to compare it to what I got, anyway."

She rubs the back of her head. "Ah, they are? Damn, so probably *not* suitable for a combat machine, then. Nuts, it seemed like a shoe-in for an easy obvious upgrade. So those fancy-shmancy tablet computers and phones I see people with, do they just break if they slip out of your hand? Seems expensive to replace..." she hmms, stroking her chin.

"Wot?" asks the talking animal before cutting off the torch once more to put it aside. He turns and look at this other person from the legs up. A hand reaches up to push the goggles upward to reveal his eyes, although the thick lenses and rubber do little hide a furrowed brow. "Vere are options to insulate and protect your LCD equipment from shock damage, but if you'uh going a'take vat route you might as well push into organic electroluminescent diodes instead. You'll get beh'uh resolution from va image and in'egrating touch controls should be a snap, except for vat 'ole DC system fing."

"Retrofits can be a bit tricky, but you gotta work wif wot you've got, right? Name's Rocket. You new 'ere or somefing?"

Organic... what? She is from the past. She goes from excitedly discussing technical details to a blank look at something she hasn't had a chance to research yet. "Uhh... I'll have to look into that technology, yeah." She smiles. "Well... perhaps it's time to design something new from the ground up, if there have been enough technological changes... I just figured better displays would be a big QOL improvement for relatively little investment, given how common such technology seems to be now."

Um..." The catgirl looks away awkwardly. "Yeah, kinda. I... I'm from like, 2005? NeoTokyo? I have... I have some knowledge about things later, bits and pieces, but... I found myself in the Usual yesterday."

She looks at Rocket, then away. "Umm... I'm... Scott... or maybe Sarah... it's kind of a long story..." She walks up to him and crouches down, holding out a hand to shake and smiling. "Nice to meet you, Rocket!"

"Uh..." intones the ringtail as he listens to this response regarding time and space and tech upgrades. "OLED is pretty common in most Earfen modernities vese days." One eye squints regarding NeoTokyo. "Flark, you, too, huh? Pretty certain va temporal cascade is deteriora'ing our filament quickuh van I 'ad fought it might." Once approached, the lack of confidence over a name makes the fuzzball suspicious. Still, he shakes hands and it considerably stronger than he might look, if the carrying such weight around earlier wasn't clue enough.

"Pleasure, m'sure. Well, wotevuh you want to call yourself is fine, alvough you should be aware vat uhvuhs from NeoTokyo were shunted into vis pocket realm. To most o'vus it's been many years since, now. We're still trying to figure it all out. Maybe you 'ave somefing important to do 'ere in va future. Maybe you 'ave some connection wif va past. Wotevuh va case, vis place 'as decided it likes you. Don't be too tizzied ovuh winding up 'ere again if you leave. If you still can."

The catgirl's eyes light up. "There's more people? Has anyone seen Sabin? Jiro? Kiro Kinshi? Cecil? Jack Karrde? Quantum Blaze? Sun? Her boyfriend?" she frowns, briefly, his name is on the tip of her tongue... she continues listing, "Munin? The Utonium girls? Skeeve? ...Erica?" She hopes ANY of those names will be recognized...

"I think... I think I just get to have a life, now. I get the sense that... I missed an important chance, before."

The Rocket fellow takes a half step back while lifting his hands. "Oi, bugguh all. Slow down a krutacking minute, Costa Rasht." Was that a name? "I'm not a flarking travel agent. I spend a lot o' me time building weapons, eivuh by meself or wif Pukebreaf -- 'e's around 'ere somewhere." Pukebreath is also a name? "Big badass corrosive skag. Nuffing worrying, innit."

The raccoon waves those hands a bit before turning away to direct his attention to his belongings. He digs through a pile before pulling out something that looks like a crude...gun? "Point being, I'm not va one a'talk to about finding friends. I'm va one a'talk to about ''saving'' friends." Screw the plasma arc torch; a massive discharge of green light goes ZORCH! and sheers off a section of the metal. It reveals electromechanical insides. "Oh, look!"

The gun is dropped the ringtail scrambles to pluck a single processor chip out of the slag. "Score. Uh... All right. Flark it all." He pockets the chip. "I'll 'elp you look for some displays if you tell me va sizes you need, Costa, and we'll 'ave a chat."

Building weapons? "Oooh." the catgirl makes an interested noise. She takes 'Costa Rasht' to be an interjection, and watches the weapon with interest. She pulls a laser pistol out of her bag and zaps the ground for a demonstration. "Mmm. Well, maybe you should just come take a look at where they'll go, then you'll have a better idea. Dang, if I were *your* size I could fit more in there, it's pretty cramped..." Wait, did he say Costa again? "Costa?"

"Eh, fine, but watch va discharge o' shite around me, yeah? I'll krutacking murderize you out a'reaction. Flark... Alla vose names and you don't bloody well know 'oo Rocket o'va Guardians o'va Galaxy is," he mumbles, though not entirely to himself. Sure, he just used some kind of energy weapon as a can opener without warning. Such double standards! "Wot?" asks the raccoon person. "You don't like Costa Rasht? Figured it's a good name. Kinda preh'y. Fought you might like it more 'an Crash Toast or Oats Starch. Chaos Start isn't really a name so much as a command for turning on supuh powuhs." He shrugs. Strange. All of those word pairs have the same letters in them. "So, where are vem fings you wanna replace? I don't work for free if you need me 'elp; just saying. But I ''am'' va best option for 'elp."

"Rocket of a Guardians of a Galaxy?" She scratches her head, then puts her hands on her hips. "Well... I had a lot of friends, too, and you haven't heard of me, either!" He keeps suggesting names. "Oh, it was a name? But why...? ...Oh, those all have the letters of both of them... you're really good at anagrams, huh."

She motions for him to follow her back to the mech. The cockpit is still open. Cramped for her, he can fit inside easily, and see what she's got: The tiny window as backup, and some kind of monochrome LCD flat screens that might've seemed futuristic decades ago but now feel like something from the late 90's, albeit sturdier for their thinness than one would expect.

"Payment... hmm... is there something I could help you with? ...Do you need a friend? Are you working all alone here?"

Rocket scrunches his face for a moment. "We'll figure it out latuh; can just say you owe me one for now."

|}}

2023-10-22 - New Chapter, New Shoes

2023-10-22T08:03:35Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = New Chapter, New Shoes |Summary = Ranma Saotome bumps into one of Twisted's most notorious arms developers in a search for new clothes. |Who = R..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = New Chapter, New Shoes
|Summary = Ranma Saotome bumps into one of Twisted's most notorious arms developers in a search for new clothes.
|Who = [[Ranma]], [[Rocket_Raccoon]]
|Date = October 22nd, 2023
|Where = New Market Mall
|Log=

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
New Market Mall

The New Market Mall immediately fulfills numerous checks on the list of what you expect from a mall. There is a distinct smell; a mixture of multiple perfumes, shiny retail items, and a miasma of various fast food scents. There are waxed floors, wide long walkways, and a neutral color scheme of beiges, whites, and faintly sickly greens.

The ceiling itself provides a large portion of light, wide panes of glass making up the majority of its structure. Set back about 20 feet from the main entrance sits a charming fountain, with raised marble and stone walls. The interior jets cycle through a few different colors and designs, and the water inside shows multiple coins representing flicked wishes.

There are potted plants and sofas placed strategically throughout the hallways, providing spots to rest on your spree. There's weaponry, clothing, a taxidermy store, candle shops, a pharmacy, photographer, a florist, a dollar store... more or less anything you can imagine your heart might desire!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ranma has, at long last, found her way to the mall. It has involved much more effort than she expected it to take. She's new in town, but kind of used to the weirdness of NT. But this place is a different sort of weird, and she's out of sorts. She's wearing a uniform, but nothing local, though if someone would recognize NTPD's Tank Police, that's her. She obviously needs other stuff to wear, having arrived as she is. She's looking around cluelessly at the moment, hoping to find a directory of stores maybe.

Commercial center, indeed. The place is as busy as one would expect a shopping mall to be no matter the strange nature of the city or the Twisted place it sits within. That's not to say that everything one finds to buy in the mall is 'normal', but there's a certain familiarity with the varied contents that somebody with experience in a Nexus like Neo Tokyo would find comfortingly familiar. Conversations overlap, people wander, browse, and mingle, and the scents of bathroom tat mixes with the matching odor coming from the sounds of cooking fast food.

A few stalls are set up marketing spooky products and decorations. Plush pumpkins hand from elastic strings while a weighted rotor inside makes them bobble around with the sound of cartoonish manic laughter. A motorized skeleton seems to wave in slow motion. A hyper-advanced robotic telecube extrapolates logistical data from horrific scenarios to display off-the-cuff scary stories on a buzzing display screen. Also, there are carved turnips. Maybe even real ones.

A stuffed scarecrow sitting in a rocking chair seems to be calling out to those who pass by and the voice seems to be modulated by the obvious electronics hidden within. "Hey, hey you -- BOO! Ha ha ha ha ha ha," says the decoration as some curious kids wander by. When Ranma happens by, the scarecrow calls out again.

"Long way from home, officer," it remarks while it's burlap-styled jack-o-lantern face grins ominously. "Must be tired walking all this way from your precinct next town over."

Ranma is okay with pretty much any level of weirdness as long as no cats are involved, and Halloween season does bring out the weird in people, but she's making do. Most of what gets her alarm are fake cats, either cutouts or animatronic, as cats go with witches, and witches are in season. As are scarecrows. The one sitting in a rocking chair seems to know her, though, or at least recognize her uniform, so she pauses, looks at it critically, but replies, "I'm on permanent vacation, as it happens." With NT defunct, she's pretty much stuck here, and she's doing the best she can. As far as walking over, she says, "It -was- a bit of a hike, it's true, but I'm pretty tough." After swimming from Japan to China, a hike from NT to here is just a hop, a skip, and a jump. It only took her five years of wandering.

"You ran outta gas, didn't you? Ha ha ha ha. You can come sit on Uncle Scary's lap," says the voice from the voicebox somewhere inside the otherwise completely inanimate decoration. "Can't promise to keep you hidden from those former TASK agents making up a lot of the Mabase City PD, but it would make a good photo. Buy a copy, too. Real cheap. Extra spooky."

A little girl goes running by with a conical silk black hat on saying, "I'm a witch, I'm a witch, I'm a witch!" Nobody seems to be paying much mind to the conversation had with the scarecrow, though. It's all just background noise to the commercial atmosphere.

Ranma shakes her head about gas. "As a matter of fact, I did walk here." Because Rio didn't like letting her drive the tanks on the open road. She was only qualified as a loader, so far. Tenshin Amiguriken made for insane reloading speeds in the old WW2-era tanks used in high school tankery, but didn't much matter in modern tanks with autoloaders. That made her kind of useless, but Rio had had a soft spot for her, and let her hang out and try to qualify on the NTSDF tanks.

Ranma peers at the girl in the witch costume zooming by, then back to the scarecrow. "I think I'll skip the lap, though," she says dryly. "I'm just here to get some stuff and settle in to my apartment here. Maybe the local PD can give me a job?" As long as they don't require anything like qualifications.

"Depends on what kind of stuff you're looking for -- Er, ahem, I mean if you want protection or ordnance you don't have to go through the local law enforcement. You know what, don't talk to me about that. It's time for my break anyway. Talk to the guy behind you." There's an audible click as the internal voice box is turned off remotely.

Behind her? A few people walk by, but nobody seems to stand there in any notable way. There's an entryway to a shoe store, a comic book shop, and some scaffolding for the varied decorations that the mall uses off and on. A light-embedded board spells out a spooky greeting in purple and green and orange lights near which a lifelike animated raccoon plush wearing a yellow hoodie brushes his hands off and strikes a valiant pose.

The lightboard sign suddenly flickers and changes to pastel pinks and blues with some sort of egg-related greeting and a staffer runs over. "No, no, no, not again," they say before giving it a few good smacks until the purples and greens and orange colors turn back on. Not the most impressive backdrop for an appearance.

Ranma huhs about protection and ordnance, but shakes her head. "I don't need anything like that," she says. "I just want a couple changes of shorts and some shirts and stuff." But the scarecrow is off, and she turns to look for a guy behind her. And keeps looking, as no one obvious is there.

She eyes the malfunctioning light board, then will go looking for a basic department type store. "Isn't there a CAFAM around here or something?" she wonders to herself, finally deciding to give the shoe store a try. The Chinese slippers she's wearing are definitely high-mileage, so new shoes are also a need.

"Hey, you'uh just gonna walk away like vat, eh? Flark me, lady. Am I losing my touch?" protests the raccoon on the scaffolding next to the light sign as he watches the cop look right through him before heading to the shoe store. "Of all va krutacking luck..." mutters the ringtail as he climbs down the scaffolding to follow behind. "I swear, ih'vey try a'sell me more children's shoes I'm going'a bloody blast somebody...BLAM!"

The raccoon guy pauses as a couple with a child cuts him off. The kid reaches out toward Rocket to touch, but the mom tugs the child's other arm to keep them moving along. "No, sweety, we don't touch random badgers. They have germs." Making a face at the humans, the masked fuzzy then hurriedly runs in after the former NeoTokyo resident.

Ranma ohs as what she thought was an animatronic raccoon turns out to be the one talking to her. "Oh, I thought you were going on break?" she says, but will pause as he catches up. "By the way, I'm Ranma Saotome," she introduces herself. May as well be polite. But she eyes the woman advising her child not to touch the critter, badger, raccoon, squirrel, or whatever, and she leaves off offering a handshake. Well, strange badgers could have anything.

"What? No, it's the- Va flarking scarecrow needs a break, not me. You were clearly talking to a stuffed straw man, not a strapping specimen o'strength and intellec'ual genius like meself...Officer Saotome. I'm Rocket. One o'va Guardians. Spent some time where you'uh from; leastways, where you recently came from, unless you'uh an N.T. native."

The raccoon hops up onto one of the customer benches for trying on shoes and holds out a hand to shake. One of the staff behind the checkout counter issues a welcoming despite being busy ringing somebody up. Rocket is bigger than your average raccoon, though not by a huge amount, and looks just about as fragile as any trash panda might. "Best buckle up, because vis place is a real piece o'work."

Ranma ehs, "Rocket? Guardians?" She's clueless. But nods about NT, though she says, "I'm /from/ Japan, and I'm not entirely sure how I got to NT. And to be honest, I'm not super clear on how I got here. Some kind of disaster, and I dragged my backside here. Somehow." She shrugs. "And now I suppose I've got to start everything over again," she groans, not happy to hear this place is a piece of work. She will, after a pause, shake the offered hand, and hrms. "You're not Rocket J. Squirrel, are you? Some fellow in Neo Tokyo was looking for him. Or maybe it was Rocky Raccoon? Or is that a guy in a song?" She's getting her characters mixed up. And wrong, of course.

"I'm not-!" Rocket takes a breath and sighs. "Not a krutacking raccoon. Look..." Rocky, a name used by his closest friends, shakes with a sense of strength the belies his small size before turning to look around the store. "You don't need an exposition dump first fing. It's true vat fings are pretty complica'ed around 'ere. Heck, fings were plen'y complica'ed in NeoTokyo. But you've got a good sense of 'ow t'start. New clohves, some basic comforts. Get your 'ead on straight and allovat. You 'af some money from N.T., should work fine 'ere. Running low and need some free food and drink: vey've a Usual 'ere, too. Same wif places t'sleep."

The ringtail crosses his arms. "Not everybody 'ere fell in. Many are born and raised 'ere. But vat means vey've some familiari'y wif people like us."

Ranma peers critically at Rocket. "Only you look like a raccoon. A big one, sure, but ..." she falls silent. Maybe he doesn't like to talk about it? She nods about things being complicated, but nods about things being complicated in NeoTokyo. "Ain't that the truth," she sighs, though it wasn't as bad there as things were in Nerima. She seems to have left that gang well behind. Ryouga, she worries about turning up, because he could show up on the Sun and wonder how he got there, then wander off, but the rest seem limited by laws of physics. "Don't need too many clothes or comforts until I get a job," she says. "But I found a place to stay, so there's that. And yes, they accept the money here, I'm pleased to say. Police work didn't pay ''great'', but it paid. And I worked part time in that DP club." Wait, where was that?

"Fine, fine," says the furry guy with a mildly exaggerated indignant edge and a glance away. "So you don't need my 'elp. Sure can't 'elp you wif va 'ole job fing. I tend a'stick t'defending va outskirts from incursions and monsters. Gives me free pass a'test me new 'omemade kit and scavenged slash restored fings I dig outtova junkyard. Might even 'ave some shoes'ere for free, but vere's somefing a'be said for sticking to routine and familiar practices like...shopping 'ere."

Rocky hops down from the bench and begins looking over the shoes on display on the racks that are far too large for his feet. Besides, his boots have rocket propulsion. "Try to limit me time wif vem -- va MCPD -- and I believe va current Acting Chief of the MCPD is a guy named Mike Cosgrove. Less'at changed 'ands wifout me knowing. I don't exac'ly keep up. I 'ave bigger issues t'andle."

Ranma hrms at defending the outskirts from monsters. "That ''does'' sound useful," she considers. "But I don't need gear and such," she explains. "My whole body is a weapon." And to think, she mastered Martial Arts Dining, too. And Martial Arts Tea Ceremony. Martial Arts Tankery seems almost out of place on that list.

She looks over the same shoes Rocky is looking over, pulling up a pair of plain black Chinese-style slippers. "This is what I need," she says. No need for rocket propulsion, even though there's no Air Akane here. Hopefully it stays that way. Is there an Akane here, she suddenly wonders. "Er, so where actually are we?" she asks. "Like, Earth? Asia? Japan? Somewhere else?"

Regarding the shoes, Rocket stares blankly. That's definitely a shoe matter for shoe professionals. He offers a bit of a shrug and thumbs in the direction of the store clerk as a suggestion. "I don't need me gadgets, eivuh, but it's what I'm good at and it's smart a'play t'your strengfs." Putting back one odd design of shoe before looking over another, the subject of location comes up.

The raccoon pauses in silence pensively for a moment before rotating the shoe in his hands. "I did figure it best a'not 'ave a big exposition drop first fing, so...in va spirit of keeping fings simple it's easiest t'say 'somewhere else'. Va most 'somewhere else' one can get wifout being Knowhere -- va's wif a 'K' -- which is also a 'somewhen else', also like 'ere. From what I can figure. So far." It's a somber subject and he's very clearly avoiding certain details. For now.

Ranma recognizes the act of talking without explaining. Her father was notorious for going on and on and not saying anything useful. "Fine, fine," she sighs. "I'm here, they take my money, that's all I really care about. Although I'll need more soon enough." As to the shoe professionals, she will hail one, and work out obtaining the style she's selected in her shoe size, which gets measured, and she pays for them, because she doesn't want to start trouble this soon after arriving.

Eying the raccoon, she says, "Well, I'm good for now, I think." She will put on her just-paid-for shoes and drop her old shoes in the garbage. They make it look like quite shabby garbage. They were in rough shape. She stands, and says, "And now, I will go home. Perhaps I will meet you again." And with that, she will head out.

Rocket tends to follow loosely behind. Once all is done and settled and the former NTPD officer is ready to head on her way, the raccoon speaks up. "One last fing, love. Take some time t'get settled in, stable on your feet, and ven we can talk more about vis place. Time 'ere, well, it don't work va same as uhvuh places. Vas a good fing for you. For now. If you still 'ave an interest in knowing more, I'll introduce you to a lady named Dani and we can try t'work you frough it all. Vat sound okay? Well...cheers. Guess va scarecrow 'ad a long enough break."

|}}

2020-02-02 - A Sanuye's Tail: Chiffon Goes West

2022-04-11T05:11:43Z

TheSmileDog:

{{Logsummary|
Title = a.k.a. A <nowiki>[</nowiki>White Wind<nowiki>]</nowiki> Blows
|Summary = Chiffon pays for Liyara's services in the form of food - but they both find more than they bargained for when her spellwork is complete.
|Who = [[Chiffon]], [[Liyara]], [[Calwa]]
|Date = February 2, 2020.
|Where = Twisted Street, Road to Nowhere, The Middle of Nowhere.
|Log=

It's going to be a busy day, today. Liyara has brought a series of books from the public library, this time about the history of wired and wireless communication in the twentieth century.

While the dragonborn is not particularly interested in human history from places that aren't her homeworld, she does have more than a passing interest in how human technology has developed. The idea of humans accomplishing almost anything on their own, and without magic no less, is a novelty to her, still. She'll have plenty of reading material for the parts where she only needs one hand. Which is roughly ten of the sixteen hours that lie ahead of her.

The red-haired woman doesn't actually wait to see if Chiffon will show up, so if he isn't already present when she arrives at 6 AM, she'll begin without him. It's not as though she's in a particular hurry, but she recognizes that he might be. And while few would actually call Liyara /considerate/, she isn't *completely* self absorbed. The other fire lion may well be in mortal danger. Time is of the essence.

So, it begins small; Liyara simply traces a single burning sigil into the surface layer of the ground beneath her, just enough to leave a mark but not enough to otherwise damage it. But while it starts small, it will not end small. What starts with a single burning finger eventually becomes a full-hand exercise, with Liyara's fingers each contributing depth, detail, embellishment, and interwoven connections to a complex array of patterns that don't quite sync up.

As if there's anything that would make Chiffon be late, short of a catastrophe. Liondostrophe. He takes this whole matter with an unusual amount of seriousness, and he's only accountable for bringing two things.

One, his lunky self to... whatever end. And a lunch order. There's the hiss and clunk of a convoy truck rocking as it pulls down the street, weighted down by... something. The smell is probably obvious, too, reminiscent of a butcher shop after a long day.

The vehicle pulls to the side of the road, the door opens, and Chiffon hops out, minding a foreleg. There's a little bit of a limp and--did he drive himself here? No, probably not, from the small bag of coin he wings across the cab to the driver. And with a proud strut, pops the tailgate. Under the canvas is what remains of several auroch, recently deceased and MOST of which properly broken down. There's one in the back that has a distressingly sized hole in the flank, cauterized, that looks more reminiscent of a ship's cannon than any conventional hunting gear.

"If we need to cook, I guess it'll give me something to do while you're... um...." His eyes follow the patterns, and then up to Liyara with a tired smile. "Doing what you do best?"

Liyara doesn't look up from her work immediately when a giant convoy truck pulls up. In fact, even when the animals are dumped and Chiffon comes limping out, she continues focusing on her work. If Chiffon doesn't say anything, it will take her several minutes before she says anything, but regardless of when she speaks up, she says the same thing. "Hmm? Didn't see you there." Of course. She never sees anyone there. Ever.

As she carries out her (entirely too large) task, Liyara will occasionally have herself a bit of a giggle at something she's reading. She'll also put the books away entirely for many parts. And, well, time will pass.

Eventually, Liyara will look up and see the food. When she does, her eyes will light up, and she'll ALMOST break with what she's doing. Almost. "Oh my, you did not disappoint." With food provided, Liyara will take a minute every half hour to literally spit-roast and consume a frankly impossible-looking amount of food. The woman is neither tall nor wide, in fact she's quite slender, but every half hour or so she's putting away enough food for a man three times her size. And quickly, too.

Yet somehow, she's not increasing in size, or even getting so much as a distended belly. People with comically large appetites are not foreign to Twisted, but unlike them Liyara doesn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing down. At all. Other women must hate her.

She seems to be pacing herself based on the amount of food Chiffon brought - but ... amazingly... it looks like she could actually eat more.

Chiffon responds to the statement by puffing up a little. Why, no, he's not below notice, but merely /sneaky/. Or stealthy. For his part, once he's done insisting that he /has/ to help some other way, and occasionally stealing--stealing, really, a bit of his own haul--he gives a cheerful barrely laugh.

"There's no half-assing things where friends are concerned." And course--of COURSE he's mutedly curious about the aracana all abound, but there is perhaps an even more pressing question after seeing all that voracious activity. ".... do you do contests? Would you get banned from contests?" Thoughtful critter..

The technical support expert from before did not disappoint or forget. Some time after that initial food delivery, a food truck rounds the corner and slowly pulls up to pause on the road near where the goings-on are taking place. The driver within clearly hand-cranks the window down and leans partially out the window to squint in suspicion. "Uhhh, somebody order food? This talking beaver paid me off for the day and said I was only supposed to cater to some..." The man within shuffles through some cluttered paperwork to find a note. "...'hot-blooded lizard chick? And...down here it says 'Red Wizard need food badly', whatever that means. This the right place? Hold on, I'm gonna pull over there and open up the side."

It's definitely a roach coach, as some call it. The truck pulls over, idles for a moment, then cuts the engine. After a moment more, the shutter on the side of the truck opens up and a counter inside slides out. There's a kitchen inside the truck and a menu on display. Only then does the name of the man's business become apparent. It's simply called We Got Beef Bowls. Now You Do, Too! Prepping the inner workings of the food truck, the man goes about a well-practiced routine.

"I'm not sure an eating contest would be ethical." Liyara's comment reflects the fact that her metabolism is sized for a gargantuan creature, and not a tiny slender dragonborn. The woman doesn't immediately notice the second truck, either, but when she hears 'hot blooded lizard chick', she glances up for a moment. "...Oh, that is probably me." Who else did she think the truck was for?! "...Red wizard need... Huh. Alright. You're in the right place." She looks back down to her work, now smiling slightly more, but using both hands. It's not a 'reading a book' time just now.

After about twenty minutes, at her next food interval, she looks to the truck, then her left eye twitches at the name. "...Beef Bowls. Of course." She glances to Chiffon, and furrows her brows. "...Tell him to just... keep making food and don't stop. If he's here and mine for the day, I'm going to eat him out of everything he has." And so she is. Once the food starts going, she'll adjust her intake to be exactly as much as would last the rest of the time.

As the day goes on, the circle begins to take shape. Sixteen hours is a long enough time that it remains abstract, and the progress hard to follow, but as the tenth hour comes and goes, the circle is starting to draw together in a fifty-foot crescent that will obviously close by day's end. It's quite a spectacle.

And it's not without incident. People are walking through the area, sometimes disrupting things just a bit, or just distracting Liyara with mundane questions like "Do you have a permit for that?" Or "Are you planning to kill us all?" Or even "What're you doing Saturday night?"

Liyara takes it all in stride; she seems to be more than accustomed to tiny setbacks in day-long circle casting by now. But then, she's done this a lot lately.

Chiff's jaw curls up a in a bit of a smile, a careful grin that's cautious of showing any teeth. Glowy tail flicks and he lifts a hand. "I'll take one of those. Something tells me I'm going to need a full belly when all else is said and done..." Though he doesn't empty it in quite the same way. No, at least there's spectacle for it all. One can only watch what one can't do for so long, though, with increasing restlessness.

So Chiffon does what he does best, and gabs up the crowd, steering some away, spinning tales where needed and adding just the right amount of just-so without presuming authority to, hopefully, get them through this without getting into major trouble.

"'n if you happen to have a big monster problem, or a little monster problem..." The latter.. well, no one wants to bring Howie into this.

The people are easily steered away when Chiffon turns his attention to them, and Liyara actually bothers to thank the Sanuye, which he probably doesn't realize is out of character for her. Having someone help keep people off her is actually a very, very welcome addition to ritual casting. One she can't usually be bothered to secure. And it's good that he's found something to do, because he will be feeling that restlessness for quite some time still.

As it turns out, the amount of food increasing has the opposite effect one might expect; instead of slowing Liyara down, the food increases her speed, if only a little. She's up to, with the slain beasts and food truck, a football team's worth of food every half hour. At this point, she's starting to actually not leave the Auroch bones, either. Is she digesting them straight? Grinding them into dust?

As the hour grows late and dark, the circle finally begins to close, and Liyara begins making small flying passes over it, her wings fluttering here and there. There are calculations that couldn't be made until the circle was complete, variables that have to be tweaked, and layered runes that connect other runes. But... Eventually Liyara slows down in her movements, and then stops, alighting outside the circle. She takes a moment to look things over. The day did not exactly fly by - it's almost 10 PM.

"Alright. Done." She announces simply, then looks around to make sure Chiffon hasn't wandered off out of sheer boredom. Not that he seems the type, but she basically wasn't paying attention to much while she was working.

The Sanuye probably doesn't even grasp the magnitude of gratitude, it's all just a matter of duty and common decency. That, and he seems to rather enjoy it. For someone who makes a career out of wandering wild, he's practically cosmopolitan. "I'm realllly going to have to figure out where the ol' rumor mill here is these days... people love a good yarn."

Hmm. Yarn. Ideas for later. For now, he's inspecting, careful not to step on any of it, or get too close, or... well, as he does. "That was... wow. Either a ritual or some very convincing street art. So...." He leans back and looks up. "What do we do now?"

Liyara makes a face at Chiffon's question, and then heave-sighs. "...My favorite part." Her left hand suddenly darts to her side, and in a smooth, quick motion, draws and slashes her dagger across her right palm, drawing a frankly unhealthy-looking amount of fire blood. Liyara doesn't wince, but she furrows her brow in concentration as she pours that blood into a very specific spot in the circle. The circle reacts by slowly starting to glow.

It's a slow process, and as each drop of her firey orange blood pours in, the runes and matrices begin to light up, the smaller circles within begin to spin, and the entire fifty-foot circle lurches bit by bit into brilliant orange life. Particle effects. Irridescence. This isn't like her smaller circles. Runes and intricate patterns meld up into the sky as they receive power, and the ground positively begins to rumble. Of course the Usual is fine, but people start avoiding the area she and Chiffon are in VERY quickly.

Within the sights and sounds, Liyara speaks her twenty five words. "...Chiffon's looking for you. If you accept, he and I will find you. If not, stay safe, help's on the way. Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers." She really did add that at the end. What a crock. After what can't be less than a *PINT* of her blood, the rumbling ceases, and the orange light reaches a peak... And then fades away. There's a low sound, and a wooshing of air, and then the entire circle she spent all day on disappears almost immediately.

"Well, easy come, easy go." Liyara quips, hand on her hip. She doesn't seem to have her human phrases down right. That did not come easily. As if on cue, she goes and polishes off her last small mountain of meat for the day.

"... that's your *favorite* part?" Chiffon's ears tilt to the side. Well, dragonkind are just... all sorts of extra special, aren't they? "Definitely can't copy this... I get beat up enough as it is." He looks at his paw pads, and flexes his claws a few times while watching the fire glow.

A step back, then another, a little hop here and there. He mouths the words as they're being spoken and quiets down from his cheerful demeanor. Tail twitching in anticipation as it all just... vanishes. "It worked though, yeah? It sounded like it worked."

And the great reveal, the climax of the spell's hours and hours of prepariong, has the bated breath-worthy response of:

Nothing. Absolutely nothing comes in response. The spell doesn't allow Calwa to reply.

HOWEVER! There is the arcane inclination of acceptance, permission granted almost -immediately- so, and all that comes with it. Calwa is, in fact, somewhere within Twisted. He is not, however, within the city of Mabase. He's quite a distance out, actually. While not a trip that would necessarily take hours to traverse, it is rather out of the way and almost suspiciously so.

Chiffon would be aware from Calwa's stories of the Black Hand that cities were the most dangerous to be in when pursued by the group and that open areas where Sanuye landspeed can be used in full optimization was the best option to get away. However, Twisted is a place that can get downright bizarre too far outside the city. He may have been too confused to have a distance advantage if he is still being hounded by the same people. Who are those people anyway?!

"Oh, it worked." Liyara nods, furrowing her brow. "...It worked, but it might take just a second." Her tail thumps impatiently on the ground behind her. "He has to receive it, process it, and decide whether to accept or deny. Could be a trap from his pursuers. That's a tough deci--"

'''DING.'''

"--Nevermind! Found him. That was quick." She flutters up into the air, and orients herself. "He's..." She turns so that she's facing the exact, straight-line direction, and points her hand forward. "...That way. A lot. Oh. He's out there far, that's no good. Strange things happen out there." ... Didn't this lady just get hit by a falling truck yesterday? "Actually strange things. Not normal strange like falling cars." ... Oh. Well. Like that's going to stop them.

"Hopefully we won't be giving him away in the meantime. Unless." Chiffon stretches on his hinders, exercising muscles that have grown a little aching in idleness and pacing. "Unless it means that we can catch whoever's chasing him off guard. I'm not about to use my boyfriend as bait, but if we can throw in a fastball special..." Who's getting figures of speech just-off, now?

He looks antsy, though, ready to get an answer and ready to go on enough notice. "There's... no reason you have to get on their bad side, though. We've already caused enough trouble for you as it is. I am..."

Ding. He looks at Liyara, looks at the directions, and his ears perk up simultaneously. He starts a step and glances back. "... I've got all I need. Strange? Strange just comes with the business." Now, it's not like he's disinviting Liyara by any means, nor trying to leave her behind. It's a convenient out for someone who does't want to put it all on the line for random firedoggos.

"Fastball... special?" The reference, off as it is, still falls flat on Liyara. Sounds baseball-y. She doesn't know a lot about baseball. She definitely hasn't read any X-men comics. Mostly DC so far. Yes, she HAS read some DC comics. They were OLD though. Long story. She shakes the reference off.

"...Get on THEIR bad side?" Liyara's tail flicks left, then right. "...No, friend." The tail flicks left and right harder. "...They're on MY bad side." Tail flick. Tail flick. "I'm emotionally invested in this journey, now. They're making me have... FEELINGS." Tail Thump. Crack. Crack. Crack. Splinter.

Liyara looks down at the concrete below her, seeing a spiderweb of cracks. "...Alright. We should go." Once more, this is totally not her fault. She is innocent. But best not to be around when Jack asks her why the road needs to be repaired. "Race you?" Liyara doesn't actually wait for the answer - she literally just bursts off straight in the direction she was pointing. There's a car in the w-- scratch that. The way looks clear.

"I'll get back to you on that one." Chiffon offers with a slight tilt of his head, and a smile. "... then, by all means. Once we're clear of the city we don't have to worry too much about catlateral damage..."

We should go. We should go? Yes! The challenge back to Chiffon is met with a half-chuckle and a nod that Liyara... likely misses. But if the way is clear, and if she's clearing the way, even with the earlier damage to his forepaw he still bolts full tilt. A red and fuzzy streak that makes up the distance in a hurry. He's got his game face on here, and has no intention of stopping until they get there, one way or another.

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

''The Road to Nowhere''

''The farther one journeys down this road, the more broken and miserable it seems. Eventually, there's no real road to speak of, the only trees in sight are bone-dry husks, and every building looks neglected or derelict, except perhaps one; a gaudy tin diner, slumped on the edge of a dusty lot dotted with rusting vehicles.''

''At road's end, the remains of its demise seem to have been cobbled loosely together into a highly suspect bridge, which arcs up into the almost literal nothing between one floating hunk of rock and the next. Leading from Twisted City to... Nowhere? Yeah, that feels right. This is fine.''

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

The road off Twisted, and it is mostly a road up to a point, starts to break down and lose cohesion as the pair travels in the direction Liyara is heading. It's not really clear if a simple lack of maintenance is the cause, or something more dire, but ahead looks almost... devoid of anything. At least, today. Tomorrow it might be on fire ahead. Who knows? It's not really a smooth, temporally stable place they're running to, it turns out, but a bit of chaos intruding onto the more stable areas of Twisted.

Beware. Here be dragons.

Well. Now, at least.

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

''The Middle of Nowhere''

''The farthest away from civilization you can get is the arid, empty area once known as the Wastelands. Dry and overcast, Nowhere is a maelstrom of chaos and sand. Sane people won't venture out this far from the axis of the world, due to the instability equating to suicide. A desert and a dead land, they mirror the Wastelands of Hell, broken trees and expired brush lightly specking the view.''

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------
''

Go figure that the lion looking thing actually seems a bit more comfortable outside of civilization. Well, outside of urbanization. And this whole situation? Anything but comfortable. He sounds like he's muttering little mantras when they manage to slow down. Dragons, and Sanuye... the population is up a bit.

Eyes ahead, ears perked, Chiffon's putting all his senses to use.

If it's on fire tomorrow, that's fine, as long as they've pulled the Calwa out.

This part of Twisted lies some distance away from the more ordered city of Mabase. This small area appears to be reflections of a different city, a few scattered ruins that don't fit in with anything else, providing a sense of desolation and post-apocalyptic sobriety. The ground is a cobbled patchwork of concrete, asphalt, and soil. Shells of long-abandoned buildings dot the area providing a sense of dire gray atmosphere while displaying what might pass as streets. Doors and windows have long ceased to be or function. Strangely, this place must have been like this for a very long time before it ever wound up where it is now.

Where once the foundation of a larger building sat, an open space is presented in the now soil-covered floor with only the hints of load-bearing walls present around the perimeter no more than five feet tall around it. Metal beams and rebar that once reinforced concrete forms a sparse and chaotic pattern that extends above the open space while any scattered chunks of vertical walling that remain provide places to be out of sight. That isn't the most striking thing about the location, however.

"That's not yours!" cries a strained voice.

In the most open area, in the center of the remains of the building's defined foundation, is a gathering of six people. Most of the people are dressed in form-fitting all black. Faces also covered, their eyes are enhanced by goggles that glow an eerie red. Every single one of those people are armed with high caliber automatic ranged or technological melee weaponry. One man stands alone and apart from the others by appearance alone. This man might pass as the leader, if his size and physical might are any indication. He wears a similar outfit as the others yet his head bears no hood or mask. His face is heavily scarred and one eye might be damaged beyond use. His expression is a mix of disdain and smugness. When he speaks, his words are thunder while the muted peal of laughter from the others that follows is much higher.

"Shut up, beast. Know your place," booms the largest of the group before swiftly bring his leg up into the side of the animal chained next to him. This elicits a roar of pain that is followed by laughter. Sinking back in recoil from the blow, the red-furred creature seems to try to catch his breath. This quadruped, once easily recognized as a shy pacifist with a touch of refined dignity, now looks anything but.

Calwa is disheveled and filthy. His fur is caked in a mix of mud and, presumably, blood. More of the latter cakes his dried and cracked nosepad as testament to the abuse endured by his captors. He is clearly chained up, the massively heavy chain winched into place and hung over a thick metal beam, all connected to a massive metal shackle which serves as a collar that is still too tight to be anything but very painful. It would explain the difficulty in Calwa trying to breathe. The fur underneath the collar has worn away to leave a nasty bare ring that looks just as cruel as the face of the one standing near him. His tailflame is notably dim.

Calwa lunges at his captor! Though the act may be in futility, there is an underlying level of rage and defiance that fuels the act. It is not a controlled attack. It is the swiping, gnashing, raw flailings of a caged animal ready to tear away flesh and crack bone between powerful jaws. With a strained roar, he viciously throws himself into the direction of the larger man, claws extended and jaws snapping. Like a feral animal in danger, so acts he. For the moment, there is nothing else that rules his mind. Stopped only JUST short of being able to make contact, Calwa finds himself jerked quickly away and upward.

One of the other minions is nearby the presumed boss, turning a crank that further shortens the chain with each click. The anger in Calwa's eyes turns to desperation as he is forcefully raised upward by the neck. Only just able to stand on his hindlegs to support himself, his forelegs and tail flail even more. He's clearly being choked. The wear on his neck may be a clue as to how often this has happened recently.

At a strongbox not far away, a minion places a courier bag and harness into the thing; they've stripped the candletail bare! He doesn't even wear his glasses. "Enough of this," speaks the large man. "We have what we came for. This filthy animal has been too much of a pain to simply let loose." With a gesture to the one at the winch, he moves his hand upward a few times. With glee, the crank gets turned another click and the goons laugh in sadistic glee.

"Bye bye, kitty!" bids one.

"I'll enjoy the target practice!" exclaims another while switching the safety off of their gun.

While the minions of the Black Hand organization are scattered and randomly patrolling, nobody will be able to get close to Calwa while the big guy is standing nearby and chances are it won't be easy to deal with the big guy until most of the others are dealt with. Time is clearly of the essence here, but these people are dangerous. There are many blind spots where other dangers could be hiding. You only get the element of surprise once, yet the time for action is now!

 [Battle start! Cue the Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AN66cDOU5e4] 

Liyara has pretty poor passive perception, but when she's actively looking for things, she has a distinct height advantage over Chiffon, being mostly aerial. When she spots the men, all roughly where her ritual has pointed her, she assumes exactly what further observation would tell her - these are the bad ones. She shouts quickly to Chiffon. "I see six, one's alone and big. And... a chain. The animals chained him." She growls a bit, which has a much lower rumble than her voice might hint at. It reverberates, even. "...I'll handle the chain, you start the party." And then she's off.

The dragoness spirals up into the air, circling quickly and taking a deep breath as she goes twenty, thirty, then forty feet straight up, and off to one side. And then she just seems to explode in bright light and sound, a giant signal flare pointedly NOT in the direction Chiffon is approaching from. Sometimes you get TWO elements of surprise. The first one? Someone is flying in the air, burning like the sun, and...

She.

Looks.

Pissed.

Oh, she's gonna get that chain. But first, distraction!

The last Chiffon saw this situation, he ran face-first into a brick wall. For a moment that draws, like a string pulled near breaking, it feels like he might snap into a bolt again. There's a concensus look to Liyara, and a grin. This one has characteristically more teeth. "Fly safe."

The pain is barely contained, shielded in preparation and barely contained within trembling muscles. He flexes his sore paw once and then stalks into the shadows. Six with guns and a strung out target? Those guns obviously need to be focused somewhere else.

The finds a dark spot, and then charges. Rapid sprinting feet, almost more flying than sprinting by the time he takes a coiled leap airborne and throws himself square between the shoulders of one of the armored minions. There may be teeth. There may be claws. Wet crunching like someone went a little overboard with the celery. Execution isn't the intention, but he doesn't want this one getting up anytime soon.

And if the struggle wasn't enough, Chiffon howls to the heavens in one log, drawn, three-tone bellow.

A beat later he's flashing onto the field, jaws dripping with blood, eyes white with glow and claws tearing dirt.

Jesus Christ It's A Lion Get In The Car

In the middle of nowhere where reality itself seems to warp or break down it's not too difficult to hear shouting that doesn't belong to your own squad in your makeshift temporary base. Many goggled eyes turn to gaze at the flare and their enhanced vision causes them to yell and recoil. The apparent boss uses more than just his sense of sight, though. He has the intuition of a war-forged beastmaster. Any distraction the flare presents regarding most of the thugs is lost on him. His gaze is drawn straight to Chiffon even before one of the Black Hand thugs goes down from as realistic a critical strike backstab as one could ever attain.

The arrival of meddlers is one thing, but to see that one of them is the same kind as the captive Calwa brings a sadistic smile to the big guy's face. First pushing his shoulders up and tipping his head to the side with a crackling pop, the apparent boss puts two fingers to his mouth and blows. The result is a shrill whistle that alarms and alerts, but serves a very different purpose.

Two hounds, similar in size to Chiffon (only slightly smaller, but definitely more trim in build), come to heed their master bounding from their own shadowed resting place. These large guard dogs have very short sleek hair, enough to show off their strong musculature, but notably have a single large tentacle that extends from the middle of the shoulder blades backward. In exchange, they seem to have very short docked tails.

Immediately, one of the hounds responds by a short howl. The glitter of magicka shows an energy-based triangular pyramid forming around the large man as the beast itself seems capable of magical ability! This shield is capable of greatly reducing all physical damage done to the one protected. The other of the pair follows suit and releases a growl and another type of protection forms around the man. This effect appears to be more of a sphere in shape and it is a spell designed to greatly reduce magical damage. Big Guy doesn't play around.

The minions mobilize with deadly intent, but are generally unable to react to the surprise attack by ground due to the aerial display. Bursts of fire kick up dirt and soil and chip away at the walls as one soldier alone lays down blind suppression with his rifle in Chiffon's direction.

Not one to let the distraction pass without some personal action, Calwa -- still forced to stand on his hindlegs with great difficulty breathing -- flails and wobbles and begins, with great effort, to get a bit closer to the release device. If he can reach that unimpeded, he should be able to get free on his own.

[!] Ebony Hound casts '''''Barrier''''' on ????

[!] Ivory Hound casts '''''Shell''''' on ????

[!] Calwa draws closer to the '''Release Device'''

Looking down on the poor, blinded masses from above, Liyara starts making a noise that is probably not the most confidence-inspiring sound the men have ever heard. She starts laughing. You probably don't want to hear the burning, exploding, winged witch laughing when you start shooting at things.

"Barriers! Aww, look who thinks he's people~!" She calls out from the sky, and then holds both hands above her. "I changed my mind! I have a much better idea!" Does she? Does she really?

The sky fills with a low rumble, that one could easily mistake for thunder, until they realize the booms are cracking in the form of words. Words in the form of skyquakes. Neat.

"''Bathed in radiant light - I am the gate that opens into the Nine Hells.''" The woman's hands light up with brilliant white fire, and she grins. "''And I overflow with...''" Her eyes flash a brighter green than exists in the visible spectrum. Somewhere, a mantis shrimp cries. "'''''INDIGNATION!'''''"

She brings her hands down and throws them towards each of the hounds, and the burning sun-fire around her brightens, growing hot enough to slag steel in an instant, before she sends it down towards the puppies, not worried about silly things like buildings or people in the way.

...That's hot.

"Oh come on, now, that's hardly a fair fight..." Chiffon dances on his paws in a quick jolt back behind some rubble. Long enough to either draw out a pause or the end of a magazine before considering his next move.

Think quick. Don't think too much. Calwa's already dealt with this much, now is your turn to take some of the heat. And even if this guy has his number, he's not hesitating.

Back into the line of fire. The Sanuye clears back over a line of rubble even as bullets splinter off pieces of stone and hisses of dirt. There's a primal twist of of magic in his guts, a flash of sky-blue in his eyes and a bristling of fur. There aren't any incantations, just the evocation of some unseen muscle twisting, arcane circuits and his gullet swelling before he... uhh.....

A rather unpleasant sound, splattery, sputtery, and guttural with a thick miasma of rotten green gas from his mouth towards the shielded individual. [Bad Breath], magic meets chemical warfare meets nature's worst idea meets.... eww. Mundane filters aren't enough, and though the spread dissipates beyond a single plume it gets. In. Everything. Becoming tar-like as it reacts with the open air and conjuration.

Chiffon sputters. No, it's not nearly as cool as the dragon witch above; someone get him a breath mint.

There is a flash from one of the taller ruins outcroppings nearby as another one of the Black Hand thugs leaps to perch atop it and begins using something in their hands to focus. A discharge of power, however, sees nothing come of it. Well, that is, until flaming chunks of magically summoned ice balls come tearing through the air with a violent screech from compressed air as a salvo of large explosive magical projectiles. They are not exactly aimed well, but when your attack detonates on impact you don't always need to. This presents not only an added edge of chaotic offensive to the battlefield where Chiffon zips about, but is not entirely unintended to present some aerial hazards for the flying she-demon above.

Ebony Hound and Ivory Hound leave their master's side to join the fray even as death begins to rain from above. Agile and quick, they seek to close the distance fast to engage the other quadruped. Side by side, they dip and dart as they growl and weave back and forth through the ruins to give chase. It could become much more difficult to avoid crossfire with two hounds harrying your every step. One gunner winds up in the way, but the hounds neatly go around. What hits the thug doesn't come from the side, but from above.

The white dog, throughout this mad chase, is struck from above and bares a yelp before going down. It's not pretty, but it's quick. The black one barrels forward, leaping over slag and fire and the fading remains of its partner, to meet the heels of the Sanuye. Ebony Hound's tentacle glows red and, with its added reach, aims to slap Chiffon with what some might call a vampiric effect. It's able to draw strength from a foe to grant itself greater constitution!

The spewed attack-and-run aimed at the Big Guy isn't trying to strike a moving target and the magical protections on him do little to prevent against such a nasty miasma. He's faced down fiends that have used such attacks before, but experience alone isn't enough to prevent the wave of dizziness and nausea that follows. He grunts loudly at this, hand moving to his face for a moment with a shake of his head, but this act brings his attention to the chained prisoner nearby inching away on two legs. Scowling, his thick leg is brought swiftly upward again to strike the nearby Sanuye. Despite his dizziness, he connects.

Calwa's attempt is interrupted and this leaves him off his feet, hanging only by his neck, as he flails around to try to find support on the ground once more. His progress is not only reset, but he's completely stunned and unable to do anything at the moment other than struggle. There's no way he can reach the trigger for the winch so long as the Big Guy near him remains unengaged directly.

There is no additional gunfire just yet as the gunners move to take up full positions behind cover to protect themselves from direct aerial line of sight while keeping out of the open where the free-roaming beast has an advantage.

[!] Black Hand Mage casts '''''Cometeor'''''

[!] Ebony Hound attacks Chiffon with '''''Tentacle Drain'''''

[!] Calwa is Dazed and cannot act

[!] ???? is afflicted with Poison and Confuse

Liyara's attention is immediately drawn to the Black Hand Thug who leaps atop a ruin, and she waits for him to fire a weapon at her, but even though there's a flash, no bullets arrive. She tilts her head to one side, and then looks back down to see how the hounds fared, when an icy comets slams through the air directly into her. Or rather, that's how it should be - one of the summoned frozen meteors hits her straight on, and even detonates in the air where she was, but there's a golden flash at that same instant.

...And the woman's suddenly behind the thug that appeared to summon the things in the first place. Her skin has a light patch of frost on it, but it looks like she actually escaped everything but that initial contact with her. Somehow. Is that a thing dragons do? Just teleport out of harm's way in mid-hit?

"Interesting toy. Mine's better." The woman drives her dagger towards the thug's seventh vertebrate swiftly, but she's not looking at him. The big guy kicked Calwa? That won't do. And one of the dogs avoided her blast. Decisions, decisions. Liyara drops her dagger, potentially INSIDE the thug's spine if he didn't dodge, and sinks into her own shadow.

...And pops out from the Ebony Hound's shadow, reaching up to give the puppy a nice big hug with both hands. It's ok, she's just a slender young thing, there's probably not much danger. Right?

There's a lot of danger. That is a danger hug. Run, puppy, run.

Too bad Chiff saved all the big guns for the cows, apparently.

The heavier Sanuye is fleet enough to avoid the worst of it, but chaos still takes its toll. A bullet shearing through fur and hide here, a tentacle slap there. Even an extra little bit of singe to top it all off from magic colatteral. The smack of the tentacle off-centers him, leaving him dazed. More than dazed. He shakes his head, bracing himself for a still moment while his pupils shift and his fur twists. There's a *snap*, a contort that looks like an ephemeral tentacle burrowing into his shoulder blades but it doesn't seem to hurt.

His gaze dances over towards Liyara joining the fray, and a look that's--horrified? Grateful? Furious? Just raw adrenaline pushing from one flurry to the next, but he's not going to waste the opportunity now that the beast is restrained. He needs to give Calwa a chance to free himself, keep eyes off a little longer. "We don't need to kill them all. Just get him and get out." Didn't they steal something? Probably he's not thinking straight. He pins towards ???? and hunches down. Red fur, now starting to resemble a bit more his smaller companions in its mussed state, shines and bristles up as shackles run from head to tail. They start to resemble... needles. A whole lot of them. [1000], if you're counting, and he's pincushioning the 'beastmaster.' "Eyes on me, you son of a man."

There is a thunderous rumble of three motorized presences closing in fast on the location. Vroom, vroo-vroom! Two chunky and armored motorcyles come tearing across the land, dipping and weaving around obstacles while a third takes to the air over a makeshift ramp of broken concrete before thudding against the ground. Slowly turning in place, the last motorcycle revs up and begins spraying dust and gravel into the air behind it throughout the circle it makes to create a temporary smokescreen of dirt and exhaust to hinder sight of area from those within and without. The other two machines begin to zip dangerously around with full intent to run anybody over they can. Such movements only prolong the duration of the visual cover.

This obscuring cover, however, is only an advantage for the enemy team, though. Their enhanced sight allows them to detect heat and movement even through such a screen. Anybody directly in the line of sight from the now dug in gunners risk having bullets shot at them.

The Big Guy turns and stumbles a bit before regaining his composure the best he can. Opening his mouth, he barks a command to his hounds -- or at least the one remaining -- but the command is slurred. Realizing how bad his speech is, the apparent boss man finally manages to shake himself out of the confusion and mind funk. He still looks green about the gills, though.

This strange command actually spells doom for Ebony Hound as such a thing causes it to actually stop chasing and turn its head to listen for some clarification. Limited intelligence, but fantastic training. Still, the ceased movement makes for an easy target to grapple.

Hindlegs finding purchase once more while the swirling dust and engine smoke obfuscate, Calwa once again begins to strain at the shackle and chain, forelegs and tail jerking about in his careful attempt to balance and walk without choking himself more than necessary. It's incredible painful, but after a point it all dulls together and peaks; it only matters if it becomes too much and the mind shuts off. He's not there yet. Not yet. Close, but not yet.

The name-unknown Big Guy flinches at first, then stomps his foot to the ground out of annoyance and anger. The pins and needles from the attack strike away despite his magical protection; this leaves him bruised and distracted and extremely pissed off at anything Sanuye-related. Gaia's Guardians need to just all die!

[!] The Battlefeild is covered in a potentially Blind-inducing smokescreen 

[!] ???? is no longer Confused

[!] Calwa draws closer to the '''Release Device'''

Liyara's hug is not the gentle, warm kind. If the puppy doesn't writhe free in time, there's going to be a single moment before a sickening pop is heard, followed by several almost as sickening crunches and other sounds that would be censored on television. In fact, over by Chiffon and the new guy, there would likely be several black bars appearing in the background covering up the display.

Danger hugs.

After a long moment where she just looks disappointed at the fragility of the puppy, Liyara looks back to Chiffon. He's not doing well. Well, he was injured when they started, that stands to reason. And that's when she notices the thugs on bikes putting up some smoke screen - well that's just silly, how will *they* see? And she gets a flash of memory. She's read up almost exclusively on human technology since she's been here - because the idea that humans could even function without magic amuses her. Heat tracking. Like the flaming arrows fired from that mechanical bird she saw. So ambitious. Let them track something, then.

The woman takes in a deep breath, and rumbling fire builds within her. Flows through her veins. Fogs out of her pores. Surrounds her. Is her. She is the fire. And it's quite a fire. How hot will their heat sensors read before the entire area is simply unreadable due to the ambient noise? The surface of the sun? She'll start there as she tries to put herself between Chiffon and the minions, hoping to keep them from interrupting, or at least interfere dramatically.

It worked in that historical documentary, Top Gun, after all.

"Come on boys, am I not hot enough for you? Who wants a free hug?"

"You can't win this." Chiffon bares his teeth in the hellfire. Gotta give this Black Hand a chance to back off, right? Yeah, that'll happen. He's feeling better about his odds witH Liyara in the mix, though. "Sorry. Let me count on you a bit longer...." Calwa is in his peripheral vision, at least until obscure, at least.. always. As the fog of war settles in, the toll taken out of his hide he's only focused on one thing--keeping the heat. If that means taking a few shots, a few spells, a few bites... so be it. Fire, fog, shadow... he just has to be able to sniff this guy out long enough. Remember where the reeling bastard is and set up for another pounce.

The barrier might take the worst out of the impact, but it's still five hundred pounds of flying fur and fury.

This isn't pounce and pin, though. This is pounce, roll, release. Hit and run. Stay on top. And see just who wants to throw bullets and black magic at a tousling pair.

It's a gamble, if this bloke is used to tangling with beasts up close. But it'll serve.

Chiffon's move to confront the Big Guy within the cloud of dust and exhaust is a bold one, especially with the loud motorcyles zooming around that perpetuate the loss of visual clarity. One moves ahead of his direction, perpendicular and beyond, while after a few steps more another zips by so close behind his charge that it nearly touches the trailing flame of his tail. Through the motor stink and dry soil in the air, his nose leads him to a dark shape that is revealed only at close range.

Furthermore, Chiffon's charge puts him in the spotlight for scattered rifle fire whose shells strike so close to his form and feet that they help kick up more dirt than his footsteps would on their own. This gunfire trickles to a lesser degree, though, as a different target presents itself: a massive heat signature.

The sudden heat has an added effect, though. The air begins to whorl and whip about as the increase temperature causes a sudden chaotic shift in local atmospheric climate. This does not clear out the machine-driven smokescreen; at least, not all of it or immediately. It does cause great turbulence which, in itself, adds to the difficulty in seeing. There is so much dust and dirt and dry soil at present in this set of city ruins that all easily gets picked up. Conversely, the whipping winds do push away this obfuscation from the dragonborn's position.

The sudden sandstorm rages as Chiffon leaps into the air to throw his full weight against the apparent boss man providing a greater sense of dramatic introduction as his solid form appears in the air, paws first, before crashing into the brick wall of a man. He falls back onto the ground while the heaviness pushes the air from his lungs, world spinning briefly amidst ground and claws, yet before he can react Chiffon has moved on. In reaction, the Big Guy gets to his feet from the knockdown and growls off in a direction away from the struggles of his captive behind him.

Calwa continues to strain against his bindings. His eyes water as he forces them to stay open despite the blowing sand and filthy exhaust that stings the senses. He can see the winching device, although it's a dark blur just ahead of him, and his ability to support himself upright grows more difficult the further to the side he walks. The choking manacle about his neck digs into his hide while the tension and pull of the thick metal chain threatens to topple him over with the slightest misstep. Almost. Almost.

"Stupid beast!" calls out the large man in a taunt over the roar of the engines and the howl of the wind and the crackle of gunfire. "I'll leash you as my prize once we've disposed of the runt!"

Liyara's move to blind the thugs using heat-sensing gear may provide just enough definition that one with it turned off might get a lucky shot in. There's not much safe ground at present, or safe air, as many bullets are all too happy to try to find a mark.

[!] Calwa has nearly reached the '''Release Device'''

As the smoke swirls, the fire within Liyara rages. Those using heat gear may be having a hard time, but those not using the heat goggles are presented with a clearer target; Liyara's green eyes are starting to cast their own light, and since she's doing her best to keep herself between the firing squad and Chiffon, well, she's actually hard to miss. The first bullet takes her square in the stomach, where her heat is greatest, but it's actually turned to slag by the time it hits her, and it only stings.

Liyara grins at that, just in time to take another bullet straight to the shoulder. She gasps a bit in surprise as her entire torso is twisted back from the momentum, and her fiery blood spurts out behind her. Fortunately for the attackers, Liyara's fiery blood is quite far away from them, presenting no risk to them as it would to a melee attacker. Unfortunately for Chiffon, the splatter is going right in his direction. And if it gets on him, it will most certainly burn.

The dragon woman grits her teeth, raising a hand to the fresh wound, and then turns her grimace into a grin before digging into the wound just a bit with her fingertips, and then intentionally splashing that blood out towards the armed men shooting at her. Her heat signature dies down to normal as the liquid fire that runs through her veins now flies towards her attackers, but then she snaps her fingers, and her blood just *ignites*, setting ablaze anything it touches. Like objects. Or people. This will unfortunately include Chiffon, if he didn't manage to avoid the splatter.

[!] Liyara uses the monster skill: '''''Burning Spray'''''

"I'd be a waste on you." Chiffon taunts, using the limited field of vision. It cuts both ways, leaving him vulnerable at stretches where bullets hiss and sand gets in uncomfortable places. Dirty, bloody, and exhausted, but still running on adrenaline and anger. And he's not a runt. Chiff is just big.

"You're outgunned. You're outmuscled. And dare I say you're outsmarted." It's around this time that the area gets washed in a *wave* of heat. Chiffon snarls as he's hit by the Spray; he's no stranger to powerful attacks, but pain is pain. Fire is fire and his fur blazes on the end, giving heat and silhouette and an immolation that sets in deeper than physical. There's a fire kindled in along with that Sanuye blaze. That might be a problem with the infrared. But it does make a cool silhouette as he unleashed another shotgun spray of [Needles] at the big boss.

"You severely underestimate my dear companion. I'll be taking him back." Rough words, though made through labored breath and effort to stay upright with all of the fire.

The flash fire doesn't just create splotches of immolation. Just because the source of the sudden wind mostly fades, it doesn't cause the winds to rescind. If anything, the bloodborne napalm only adds to the localized storm to create a whirling inferno. Fiery blazes spiral in place as the winds blow through and multiple fire tornadoes grow in height and intensity to add a hellish glow to the dusty turbulence now far out of the control of simple motorbikes. What this must look like at a distance should be quite a sight. Within, though, the red glare of illumination brightens the swirling dirty air without actually providing much additional distance of vision.

If any people caught in the rain or the ignition scream, the sounds are incredibly muted compared to the noises created by the hellscape. In reality, most of the remaining thugs are pulling back into a tactful retreat and the motorcycle drivers are now finding the local landscape conditions too hazardous to safely navigate. As such, the gunfire mostly dies off and one by one, the motorcycles take one last pass or two before leaving.

Chiffon's words are met with dark laughter even as the man has to pull off his upper clothing to toss aside since it has caught on fire and not just a little bit. The skin of his back is already blistered from the limited exposure, but the bared revelation of his form shows that it's not just his face that is heavily scarred. This man looks as if he's battled countless beasts with his bare hands, for what one might actually get to see of it.

"Your kind are nothing but animals waiting to be put to heel! If you think you can best me, /BEAST/, then try! You'd make better use of your freedom by tucking your tail and fleeing while you can, but ask the RUNT how much good that did."

A blast of 1000 Needles in the man's direction yet again, much less done in the raging madness and low visibility, comes at the cost of being predictable. Instead, the Needles mostly miss the human monster with the threat of striking the struggling one behind him. In turn, there comes another loud crack, but it isn't a gun. Rather, an extremely long and thick whip is uncurled with the sheer intent of striking Chiffon to tangle about his neck even as the sound of a motorcycle speeding beside the Sanuye and Big Guy can be heard.

Fire and needles, fire and needles! Calwa's slow dance of desperation allows him no room or time to dodge anything. Somehow, miraculously, the dangers so very close to his position only ever just miss him. He does have to shuffle in a way to avoid a patch of burning, a sudden danger that causes his to widen his eyes in surprise and nearly topple over backward in a way to would upset his attempt a second time, yet a skillful recovery of balance is just enough to keep him progressing. He has no hands and his forced upright position affords him no real means to disengage the winch. Forelegs and tail working together just to keep him steady, he has only one option.

Calwa does the dangerous thing and pushes with his hindlegs against the ground to swing the center of his gravity forward toward the winch controls. This temporarily alleviates all the weight pulling on the chain and, for the moment, his choking ceases. His spine rolls starting at the shoulders and in fluid motion this change of bodily orientation follows all the way down until it reaches his hips. They rotate midair and an extending hindleg focuses a sharp kick right into the device knowing that less than a second later his body will awkwardly fall and put all of his weight on his collared neck.

The winch itself needs to be powered down before disengaged so as to avoid mechanical failure. Getting kicked with the force of a speeding car does little to help this terrible event from not happening. There is a grinding of mechanical parts -immediately- followed by smoke and a loud bang of explosion that sends the coiled chain within in many directions at once. Some links shatter, most do not, and hardly any of this catastrophe can be visually witnessed. The shrapnel causes crazy collateral damage to the ruins of the buildings as well as anybody caught in the snapping flail of the thick metal braid.

The motorcycle rider near Chiffon and the presumed bossman is clotheslined in a brutal way yet the bike keeps going. The chain coils around the armor of the back wheel while the other end flies around in an arch. The bike sways its path some at this but remarkably stays steady.

The Big Guy attacking with his whip finds a thick length of chain suddenly wind about his off-hand and, without further warning, is jerked off his feet to the ground. Chiffon may or may not become a part of that deadly ground-dragged chained-chain if he isn't careful or cannot loose the tangle of that whip if it hits its mark.

There is an uncomfortable tug at Calwa's neck as the chain breaks off and leaves the metal collar as the only thing left attached to him. This happens before he even touches the ground. Even so, finally able to be on all fours again, the smaller Sanuye has to quickly roll aside in the fall to keep from landing in that groundbound fire that was near his feet. Is he free?

Calwa's eyes narrow.

He's free.

[!] Calwa has joined the party

The inferno may be too loud to hear much, and the moments with any real visibility might be few and far between, but in those moments, when the wind and fire and chain and explosions and death ebb? There is laughter. And not just a little laughter.

"Yes! Hahaha, yes!" Liyara is either in some way directing the fire tornadoes as they whip up, or just a really, really big fan of them, since she's waving her hands back and forth like a conductor to her orchestra. "Burn! BURN!" They don't seem to be chasing down the fleeing people, but they sure are scattering them. Maybe that was her plan. Certainly, that is what she will claim when she composes herself. But right now? Right now she is just having the time of her life. She flaps her tiny little wings, carrying her ever so slightly aloft as her vividly glowing green eyes pierce outward into the smoke and fire and ash and wind and dust. She's not blinking. She wants to see every single microsecond. Maybe... maybe someone might need to remind her she came here to help.

Chiffon smirks, and licks his bloodied lips. Exploit the anger, exploit the pride, whatever it takes to keep him engaged. Because he's not alone in this fight, and it's one that's steadily dwindling down on one side. "I won't run, because I'm not alone." He might have [ze magicks], but he's also a brute by necessity and taking a punch, a bullet, a bite, a flame, that's just the price of admission.

So of course his manner of dealing with the whip is just to Not. He takes the lash and the coil and grunts as it pulls taut, levelling a glare of challenge at the man. For a moment there's a wonder who might come out on top of that perverse tug of war, the beast or the master. Then there's the matter of the untimely interruption as a third, unexpected force daisy chains the whole scene across the ground.

The whip is probably built to take a beating, a biting, anything creatures can throw out. Chiff knows what kind of punishment one might expect, and be built for. But he also knows it's awful hard to keep a precise grip when you're being dragged at such velocity. So he just needs to get a good turn. He *slaps* the ground with a paw, the battered, burned ground starting to tremble. There's a roar of ground, rocks parting and dirt spilling as broken sections of ground rise up with the localized [Earth Shake]. The right slope, the right *slap* in the middle of the arc of the whip, and a twist as he's dragged up a newly formed slope... tilting to the side and falling free, tumbling a few times before finally springing up onto his paws and taking a stance.

"Calwa! Liyara! Can you see me?" No, he's not vogueing this time. If they're free... it's either time to finish this or get out of dodge. His ears swivel to the laughing dragon-witch and he half-grins. "... if you're not too busy!"

Calwa, while free, isn't the most combat capable in his current state. While he knows restorative spells and focus abilities due to his training and learning, he hasn't had a chance to rest and fully recover his ability to use most of them in a long while. Legs trembling with each step, the Sanuye keeps low to the ground as he slowly tries to find his way out of the dangerous area. He walks with a limp, only seemingly with every leg, making for a fairly pathetic sight. If seen.

During this, the driverless motorcycle continues peeling away while dragging the man behind it out of sight through the smoke and dust and fire. It can't be comfortable by any means. The Big Guy likely already has many scrapes and gashes and abrasions to match his scars and burns and poisoning. He says nothing throughout this damaging display, even when his whip is forced loose from his hand due to an eruption of ground, and instead pulls himself along the chain closer to the bike itself.

"Chiffon!" calls out a cracked and parched voice that has little strength to it, especially compared to the goings-on around him that have gotten entirely out of hand. Calwa can barely see. He trips over the remains of a box and takes a tumble to the ground and, for the moment, there he stays. He isn't sure he has the strength to try standing again. Maybe if rests there the fire won't spread closer to him. He can regain his strength. He just needs to close his eyes for a minute since they won't stop stinging.

When the motorcycle breaks free from the fiery cloud, the unnamed man is driving it. He looks extremely roughed up but clearly has the fortitude to take as much as he can dish out. He's leaving. Just like all the others. Apparently they have no more use for fighting right now.

[!] Black Hand Gunner is fleeing the battle

[!] Black Hand Gunner is fleeing the battle

[!] Black Hand Thug is fleeing the battle 

[!] ???? is fleeing the battle

"Yes! YES!" Liyara yells, exulting in her moment of fiery glory, when she hears Chiffon's call and very quickly rolls with it. "Yes, I can hear you!" ... He asked if you can SEE him, Liyara. Ah well. The woman turns, lowering her hands and surveying the scene behind her. A chain-bike-man-whip-lion scenario is not what she was expecting to see in between the drifts of smoke. She's not sure precisely what she WAS expecting to see, mind.

"That seems... unhealthy." Liyara remarks when the ground erupts around Chiffon. But the leocanid recovers somewhat gracefully, which pleases Liyara, and she smiles for a moment. It's a toothy smile, but it's a smile. And then she sees that the humans are fleeing. Or rather, she sees them further and further away between each break in the multiple plumes of smoke now surrounding them. She could try chasing them, but the lessers are no concern of hers, and she can't catch that motorcycle anyway. It's out of her range almost the moment it peels out of the smoke.

Well. Out of range for her to chase it down.

Liyara's green pupils dilate, and she takes in a deep breath of nice, freshly singed, smoke-filled air. So refreshing. To her eyes, the billowing smoke seems to slow, going from a chaotic mess into a lazy, easily distinguished and predictable flow. Liyara knows smoke - has spent lifetimes knee deep in the fire - and she can read its movements easily. So she focuses, clearly, waiting, for that agonizingly small window, when the empty spot in all the plumes of smoke line up, and she has a single, fleeting glance of the motorcycle, now so far away.

[!] Liyara uses 1 AP.

Time halts. That window, so vanishingly brief, is held open as everything around Liyara just stops for her; there is no more sound, no more heat. In fact, there is no more breathing. There is just Liyara, and that tiny hole in the flames. And the motorcycle. Liyara casts one open palm out towards the space between her and the vehicle. Energy approaching but not-quite reaching the heat of the sun gathers around her hand, a magnificent achievement for most fire mages, but just a basic attack for Liyara. Her hair lifts up on the thermals, whipping above her before it ignites in white-hot blaze, along with the fire around her hand. It blazes brighter than the sun, now, and hotter too. It would be a heck of an impossible shot to hit the motorcycle's gas tank now. So she takes it.

The elemental bolt courses through the intervening space in an instant, aimed directly at... the inventory box on the side of the motorcycle. What? Liyara doesn't know what a gas tank actually looks like - she's only read about them. Her hair slowly drifts back down to its normal position, and she exhales as time resumes its normal function, looking disappointed that she didn't blow the entire thing up. That was certainly her intention. Ah well.

Chiffon's ears continue to tilt to the side. 'Watch our back!' he seems to want to say, but she's already. Uh. Going above and beyond the call of duty. With them in, for the moment, retreat, the larger Sanuye's attention turns solely to Calwa.

He sniffs, listens, and peels his way through the dark with what is now a much more measured gait. A stroll, almost, or a more powerful limp than he was showing this morning. The need for valor is almost passed, the need for discretion coming on swift. He is almost blind to Liyara's world class snipe, because he's going to keep going until he finds Calwa.

A paw is pressed on the smaller lionwolf's back and it's like the universe bites into a peppermint patty. A cool breath of fresh air without, like, the breath or anything. An aura of [White Wind] passing over--a bit of a better use than dealing with headaches and hangovers. Spending down his arcane and mundane stamina rather thin, he slumps down for a moment. Maybe magic won't magically fix everything, but it should take the edge off. Maybe be enough to get home.

The man on the motorcycle is heavily injured, but a sudden interruption forces him to react quicker than he would like. Some sort of energy strikes the side of the bike near his leg and the box blows open. The contents eject into the air like a jack in the box without a tether. A first aid kit, a pack of rations, a box of ammunition, and many papers are a part of those that shoot into the air from the attack. Amongst them chiefly is a jade and gold statuette of some sort of anthropomorphic creature. It almost gleams with internal light as its seemingly fragile form gains weightlessness.

The man twists to grab at the statuette, but his knuckles glance it and pop it higher into the air and off to the side. He bolts up onto the saddle and kicks off of it. The motorcycle careens out of control with a wobble before the front tire turns sharply and the entire motor vehicle cartwheels forward. Each strike against the ground looses more parts free that probably should stay where they are. Airborn, the large man makes one more grab for the statuette...and succeeds. However, he does not hit the ground. His form, and the form of the creature so crafted from precious stone and metal, suddenly vanish into shadow. The barest hint of surprise on the man's face is the only clue that this isn't expected. The motorcycle lay crashed and smoking, a complement to the now battleless battlefield scene not too far away.

[Battle End! Cue the Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5h5SsQ_C90]

[!] Gained EXP and AP 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 
EXP                                 24p   <nowiki>|</nowiki>   AP                             2p 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 

[!] Gained Gil 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 
Gained Gil                         0G   <nowiki>|</nowiki>  Gil                           214G 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 

Calwa's eyes suddenly open, then his ears perk up, and rolling to his side and into the side of the broken box he wiggles onto his back with forelegs held spread far apart. The expression on his face is a mix of pained relief and bittersweet joy. He says something, almost managing the first syllable of Chiffon's name, before his voice cuts out and he reaches to grab and pull the big lug into a hug with a sob. Strange when tears are a mix of pain, sadness, and sudden happiness, and colored with an outburst of longing-fulfilled hope and love. His heartbeat races.

Beside him, his personal effects are present in what remains of the container. His bags are there. So are his enchanted glasses, although one lens has a nasty crack in it. Aside from some Gil and a few mundane bottled drinks, however, the bags are empty. Clearly. They are all turned out and nothing could remotely be hidden within. That's not good.

It is also a problem that will need addressing later. Chances are that neither Sanuye are in a condition to go blindly chasing down fleeing minions for clues. Hugs and reunion come first for now.

The events that happen to the motorcycle rider cause Liyara to look surprised, but then, she was expecting a LARGE explosion, not a loot explosion. "So..." The redhead puts a hand on her hip, before looking over to Chiffon and Calwa. "...I think that went well." You murdered people, did unspeakable things to puppies, and unleashed a fire maelstrom, while your companions choked, burned, and bled. "Very well, if I'm being honest." So she just doesn't have a lot of empathy, apparently.

Now that the dragoness has a moment to look over the firelions, she purses her lips together, and then tilts her head to one side; this gets some fire-blood from her wounded shoulder on her cheek and she grimaces. The firelions are having a moment - she should probably let them have it. Probably. But she doesn't. Instead, she gestures back the way she and Chiffon came from. "Joyful reunions later. Medical attention now." Well - someone's off the Valentione's Day List.

The odds are seriously unfair when worlds start whisping away, collapsing, and all that madness. Chiffon blinks when Calwa grabs him, and returns a tired foreleg around the smaller one's shoulders. Then the other. Right, he should probably take the leaning, otherwise they'll both end up on the ground in a heap.

That's fun sometimes, but not now.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, buddy," he manages, before his voice drops, his head lowers, and he presses his chin between the Sanuye's ears. "Sorry it took so long, Calwa." That's about as much reunion as he manages to squeak in before Liyara gets a word in. Chiff looks up and gives a little nod. "... yeah." We can argue about who needs what later. Chiffon is more durable than he looks, but, he only went through a fight or two; Calwa has been dragged out for longer than he would like. "Can you walk?" The Sanuye asks. If not, well, he's got a shoulder. And a back. And he'll scoop you up if you make him.

Chiffon will likely have to endure having some tears wiped away on his pelt as Calwa takes a moment to just take in the presence and voice. He wants to take in Chiff's scent, too, but his nose is dry and cracked and hurt. All he can smell at the moment is what lingering pain that hasn't been quelled by the help offered from the larger Sanuye.

Calwa nods a bit and looks away in the direction of Liyara's voice. His vision is still greatly hampered, but he can hear just fine. That's not a voice he's familiar with. Calwa doesn't question it. "I have to find my things, though. They.../took/ them." He doesn't even know they're right there. Due to history, Chiffon knows about Calwa's troubles and about the artifact being carried, guarded, until it can be safely delivered. Chiffon also knows what it looks like: Calwa described is as an Icon of Weapon. Not -a- weapon. A /Weapon/. At this point, though, Chiffon's adventuring partner expects the worst, but he hurts too much to be able to hurt any more over the possibility or reality. After enduring such great trauma, what's another load of straw on the pile?

Before Calwa lets go completely, though, he shudders and whispers, "I won't let you leave me again." Untangles are completed and the notably smaller of the two pushes achingly up to his feet. "Please lead the way. Don't go...too fast."

|}}

2021-02-04 - Debts, Hats, and Challenges

2021-02-09T19:48:24Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = Debts, Hats, and Challenges |Summary = Avoiding the rain, a couple of animal robots seek shelter inside the S-Mart only to meet a man who has come to..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = Debts, Hats, and Challenges
|Summary = Avoiding the rain, a couple of animal robots seek shelter inside the S-Mart only to meet a man who has come to collect a few things, payments extremely optional.
|Who = [[Fazbear_and_Friends]], [[Rystan]]
|Date = February 2, 2021
|Where = S-Mart
|Log=

"Oh, wow. It sure is raining a lot now," says a tall purple rabbit peering out the storefront at how wet the world has become. Sheets of rain come down that sweep across the parking lot and make the dimly lit day look even dimmer. At least it offers some reflection of the parking lot lights.

"Sure don't look like it's gonna let up any at all," observes a yellow chicken, not quite as tall. The way she leans in to peer outward alongside the rabbit shows a certain edge of wonder at how much is coming down.

"It's a good thing we got inside just in time," adds a bear, quite tall and a bit rounder than the others, taking the time to wipe some of the dampness from his fancy tophat while standing behind the other two and looking out at the wet wet landscape.

"Yeah," chimes the rabbit. "We almost got completely soaked. Imagine what it would be like to get caught out in that." Seemingly, the rabbit regrets the words as they are spoken and he turns to look over his shoulder. The chicken and bear follow suit. All eyes fall upon the fourth: a fox. While the shortest of the group, the fox easily stands taller than the average person. His furred exterior is dripping, sopping, and the fox looks absolutely miserable for it.

"Aye. Imagine that." Such a dry delivery...

"Well, Foxy, that car was very rude to splash you with that puddle," laments the chicken with a classic Southern drawl.

"How was that puddle in the parking lot so deceptively deep?" asks a sheepish rabbit.

On the list of places that the classy and well-to-do frequent in Twisted, one does not find the S-mart. On the list of places that Rystan frequents, however, it's near the top. Groceries. What a boon! He had to rely on Soleil's cooking, or inn scraps when he was growing up. Now, he can just buy all of the canned goods and diabetes he wants! Truly, this is the life.

The thief is repeatedly tossing an alabaster dagger up in the air and catching it again as he rounds the corner and strides through the parking lot of the S-mart towards the entrance. There is a series of low whizzing sounds, like something passing through the air repeatedly, and somehow, almost impossibly, the sheets of rain don't hit him.

That's not to say that he's not getting wet. More like a curtain of raindrops about 30 feet around him in every direction is just splitting apart into a fine mist. A windy, breezy mist, granted. Still, it's enough that even without protection from the elements, Rystan finds himself merely damp rather than dripping wet. And he's... singing something? It's hard to tell what, until the automatic doors open and he strides in, leaving wet footprints on the floor but little else.

"Oh, the world owes me a living~ Deedle dardle doodle deedle dum~" ...Huh. "There once was an old grasshopper - who could only think of fun. He looked on work as something too unpleasant to be done~"

As he sings, the young man brushes his damp hair out of his eyes and the whizzing sound stops as he takes in the four fuzzy friends 'fore him. The singing stops abruptly, too. "... ... ... ...Yup. That's normal."

One of the rabbit's ears lift and swivel before his head turns to look over toward the newly-arrived shopper. There is a buck-toothed smile and a little wave before the rabbit points a finger at the man and speaks to the others. "Well, he didn't get all that wet. Maybe there's a trick to it." One by one, heads all turn to place eyes upon the merely-damp individual. The casual friendliness one might expect of any stranger plays upon those faces with surprising ease.

"Aye, well, see, it were a massive wave, rising tall as if out of the ocean itself, come crashing down upon me." It would seem the ragged and soaked fox is trying to save face in front of direct observers. "Such is the curse o' being a pirate, dum de dum diddly-dum de dee and a yo ho ho and a fiddle-dee dee." This 'Foxy' tries to strike a more gallant pose to show off his eye path and hook hand as if to sell the image completely, but is it working?

"Don't worry, Foxy," says the bear with the deepest voice of the bunch. "I'll go buy you a towel or two and we'll get you dry in no time. Just need to find out where they are."

The newcomer mouths the name 'Foxy' to himself, trying to suss out of it's a nickname or an actual one. He looks them over for a bit, and then shrugs. He didn't hear the first part of the conversation, but giant waves do come out of nowhere in Twisted sometimes. It's not really his business. One thing he respects is autonomy. Animatronic, automatonic autonomy is definitely something he doesn't intend to poke his nose into.

Not after the noodle incident.

He resumes singing, catching and putting his dagger away for the last time. It seems like his tone is a little more an imitation of Foxy's now, though. Maybe the pirate ditty inspired his own?

"Well, he loved to sit in the summer sun and fiddle all day long~ While dozing there he played this air, and singed this lil song~ Oh the world owes me a living~" And so he goes on with his day, not providing any more initial interaction with the group. He's got sugar to buy! ... Oh, and he supposes he'll get some actual food, too. His song can still be heard as he wanders around towards the linen section to grab a towel and wipe himself off for a moment before setting it back where he got it from. How convenient of them to just have one lying there for him.

The group of four tall mechanimals part ways soon after the man wanders off. It would seem they all have an interest in what is available in the store and, despite the overarching mission to find towels, it's no doubt that they'll each find distractions in turn. The bear and bunny and chicken are amazingly quiet as they wander about. For as large and heavy as they must be, they barely make any sound in their steps whatsoever. The fox, though, with exposed metal feet tends to clank with each step that ''he'' makes. On the plus side, the fox doesn't seem to move all that much aside from some brief idle pacing. Not an expected sight when walking into a store, for sure, so anybody else that feels the urge shop smart might be in for an experience.

The tune doesn't go unnoticed, though. Through the casual browsing, a couple of the colorful animals hum along their own accompaniment. The chicken happens upon the towels just as one gets put back, freshly used, and she pauses long enough to fold it back up neatly so that it matches the others. She then finds a couple a bit closer in red coloration and carries those in her arms. She'll have to find the bear.

The bear is distracted by a hat display, though, and removes his tophat with one hand to see how others look on him, but none seem to match the charm of the original. The bunny, however, has found a rack of what seem to be comic books. He doesn't pick any up, but he does have a very good look.

"Da dum da-da dum de dah."

"Hh-hmm hm-nm hhhn hm-hmm."

Clank, tap, tap, tap.

"The north wind, it blew them leaves away - when winter came one stormy day~ The snow fell fast upon the ground; no food nor shelter could be found~" The young man heads down the aisles singing, and comes upon a mechanical bear trying on new hats. While the bear's original hat is removed, Rystan shrugs and attempts to snatch it up, intent to place it upon his head and continue on his way down the isle.

"This old grasshopper was sad and weak, could hardly hop or view his feet~" Rystan takes his index fingers and drums them on the shelving as he passes by, playing to his freestyle accompanists. "He slipped! He fell! Poor chap... Farewell~" Oh, the world owes him a living, and he snatches up a comic about a man with a TV for a head. Well, it takes all kinds.

It's a strange bit of ''a cappella'' that is struck amidst the shopping atmosphere as the chicken and rabbit wind up following along in a loose sense. The chicken has towels, the bunny picks up one of the same issues that is taken (out of intense curiosity), the fox taps a foot louder than anything he hums, and for the moment it might make others think there's some kind of in-house show going on (which is better than any Deadite attack by far). There's a clear rhythm, the added accompaniment by the three might almost come off as haunting or hypnotic and likely does affect the tone of what is actually being sung. The rabbit falls into step beside the man and watches him with a smile as he sings, as if trying to suss the words being spoken from sight alone rather than whatever practical purpose those long large ears serve.

This display is only hampered by a passing observation on the rabbit's behalf, though, as he lifts a finger and remarks in naive amusement, pointing. "Hey, your hat looks a lot like Fre-"

"WHO. TOOK. MY. HAT?!"

The booming voice thunders easily over the sound of cashiers, PA sounds or music, and any music or conversation being had otherwise. It is so thunderous and bassy that one might swear that the shelves shake a bit. The lights, however, do suddenly flicker in a very notable way. The fox peers over from some distance, suddenly very alert despite his appearance. The look on the rabbit's face is sheer wide-eyed horror. The chicken's reaction is similar, but a little more muted as she manages to voice, "Sugar, don't tell me you did what I think you did."

"WHERE... IS... MY... HAT?!" Flicker, flicker, buzz. Needless to say, things go very quiet otherwise.

Rystan smiles at the rabbit in that polite, distant way that people often smile at strangers. He flips open the comic and begins to read, enjoying himself as he walks, until he hears a loud, booming voice. It's a deep bass, and it absolutely drowns out his song, which is fine, which is fine. However, it also sounds a little angry, so that's Rystan's cue to skedaddle.

The young thief carefully lifts the hat off his head and wedges it in between the rabbit's ears, sticking his tongue out to one side in concentration before stepping back to examine his handiwork. Much more quietly, now, he murmurs. "Ohh, I owe the world a living~" And like that with a flick of his wrist and a whizzing sound, he's gone from the aisle with the rabbit, and he (perhaps unwisely?) appears in the aisle where he last saw the bear.

"Think I saw it on some bunny over there. Purple fellow. Looked rather dapper. Friend of yours?" The thief is the picture of innocence! He certainly hasn't got the hat! "Well, have a nice day!" Attempting a nonchalant stride, Rystan over-sells his casualness as he sets about leaving with the havoc he accidentally created. Some people are really attached to their stuff. Eesh.

The bunny is too stunned to really do anything other than lift his gaze to watch that hat be placed atop his head, mouth slightly agape. The chick watches the man slip away and doesn't seem to think too much more about him, in general, until words clearly ring out through the quieted air and blame is placed on the purple one. The bear, though, has no idea who took his hat, at least actively so, and is a bundle of wrath waiting to explode. It's not just a matter of anger. In fact, the man might even catch a glimpse of the bear's face that is completely wrong. The eyes are black, empty, with only red dots of some unholy force peering ahead.

Or it was a trick of the eye. A second glance certainly wouldn't show such an eerie visage. The redirection does seem to work and the bear moves to intercept the bunny and chicken. The two so confronted by their de facto leader explain that it fell and that they got it back and were holding on to it until they could meet up to pay for the towels (and comic book). It seems to be working, but it's difficult to bring the bear down from his temper. They might be at it a while longer.

The fox? The fox is standing just before the exit with his arms crossed. It's not meant to be a full body block, however. It's meant to be noticed. Perhaps he's waiting to have a word. On the plus side, the lights stop flickering and the sounds begin to return to normal, though no doubt an employee checks on the three to make sure everything is okay.

"Arr, ye really went and made a fuss o'things, lad." So what if anybody nearby overhears? There's a perceptive edge to the worn-down fox that the other three don't seem to outwardly show.

If the creepy red eyes get to him, the young man gives no indication. Noting that the rabbit and chick don't seem to be trying to finger him for the deal, Rystan silently thanks them for being the best marks ever. Honestly, that's how people should behave - if everyone would be everyone else's wingman like that, why, noone would ever get in trouble! Now that's paradise.

The thief's musings are cut short, however, when he notices Foxy standing by the exit. Oh, wow, the sopping wet one was the intelligent one - irony. "Yeah? I dunno. S'just a hat." But he supposes nine times out of ten, someone's mad, it's his fault somehow. And that hardly seems fair to Rystan. If people valued their stuff so much, they wouldn't just leave it lying around!

"Your friend do that thing with the lights? Gets all hellraiser when someone touches his stuff? Kinda cool, for a stuffed bear."

"Hm?" There's a pause before the fox separates his crossed arms to shrug. "What be ye talking about?" Clearly everybody noticed that. Right? Whatever it was, if he knows, the fox doesn't admit to it. "Look, lad, take it from ol' Cap'n Foxy. The bear be an easy one to heckle, aye, but ye have to learn what ye can get away with first." A few clunking steps seek to bring the tall creation ever closer, following along if he has to, with absolutely no regard for personal space. He aims to even put his left arm about the man's shoulders while leaning in closer, metallic gray and gold teeth ever so close if allowed, showing such a size difference in build that one might imagine that maw could easily bite off a person's face. Despite this potential closeness, he has no breath despite his facial and oral eloquence. If not allowed this contact, he at least tries to get as close as possible.

"Next time ye feel like pulling a fast one on the bear, make sure ye come to Foxy first. We'll figure out something proper. Just don't touch the hat, aye?" A shifty one-eyed glance is followed by a lifting of his hook to speak behind it, as if fully in secret, while dropping the whisper a bit more in volume.

"Just between ye and I, though, the bear be having a secret to use next time ye face 'im down. Just a good press." With that hook, the fox taps the side of it to his own nose a couple times.

What do you mean, what is he talking about? Rystan seems surprised at Foxy's question, but rolls with it quickly, even letting the fox-bot drape its arm over him as desired. If Foxy isn't respecting his personal space, then Rystan flat isn't acting like ***has*** any.

When he gets yanked into this kind of comical conspiracy talk, he lifts his eyes to look Foxy in the optics. "...Ah, so there's a right way 'n' a wrong way. Got it - totally a-ok understood." He has no idea, does he?

"That be all I can say to ye on it fer now, lad. Just don't forget." The fox taps his nose twice more before lowering his hook. "Now, ye seem a playful sort, so what do ye say about signing on as part o' me crew? I'll even give ye a fun little test to see if ye be cut out fer it. What say ye? Interested? Even if ye pass, ye not be obligated." Step clank, step clank; one step after another while the fox aims to stay as huddled in close as possible. Sadly, at the moment, Foxy has nothing that can be taken, were the idea to arise. Even his eye patch is attached as part of himself and his trousers don't have any pockets. "But ye best answer quickly." Apparently it's something timed.

"I don't know much about being a member of any crew..." Rystan leads off, looking first at Foxy, then back in the direction of the other faux furry funbots at the pseudo-pirate's prompting. He leans in a bit, not apparently concerned in the slightest."...But go on." Oh, there's never any way easier to catch a Rystan than promising fun or treasure.

Or both.

"Arrr, good, good o' ye. Don't back down from a challenge, lad." This wandering along together, well, if Foxy has any influence whatsoever what with that heavy arm resting against Rystan's upper back, certainly helps place the thief more directly at the exit, even if the rain is fierce outside. "Normally I wouldn't be so direct, but ye seem the type to handle it, and, well, ye did try to get me Bon in trouble with the bear, aye?" There's a chuckle at this, and then a light(?) pat on the back before the fox pulls himself away to flag down a nearby employee.

"Yarr, that scallywag o'er there didn't give ye any money for his plunder, did he?" An alarm immediately goes off, inasmuch as a loud siren counts as one, although it's not from the store itself. This must be the test? This must be the test! Foxy, despite still being mostly soaked through, chuckles as only a mischievous pirate captain can. Heads will turn one way or the other, including the other three of the fox's gang.

Rystan, for his part, looks stricken when Foxy steps away and yells out that he didn't pay for any of the stuff. No, wait. Not stricken. Indignant. "What? Of course I didn't... pay..." He trails off as a siren blares and everyone is staring at him. "Oh. Well, hell." In that moment while everyone freezes, just on the cusp of reacting, Rystan scrunches up his face. "...Wait a minute. S-mart doesn't have a SIREN." He glances at Foxy with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. Who carries around a siren?!

Then the store alights in activity. Loss Prevention people come out of the woodwork to hover and ominously imply there will be touching if Rystan doesn't put his ill gotten gains back or at least pay for them. Rystan manages to run two of them into each other with a laugh, but half-stumbles over a foot another 'accidentally' left out behind him, and he has to turn around and make some grasping motions to keep from losing his plunder. He laughs as he hops over the next on the way out the exit, and turns to call back over his shoulder in a joking manner. "Arrrrr, you'll pay for this, Captain Foxy!" And then the automatic doors open, and he's out in the rai-- ... Wait. Where did he go?

Somewhere, Batman is filing a lawsuit for IP Theft.

|}}

2020-10-10 - Hamburgers and Wine

2020-11-11T19:22:52Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = Hamburgers and Wine |Summary = Patrol Officer Kaijin stops by the Usual Restaurant for a meal. She encounters another that drops by to collect an ord..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = Hamburgers and Wine
|Summary = Patrol Officer Kaijin stops by the Usual Restaurant for a meal. She encounters another that drops by to collect an order for personal delivery.
|Who = [[Kaijin]], [[Lynx]]
|Date = October 10, 2020
|Where = The Usual Restaurant
|Log=
For Kaijin, it's another day, another dollar. Having come off shift a little while ago, she's decided to hit the Usual. The place has become a favorite haunt for Godzilla's Daughter, who's something of a regular these days. Tail sweeping lazily as she enters the UR, she waves to the few people she knows and heads for the bar, where she orders a quartet of large angus beef cheeseburgers with bacon, and a large plate side of fries.

"Evenin' officer," one of the waiters says with a grin as he walks past her on his rounds.

"That's when I'm on duty. And I'm technically just a patroller, so don't oversell it," she replies with a grin.

Regular or not, many people come to and go from the Usual Restaurant at any hour of the day. All manner of shapes and sizes and colors are represented through those that treat the establishment with their patronage and company. As such, one wouldn't expect an eye to blink at the entry of of the man that enters through the front door and, step by step, strides into the eatery's main body. However, there is something of note about it. A hiccup in social interaction. A pause in the mundane drone of conversation. For but an instant, upon entry, there is one of those moments where all present and speaking seem to pause at the same time.

The moment does not persist for long.

Walking beside tables where people are seated and eating, the cat-faced individual with a straight posture claps booted footfalls against the floor on his way to the bar area while casually clasping his hands together behind the small of his back. His eyes seek the notice of those serving with a silent and presumed patience, although his gaze surely wanders over those that are situated nearby.

While waiting for her food, Kaijin seems to be relaxing. But a lifetime of living with people who taught her how to use the abilities she inherited from her father mean that she can feel the change in a room. As such, when things go quiet, however briefly, the half-Titan picks up on it pretty swiftly.

It also doesn't take her long to spot the newcomer. She's seen a handful of unusual people since coming here. But this one is a bit new. The fur and claws catch her eyes. She's not seen anyone else recently who has those-- herself excluded-- since coming here. Not that she recalls, anyway.

"Hey," she says with a friendly nod as she tries to figure out the new face. But she ''is'' a cop, low ranked or not. No reason not to be polite just because she's off-duty.

A perking of one ear is followed by the most minor swivel of the head as the cat person regards the one that passes out greeting. It doesn't take much to know when one is being studied; those amber eyes do just such a thing. The look itself and the motion of the eyes are not derisive. There is no immediate disrespect shown. No, the peering over is studious and calculating with perhaps a palpable texture of what might be shared curiosity. The corner of the person's mouth turns upward in the barest of smiles before his lips part to speak.

"A sandwich, 'hoagie'-style, with turkey, spinach, and provolone cheese." That gaze lingers upon the half-Titan as the order is revealed before peeling away to be redirected to the server now ready to take such a request. "Oil and vinegar, oregano, a dash of salt, two of black pepper, and 'Phuket Island dressing' on one-third. Cut into thirds. Very lightly toasted. Also, a bottle of ruby port, dessert."

An inclined head turns just enough to send the words spoken next back in the direction of the Greeter nearby: "Very interesting."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that for both of us. I've met a hyena-morph since coming here, but I think you might be the first cat anthro I've met who wasn't just from some form of media on my world." Kaijin chuckles. "So, who might you be? Can't just go callin you 'hey catman' all the time, now can I?" she jokes.

A measured silence is offered as a response at first only after he specifies, "Packed to carry out." One hand is pulled from behind his cape-covered back and a single fingertip is passed along the topmost edge of the bar's counter. While generally clean, there is a sticky residue present that likely comes from a bit of spilled beer. There is a soft sigh at this.

"Oh, you could. That would reflect mostly on you, though, I would imagine. It's customary to introduce oneself when asking after another." The words are not sour. There is a hint of amusement, though. "I'm a scholar, mind. Very interested in history. Mostly." A turn at the waist allows the feline figure to scout over those others present in the building. "Social and natural sciences around the development of humanity is part of that, I suppose, but I wouldn't presume to be an anthropologist in title," comments the still-nameless cat regarding word usage by the half-Titan.

"Huh. Wasn't expecting that." Kaijin replies, a grin crawling across her face. "Name's Kaijin. Still kinda a newbie to the city. Well, sorta. Been around awhile but I'm always finding new stuff. Kinda a thing that'll happen when you're yanked outta your home world and dropped into...whatever you wanna call this place, I guess." She shrugs. "And yeah, I ''could'' call you that if I had to. But why would I wanna do that when it'd be so much easier to use whatever your name is?"

"Yanked. Yes, that does tend to happen, at least from one potential perspective." The cat's second arm unwinds from behind his back so that his hands can clasp together once more. The thumb of one hand presses into the palm of the other and rubs in slow circles as the scholar's very attention lowers to watch. "You may call me Lynx along with whichever titles or honorifics you feel are applicable." A flit of the eyes moves them quickly to Kaijin while his face remains mostly lowered in regarding his hands.

"And what, then, is your observation on this place? Has it been hospitable enough for a demi-human such as yourself?" It may be an assumption, but how much does it matter if it is accurate or not? "Not everybody finds a place within it to aquire belonging."

"Enh, it's.....different." Kaijin said with a shrug. "Also, 'demi-human'? Huh. I have to admit, that's a new one. I'm basically half-human, half-Titan. So I guess maybe that fits?" She ponders that a monent, then shakes her head. "Anyway, as for my observations on this place? Nothing really ever stays too static here to make any kind of real opinion on the whole thing."

"Yes, that's precisely what I figured, although you will have to elaborate on what a 'Titan' is regarding your lineage," comments the feline on the phrase 'demi-human'. He does not speak directly to Kaijin, however. He finds others at whom to stare and a couple stare back, yet never for long. There is a slight noticable discomfort or unease that the well-dressed scholar seems to have for the immediate area of business that is related to an unspoken distaste for many details. Yet, there he stands. Waiting.

"I trust you'll try to look beyond the everchanging hues of distraction to see the permeating cementation of the tree's roots eventually. That depends entirely on your position and passion, though, doesn't it?" A full look is given the half-Titan once more. For the moment, she has Lynx' full attention. "Not everybody has the desire or time to dig, do they? What about you?"

"I'll be honest. Most of what you just said didn't make a lot of sense to me." Kaijin admits. She's never been one to puff herself up unjustifiably. "About the only thing I did understand is that you're not sure what a Titan is. ''That'', I can help with. More or less anyway." She digs into her pocket and pulls out a cell phone. "I'm just glad the folks at Monarch were so obsessed with recording everything. Here. This is footage from when they went to Antarctica to prevent the release of Ghidorah. That...didn't go well. Luckily my father arrived to take some serious heat off of them. I'm just sorry he couldn't get their sooner." she cues up the footage and sets the phone down so that Lynx can [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCo2S76m57Y watch it.]

The feline makes no effort to get any closer to change distance or viewing angle. He's quite content with what personal space he has. Not a word is spoken as the documentation is revealed to him. Not a single tell is telegraphed upon his face to betray any underlying thought or emotion. Even the cat's pointed ears remain still.

"I stand by my initial observation," is said at last once the footage has ended. The words may refer to 'very interesting', yet they hold little excitement or wonder. "I am familiar with such things and you are descended of such? You must have quite the story to tell so far. How do you intend to maintain such stature of bloodline here?" Twisted, as a gameboard, is littered with powerful pieces. Many sit idly by doing little so removed are they from their elements. Others seek upheld glory. Others still crave greater.

"Well, my birth is...a convoluted story, to say the least." Kaijin says, putting her phone away once the footage is done. "Father's been around for millions of years. Humanity, in my world, called him the King of the Monsters." She grins. "He's basically a celebrity after having beaten Ghidorah and saved the world twice in five years. He keeps the others in line." Shge shrugs. "I'm not sure I have what you'd call 'stature' here. I was an ambassador back home. The closest thing the Titans had to a voice on the world stage. I like using my powers to help others. So I took a job here as a cop. It's not glamorous, and I get more people making cosplay-based come-on lines than I like to count, but if I can help people out now and then, that's a decent trade-off in my view."

It is at that time that a server brings over a paper To Go bag with the top rolled down and stapled. It is heavier than it may appear due to the presence of a bottle of wine within it. The status of the half-Titan's meal is fully separate. Nonetheless, the feline demi-human listens carefully even as his line of sight is shifted due to the arrival of the parcel. Lynx moves a hand to his hip while his other arm hangs loosely at his side and that faint smile returns.

"Ambassador. Powerful. A desire to provide positive correction. You are skilled in diplomatic and political practices?" There's a spark in those eyes as the question is asked as if the potential of an answer alone possesses some integral importance to an unknown equation. Much like his entrance that very moment encompassing the time between asked question and potential answer seems to be charged, much like a basketball player poised and hanging in the air before any conclusion or interception befalls them, which might warrant caution and careful answering. Is this what it feels like to be so intensely focused upon?

Kaijin shrugs, tail swaying gently from one side to another as her own food arrives. "I'm not the best in the world or anything like that. But I'm not stupid either. I was raised by humans and have the only voice that can communicate with the Titans. Or could, till I wound up here. Mostly it was just Mothra. She loves to interact with humans. Rodan barely pays them any mind so long as they leave his nest alone. Godzilla-- my Father-- well, he seems to keep to himself more or less. He keeps the other Titans in line. He's their King. Their Alpha. I'm not really sure ''what'' he thinks of me." She picks up a burger and looks at it for a moment. "Y'know, come to think of it, I don't even know if he knows I ''exist''. Then again, he's kept the others from attacking human cities, so I guess that's as far as I need to worry when it comes to him." Then she grins and takes a quick bite out of the burger. "Hmm. So as for diplomacy and politics....like I said, I'm not going to be lauded as some kind of demagogue of a speaker or anything, but I can talk to crowds of people in power when I have to. But I kinda just prefer regular people. They're the ones who end up feeling the effects of the choices made by those in authority."

"Absolutely. Excellently put." There's a beat. Lynx adds, "Although, have you met the local authority?"

It may seem to be a very bizarre question to some. For the most simple, police are the local authority. A policing body is designed to uphold rules and regulations put in place by a governing body, though. Through that chain, thusly, one can easily open a can of worms. The expectant sparkle disappears the moment an answer is given to the previous question, yet the cat person seems to engage directly with the demi-Titan as that air of curiosity persists.

"If you mean the mayor or city council, I can't say I have. The closest so far I've gotten to meeting anyone of authority is the chief of police and those under her command. Good people on the whole. At least so far as I can tell at the moment." Kaijin munches a bit on the burger she'd picked up. "Have you met anyone from the council or the mayor or anything?"

"None that would yet have a vested interest in me."

"I do know Detective Hawksmoor, though, professionally," admits the cat with allusion to some sort of working relationship, possibly related to a case. "Have you yet met the man?" It's almost like small talk. In fact, it could be just that. Yet, is it? Parcel so received, the sharply-dressed demi-human is at social rights to a departure. "Also an interesting individual. You shall, no doubt, encounter many such people as you continue your professional role. Must be quite exciting, really." The image of a scholar is rarely depicted as an exciting thing, after all.

"Hawksmoor? I don't think so. It was only by chance I met the chief, and even then, I'm only a patroller. So unless I get wrapped up in something big, I probably wouldn't meet him while on duty in all likelihood." Kaijin says after trying to think if she's met the man in question. Then she laughs a bit. "Y'know, a lot of people think police work is like what they see on TV. It's really not. I went into that with eyes wide open that the job was probably not going to be anywhere near as exciting as TV and movies make it seem. I was right. As for meeting interesting people though? Yeah, I suppose that's about right."

"Is that a fact?" asks the felinoid in response to the notion that the work of a policing body is similar to that of telebroadcasted fictionals. "I wouldn't really know," he offers as a slight glimpse into a more personal window of revelation before adding, "so I shall take your word for it. In my experience, the role of Guardsmen are quite necessary and very useful. Habitual patrol will at least make you familiar with the area and its denizens. A good start."

There is almost a tangible shift in tone for the grim as Lynx turns to collect the parcel which still needs further delivery. "You should be very careful, Titanblood. There are many unseen dangers lurking inside the city far worse than the obvious ones living on the skirt's hem of loosely-stitched reality outside of it. You may learn to overlook the fantastic for as much as can be encountered here, but I advise against it." The man shifts the weight of the bag with the crinkling of thick brown paper before offering Kaijin very direct eye-contact. "If something feels wrong, let your fellow Guardsmen know."

"Naturally. That's why we have a means to call for help if we need it." Kaijin says with a smile, patting the pocket where her phone is. "As for unseen dangers in the city? Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised. But that's why the police are here. We protect and serve."

"So you do. In that order?" There's some cheeky humor in that remark to accompany the otherwise serious nature of what was only just spoken. "Stay vigilant, Titanborn, and if you do happen to meet the Detective let him know that Reynolds is still in stable condition. He likely is aware, yet I would prefer he know, indirectly, that I'm still doing what I can within my ability." Turning away in preparation to leave, Lynx decides to at least state, "I shan't elaborate, but Hawksmoor might. Police business, after all. His call. You understand."

Kaijin chuckles. Then chomps more on her burger. "Yeah, if I run into the guy I'll let him know. You're a bit on the strange side, Lynx. But all in all, was nice meeting you. Take care out there. Winter's right around the corner, and that's usually when some people like to start making trouble. Or at least they did back home."

Despite taking a couple steps, the feline pauses at being called 'strange'. While he does not turn around, or even to the side, or even barely turn his head, he does faintly tip his nose downward to one side as to address the officer behind him with a lowered tone of voice. "Perhaps. Though perhaps it is disarming of oneself to label things as unfamiliar or familiar. Nothing you encounter here is fully transparent. You would do a disservice to yourself to try and identify that which you best know. Expect nothing and you avoid being blind to most surprise."

Kaijin quirks her head to one side. Most of that made little sense to her. But she grins anyway. "I generally don't worry about anything when it comes to my expectations. Because one way or another, every day here always manages to find some way to surprise me."

There is a noise that follows that might just be a chuckle, although it is muted by a sudden raise in volume of a nearby conversation. The cat person departs at this point and, after crossing the threshold, there just might seem to be something missing in the atmosphere inside the restaurant. Something hard to place, neither good or bad, that simply isn't present any longer. A footnote, perhaps, and certainly far far less 'strange' than many others about. It could be an observation and nothing more or simply altogether lost in the sea of shared words and enticing food aromas.
|}}

2020-07-07 - AGoCaM: Sense and Insensibility

2020-11-11T18:52:59Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = A Game of Cat and Mouse: Sense and Insensibility |Summary = Ami visits the local library only to meet up with a familiar face and a helpful librarian..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = A Game of Cat and Mouse: Sense and Insensibility
|Summary = Ami visits the local library only to meet up with a familiar face and a helpful librarian. Sought answers only reveal more questions with each turn of each page.
|Who = [[Ami]], [[Lynx]], [[SilverSight]]
|Date = July 07, 2020
|Where = Public Library
|Log=

If, at the beginning of the year, someone had asked Mizuno Ami what she expected to be doing with her life before the year was out, she probably would not have answered correctly. Indeed, perusing Twisted's library for the pillars of English literature was not even on her radar. At best, it would have been an idle daydream of what she'd do "someday", when she could finally find the time. And yet, now that time is running out, she finds it has suddenly skyrocketed to the top of her priorities list.

Life is funny, sometimes.

The blue-haired girl has already worn most of the local book shops out in her search; apparently the works of Atwood and Gaiman are not considered in high demand in this place, let alone Bronte and Dickens. So to the library, she turned. She has been cautiously perusing the shelves, avoiding most of the titles like they might cut her. This place is truly dangerous to an avid reader - one wrong turn and you could get lost in an old familiar story for hours. Days, even.

She does want to go home someday.

SilverSight is probably the only person in the city that *doesn't* want to go home. Why return to such a place? He's made a new... third? fourth? he can't keep track, home here in the library and so it shall be. The pony emerges from the backroom, having gone to search for more books that might be in storage to put on display. He nickers to the human and takes a seat behind the registration counter.

A place such as the library must see a number of faces come and go. Those that work there must have a better intuition on what the more extroverted in expression care to read while others might be quite a challenge to help find the perfect book. This library, though, seems to have fallen into a surprising amount of disuse. A figure enters. Two visitors at the same time; is it a new record?

Each individual that lives in Mabase and within what lies just beyond its borders can include the exotic and unique. It can also contain the mundane and particularly ordinary. It is entirely subjective on which category the new face falls into. A snappy uniform and matching hat frames a fuzzy face while cunning eyes rest in their proper places. Hands casually clasped behind the stranger's back, the person meanders into the building while allowing a scrutinous gaze to wander about the establishment's contents. Not a word is spoken, yet, even as the path taken brings the individual to stand near the occupied desk in a lingering pause.

Occasionally Ami looks up from a shelf or book that has caught her interest, reminding herself of the time and murmuring various things to herself. She came here with a mission, no matter how much she might enjoy it, and she should stick to that. If she can't make the English professor's head spin with how well-versed she is, she might not be picked as a tutor. That would be unacceptable.

Ami does not, in fact, already realize that she's a shoe-in for the position. Her application was immaculate, and there wasn't likely to be stiff competition in the first place, even for a regular applicant. Even if she did realize, she isn't one to rest on her laurels; the new girl must be taught, and this opportunity seemed almost hand-crafted for Ami.

"Few things are impossible to diligence and effort," the bluenette reminds herself, and she smiles when she hears the pony come out of the back room. She offers him a light wave as she sorts through what she's gotten so far. Austen and Pratchett weren't hard to find, but Roth? Now there was a difficult one. Unless she wants to risk losing herself in contemporary fiction, she'd better figure out just where she's going.

Ami's just returning to the catalogue to look him up when she hears the doors to the library open. She resists the urge to draw her attention to whomever just entered - noone likes all eyes drawn to them when they enter a quiet place to read. Would she offer this same courtesy if she knew who had entered? It's hard to say.

SilverSight has been working on cleaning the place up, promise! It just requires lots of dusting and sneezing and putting books away. The pony will keep to himself behind the counter, waiting patiently for books to be checked out or returned or people to get loud so he can shush them. I mean really, who wouldn't want to be a librarian? A friendly hoof wave to the new entrant as well!

An amber gaze falls upon the pony as the feline-face turns and lowers without a single movement from the rest of the person's body. While there may be some observation had of the equine, there isn't a single shred of surprise or wonder to be found in the depths of those eyes. There is only acceptance.

"Non-fiction," comes what must be a practiced library voice, only barely above a whisper, that is followed by an enunciated, "Domestic literature. Not foreign." This would imply a divide between the odd reality known as Twisted and the Multiverse that connects to it and a catalogued separation of local books and periodicals from those that have come from Elsewhere. The politely quiet speaker remains in place expecting to receive some amount of guidance toward the desired destination, though to what extent is left to fate and ponies.

Being a librarian certainly does possess a certain appeal. Ami has always considered the job to be a suitable 'retirement' plan if she should ever tire of her chosen career. Which is a bit silly, because if she knew herself well at all she'd know thet idea for the frank impossibility it is; Ami will never tire of medicine, or of helping people. It's not in her any more than malice was in Usagi or laziness was in Rei.

The thought of her friends causes Ami's brows to furrow slightly. The girl starts to get lost in her thoughts for a moment before she shakes her head and snaps out of it.

"Stop that..." Ami chides herself, and regains her focus. Roth. Jewish American life is a pretty narrow slice of contemporary fiction to find in Twisted's library, but the catalogue does reveal a few titles. She looks pleasantly surprised, and turns to share her smile (bereft of context) with Silver Sight. And that's when she sees someone she'd as soon have not seen again.

The girl pales, and turns back to the catalog, closing it respectfully and more than a bit slowly to keep herself from gaping. She's not prepared for this, but if she keeps calm and collected, maybe things will turn out alright. It's happened before.

At least twice.

Well, once and a half.

SilverSight quite casually points over to an aisle of books over that-a-way, "You'll find local resources, references, written and published works that way, good sir. I do find it easier to keep them seperate from items that have fallen in through the portals and various cracks in the multiverse. Anything pertaining to Mabase City and the realms have been stamped on the inside cover so they don't get mixed in." He doesn't seem to know either of these two individuals, thus has a neutral stance towards both!

As if tracing a line from the point of origin to the point of destination, the tall catperson's head turns to look. "Will I be able to call on you for further inquiry?"

Without waiting for a definitive asnwer, the uniformed fellow begins to walk toward the direction specified in no particular hurry. Any reply given has plenty of time to be offered and received. One might get the impression that this library visitor may be averse to the dust and clutter in the way he keeps his limbs close and his path clear of any book piles or obstacles. This isn't necessarily the case, however. Some people prefer to leave only footprints where they go when it can be helped.

If the stranger has had any observation of the other library occupant, the reaction is quite the opposite of her own. It may be a lack of recognition. It may be a lack of self-bother. One thing is for certain. The path pointed places the movement of the man near the position of the occupied directory.

For lack of a better mental exercise to keep calm, Ami thinks of her friends, as she so often does. She's not so much worried about them as curious about how they're doing, even if their absence is akin to a dozen perforations in her heart. She knows they'll be alright - she has faith in them. Besides, now she has a new one deserving of her attention. They haven't properly met yet, but Ami harbors almost no doubts about how that will go.

She's had that exact meeting several times now, after all.

The thought exercise almost works. Except that the man is heading her way. That is probably because she's standing at the directory. Right. Vacating the catalog and making her way as calmly as possible toward the desk, Ami passes the man-who-may-be-a-cat on her way. Ami offers Silver Sight a small smile as a means of not looking at the tall stranger. She doesn't know the pony, but anyone who'd undertake revamping the library gets bonus points with her, and so her smile is genuine, at least.

"Excuse me, could you point me towards Contemporary Fiction?"

SilverSight does nod to the catman as he wanders off, "Feel free to ask anything you like, sir. I'll happily do my best to provide assistance." Attention is then turned to the human and he nods with a smile, pointing this-a-way next, "Fiction found from other worlds happens to be over in this direction. There's no real way to separate each individual world's works from each other, but you may follow the standard Dewdrop Decimal System if you're looking for a particular author." Sorted alphabetically by last name and so on.

While it may not be seen due to her stare straight ahead, Ami may yet feel the way the militaristically-dressed person follows her passing with his eyes. The figure makes no effort to slow down, pause, or turn in any way in order to follow her path with step or glance. Why then does the feeling of that gaze seem to linger on? Additionally, Ami may also pick up on a recurring scent from her first brush-against encounter. A faint aroma of something rich, woody, and almost herbal. There may be comparison, yet the true source is something likely alien to her own home world. Same for the pony. Cologne? Oils? It may heighten his nearby presence while providing ever more mystery. The scent is there, then once passed beyond is gone, yet still seems to linger in the mind. If, that is, one allows it.

Turning away, the cat steps behind a row of shelving and disappears from sight during his perusal of titled and sorted works.

That sense of being watched, and whatever passes through the air, are noted by Ami as she walks, but she's staying calm. That's the thing she's doing. So she makes it to Silver Sight without further incident.

"Dewdrop de--" Ami sounds mildly confused, but only for a moment, and then she smiles a little brighter at Silver Sight. "Of course, thank you." It must be called that where he's from. At least it was an easy translation.

The girl of fair blue hair wanders slowly over towards the contemporary fiction section. She's more worried about what the smelly cat is doing here, and much less worried about the difference in literature across multiple universes. Hey, maybe she'll find the works of some Phillip Roth who had a pleasant and entirely non-racially charged childhood.

But probably not.

SilverSight nickers softly, "Anytime! I'm open to provide aid to you as well, should you ever need it." He's a quiet pony otherwise, just keeping track of the both of them, doing some extra cleaning here and there and making sure books are in their proper places.

Shuffling, sifting, and sliding of cover against cover, paper against paper, is all that can immediately be heard from where the cat person disappeared. They begin as something entirely calm and well-socially manicured but begin to grow in pace and stiffness. "...no..." The individual must have a very good idea of what he's looking for. "...no..." By the sounds of things, he's not finding it. "...no..." There are no careless tossings of books or stacks of papers or droppings of magazines upon the floor. There is only an exasperated sigh. Maybe even two.

Then, everything regarding the tall one goes quiet. The corner of his mouth twitches unseen in frustration. A single page or two flipping is all that is uttered from the search. Eventually, a book slides into place whence it came. Silence follows. There aren't even footsteps to be heard amidst any movement glimpsed through the rows of books on the shelf's opposite facing were one to find the position to look just right.

If Ami weren't so tense, the man going silent wouldn't likely bother her. It's unfortunate that he's having difficulty finding what he's looking for, but the library was once a hallowed place for her, back home. She'd no more step in to intervene when someone was looking for a book than she would ask them for money; it would disrupt their harmonious isolation.

But that was then.

Now, she's more than a little curious about the figure that left quite an impression on her at the police station. So when she hears the man grow more and more frustrated, and then fall silent, she does what only busybodies and snoops do - and slowly moves to the edge of her aisle and peeks around it to see if she can get context for what's going on. This will end well.

SilverSight is happy that the library is seeing new use! Over time, more and more people will know that it's open for business. Word will get around and soon he'll have so many cutomers he won't know what to do with them all! Fortunately he's merely an employee of sorts, not the boss in charge of that. Poor Sunset.

Standing there at the end of one aisle of books with his back facing the one taking a peek is the stranger. Perhaps there has never been a better time to have a look over the make of his uniform, the intricate details of coat and cape, the tight stitching, the golden threads woven seamlessly into the jet fabric, all perfectly tailored to the individual's form while allowing for the comfort of mobility, and maybe even the more animalistic pointed ears that stick out from either side listening?

Head bowed, book in hand, the browsing cat stops what he's doing, lifts his head, and as if sensing something from behind begins to turn his head to look over his shoulder. Clapping the book shut suddenly, the glance is interrupted and pushed back into the hole left behind on the shelf before turning to depart the domestic non-fiction section the exact way he came. That was close, no doubt.

"Bibliosoph," addresses he of the pony behind the counter long before his approach brings him there. This time the pace is quicker than previously. "I require access to your archives. The periodicals that you have catalogued and available are too recent." The look on his face shows that he is being earnest, genuine, and quite serious. A hand is raised and a clawed finger is extended to point at the pony. No. Not at the pony. Beyond the pony, to the door behind the desk.

Where does that door even lead? Is the guess of an archival depository beyond just that?

Of course, the moment Ami tries to regain sight of the sharply dressed man, he notices. Why be surprised? The girl, who is most definitely tense, doesn't jump or nearly-drop her books or do anything of the sort that might be expected of someone in her position. It's not that she knew he could hear her, it's more that it simply made sense as the next step in this low-stakes game of cat and mouse she's found herself a part of.

She's about to speak up when he slams the book shut and runs off to talk to the library's very own pony. Oh. She'll just get back to looking for Roth again... ... Probably.

SilverSight blinks at the word being used in his direction. Never heard of such before, but he does assume that it's a decent one at least, since this being so far hasn't been terribly rude or the like. A bit curt maybe, but not agressive or actively demanding. He knows what he wants and takes the shorted path to get it. He shakes his head however at the direction, "That door is the store room, employee area, and my living quarters." He points over at another direction, "Archive room is that way. It contains multiple different forms of archival material and the machines to view them, separated into individual cubicles." From magazines and newspapers to a couple computers with external hard drives, to a crystal ball on a velvet pillow and so on.

That pointing finger sweeps through the air to meet that direction, lingers, then curls back to join the other digits. "Good. I assume that these archives extend back before the recent greivous injury upon which nearly tore this place apart? A bit colorful in its telling, but that's what people speak of it. Published scientific journals? Photographs? Schematics of buildings no longer existent?"

The man suddenly quiets his voice to that of the same volume of which he used upon his arrival. "Upon finding what I seek I shall be sure to reward your help in kind." That must be what passes for a 'thank you'. One hand finds the other behind the small of the back once more and a step is taken in that direction.

"...What were you looking for specifically?" Ami speaks up from her place in the contemporary fiction aisle, somehow managing to keep her voice a whisper and still project it enough to be heard. Someone spends a lot of time in libraries - or used to, at any rate. "...I was there." She steps out of her aisle and affixes Lynx with a piercing blue gaze, as if she could suss out his intentions by merely meeting his eyes. She can't, of course. But oh, she's going to try.

Only one step is taken. Standing tall with impeccable posture, hands clasped behind his back, the cat-faced man stops and turns to meet the one that reveals herself with his entirety. He is very much not afraid make direct eye contact. If the eyes can reveal the age of one's soul and true age is measured in accumulated wealth of knowledge, the gaze into those deep amber eyes -- even at a distance -- surely speaks of something quite complex. "Yes, you were," agrees he with Ami's last statement. The potentially haunting finality of this knowledge-bound observation is made to linger just long enough to allow head-gears to turn.

"At the police station," is added. "Have you finally decided to stop avoiding me?" The corner of his mouth upturns into a soft lopsided smile. It isn't meant to be derisive or taunting; the man is simply amused. That doesn't mean it cannot be interpreted otherwise. One arm suddenly and quickly moves, extending outward with such a snap that his cape rustles and displaces briefly before settling into place once again. For what purpose then would this arm held out in direction across the library be, hand held open and empty, but to gesture for a walk that way to the Archives?

"At this point, though: anything. I require a better understanding of what happened and why."

Embarrassed one too many times in her life, Ami doesn't let color rise to her cheeks when she's called out for being evasive. She's learned how to avoid blushing - at least when she's prepared for it. "I fear that I'm still deciding." Concern flits across her face, and she adjusts her glasses slightly before crossing her arms under her chest, looking more than a little insecure.

"But this is hardly the place to discuss it. In the meantime, I'll help you look." Now why would she do a thing like that?

The extended arm is held aloft for a moment more as if to signal whatever welcomeness there is to be scraped from the bottom of the boot named anxiety. The stranger isn't anxious by any means and whatever insecurity is displayed on the young woman's behalf is apparently overlooked. Whether this is a gracious act or one of dominant standing is up for debate.

The arm is then lowered.

"Good. Another pair of eyes would be welcome. There is likely much to pore over and yet I lack belief that what I seek to know can be found here." Turning away, the man's stride returns. Much like the first pass across the ground floor of the library, it is almost casual. "I have asked many others already, but what can you tell me of what happened?" Tone of voice reveals an openness, a lack of worry in anybody else overhearing, while yet emphasizing the exact incident of which he so infers.

"Be as detailed as possible, if you will. Vocal corroboration is crude, but often reveals leads where there are none beforehand."

With his overly dramatic gestures, Ami figures the stranger is used to playing for crowds. "I'm afraid not much. I was hospitalized and recovering from grievous wounds at the time." ... Well someone overstated their helpfulness. "But I can tell you what didn't happen." The young woman calmly walks towards the archives room at her own clip, neither matching pace with nor falling behind her conversational partner.

"Twisted didn't break." Except they all live in some fairly compelling evidence that says it did. "This is not Twisted. Not the world that came before the breaking." A bit overdramatic, there? Of course it's not the same world, it's broken now.

The archives of the Twisted Public Library don't see a lot of action - it's not that there aren't old records and newspapers in the back, but more that the library just isn't very popular. There are any number of possible reasons for that - internet expansion, outdated manuscripts, monster attacks, and all the other usual reasons people don't wander in the back. Of course - the real reason? Stairs. Everybody hates stairs. Some people can't even use them.

But that's mostly Daleks. So noone cares.

In fact, the place is so unused that behind all the oldest books in the library sits an old-fashioned transparency and microfiche viewer. Not a whole lot to read on it - but hey - it's free to use. Take what you can get, people. Don't be so entitled!

SilverSight has been doing most of his work on getting the place cleaned up and in proper working order. He hasn't yet had time to see about getting everything properly updated to 'modern' standards. It's current just an issue of all the conflicting technologies coming into play.

"Interesting," comments the tall cat regarding Ami's divulgence of what she knows regarding the state of the present world. He trails behind at a comfortable distance for himself that may yet seem too close for the one being followed. His hands are clasped behind his back. His posture is straight, almost regal, and he's clearly happy to own each and every step made.

"So, what exactly are you implying? Divergent timeline? Time-shifted and out of phase?" The man few know only as Lynx twitches his nose at the smell of dusty air and the earthy smell of aged wood-based manuscripts and documents. It is the olfactorial version of kinetic and potential energies; potential knowledge lurks abound and the smell gives it away. It only needs to be made active once more.

"Surely you aren't implying that an entire world was somehow copied or remade in the wake of such cataclysm," jests the feline with an upward curl of just one side of the mouth. "Pseudo-cataclysm, then, if the world did not, in fact, break. As you state."

As they walk into the back of the old library, Ami notices the smell of the dusty tomes, and relaxes, just a bit. She's spent a lot of time in places like this - memories of home come back unbidden. Flickering visions of the past - of telling Minako to keep her voice down - of trying to keep Usagi from sleeping on the reading table. A small smile tugs at the corners of the young woman's lips before she remembers herself.

Content to let Lynx spool up his own theories about her words, Ami doesn't actually answer him until they arrive at the newspaper section. "Of course not," comes her reply once he's finished suggesting she couldn't be talking about a duplicate world, "that would be ridiculous, clearly." Clearly.

The girl comes to a stop near the newsprint section, and turns to address Lynx before realizing he's a bit closer than she'd have preferred. She blinks, then slowly takes a pointed step further from him before continuing. "...That would be too simple to describe what happened, anyway." She turns back to the newscopy and starts rifling through. There are a lot in a drawer that she slides back a bit, and it takes her a while before she finds what she's looking for. She pulls out a copy of the Twisted Gazette, containing a front page article about the cataclysm that tore Twisted asunder and left it a broken mishmash of places. She lays it down on the table off to one side, and then goes back to rummaging.

What's she on about, now?

SilverSight enters the room as well to see about making sure it's properly clean. He hasn't done much in here other than make sure the current machines and magic ball work as intended. He really has to get around to updating all the mechanics and electronics though. So much to do, so little time. Ears perk at the conversation and he tilts his head curiously, "That's what happened with my world. My home version of Equestira is a war-torn and blasted hellscape of mutants and radiation. But I've also been to a version of Equestria that's peaceful and happy. And also set two-hundred years in my world's past."

A heavy yet fleeting gaze falls upon the paper as it is placed and lingers only briefly in a scan before pulling away entirely. Steps are taken into a differing direction. The strange man begins his own search in a similar fashion as previous. There may be a more organized approach to save time, yet such a system goes overlooked. Rather, the cat moves his focus from point to point. Books are disturbed, binders are opened, and periodicals are glossed over.

He may have responded sooner to Ami's few words, but the pony librarian follows along. "Yes, altered timelines are very much a thing. Can you be sure which is the original? Either? Or neither? Sometimes it only takes one simple change to spiral things out of control, even with the best intention. Other times, things happen exactly as they should even when nobody understands the intent or machination." There is a pause in speaking as a puff of breath is used to dislodge a soft layer of dust from a single multi-page album.

Opening the binder to look over the photographs within, eyes narrow as each page seems to involve the same three people at the same table in the same building. They sit in the same places. Only the other occupants of the diner change along with the strange depictions of what passes for outside. Odd things are often seen in the near-distance. How many pages are there? Twenty? Thirty?

"I did say that you should be as detailed as possible. I would rather risk a subjectively-inaccurate testimonial than to be made to infer deeper meaning from two or three statements." The photo album is closed with a minor 'thup' to announce how heavy it must be. There is a sigh that follows. Next, comes a turn and a very tired stare in Ami's direction as his posture, for just a moment, reflects some great weight upon his shoulders. "If," comes another word, the sentence delivered slower than casual speech, as if every word is measured in worth before it is spoken, "you would kindly oblige me."

The moment is brief, yet not instant. Turning away, the album is put away and he takes a few steps in an opposing direction to Ami's to continue his search.

"Very well. It wasn't a simple divergence in the timeline, or an alternate version coming into phase." Ami answers rather matter-of-factly, as if anyone could simply know these things. The Twisted Gazette sitting on the table barely makes any sense at all - eyewitness reports of explosions, streets shattering, buildings falling, but no concrete reporting or evidence of what happened. Honestly, it barely qualifies as an article. It's the journalistic equivalent of someone just screaming in panic at the top of their lungs.

The bluenette pulls out another newspaper, and tosses it on the table next to the first. It's the same publication, and has the same date, but the headline is talking about the latest gossip regarding 'The Council', and other mundanities that one would expect on the slowest of slow days. Definitely not from the day after everything exploded.

"That was one of the things I considered when I first saw this." As Ami gives Lynx and quite possibly Silver Sight the time to look over the newspaper, she turns back to the stacks. Well, she's obviously got a point she's trying to make. A shame she takes so LONG getting there, as Lynx is highlighting.

"But..." Ami shifts on her feet as she finds a third, and pulls it out. Once more, the date and publication name are the same. The Twisted Gazette. The day after the breaking of Twisted. Only this one just has a picture of a smoldering wreck where TASK headquarters used to be, and a headline about a possible attack on TASK.

Ami pulls out another after moment... then another... and another. As she lays one upon the other, one thing becomes clear; these are all the same day. But none of them are talking about the same event. "...As near as I can tell, we're standing on the intersection point of at least six different timelines." Notably, while the date and title of the last paper are the same as the others, all of the print is nonsensical, almost impossible to read. The only other words that are legible are the bolded ones in the headline: Ut Supra, Sic Infra.

What does that mean?

SilverSight shrugs at Lynx's question, "I'm afraid that I wouldn't know. I certainly wouldn't mind the possibility that mine isn't the original or 'true' timeline. It's a terrible one after one and I wouldn't wish it on anyone." He inspects the newspapers shown off, tilting his head curiously at seeing all the same days of different events, "Ooooh.. now that's interesting. I might have to show this to Romana. She was investigating something like this as well."

With such articles lain out, the cat man comes over to have a look. The act is one of extreme diligence. Each paper is plucked up and looked over, read over, and even briefly flipped through. Working with old items must something the man knows how to do well if his carefulness and seemingly practiced hand are any indication. "This certainly confirms what I've learned so far," remarks he with a thoughtful stare almost through the paper stacks. His gaze lifts and fleetingly pans about the archived materials while his eyes don't seem to focus on anything in particular. He has a sharp intake of breath before speaking again.

"I may need to speak to this Romana. Any scholars of chronology may help shed some light on this." The felinoid turns and paces away in thought. "Would you send this Romana a message that her knowledge is required?" asks the man with a palm-up flat-handed gesture to the side. Such a question is asked just like that.

"Clearly this world is broken worse than I could have known." A drawer is opened and within is a scroll case. The cap is secured to the other end with naught but a silk ribbon neatly tied. It takes a moment less than a second to pass to discard the beauty and loose the ends from one another so that the cap can be removed. "Explains the symptoms of time's wound polluting the city, but ultimately presents a greater mystery." Lynx lowers his tone and volume so that his voice is more self-heard than outwardly. "One I'm not yet ready to crack."

"Romana?" That draws a surprised sound from Ami, who looks to Silver Sight. Orbs of the brightest azure blink once, then twice at him. "Is that her full name?" That's a stupid question, Ami.

She looks back to Lynx with a nod. "It's not a simple thing to figure out." Well, she certainly hasn't, yet. And she's actually a fair hand at this kind of thing, if one can imagine someone being good at sorting out catastrophic anomalies in spacetime. It's not her first, after all. Or even her third.

When she looks at the last paper she pulled out, she furrows her brows. "Hold on - that's not right." She opens the paper carefully, and glances at the second page. It's the same as the front, gobbledegook except for the headline. The headline is different, though: Sic in Terra, Et in Caelo. "...That's not how that goes either." She checks the front again, and pales a little. It's changed. It says something different now.

Do you believe in Miracles? Miracles believe in You.

Ami gingerly sets the paper back onto the table and takes a step back for a moment, looking at it with a mix of fascination and trepidation. "...I'm not sure all of the timelines were stable." No kidding.

SilverSight blinks at Ami, "What else would she be called? Her and her little K-9 unit." A small nod is given to Lynx though, "Sure, I'll be happy to give her a chat when I next see her and show her these findings and provide names of the two of you. You're clearly onto something with all these newspapers being different on the same day. Romana is convinced that time just straight up doesn't work here." He inspects the altering headline and hmms. He'll check the other papers to see if they've been changed as well, "Something may be changing them somehow."

A hand lifts to the air crowned by the stylized and well-tailored sleeve around its base and two clawed fingers snap when Ami's last statement is gifted to the ears in the room. "Exactly." While the two chat on, the man tips up the scroll case to allow the contents to slide into his hand. They do. It's not a scroll, however. It's a flash drive. Odd how it didn't rattle inside the case with it being a loose item. The device is turned over in the fingers to take in the details. Small. Mostly black. Rectangular prism. Almost flat. Gold trim. One end has a silver protrusion marked by Poseidon's Trident.

"Wait," is spoken in a raised voice as to make a bid for attention at the risk of interruption. "What was that? Time. Doesn't. Work. Here?" An almost predatory stare is suddenly given over a shoulder as the cat looks back toward the other two. "She's wrong, and yet-" The hand holding the flash drive is lifted and the data storage device as given a waggle as he emphasizes, "I want to know how she came to that conclusion. If either of you wish to sit in on that discussion when it happens, by all means feel free."

The sharply-dressed feline turns fully in order to face present company. The scroll case is left open, cap off, sat within the drawer it was nestled in. "I'm not here to piece the world together." A step or two is taken, boots stiffly clacking against the floor, as he nears the others once again. His arms spread apart. "I'm here to right a wrong. To do that, I need to know the specific set of events that triggered that." An arm extends to point to the papers. "I need to know the city from Before. That's why I'm here. Blueprints; zoning permits; surveys territorial, topological, or arcane; known ley lines and magical fonts; people and items of note to the function of the city -- especially ones that may no longer seem to exist; discrepencies overlooked, hidden, and, lastly..."

A paper is snatched up the show off the headline regarding 'The Council'. Lynx says nothing about it for context, but he does look straight at Ami when he presents it. He also does it with a light smile, a single sharp tooth showing.

"And her... K-9?" If Ami's eyes caught the light before, they're sparkling now. Oh. Oh this is helpful and good. Maybe Ami needs to get out more often. She glances to the other papers as Silver Sight does so, but only the last one looks any different.

Now that she's set it down, the first headline seems to be cemented. But as the two of them look at it, the image on the front page seems to saturate with color, where once it was black and white. Truce Fountain is clearly identifiable. But the area surrounding it doesn't look anything like Mabase. Interesting.

When Lynx speaks to them, waving that flash drive around, it catches Ami's attention. That trident and gold trim. "..." She looks to the newspaper Lynx is holding, then to the flash drive, then back to the newspaper.

"... You won't find much about them. There were at least three councils in my time here - two of them didn't even meet in Twisted proper, but some outside dimensions." If she'd reverse-engineered her visor sooner, she could've learned more - but she didn't. Too little, too late. "...What wrong are you here to right?"

And just like that, the girl actually stops mincing words. Hell must've frozen over.

"Which. Wrong," corrects the military figure without removing his eyes from the young woman. "There is a hole leaking those which Are Not Yet Are into this world, created by whatever Fracturing took place. They do not belong. However, they are but symptoms of the problem which needs fixing." There's that word again: Symptoms. If Ami's work leads her to any corroboration with the detective looking into the case regarding such events, that word comes up a lot. "Speaking of which-" The man isn't too close to Ami, yet he seeks to lean in just a bit closer anyway. "There's something I should say to you regarding this meeting, here, in comparison to our last meeting with the details of events surrounding both:"

"I know. And you know it, too. That's why you're here now."

Lynx ends this bit of half-whispering with a mouthed 'thank you' before straightening up. "You're very brave to face down these types of dangerous problems after what happened, being there. I'm sure you've heard what happened to the victim. So, again, thank you for your assistance here."

Pulling away from the personal directness, the man turns away and holds out the flash drive toward the librarian. "Brave Lady; Bibliosoph; I'll likely be spending several hours over the course of the next many days sifting through the material in here. An extra pair of hands, or hooves, or paws, or claws, or tentacles would likely be a great help in my reconstruction of the city before what happened happened. ''This'' was misfiled. The inside of the case has retained humidity and the actual scroll seems to have uncurled enough to stick to the inner walls. I'll try to make a note of any other damaged items, but understand they are not the biggest priority to me."

"Which." Ami nods immediately, but gets no answer to her question. However, she looks like she's going to say something regarding the hole spewing people into Mabase; then she bites her lip and looks off to one side. She doesn't actually know what happened to all the old portals. Only that it's significant in some way. When Lynx leans in and says that he knows, she tilts her head to one side. He doesn't know her thought process - so what does he know? Why she's here? Why she's following him. Well, that's not hard.

"I'm not brave. Just curious." Right. Ami's just nosy. Or at least, that's what she tells herself. "...I don't think you are, either." She looks the cat up and down for a few moments longer. "Brave, that is. You'd have to be afraid to be brave."

She looks to the scroll case, and the thumb drive, and then adjusts her glasses slightly, the subtle devices running a low level scan on the prism-shaped stick to determine its storage type and data. She thinks she recognizes it, but it's better to certain than sorry.

After handing off the small drive, one way or the other, the now fully free-handed man turns his attention to the many many things to hunt through. "You're very perceptive. I hope you're able to put that to good use," he remarks. "As self-sufficient and confident as I may be, the journey to plug that hole will take a long time on my own and that would undoubtedly result in even more harm to those that reside here." Nothing catches his eye. Instead, the fellow takes a moment to walk over to the crystal ball, reaches out to it, then presses a fingertip to it. "So, yes, I have no fear. I'm here through the will of FATE, after all. Don't think that having no fear equates to a lack of a sense of urgency or urgency at the expense of morals." Nothing happens.

"Surely you must understand how difficult it is to be far from home, in a strange land, beholden to a mission yet obligated to observe local propriety." Lynx withdraws his finger and presses it against his thumb to rub the particles of dust between them while tucking his other arm behind his back. He then casts a sidelong glance in Ami's direction. It isn't a predatory look as before. It's very casual; conversational and perhaps strangely amicable, even.

"It's stressful, complicated, and frustrating."

"It would be." Lynx gets ready agreement from Ami - though she finds the local laws of Mabase much, much less stringent than the laws she had to deal with back home - and she's not really here on a mission. Unless you count her purpose in visiting the library. That's sort of a mission!

"I'm sure you'll find no shortage of people willing to help; very few people are pleased to be here." She glances to Silver Sight, since the pony said he was from a war torn land. "...Present company excepted."

Ami has also grown fond of being here - she has been here a long time, and while she misses her friends, she has learned a lot here. Perhaps one day she will make it home - and with the things she has learned, she'll be able to keep her homeworld safe. But this place started feeling like home long ago.

After taking the drive, Ami looks it over once, in what appears to be the same kind of casual, cursory glance that anyone would give an object, but is actually a three-dimensional scan and full analysis of the object. When she puts it in her pocket, her supercomputer is already working on analyzing the data and origin of the drive. Of course, she might be too hopeful; Michiru isn't the only person using the drive's particular symbology - but not too many others pop to mind when combining the trident with a thumb drive.

If the cat notices this pocketing of the 'misfiled' item, it either goes overlooked or there was some sense of purpose to the drive's revelation in the first place. Overlooked is probably the more comforting option. "That's good to hear. You say that you have been around since before the event took place? Might it be possible to use your knowledge, and those you know whom can share their own, in order to create a more accurate map of the city before the wounding? Foremost, I would like to find out if it was omnipresent or if it was localized around a specific focal point." Speaking of such, the feline has a prying look about for map drawers that can store larger maps without folding or rolling. Maybe some generalized maps can help the process.

"I'm assuming the latter. While it means the wound is greater, it's at least a spot where the mending can take place. Something more open, as of the former, lends the situation to very different complexities."

"While it did have a focal point on the Twisted Street..." Something in the way Ami says that implies it was more... or perhaps less... than the street named Twisted St. now, but she doesn't elaborate. "It just as easily could have gone on forever for how difficult it was to map out in the outer regions." The blue-haired girl gives a light shrug.

"I actually made a map - of the city and going as far out as I could - but it was destroyed in an explosion that claimed my apartment; it gave me a serious concussion to boot." She woke up in a hospital with no memory of how she escaped the blast - and had apparently been in a coma for months. Honestly, she should probably have died. But no use looking a gift horse in the mouth.

It is awfully inconvenient that she doesn't remember much from that time. Or convenient - depending on one's perspective.

"That is extremely unfortunate. It could have helped shave weeks off this effort and prevented multiple further attacks in the long run."

Lynx sighs but is otherwise undaunted in his scavenging for usable information. It's definitely going to take many hours. It's best to start at one spot and go from there. He'll need materials for taking notes, too, unless he wants to just pile up resource materials under his own categorization at the risk of upsetting the employees. "No need to worry, though. I'm here and I fully intend to make things better. It's just a matter of how long it takes. Still, if you remember anything at all, let me know. Perhaps my efforts here at reconstruction, at least of the city's core, will help restore some of your memory."

A handful of tomes are pulled free and tucked into the crook of his left arm. "I'll be here, no doubt, trying to make sense of the insensible." That could have been intended as a joke or, at the very least, a witticism.
|}}

2020-02-02 - A Sanuye's Tail: Chiffon Goes West

2020-06-01T03:58:52Z

TheSmileDog:

{{Logsummary|
Title = a.k.a. A <nowiki>[</nowiki>White Wind<nowiki>]</nowiki> Blows
|Summary = Chiffon pays for Liyara's services in the form of food - but they both find more than they bargained for when her spellwork is complete.
|Who = [[Chiffon]], [[Liyara]], [[Calwa]]
|Date = February 2, 2020.
|Where = Twisted Street, Road to Nowhere, The Middle of Nowhere.
|Log=

It's going to be a busy day, today. Liyara has brought a series of books from the public library, this time about the history of wired and wireless communication in the twentieth century.

While the dragonborn is not particularly interested in human history from places that aren't her homeworld, she does have more than a passing interest in how human technology has developed. The idea of humans accomplishing almost anything on their own, and without magic no less, is a novelty to her, still. She'll have plenty of reading material for the parts where she only needs one hand. Which is roughly ten of the sixteen hours that lie ahead of her.

The red-haired woman doesn't actually wait to see if Chiffon will show up, so if he isn't already present when she arrives at 6 AM, she'll begin without him. It's not as though she's in a particular hurry, but she recognizes that he might be. And while few would actually call Liyara /considerate/, she isn't *completely* self absorbed. The other fire lion may well be in mortal danger. Time is of the essence.

So, it begins small; Liyara simply traces a single burning sigil into the surface layer of the ground beneath her, just enough to leave a mark but not enough to otherwise damage it. But while it starts small, it will not end small. What starts with a single burning finger eventually becomes a full-hand exercise, with Liyara's fingers each contributing depth, detail, embellishment, and interwoven connections to a complex array of patterns that don't quite sync up.

As if there's anything that would make Chiffon be late, short of a catastrophe. Liondostrophe. He takes this whole matter with an unusual amount of seriousness, and he's only accountable for bringing two things.

One, his lunky self to... whatever end. And a lunch order. There's the hiss and clunk of a convoy truck rocking as it pulls down the street, weighted down by... something. The smell is probably obvious, too, reminiscent of a butcher shop after a long day.

The vehicle pulls to the side of the road, the door opens, and Chiffon hops out, minding a foreleg. There's a little bit of a limp and--did he drive himself here? No, probably not, from the small bag of coin he wings across the cab to the driver. And with a proud strut, pops the tailgate. Under the canvas is what remains of several auroch, recently deceased and MOST of which properly broken down. There's one in the back that has a distressingly sized hole in the flank, cauterized, that looks more reminiscent of a ship's cannon than any conventional hunting gear.

"If we need to cook, I guess it'll give me something to do while you're... um...." His eyes follow the patterns, and then up to Liyara with a tired smile. "Doing what you do best?"

Liyara doesn't look up from her work immediately when a giant convoy truck pulls up. In fact, even when the animals are dumped and Chiffon comes limping out, she continues focusing on her work. If Chiffon doesn't say anything, it will take her several minutes before she says anything, but regardless of when she speaks up, she says the same thing. "Hmm? Didn't see you there." Of course. She never sees anyone there. Ever.

As she carries out her (entirely too large) task, Liyara will occasionally have herself a bit of a giggle at something she's reading. She'll also put the books away entirely for many parts. And, well, time will pass.

Eventually, Liyara will look up and see the food. When she does, her eyes will light up, and she'll ALMOST break with what she's doing. Almost. "Oh my, you did not disappoint." With food provided, Liyara will take a minute every half hour to literally spit-roast and consume a frankly impossible-looking amount of food. The woman is neither tall nor wide, in fact she's quite slender, but every half hour or so she's putting away enough food for a man three times her size. And quickly, too.

Yet somehow, she's not increasing in size, or even getting so much as a distended belly. People with comically large appetites are not foreign to Twisted, but unlike them Liyara doesn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing down. At all. Other women must hate her.

She seems to be pacing herself based on the amount of food Chiffon brought - but ... amazingly... it looks like she could actually eat more.

Chiffon responds to the statement by puffing up a little. Why, no, he's not below notice, but merely /sneaky/. Or stealthy. For his part, once he's done insisting that he /has/ to help some other way, and occasionally stealing--stealing, really, a bit of his own haul--he gives a cheerful barrely laugh.

"There's no half-assing things where friends are concerned." And course--of COURSE he's mutedly curious about the aracana all abound, but there is perhaps an even more pressing question after seeing all that voracious activity. ".... do you do contests? Would you get banned from contests?" Thoughtful critter..

The technical support expert from before did not disappoint or forget. Some time after that initial food delivery, a food truck rounds the corner and slowly pulls up to pause on the road near where the goings-on are taking place. The driver within clearly hand-cranks the window down and leans partially out the window to squint in suspicion. "Uhhh, somebody order food? This talking beaver paid me off for the day and said I was only supposed to cater to some..." The man within shuffles through some cluttered paperwork to find a note. "...'hot-blooded lizard chick? And...down here it says 'Red Wizard need food badly', whatever that means. This the right place? Hold on, I'm gonna pull over there and open up the side."

It's definitely a roach coach, as some call it. The truck pulls over, idles for a moment, then cuts the engine. After a moment more, the shutter on the side of the truck opens up and a counter inside slides out. There's a kitchen inside the truck and a menu on display. Only then does the name of the man's business become apparent. It's simply called We Got Beef Bowls. Now You Do, Too! Prepping the inner workings of the food truck, the man goes about a well-practiced routine.

"I'm not sure an eating contest would be ethical." Liyara's comment reflects the fact that her metabolism is sized for a gargantuan creature, and not a tiny slender dragonborn. The woman doesn't immediately notice the second truck, either, but when she hears 'hot blooded lizard chick', she glances up for a moment. "...Oh, that is probably me." Who else did she think the truck was for?! "...Red wizard need... Huh. Alright. You're in the right place." She looks back down to her work, now smiling slightly more, but using both hands. It's not a 'reading a book' time just now.

After about twenty minutes, at her next food interval, she looks to the truck, then her left eye twitches at the name. "...Beef Bowls. Of course." She glances to Chiffon, and furrows her brows. "...Tell him to just... keep making food and don't stop. If he's here and mine for the day, I'm going to eat him out of everything he has." And so she is. Once the food starts going, she'll adjust her intake to be exactly as much as would last the rest of the time.

As the day goes on, the circle begins to take shape. Sixteen hours is a long enough time that it remains abstract, and the progress hard to follow, but as the tenth hour comes and goes, the circle is starting to draw together in a fifty-foot crescent that will obviously close by day's end. It's quite a spectacle.

And it's not without incident. People are walking through the area, sometimes disrupting things just a bit, or just distracting Liyara with mundane questions like "Do you have a permit for that?" Or "Are you planning to kill us all?" Or even "What're you doing Saturday night?"

Liyara takes it all in stride; she seems to be more than accustomed to tiny setbacks in day-long circle casting by now. But then, she's done this a lot lately.

Chiff's jaw curls up a in a bit of a smile, a careful grin that's cautious of showing any teeth. Glowy tail flicks and he lifts a hand. "I'll take one of those. Something tells me I'm going to need a full belly when all else is said and done..." Though he doesn't empty it in quite the same way. No, at least there's spectacle for it all. One can only watch what one can't do for so long, though, with increasing restlessness.

So Chiffon does what he does best, and gabs up the crowd, steering some away, spinning tales where needed and adding just the right amount of just-so without presuming authority to, hopefully, get them through this without getting into major trouble.

"'n if you happen to have a big monster problem, or a little monster problem..." The latter.. well, no one wants to bring Howie into this.

The people are easily steered away when Chiffon turns his attention to them, and Liyara actually bothers to thank the Sanuye, which he probably doesn't realize is out of character for her. Having someone help keep people off her is actually a very, very welcome addition to ritual casting. One she can't usually be bothered to secure. And it's good that he's found something to do, because he will be feeling that restlessness for quite some time still.

As it turns out, the amount of food increasing has the opposite effect one might expect; instead of slowing Liyara down, the food increases her speed, if only a little. She's up to, with the slain beasts and food truck, a football team's worth of food every half hour. At this point, she's starting to actually not leave the Auroch bones, either. Is she digesting them straight? Grinding them into dust?

As the hour grows late and dark, the circle finally begins to close, and Liyara begins making small flying passes over it, her wings fluttering here and there. There are calculations that couldn't be made until the circle was complete, variables that have to be tweaked, and layered runes that connect other runes. But... Eventually Liyara slows down in her movements, and then stops, alighting outside the circle. She takes a moment to look things over. The day did not exactly fly by - it's almost 10 PM.

"Alright. Done." She announces simply, then looks around to make sure Chiffon hasn't wandered off out of sheer boredom. Not that he seems the type, but she basically wasn't paying attention to much while she was working.

The Sanuye probably doesn't even grasp the magnitude of gratitude, it's all just a matter of duty and common decency. That, and he seems to rather enjoy it. For someone who makes a career out of wandering wild, he's practically cosmopolitan. "I'm realllly going to have to figure out where the ol' rumor mill here is these days... people love a good yarn."

Hmm. Yarn. Ideas for later. For now, he's inspecting, careful not to step on any of it, or get too close, or... well, as he does. "That was... wow. Either a ritual or some very convincing street art. So...." He leans back and looks up. "What do we do now?"

Liyara makes a face at Chiffon's question, and then heave-sighs. "...My favorite part." Her left hand suddenly darts to her side, and in a smooth, quick motion, draws and slashes her dagger across her right palm, drawing a frankly unhealthy-looking amount of fire blood. Liyara doesn't wince, but she furrows her brow in concentration as she pours that blood into a very specific spot in the circle. The circle reacts by slowly starting to glow.

It's a slow process, and as each drop of her firey orange blood pours in, the runes and matrices begin to light up, the smaller circles within begin to spin, and the entire fifty-foot circle lurches bit by bit into brilliant orange life. Particle effects. Irridescence. This isn't like her smaller circles. Runes and intricate patterns meld up into the sky as they receive power, and the ground positively begins to rumble. Of course the Usual is fine, but people start avoiding the area she and Chiffon are in VERY quickly.

Within the sights and sounds, Liyara speaks her twenty five words. "...Chiffon's looking for you. If you accept, he and I will find you. If not, stay safe, help's on the way. Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers." She really did add that at the end. What a crock. After what can't be less than a *PINT* of her blood, the rumbling ceases, and the orange light reaches a peak... And then fades away. There's a low sound, and a wooshing of air, and then the entire circle she spent all day on disappears almost immediately.

"Well, easy come, easy go." Liyara quips, hand on her hip. She doesn't seem to have her human phrases down right. That did not come easily. As if on cue, she goes and polishes off her last small mountain of meat for the day.

"... that's your *favorite* part?" Chiffon's ears tilt to the side. Well, dragonkind are just... all sorts of extra special, aren't they? "Definitely can't copy this... I get beat up enough as it is." He looks at his paw pads, and flexes his claws a few times while watching the fire glow.

A step back, then another, a little hop here and there. He mouths the words as they're being spoken and quiets down from his cheerful demeanor. Tail twitching in anticipation as it all just... vanishes. "It worked though, yeah? It sounded like it worked."

And the great reveal, the climax of the spell's hours and hours of prepariong, has the bated breath-worthy response of:

Nothing. Absolutely nothing comes in response. The spell doesn't allow Calwa to reply.

HOWEVER! There is the arcane inclination of acceptance, permission granted almost -immediately- so, and all that comes with it. Calwa is, in fact, somewhere within Twisted. He is not, however, within the city of Mabase. He's quite a distance out, actually. While not a trip that would necessarily take hours to traverse, it is rather out of the way and almost suspiciously so.

Chiffon would be aware from Calwa's stories of the Black Hand that cities were the most dangerous to be in when pursued by the group and that open areas where Sanuye landspeed can be used in full optimization was the best option to get away. However, Twisted is a place that can get downright bizarre too far outside the city. He may have been too confused to have a distance advantage if he is still being hounded by the same people. Who are those people anyway?!

"Oh, it worked." Liyara nods, furrowing her brow. "...It worked, but it might take just a second." Her tail thumps impatiently on the ground behind her. "He has to receive it, process it, and decide whether to accept or deny. Could be a trap from his pursuers. That's a tough deci--"

'''DING.'''

"--Nevermind! Found him. That was quick." She flutters up into the air, and orients herself. "He's..." She turns so that she's facing the exact, straight-line direction, and points her hand forward. "...That way. A lot. Oh. He's out there far, that's no good. Strange things happen out there." ... Didn't this lady just get hit by a falling truck yesterday? "Actually strange things. Not normal strange like falling cars." ... Oh. Well. Like that's going to stop them.

"Hopefully we won't be giving him away in the meantime. Unless." Chiffon stretches on his hinders, exercising muscles that have grown a little aching in idleness and pacing. "Unless it means that we can catch whoever's chasing him off guard. I'm not about to use my boyfriend as bait, but if we can throw in a fastball special..." Who's getting figures of speech just-off, now?

He looks antsy, though, ready to get an answer and ready to go on enough notice. "There's... no reason you have to get on their bad side, though. We've already caused enough trouble for you as it is. I am..."

Ding. He looks at Liyara, looks at the directions, and his ears perk up simultaneously. He starts a step and glances back. "... I've got all I need. Strange? Strange just comes with the business." Now, it's not like he's disinviting Liyara by any means, nor trying to leave her behind. It's a convenient out for someone who does't want to put it all on the line for random firedoggos.

"Fastball... special?" The reference, off as it is, still falls flat on Liyara. Sounds baseball-y. She doesn't know a lot about baseball. She definitely hasn't read any X-men comics. Mostly DC so far. Yes, she HAS read some DC comics. They were OLD though. Long story. She shakes the reference off.

"...Get on THEIR bad side?" Liyara's tail flicks left, then right. "...No, friend." The tail flicks left and right harder. "...They're on MY bad side." Tail flick. Tail flick. "I'm emotionally invested in this journey, now. They're making me have... FEELINGS." Tail Thump. Crack. Crack. Crack. Splinter.

Liyara looks down at the concrete below her, seeing a spiderweb of cracks. "...Alright. We should go." Once more, this is totally not her fault. She is innocent. But best not to be around when Jack asks her why the road needs to be repaired. "Race you?" Liyara doesn't actually wait for the answer - she literally just bursts off straight in the direction she was pointing. There's a car in the w-- scratch that. The way looks clear.

"I'll get back to you on that one." Chiffon offers with a slight tilt of his head, and a smile. "... then, by all means. Once we're clear of the city we don't have to worry too much about catlateral damage..."

We should go. We should go? Yes! The challenge back to Chiffon is met with a half-chuckle and a nod that Liyara... likely misses. But if the way is clear, and if she's clearing the way, even with the earlier damage to his forepaw he still bolts full tilt. A red and fuzzy streak that makes up the distance in a hurry. He's got his game face on here, and has no intention of stopping until they get there, one way or another.

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

''The Road to Nowhere''

''The farther one journeys down this road, the more broken and miserable it seems. Eventually, there's no real road to speak of, the only trees in sight are bone-dry husks, and every building looks neglected or derelict, except perhaps one; a gaudy tin diner, slumped on the edge of a dusty lot dotted with rusting vehicles.''

''At road's end, the remains of its demise seem to have been cobbled loosely together into a highly suspect bridge, which arcs up into the almost literal nothing between one floating hunk of rock and the next. Leading from Twisted City to... Nowhere? Yeah, that feels right. This is fine.''

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

The road off Twisted, and it is mostly a road up to a point, starts to break down and lose cohesion as the pair travels in the direction Liyara is heading. It's not really clear if a simple lack of maintenance is the cause, or something more dire, but ahead looks almost... devoid of anything. At least, today. Tomorrow it might be on fire ahead. Who knows? It's not really a smooth, temporally stable place they're running to, it turns out, but a bit of chaos intruding onto the more stable areas of Twisted.

Beware. Here be dragons.

Well. Now, at least.

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

''The Middle of Nowhere''

''The farthest away from civilization you can get is the arid, empty area once known as the Wastelands. Dry and overcast, Nowhere is a maelstrom of chaos and sand. Sane people won't venture out this far from the axis of the world, due to the instability equating to suicide. A desert and a dead land, they mirror the Wastelands of Hell, broken trees and expired brush lightly specking the view.''

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------
''

Go figure that the lion looking thing actually seems a bit more comfortable outside of civilization. Well, outside of urbanization. And this whole situation? Anything but comfortable. He sounds like he's muttering little mantras when they manage to slow down. Dragons, and Sanuye... the population is up a bit.

Eyes ahead, ears perked, Chiffon's putting all his senses to use.

If it's on fire tomorrow, that's fine, as long as they've pulled the Calwa out.

This part of Twisted lies some distance away from the more ordered city of Mabase. This small area appears to be reflections of a different city, a few scattered ruins that don't fit in with anything else, providing a sense of desolation and post-apocalyptic sobriety. The ground is a cobbled patchwork of concrete, asphalt, and soil. Shells of long-abandoned buildings dot the area providing a sense of dire gray atmosphere while displaying what might pass as streets. Doors and windows have long ceased to be or function. Strangely, this place must have been like this for a very long time before it ever wound up where it is now.

Where once the foundation of a larger building sat, an open space is presented in the now soil-covered floor with only the hints of load-bearing walls present around the perimeter no more than five feet tall around it. Metal beams and rebar that once reinforced concrete forms a sparse and chaotic pattern that extends above the open space while any scattered chunks of vertical walling that remain provide places to be out of sight. That isn't the most striking thing about the location, however.

"That's not yours!" cries a strained voice.

In the most open area, in the center of the remains of the building's defined foundation, is a gathering of six people. Most of the people are dressed in form-fitting all black. Faces also covered, their eyes are enhanced by goggles that glow an eerie red. Every single one of those people are armed with high caliber automatic ranged or technological melee weaponry. One man stands alone and apart from the others by appearance alone. This man might pass as the leader, if his size and physical might are any indication. He wears a similar outfit as the others yet his head bears no hood or mask. His face is heavily scarred and one eye might be damaged beyond use. His expression is a mix of disdain and smugness. When he speaks, his words are thunder while the muted peal of laughter from the others that follows is much higher.

"Shut up, beast. Know your place," booms the largest of the group before swiftly bring his leg up into the side of the animal chained next to him. This elicits a roar of pain that is followed by laughter. Sinking back in recoil from the blow, the red-furred creature seems to try to catch his breath. This quadruped, once easily recognized as a shy pacifist with a touch of refined dignity, now looks anything but.

Calwa is disheveled and filthy. His fur is caked in a mix of mud and, presumably, blood. More of the latter cakes his dried and cracked nosepad as testament to the abuse endured by his captors. He is clearly chained up, the massively heavy chain winched into place and hung over a thick metal beam, all connected to a massive metal shackle which serves as a collar that is still too tight to be anything but very painful. It would explain the difficulty in Calwa trying to breathe. The fur underneath the collar has worn away to leave a nasty bare ring that looks just as cruel as the face of the one standing near him. His tailflame is notably dim.

Calwa lunges at his captor! Though the act may be in futility, there is an underlying level of rage and defiance that fuels the act. It is not a controlled attack. It is the swiping, gnashing, raw flailings of a caged animal ready to tear away flesh and crack bone between powerful jaws. With a strained roar, he viciously throws himself into the direction of the larger man, claws extended and jaws snapping. Like a feral animal in danger, so acts he. For the moment, there is nothing else that rules his mind. Stopped only JUST short of being able to make contact, Calwa finds himself jerked quickly away and upward.

One of the other minions is nearby the presumed boss, turning a crank that further shortens the chain with each click. The anger in Calwa's eyes turns to desperation as he is forcefully raised upward by the neck. Only just able to stand on his hindlegs to support himself, his forelegs and tail flail even more. He's clearly being choked. The wear on his neck may be a clue as to how often this has happened recently.

At a strongbox not far away, a minion places a courier bag and harness into the thing; they've stripped the candletail bare! He doesn't even wear his glasses. "Enough of this," speaks the large man. "We have what we came for. This filthy animal has been too much of a pain to simply let loose." With a gesture to the one at the winch, he moves his hand upward a few times. With glee, the crank gets turned another click and the goons laugh in sadistic glee.

"Bye bye, kitty!" bids one.

"I'll enjoy the target practice!" exclaims another while switching the safety off of their gun.

While the minions of the Black Hand organization are scattered and randomly patrolling, nobody will be able to get close to Calwa while the big guy is standing nearby and chances are it won't be easy to deal with the big guy until most of the others are dealt with. Time is clearly of the essence here, but these people are dangerous. There are many blind spots where other dangers could be hiding. You only get the element of surprise once, yet the time for action is now!

 [Battle start! Cue the Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AdNY2ryZCTM] 

Liyara has pretty poor passive perception, but when she's actively looking for things, she has a distinct height advantage over Chiffon, being mostly aerial. When she spots the men, all roughly where her ritual has pointed her, she assumes exactly what further observation would tell her - these are the bad ones. She shouts quickly to Chiffon. "I see six, one's alone and big. And... a chain. The animals chained him." She growls a bit, which has a much lower rumble than her voice might hint at. It reverberates, even. "...I'll handle the chain, you start the party." And then she's off.

The dragoness spirals up into the air, circling quickly and taking a deep breath as she goes twenty, thirty, then forty feet straight up, and off to one side. And then she just seems to explode in bright light and sound, a giant signal flare pointedly NOT in the direction Chiffon is approaching from. Sometimes you get TWO elements of surprise. The first one? Someone is flying in the air, burning like the sun, and...

She.

Looks.

Pissed.

Oh, she's gonna get that chain. But first, distraction!

The last Chiffon saw this situation, he ran face-first into a brick wall. For a moment that draws, like a string pulled near breaking, it feels like he might snap into a bolt again. There's a concensus look to Liyara, and a grin. This one has characteristically more teeth. "Fly safe."

The pain is barely contained, shielded in preparation and barely contained within trembling muscles. He flexes his sore paw once and then stalks into the shadows. Six with guns and a strung out target? Those guns obviously need to be focused somewhere else.

The finds a dark spot, and then charges. Rapid sprinting feet, almost more flying than sprinting by the time he takes a coiled leap airborne and throws himself square between the shoulders of one of the armored minions. There may be teeth. There may be claws. Wet crunching like someone went a little overboard with the celery. Execution isn't the intention, but he doesn't want this one getting up anytime soon.

And if the struggle wasn't enough, Chiffon howls to the heavens in one log, drawn, three-tone bellow.

A beat later he's flashing onto the field, jaws dripping with blood, eyes white with glow and claws tearing dirt.

Jesus Christ It's A Lion Get In The Car

In the middle of nowhere where reality itself seems to warp or break down it's not too difficult to hear shouting that doesn't belong to your own squad in your makeshift temporary base. Many goggled eyes turn to gaze at the flare and their enhanced vision causes them to yell and recoil. The apparent boss uses more than just his sense of sight, though. He has the intuition of a war-forged beastmaster. Any distraction the flare presents regarding most of the thugs is lost on him. His gaze is drawn straight to Chiffon even before one of the Black Hand thugs goes down from as realistic a critical strike backstab as one could ever attain.

The arrival of meddlers is one thing, but to see that one of them is the same kind as the captive Calwa brings a sadistic smile to the big guy's face. First pushing his shoulders up and tipping his head to the side with a crackling pop, the apparent boss puts two fingers to his mouth and blows. The result is a shrill whistle that alarms and alerts, but serves a very different purpose.

Two hounds, similar in size to Chiffon (only slightly smaller, but definitely more trim in build), come to heed their master bounding from their own shadowed resting place. These large guard dogs have very short sleek hair, enough to show off their strong musculature, but notably have a single large tentacle that extends from the middle of the shoulder blades backward. In exchange, they seem to have very short docked tails.

Immediately, one of the hounds responds by a short howl. The glitter of magicka shows an energy-based triangular pyramid forming around the large man as the beast itself seems capable of magical ability! This shield is capable of greatly reducing all physical damage done to the one protected. The other of the pair follows suit and releases a growl and another type of protection forms around the man. This effect appears to be more of a sphere in shape and it is a spell designed to greatly reduce magical damage. Big Guy doesn't play around.

The minions mobilize with deadly intent, but are generally unable to react to the surprise attack by ground due to the aerial display. Bursts of fire kick up dirt and soil and chip away at the walls as one soldier alone lays down blind suppression with his rifle in Chiffon's direction.

Not one to let the distraction pass without some personal action, Calwa -- still forced to stand on his hindlegs with great difficulty breathing -- flails and wobbles and begins, with great effort, to get a bit closer to the release device. If he can reach that unimpeded, he should be able to get free on his own.

[!] Ebony Hound casts '''''Barrier''''' on ????

[!] Ivory Hound casts '''''Shell''''' on ????

[!] Calwa draws closer to the '''Release Device'''

Looking down on the poor, blinded masses from above, Liyara starts making a noise that is probably not the most confidence-inspiring sound the men have ever heard. She starts laughing. You probably don't want to hear the burning, exploding, winged witch laughing when you start shooting at things.

"Barriers! Aww, look who thinks he's people~!" She calls out from the sky, and then holds both hands above her. "I changed my mind! I have a much better idea!" Does she? Does she really?

The sky fills with a low rumble, that one could easily mistake for thunder, until they realize the booms are cracking in the form of words. Words in the form of skyquakes. Neat.

"''Bathed in radiant light - I am the gate that opens into the Nine Hells.''" The woman's hands light up with brilliant white fire, and she grins. "''And I overflow with...''" Her eyes flash a brighter green than exists in the visible spectrum. Somewhere, a mantis shrimp cries. "'''''INDIGNATION!'''''"

She brings her hands down and throws them towards each of the hounds, and the burning sun-fire around her brightens, growing hot enough to slag steel in an instant, before she sends it down towards the puppies, not worried about silly things like buildings or people in the way.

...That's hot.

"Oh come on, now, that's hardly a fair fight..." Chiffon dances on his paws in a quick jolt back behind some rubble. Long enough to either draw out a pause or the end of a magazine before considering his next move.

Think quick. Don't think too much. Calwa's already dealt with this much, now is your turn to take some of the heat. And even if this guy has his number, he's not hesitating.

Back into the line of fire. The Sanuye clears back over a line of rubble even as bullets splinter off pieces of stone and hisses of dirt. There's a primal twist of of magic in his guts, a flash of sky-blue in his eyes and a bristling of fur. There aren't any incantations, just the evocation of some unseen muscle twisting, arcane circuits and his gullet swelling before he... uhh.....

A rather unpleasant sound, splattery, sputtery, and guttural with a thick miasma of rotten green gas from his mouth towards the shielded individual. [Bad Breath], magic meets chemical warfare meets nature's worst idea meets.... eww. Mundane filters aren't enough, and though the spread dissipates beyond a single plume it gets. In. Everything. Becoming tar-like as it reacts with the open air and conjuration.

Chiffon sputters. No, it's not nearly as cool as the dragon witch above; someone get him a breath mint.

There is a flash from one of the taller ruins outcroppings nearby as another one of the Black Hand thugs leaps to perch atop it and begins using something in their hands to focus. A discharge of power, however, sees nothing come of it. Well, that is, until flaming chunks of magically summoned ice balls come tearing through the air with a violent screech from compressed air as a salvo of large explosive magical projectiles. They are not exactly aimed well, but when your attack detonates on impact you don't always need to. This presents not only an added edge of chaotic offensive to the battlefield where Chiffon zips about, but is not entirely unintended to present some aerial hazards for the flying she-demon above.

Ebony Hound and Ivory Hound leave their master's side to join the fray even as death begins to rain from above. Agile and quick, they seek to close the distance fast to engage the other quadruped. Side by side, they dip and dart as they growl and weave back and forth through the ruins to give chase. It could become much more difficult to avoid crossfire with two hounds harrying your every step. One gunner winds up in the way, but the hounds neatly go around. What hits the thug doesn't come from the side, but from above.

The white dog, throughout this mad chase, is struck from above and bares a yelp before going down. It's not pretty, but it's quick. The black one barrels forward, leaping over slag and fire and the fading remains of its partner, to meet the heels of the Sanuye. Ebony Hound's tentacle glows red and, with its added reach, aims to slap Chiffon with what some might call a vampiric effect. It's able to draw strength from a foe to grant itself greater constitution!

The spewed attack-and-run aimed at the Big Guy isn't trying to strike a moving target and the magical protections on him do little to prevent against such a nasty miasma. He's faced down fiends that have used such attacks before, but experience alone isn't enough to prevent the wave of dizziness and nausea that follows. He grunts loudly at this, hand moving to his face for a moment with a shake of his head, but this act brings his attention to the chained prisoner nearby inching away on two legs. Scowling, his thick leg is brought swiftly upward again to strike the nearby Sanuye. Despite his dizziness, he connects.

Calwa's attempt is interrupted and this leaves him off his feet, hanging only by his neck, as he flails around to try to find support on the ground once more. His progress is not only reset, but he's completely stunned and unable to do anything at the moment other than struggle. There's no way he can reach the trigger for the winch so long as the Big Guy near him remains unengaged directly.

There is no additional gunfire just yet as the gunners move to take up full positions behind cover to protect themselves from direct aerial line of sight while keeping out of the open where the free-roaming beast has an advantage.

[!] Black Hand Mage casts '''''Cometeor'''''

[!] Ebony Hound attacks Chiffon with '''''Tentacle Drain'''''

[!] Calwa is Dazed and cannot act

[!] ???? is afflicted with Poison and Confuse

Liyara's attention is immediately drawn to the Black Hand Thug who leaps atop a ruin, and she waits for him to fire a weapon at her, but even though there's a flash, no bullets arrive. She tilts her head to one side, and then looks back down to see how the hounds fared, when an icy comets slams through the air directly into her. Or rather, that's how it should be - one of the summoned frozen meteors hits her straight on, and even detonates in the air where she was, but there's a golden flash at that same instant.

...And the woman's suddenly behind the thug that appeared to summon the things in the first place. Her skin has a light patch of frost on it, but it looks like she actually escaped everything but that initial contact with her. Somehow. Is that a thing dragons do? Just teleport out of harm's way in mid-hit?

"Interesting toy. Mine's better." The woman drives her dagger towards the thug's seventh vertebrate swiftly, but she's not looking at him. The big guy kicked Calwa? That won't do. And one of the dogs avoided her blast. Decisions, decisions. Liyara drops her dagger, potentially INSIDE the thug's spine if he didn't dodge, and sinks into her own shadow.

...And pops out from the Ebony Hound's shadow, reaching up to give the puppy a nice big hug with both hands. It's ok, she's just a slender young thing, there's probably not much danger. Right?

There's a lot of danger. That is a danger hug. Run, puppy, run.

Too bad Chiff saved all the big guns for the cows, apparently.

The heavier Sanuye is fleet enough to avoid the worst of it, but chaos still takes its toll. A bullet shearing through fur and hide here, a tentacle slap there. Even an extra little bit of singe to top it all off from magic colatteral. The smack of the tentacle off-centers him, leaving him dazed. More than dazed. He shakes his head, bracing himself for a still moment while his pupils shift and his fur twists. There's a *snap*, a contort that looks like an ephemeral tentacle burrowing into his shoulder blades but it doesn't seem to hurt.

His gaze dances over towards Liyara joining the fray, and a look that's--horrified? Grateful? Furious? Just raw adrenaline pushing from one flurry to the next, but he's not going to waste the opportunity now that the beast is restrained. He needs to give Calwa a chance to free himself, keep eyes off a little longer. "We don't need to kill them all. Just get him and get out." Didn't they steal something? Probably he's not thinking straight. He pins towards ???? and hunches down. Red fur, now starting to resemble a bit more his smaller companions in its mussed state, shines and bristles up as shackles run from head to tail. They start to resemble... needles. A whole lot of them. [1000], if you're counting, and he's pincushioning the 'beastmaster.' "Eyes on me, you son of a man."

There is a thunderous rumble of three motorized presences closing in fast on the location. Vroom, vroo-vroom! Two chunky and armored motorcyles come tearing across the land, dipping and weaving around obstacles while a third takes to the air over a makeshift ramp of broken concrete before thudding against the ground. Slowly turning in place, the last motorcycle revs up and begins spraying dust and gravel into the air behind it throughout the circle it makes to create a temporary smokescreen of dirt and exhaust to hinder sight of area from those within and without. The other two machines begin to zip dangerously around with full intent to run anybody over they can. Such movements only prolong the duration of the visual cover.

This obscuring cover, however, is only an advantage for the enemy team, though. Their enhanced sight allows them to detect heat and movement even through such a screen. Anybody directly in the line of sight from the now dug in gunners risk having bullets shot at them.

The Big Guy turns and stumbles a bit before regaining his composure the best he can. Opening his mouth, he barks a command to his hounds -- or at least the one remaining -- but the command is slurred. Realizing how bad his speech is, the apparent boss man finally manages to shake himself out of the confusion and mind funk. He still looks green about the gills, though.

This strange command actually spells doom for Ebony Hound as such a thing causes it to actually stop chasing and turn its head to listen for some clarification. Limited intelligence, but fantastic training. Still, the ceased movement makes for an easy target to grapple.

Hindlegs finding purchase once more while the swirling dust and engine smoke obfuscate, Calwa once again begins to strain at the shackle and chain, forelegs and tail jerking about in his careful attempt to balance and walk without choking himself more than necessary. It's incredible painful, but after a point it all dulls together and peaks; it only matters if it becomes too much and the mind shuts off. He's not there yet. Not yet. Close, but not yet.

The name-unknown Big Guy flinches at first, then stomps his foot to the ground out of annoyance and anger. The pins and needles from the attack strike away despite his magical protection; this leaves him bruised and distracted and extremely pissed off at anything Sanuye-related. Gaia's Guardians need to just all die!

[!] The Battlefeild is covered in a potentially Blind-inducing smokescreen 

[!] ???? is no longer Confused

[!] Calwa draws closer to the '''Release Device'''

Liyara's hug is not the gentle, warm kind. If the puppy doesn't writhe free in time, there's going to be a single moment before a sickening pop is heard, followed by several almost as sickening crunches and other sounds that would be censored on television. In fact, over by Chiffon and the new guy, there would likely be several black bars appearing in the background covering up the display.

Danger hugs.

After a long moment where she just looks disappointed at the fragility of the puppy, Liyara looks back to Chiffon. He's not doing well. Well, he was injured when they started, that stands to reason. And that's when she notices the thugs on bikes putting up some smoke screen - well that's just silly, how will *they* see? And she gets a flash of memory. She's read up almost exclusively on human technology since she's been here - because the idea that humans could even function without magic amuses her. Heat tracking. Like the flaming arrows fired from that mechanical bird she saw. So ambitious. Let them track something, then.

The woman takes in a deep breath, and rumbling fire builds within her. Flows through her veins. Fogs out of her pores. Surrounds her. Is her. She is the fire. And it's quite a fire. How hot will their heat sensors read before the entire area is simply unreadable due to the ambient noise? The surface of the sun? She'll start there as she tries to put herself between Chiffon and the minions, hoping to keep them from interrupting, or at least interfere dramatically.

It worked in that historical documentary, Top Gun, after all.

"Come on boys, am I not hot enough for you? Who wants a free hug?"

"You can't win this." Chiffon bares his teeth in the hellfire. Gotta give this Black Hand a chance to back off, right? Yeah, that'll happen. He's feeling better about his odds witH Liyara in the mix, though. "Sorry. Let me count on you a bit longer...." Calwa is in his peripheral vision, at least until obscure, at least.. always. As the fog of war settles in, the toll taken out of his hide he's only focused on one thing--keeping the heat. If that means taking a few shots, a few spells, a few bites... so be it. Fire, fog, shadow... he just has to be able to sniff this guy out long enough. Remember where the reeling bastard is and set up for another pounce.

The barrier might take the worst out of the impact, but it's still five hundred pounds of flying fur and fury.

This isn't pounce and pin, though. This is pounce, roll, release. Hit and run. Stay on top. And see just who wants to throw bullets and black magic at a tousling pair.

It's a gamble, if this bloke is used to tangling with beasts up close. But it'll serve.

Chiffon's move to confront the Big Guy within the cloud of dust and exhaust is a bold one, especially with the loud motorcyles zooming around that perpetuate the loss of visual clarity. One moves ahead of his direction, perpendicular and beyond, while after a few steps more another zips by so close behind his charge that it nearly touches the trailing flame of his tail. Through the motor stink and dry soil in the air, his nose leads him to a dark shape that is revealed only at close range.

Furthermore, Chiffon's charge puts him in the spotlight for scattered rifle fire whose shells strike so close to his form and feet that they help kick up more dirt than his footsteps would on their own. This gunfire trickles to a lesser degree, though, as a different target presents itself: a massive heat signature.

The sudden heat has an added effect, though. The air begins to whorl and whip about as the increase temperature causes a sudden chaotic shift in local atmospheric climate. This does not clear out the machine-driven smokescreen; at least, not all of it or immediately. It does cause great turbulence which, in itself, adds to the difficulty in seeing. There is so much dust and dirt and dry soil at present in this set of city ruins that all easily gets picked up. Conversely, the whipping winds do push away this obfuscation from the dragonborn's position.

The sudden sandstorm rages as Chiffon leaps into the air to throw his full weight against the apparent boss man providing a greater sense of dramatic introduction as his solid form appears in the air, paws first, before crashing into the brick wall of a man. He falls back onto the ground while the heaviness pushes the air from his lungs, world spinning briefly amidst ground and claws, yet before he can react Chiffon has moved on. In reaction, the Big Guy gets to his feet from the knockdown and growls off in a direction away from the struggles of his captive behind him.

Calwa continues to strain against his bindings. His eyes water as he forces them to stay open despite the blowing sand and filthy exhaust that stings the senses. He can see the winching device, although it's a dark blur just ahead of him, and his ability to support himself upright grows more difficult the further to the side he walks. The choking manacle about his neck digs into his hide while the tension and pull of the thick metal chain threatens to topple him over with the slightest misstep. Almost. Almost.

"Stupid beast!" calls out the large man in a taunt over the roar of the engines and the howl of the wind and the crackle of gunfire. "I'll leash you as my prize once we've disposed of the runt!"

Liyara's move to blind the thugs using heat-sensing gear may provide just enough definition that one with it turned off might get a lucky shot in. There's not much safe ground at present, or safe air, as many bullets are all too happy to try to find a mark.

[!] Calwa has nearly reached the '''Release Device'''

As the smoke swirls, the fire within Liyara rages. Those using heat gear may be having a hard time, but those not using the heat goggles are presented with a clearer target; Liyara's green eyes are starting to cast their own light, and since she's doing her best to keep herself between the firing squad and Chiffon, well, she's actually hard to miss. The first bullet takes her square in the stomach, where her heat is greatest, but it's actually turned to slag by the time it hits her, and it only stings.

Liyara grins at that, just in time to take another bullet straight to the shoulder. She gasps a bit in surprise as her entire torso is twisted back from the momentum, and her fiery blood spurts out behind her. Fortunately for the attackers, Liyara's fiery blood is quite far away from them, presenting no risk to them as it would to a melee attacker. Unfortunately for Chiffon, the splatter is going right in his direction. And if it gets on him, it will most certainly burn.

The dragon woman grits her teeth, raising a hand to the fresh wound, and then turns her grimace into a grin before digging into the wound just a bit with her fingertips, and then intentionally splashing that blood out towards the armed men shooting at her. Her heat signature dies down to normal as the liquid fire that runs through her veins now flies towards her attackers, but then she snaps her fingers, and her blood just *ignites*, setting ablaze anything it touches. Like objects. Or people. This will unfortunately include Chiffon, if he didn't manage to avoid the splatter.

[!] Liyara uses the monster skill: '''''Burning Spray'''''

"I'd be a waste on you." Chiffon taunts, using the limited field of vision. It cuts both ways, leaving him vulnerable at stretches where bullets hiss and sand gets in uncomfortable places. Dirty, bloody, and exhausted, but still running on adrenaline and anger. And he's not a runt. Chiff is just big.

"You're outgunned. You're outmuscled. And dare I say you're outsmarted." It's around this time that the area gets washed in a *wave* of heat. Chiffon snarls as he's hit by the Spray; he's no stranger to powerful attacks, but pain is pain. Fire is fire and his fur blazes on the end, giving heat and silhouette and an immolation that sets in deeper than physical. There's a fire kindled in along with that Sanuye blaze. That might be a problem with the infrared. But it does make a cool silhouette as he unleashed another shotgun spray of [Needles] at the big boss.

"You severely underestimate my dear companion. I'll be taking him back." Rough words, though made through labored breath and effort to stay upright with all of the fire.

The flash fire doesn't just create splotches of immolation. Just because the source of the sudden wind mostly fades, it doesn't cause the winds to rescind. If anything, the bloodborne napalm only adds to the localized storm to create a whirling inferno. Fiery blazes spiral in place as the winds blow through and multiple fire tornadoes grow in height and intensity to add a hellish glow to the dusty turbulence now far out of the control of simple motorbikes. What this must look like at a distance should be quite a sight. Within, though, the red glare of illumination brightens the swirling dirty air without actually providing much additional distance of vision.

If any people caught in the rain or the ignition scream, the sounds are incredibly muted compared to the noises created by the hellscape. In reality, most of the remaining thugs are pulling back into a tactful retreat and the motorcycle drivers are now finding the local landscape conditions too hazardous to safely navigate. As such, the gunfire mostly dies off and one by one, the motorcycles take one last pass or two before leaving.

Chiffon's words are met with dark laughter even as the man has to pull off his upper clothing to toss aside since it has caught on fire and not just a little bit. The skin of his back is already blistered from the limited exposure, but the bared revelation of his form shows that it's not just his face that is heavily scarred. This man looks as if he's battled countless beasts with his bare hands, for what one might actually get to see of it.

"Your kind are nothing but animals waiting to be put to heel! If you think you can best me, /BEAST/, then try! You'd make better use of your freedom by tucking your tail and fleeing while you can, but ask the RUNT how much good that did."

A blast of 1000 Needles in the man's direction yet again, much less done in the raging madness and low visibility, comes at the cost of being predictable. Instead, the Needles mostly miss the human monster with the threat of striking the struggling one behind him. In turn, there comes another loud crack, but it isn't a gun. Rather, an extremely long and thick whip is uncurled with the sheer intent of striking Chiffon to tangle about his neck even as the sound of a motorcycle speeding beside the Sanuye and Big Guy can be heard.

Fire and needles, fire and needles! Calwa's slow dance of desperation allows him no room or time to dodge anything. Somehow, miraculously, the dangers so very close to his position only ever just miss him. He does have to shuffle in a way to avoid a patch of burning, a sudden danger that causes his to widen his eyes in surprise and nearly topple over backward in a way to would upset his attempt a second time, yet a skillful recovery of balance is just enough to keep him progressing. He has no hands and his forced upright position affords him no real means to disengage the winch. Forelegs and tail working together just to keep him steady, he has only one option.

Calwa does the dangerous thing and pushes with his hindlegs against the ground to swing the center of his gravity forward toward the winch controls. This temporarily alleviates all the weight pulling on the chain and, for the moment, his choking ceases. His spine rolls starting at the shoulders and in fluid motion this change of bodily orientation follows all the way down until it reaches his hips. They rotate midair and an extending hindleg focuses a sharp kick right into the device knowing that less than a second later his body will awkwardly fall and put all of his weight on his collared neck.

The winch itself needs to be powered down before disengaged so as to avoid mechanical failure. Getting kicked with the force of a speeding car does little to help this terrible event from not happening. There is a grinding of mechanical parts -immediately- followed by smoke and a loud bang of explosion that sends the coiled chain within in many directions at once. Some links shatter, most do not, and hardly any of this catastrophe can be visually witnessed. The shrapnel causes crazy collateral damage to the ruins of the buildings as well as anybody caught in the snapping flail of the thick metal braid.

The motorcycle rider near Chiffon and the presumed bossman is clotheslined in a brutal way yet the bike keeps going. The chain coils around the armor of the back wheel while the other end flies around in an arch. The bike sways its path some at this but remarkably stays steady.

The Big Guy attacking with his whip finds a thick length of chain suddenly wind about his off-hand and, without further warning, is jerked off his feet to the ground. Chiffon may or may not become a part of that deadly ground-dragged chained-chain if he isn't careful or cannot loose the tangle of that whip if it hits its mark.

There is an uncomfortable tug at Calwa's neck as the chain breaks off and leaves the metal collar as the only thing left attached to him. This happens before he even touches the ground. Even so, finally able to be on all fours again, the smaller Sanuye has to quickly roll aside in the fall to keep from landing in that groundbound fire that was near his feet. Is he free?

Calwa's eyes narrow.

He's free.

[!] Calwa has joined the party

The inferno may be too loud to hear much, and the moments with any real visibility might be few and far between, but in those moments, when the wind and fire and chain and explosions and death ebb? There is laughter. And not just a little laughter.

"Yes! Hahaha, yes!" Liyara is either in some way directing the fire tornadoes as they whip up, or just a really, really big fan of them, since she's waving her hands back and forth like a conductor to her orchestra. "Burn! BURN!" They don't seem to be chasing down the fleeing people, but they sure are scattering them. Maybe that was her plan. Certainly, that is what she will claim when she composes herself. But right now? Right now she is just having the time of her life. She flaps her tiny little wings, carrying her ever so slightly aloft as her vividly glowing green eyes pierce outward into the smoke and fire and ash and wind and dust. She's not blinking. She wants to see every single microsecond. Maybe... maybe someone might need to remind her she came here to help.

Chiffon smirks, and licks his bloodied lips. Exploit the anger, exploit the pride, whatever it takes to keep him engaged. Because he's not alone in this fight, and it's one that's steadily dwindling down on one side. "I won't run, because I'm not alone." He might have [ze magicks], but he's also a brute by necessity and taking a punch, a bullet, a bite, a flame, that's just the price of admission.

So of course his manner of dealing with the whip is just to Not. He takes the lash and the coil and grunts as it pulls taut, levelling a glare of challenge at the man. For a moment there's a wonder who might come out on top of that perverse tug of war, the beast or the master. Then there's the matter of the untimely interruption as a third, unexpected force daisy chains the whole scene across the ground.

The whip is probably built to take a beating, a biting, anything creatures can throw out. Chiff knows what kind of punishment one might expect, and be built for. But he also knows it's awful hard to keep a precise grip when you're being dragged at such velocity. So he just needs to get a good turn. He *slaps* the ground with a paw, the battered, burned ground starting to tremble. There's a roar of ground, rocks parting and dirt spilling as broken sections of ground rise up with the localized [Earth Shake]. The right slope, the right *slap* in the middle of the arc of the whip, and a twist as he's dragged up a newly formed slope... tilting to the side and falling free, tumbling a few times before finally springing up onto his paws and taking a stance.

"Calwa! Liyara! Can you see me?" No, he's not vogueing this time. If they're free... it's either time to finish this or get out of dodge. His ears swivel to the laughing dragon-witch and he half-grins. "... if you're not too busy!"

Calwa, while free, isn't the most combat capable in his current state. While he knows restorative spells and focus abilities due to his training and learning, he hasn't had a chance to rest and fully recover his ability to use most of them in a long while. Legs trembling with each step, the Sanuye keeps low to the ground as he slowly tries to find his way out of the dangerous area. He walks with a limp, only seemingly with every leg, making for a fairly pathetic sight. If seen.

During this, the driverless motorcycle continues peeling away while dragging the man behind it out of sight through the smoke and dust and fire. It can't be comfortable by any means. The Big Guy likely already has many scrapes and gashes and abrasions to match his scars and burns and poisoning. He says nothing throughout this damaging display, even when his whip is forced loose from his hand due to an eruption of ground, and instead pulls himself along the chain closer to the bike itself.

"Chiffon!" calls out a cracked and parched voice that has little strength to it, especially compared to the goings-on around him that have gotten entirely out of hand. Calwa can barely see. He trips over the remains of a box and takes a tumble to the ground and, for the moment, there he stays. He isn't sure he has the strength to try standing again. Maybe if rests there the fire won't spread closer to him. He can regain his strength. He just needs to close his eyes for a minute since they won't stop stinging.

When the motorcycle breaks free from the fiery cloud, the unnamed man is driving it. He looks extremely roughed up but clearly has the fortitude to take as much as he can dish out. He's leaving. Just like all the others. Apparently they have no more use for fighting right now.

[!] Black Hand Gunner is fleeing the battle

[!] Black Hand Gunner is fleeing the battle

[!] Black Hand Thug is fleeing the battle 

[!] ???? is fleeing the battle

"Yes! YES!" Liyara yells, exulting in her moment of fiery glory, when she hears Chiffon's call and very quickly rolls with it. "Yes, I can hear you!" ... He asked if you can SEE him, Liyara. Ah well. The woman turns, lowering her hands and surveying the scene behind her. A chain-bike-man-whip-lion scenario is not what she was expecting to see in between the drifts of smoke. She's not sure precisely what she WAS expecting to see, mind.

"That seems... unhealthy." Liyara remarks when the ground erupts around Chiffon. But the leocanid recovers somewhat gracefully, which pleases Liyara, and she smiles for a moment. It's a toothy smile, but it's a smile. And then she sees that the humans are fleeing. Or rather, she sees them further and further away between each break in the multiple plumes of smoke now surrounding them. She could try chasing them, but the lessers are no concern of hers, and she can't catch that motorcycle anyway. It's out of her range almost the moment it peels out of the smoke.

Well. Out of range for her to chase it down.

Liyara's green pupils dilate, and she takes in a deep breath of nice, freshly singed, smoke-filled air. So refreshing. To her eyes, the billowing smoke seems to slow, going from a chaotic mess into a lazy, easily distinguished and predictable flow. Liyara knows smoke - has spent lifetimes knee deep in the fire - and she can read its movements easily. So she focuses, clearly, waiting, for that agonizingly small window, when the empty spot in all the plumes of smoke line up, and she has a single, fleeting glance of the motorcycle, now so far away.

[!] Liyara uses 1 AP.

Time halts. That window, so vanishingly brief, is held open as everything around Liyara just stops for her; there is no more sound, no more heat. In fact, there is no more breathing. There is just Liyara, and that tiny hole in the flames. And the motorcycle. Liyara casts one open palm out towards the space between her and the vehicle. Energy approaching but not-quite reaching the heat of the sun gathers around her hand, a magnificent achievement for most fire mages, but just a basic attack for Liyara. Her hair lifts up on the thermals, whipping above her before it ignites in white-hot blaze, along with the fire around her hand. It blazes brighter than the sun, now, and hotter too. It would be a heck of an impossible shot to hit the motorcycle's gas tank now. So she takes it.

The elemental bolt courses through the intervening space in an instant, aimed directly at... the inventory box on the side of the motorcycle. What? Liyara doesn't know what a gas tank actually looks like - she's only read about them. Her hair slowly drifts back down to its normal position, and she exhales as time resumes its normal function, looking disappointed that she didn't blow the entire thing up. That was certainly her intention. Ah well.

Chiffon's ears continue to tilt to the side. 'Watch our back!' he seems to want to say, but she's already. Uh. Going above and beyond the call of duty. With them in, for the moment, retreat, the larger Sanuye's attention turns solely to Calwa.

He sniffs, listens, and peels his way through the dark with what is now a much more measured gait. A stroll, almost, or a more powerful limp than he was showing this morning. The need for valor is almost passed, the need for discretion coming on swift. He is almost blind to Liyara's world class snipe, because he's going to keep going until he finds Calwa.

A paw is pressed on the smaller lionwolf's back and it's like the universe bites into a peppermint patty. A cool breath of fresh air without, like, the breath or anything. An aura of [White Wind] passing over--a bit of a better use than dealing with headaches and hangovers. Spending down his arcane and mundane stamina rather thin, he slumps down for a moment. Maybe magic won't magically fix everything, but it should take the edge off. Maybe be enough to get home.

The man on the motorcycle is heavily injured, but a sudden interruption forces him to react quicker than he would like. Some sort of energy strikes the side of the bike near his leg and the box blows open. The contents eject into the air like a jack in the box without a tether. A first aid kit, a pack of rations, a box of ammunition, and many papers are a part of those that shoot into the air from the attack. Amongst them chiefly is a jade and gold statuette of some sort of anthropomorphic creature. It almost gleams with internal light as its seemingly fragile form gains weightlessness.

The man twists to grab at the statuette, but his knuckles glance it and pop it higher into the air and off to the side. He bolts up onto the saddle and kicks off of it. The motorcycle careens out of control with a wobble before the front tire turns sharply and the entire motor vehicle cartwheels forward. Each strike against the ground looses more parts free that probably should stay where they are. Airborn, the large man makes one more grab for the statuette...and succeeds. However, he does not hit the ground. His form, and the form of the creature so crafted from precious stone and metal, suddenly vanish into shadow. The barest hint of surprise on the man's face is the only clue that this isn't expected. The motorcycle lay crashed and smoking, a complement to the now battleless battlefield scene not too far away.

[Battle End! Cue the Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5h5SsQ_C90]

[!] Gained EXP and AP 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 
EXP                                 24p   <nowiki>|</nowiki>   AP                             2p 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 

[!] Gained Gil 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 
Gained Gil                         0G   <nowiki>|</nowiki>  Gil                           214G 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 

Calwa's eyes suddenly open, then his ears perk up, and rolling to his side and into the side of the broken box he wiggles onto his back with forelegs held spread far apart. The expression on his face is a mix of pained relief and bittersweet joy. He says something, almost managing the first syllable of Chiffon's name, before his voice cuts out and he reaches to grab and pull the big lug into a hug with a sob. Strange when tears are a mix of pain, sadness, and sudden happiness, and colored with an outburst of longing-fulfilled hope and love. His heartbeat races.

Beside him, his personal effects are present in what remains of the container. His bags are there. So are his enchanted glasses, although one lens has a nasty crack in it. Aside from some Gil and a few mundane bottled drinks, however, the bags are empty. Clearly. They are all turned out and nothing could remotely be hidden within. That's not good.

It is also a problem that will need addressing later. Chances are that neither Sanuye are in a condition to go blindly chasing down fleeing minions for clues. Hugs and reunion come first for now.

The events that happen to the motorcycle rider cause Liyara to look surprised, but then, she was expecting a LARGE explosion, not a loot explosion. "So..." The redhead puts a hand on her hip, before looking over to Chiffon and Calwa. "...I think that went well." You murdered people, did unspeakable things to puppies, and unleashed a fire maelstrom, while your companions choked, burned, and bled. "Very well, if I'm being honest." So she just doesn't have a lot of empathy, apparently.

Now that the dragoness has a moment to look over the firelions, she purses her lips together, and then tilts her head to one side; this gets some fire-blood from her wounded shoulder on her cheek and she grimaces. The firelions are having a moment - she should probably let them have it. Probably. But she doesn't. Instead, she gestures back the way she and Chiffon came from. "Joyful reunions later. Medical attention now." Well - someone's off the Valentione's Day List.

The odds are seriously unfair when worlds start whisping away, collapsing, and all that madness. Chiffon blinks when Calwa grabs him, and returns a tired foreleg around the smaller one's shoulders. Then the other. Right, he should probably take the leaning, otherwise they'll both end up on the ground in a heap.

That's fun sometimes, but not now.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, buddy," he manages, before his voice drops, his head lowers, and he presses his chin between the Sanuye's ears. "Sorry it took so long, Calwa." That's about as much reunion as he manages to squeak in before Liyara gets a word in. Chiff looks up and gives a little nod. "... yeah." We can argue about who needs what later. Chiffon is more durable than he looks, but, he only went through a fight or two; Calwa has been dragged out for longer than he would like. "Can you walk?" The Sanuye asks. If not, well, he's got a shoulder. And a back. And he'll scoop you up if you make him.

Chiffon will likely have to endure having some tears wiped away on his pelt as Calwa takes a moment to just take in the presence and voice. He wants to take in Chiff's scent, too, but his nose is dry and cracked and hurt. All he can smell at the moment is what lingering pain that hasn't been quelled by the help offered from the larger Sanuye.

Calwa nods a bit and looks away in the direction of Liyara's voice. His vision is still greatly hampered, but he can hear just fine. That's not a voice he's familiar with. Calwa doesn't question it. "I have to find my things, though. They.../took/ them." He doesn't even know they're right there. Due to history, Chiffon knows about Calwa's troubles and about the artifact being carried, guarded, until it can be safely delivered. Chiffon also knows what it looks like: Calwa described is as an Icon of Weapon. Not -a- weapon. A /Weapon/. At this point, though, Chiffon's adventuring partner expects the worst, but he hurts too much to be able to hurt any more over the possibility or reality. After enduring such great trauma, what's another load of straw on the pile?

Before Calwa lets go completely, though, he shudders and whispers, "I won't let you leave me again." Untangles are completed and the notably smaller of the two pushes achingly up to his feet. "Please lead the way. Don't go...too fast."

|}}

2020-02-28 - AGoCaM: Hospitals, Sickness, and Symptoms

2020-04-28T04:51:37Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = A Game of Cat and Mouse: Hospitals, Sickness, and Symptoms |Summary = The feline stranger meets up with Detective Hawksmoor to discuss matters of con..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = A Game of Cat and Mouse: Hospitals, Sickness, and Symptoms
|Summary = The feline stranger meets up with Detective Hawksmoor to discuss matters of concern, legality, and custody.
|Who = [[Lynx]], [[Jack Hawksmoor]]
|Date = February 28, 2020
|Where = MCPD and Adjoining Medical Care Facility
|Log=

Some time has passed since the initial sightings and attacks began. A rather notable event that took place within the walls of the precinct itself marked the immediate attention of what would become an undeniable problem. A man named Johnston 'Ironfist' Reynolds, wanted for far too many crimes, turned himself in to police custody and was soon thereafter attacked by an almost undefinable force. JR survived, but he was admitted into medical care immediately after and has been in a comatose state since. He had no chance to divulge important details concerning the reason of why he gave himself up or if he knew anything about the bizarre creature that attacked him.

Rayne suspects that the attack was brought on by the strange cat person that appeared not long after JR entered the station. That very same figure has even been encountered by Detective Hawksmoor wherein he helped to combat yet another one of the strange things in order to save a young woman. Furthermore, the stranger has spent time, off and on, in the grand building itself tending to matters judicial.

It is this day that the cat makes an appearance in the section of building set aside for the acting police force. No doubt some were present then that are now and recall the unique style of the stranger's attire associated with the sudden upset of TASK veterans saving the day along with Rayne's (and Ami's) help.

The cat stands before the attendant's desk with a folder containing papers in hand. His expression is pleasant. "I am here to collect. With whom shall I speak?"
"I believe Detective Hawksmoor was looking for you," the receptionist, Doris says. "Let me call him." She picks up her phone, presumably calling back somewhere into the office.

The stranger says nothing at this. Past acquaintanceships aside, if this Hawksmoor is the one to speak with regarding the situation he finds most important at present then all is going accordingly. That's all anybody could ever really want.

Neverless, the tall feline figure stands there, and exactly there, while wandering eyes search the desk for points of curiosity as those pointed ears listen to the call made and, quite possibly, even the words spoken from the other end of the line.

Jack Hawksmoor steps out from the back. He's wearing a similar, but different crumpled suit; clearly a personal uniform as it were. Still no shoes. "Ah, you're here." He lifts a hand. "Come on back." Not the most formal of guys, apparently.

Soft footsteps fall as the cat walks around the corner of the desk to head back in that direction. He does not offer to shake hands in greeting, although that may be due to it being of a different custom more than rudeness. "You say that as if you've been expecting me," comments the feline with a curl of one side of the mouth upturn only slightly. His confidence in posture might even be seen as arrogance, but he lacks the rigidity of stereotypical nobility for that to be a matter of caste.

"I knew the moment you walked through the door," the detective says, cryptically, leading the way back to a small office. It's actually quite tidy, not a huge amount in the way of personal touches except for a couple of books on the desk.

"Well, being the case, you may also know that I've stopped by to collect important papers from the judiciary servants." A slight lift of the folder in-hand is all the emphasis given on the matter and the feline takes to then having a walk about the small office with a critiquing eye. "Detective. Much like an Inquisitor, I imagine. I didn't realize that was the job most entitled to help with the issue at hand. I'm sure we'll be able to sort out this matter quickly." He pauses to look over his shoulder in Hawksmoor's direction while otherwise peering over the spartan nature of the room.

"Shall we now or are there other pleasantries of obligation first?"

Jack Hawksmoor shakes his head. "I want to know everything you have on these...you called them symptoms, but what's the disease?" No, no pleasantries from Jack. "And not quite an inquisitor, at least not given what that word implies in English.

"How interesting." The stranger walks over and behind the desk so that he can reach out and place the folder upon it, front and center, before pulling one flap to open it to reveal the surprisingly mundane legalese within. "A bit heavy of a subject for casual conversation, don't you think?"

The cat man makes no effort or indication to cross back to the front of the desk to have a seat. Rather, he seems content to stay standing where he is. "However, as long as you help deliver what I've come to collect, perhaps I can help provide some illumination." The papers inside the folder might be difficult for most civilians to read, but the trained will be able to make out the intent fairly quickly. The papers are signed, witnessed, and notarized in reflection to court order granting the stranger, wherein the papers simply name him 'Lynx' and are the only indication of identity given thus far, full and unconditional custody of the man hereby identified as Johnston Reynolds. The very same man that the stranger asked after having turned over on his first appearance in the police station. The very same man that was attacked and is now fully comatose at the mercy of doctors to keep alive.

"How to best put it... The symptoms at hand are a product of the wounding of what should be into what shouldn't be. The disease is best marked in onset by intense trauma. Perhaps you can tell me; has this city experienced heavy existential trauma at any point recently?"

Jack's response is a laugh, a deep one. "It was before I got here, but yes...and this city is all *about* existential trauma." The god of cities' expression turns wry. "I'll help deliver it." Power of attorney for the guy in a coma. Jack's going to have to press on that. "This city is deeply wounded, and I'm doing all in my power to heal her, but...it's going to take time." If the cat wants to stand, he can stand. There's a chair if he wants it.

Clasping one hand over the other wrist behind his back, the fuzzy-faced guy observes as much as listens. "Can you tell me anything more about what may have happened? Things that are to be made, unmade, and things that are to be done, undone, are of great concern and would explain your recent issue, hence my presence and investigation." That does hint that the stranger knows more about the strange things than he fully lets on. Rather than spilling a list it would seem that he is, instead, attempting a bit of quid pro quo on details.

As an aside and a faint downward bob of the chin in gesture, the man says of the paperwork, "It took entirely too long to jump through all of the hoops, as one puts it, in order to present a finalized decree. That man requires protection as I believe he may be one of only a few that can truly help, at least with the symptoms at hand. I was very dubious about leaving him in the care of your guardsmen, yet your ruling body insisted against the man being given to me. Still, all the same, I would be delighted to accompany you to the dungeon for his release."

"All I know is the pain in the city's heart," Jack said. "And...there was a dimensional twisting, reshaping the city, and it was apparently caused by messing with portals too much, so don't do that." Dungeon? This guy's old school...

"Portals. Dimensional twisting. Reshaping. Sounds about right." The feline takes a deep breath before slowly letting it out. "This could be more difficult than I thought. What I am dealing with (and, through consequence, you and your guardsmen, as well) are things that are born in the wake of something or some one that should /be/ being unmade or those that should /not be/ being made. Ripples of paradox."

That could possibly make very little sense or it could fit perfectly, logically. "It's not that they cannot be dealt with. Clearly, there are ways. But they will only grow in number as the issue compounds over time." A side glance is given to Jack.

Jack Hawksmoor nods. "Which means we need to work out what the issue is." The man closes his eyes for a long moment. When he reopens them, they are flickering *red*. "Time does not work here, not properly. The city remembers and does not remember, for a long time she slept and did not dream."

"Yes, I had begun to assume something along that nature, although I would like to know more about the flow and shape of time here. It may help me better assess just how these symptoms came to be, at least at this location." As far as the City can reveal, the strange creatures are extremely difficult to know, much less reveal. They aren't normally physical and are generally only known just as an attack takes place. The events are quick, the victims are rarely severely wounded, and there have been no deaths, although there have been gradually more disappearances of late as reports of the strange monsters become more frequent. If they are products of a deeper hurt, it could be a very difficult thing to pry open. If an old wound, what would that result in?

"You can trust me when I say that I'm taking the matter very seriously. I'm sure my digging can reveal something useful other than they do seem to be searching for individuals of special ability in the most brutal way. It's almost as if a force of reality is gaining awareness, intelligence."

Jack Hawksmoor purses his lips. "That's not generally a good thing." He doesn't say more about time; it's not his expertise. "The symptoms, so far, are menacing people rather than causing real harm. That would imply to me that this is about...fear."

"Fear," echoes the stranger almost as a question of choice of concept without the intonation that shapes a question. "Mm. It's certainly a very basic thing to conceptualize. If the symptoms are showing inclination to induce baser emotions, that does leave one to wonder to what end; or could it just be a stepping stone leading in the direction of full awareness. Not something I've encountered before. Perhaps the unique nature of this place allows this progression."

The cat seems almost amused at this more than concerned, if tone of voice has anything to reveal, but it is all hypothesizing at this point, isn't it? "All the more reason to protect the assets that they find worthwhile of harming the worst." That's a not-so-subtle segue into the matter he finds most pressing at present: custody change. "Shall we? I am very much able to talk and walk at the same time."

Jack Hawksmoor nods. "Of course." Jack hops out of his chair, his eyes fading to brown...but there might still be a red glint somewhere in their depths. Who IS this man?

If there's one thing that can be said about the cat person, it's that he observes everything. That he notices these details and doesn't comment on them yet may mean that he is either trying to form his own conclusions or he's remaining more focused on the issues of the present that seem more dire. "Wonderful."

Of course, the man in question to be released into the care of the stranger isn't going to be in a holding cell. Not after what happened. Somebody will have to know, although surely those in charge of granting such custodial rights were aware of the state of the person? Then again, a change in custody doesn't have to mean a change in location. "Lead the way, Detective. Heh. What a fun title. It really pops, doesn't it? So, has what I shared with you sated your curiosity?"

"No," Jack says, simply. "But I believe that it's all you *have* for right now." He doesn't think Lynx is lying to him. He thinks the investigation is, shall one say, in its early stages. He leads the way to where the unconscious man is being kept.

Jack's guest does cast a somewhat quizzical glance as the path taken deviates from the path expected. However, much like his observations of the peculiar man named Hawksmoor, this all seems to pass without a word of question. This does not mean, though, that the black and gold militaristically-dressed fellow doesn't grow a bit more stone-faced as the way transitions into the medical care department.

"Would you say, Detective, that your fellow guardsmen are some of the best and most-reliable protectors the city has to offer? You yourself displayed remarkable ability, last we met." At least, the exit was quite interesting.

Jack Hawksmoor considers that. "Pride has me say yes. Honesty...we do our best." Which is all anyone can do. Let's just not bring up his fellow detectives. "As for remarkable ability? I cheat."

For as sharp-tongued as the question was cast, the answer so reeled in causes the feline to softly chuckle. "And why do you say that?" asks he regarding a way to 'cheat' since such context can vary greatly. While his tone may hold humor, his expression does not. Where his face tells of no emotion, his eyes belie the stoicism. His eyes narrow just enough, affecting his natural presence, so that others passing the pair in the halls may find the brief encounter remarkably unpleasant.

"It's not all skill. Some of it is being the way I am." He'll lead the way into the room where the man "sleeps," eyes closed. Maybe, just maybe, Lynx can help him.

Johnston Reynolds lies upon the medical bed while machines monitor the man's vitals to make sure he remains stable. Tubes and intravenous drips are set up to both provide and remove fluids. Thankfully, the man is able to breathe on his own, but it doesn't take much to see that the man is under strong observation and steady care. The policeman standing outside the door keeping watch attests that.

The feline man following Jack into the room promptly wanders over to look the man over, then look the instrument panels over, then finds and checks the on-hand documentation kept at the foot of the bed. He does all of this without a word more. It doesn't take a particularly empathic person to know that he is upset, even if he doesn't much show it outwardly, but somebody skilled or trained at reading people could surely tell that the stranger now with legal custody over JR is deeply unsettled, disappointed, nonplussed; no matter the subtle differences involved, they still hold true.

It probably doesn't help that the cat says nothing. He stands there, written medical documentation in hand, browsing the details, prognosis, medications and treatment... Not a word. Eyes shift from the documents to Reynolds and then to Hawksmoor where they stay. He stays silent. It's almost as if he's expecting an answer to an unspoken question.

"So, do you have any idea why he was attacked? From what we know, he's a thug." Jack uses the word as a mere descriptor. Like he's dealt with many of the type.

There is a moment of immense tension as that stare burns its way through Hawksmoor when Jack speaks. At length, the cat places the medical synopsis documents back. When he speaks, however, there is no anger. To most, the disconnect would be very eerie. "Nobody told me he was attacked. I was made to leave this man in the care of your guardsmen, denied the opportunity to keep him safe, and now it is revealed that he was injured under the watch of your companions?"

The cat wanders over to the bedside where JR, despite his state, is secured to the bed. Grabbing and lifting part of the sheet, a peek is had beneath it. "Records don't indicate that he was injured by gunfire. I did hear a multi-discharge from outside after I was turned away and began to wonder." There's implication there of suspicion of firing upon a person under arrest.

"The record doesn't say anything about an attack; only that he suffered asphyxiation and cardiac arrest which lead to a comatose state despite being otherwise healthy across the board. So. Who attacked him? I imagine he has many enemies, although they are not necessarily of my concern."

Jack Hawksmoor shakes his head. "He was *not* attacked by our people. He was attacked by one of those things, so I thought you might have *some* insight into why they target who they target." He looks at the unconscious man. "No medical reason for him to be in a coma. I reckon he's afraid to wake up."

"If that is the case, then all the more reason he should have been released to me when I had asked. Instead, I've been made to spend much time and effort in order to get him into my care -- only to now find this out? This, Detective, does not make it any better."

"This is the opposite of better." There is a sigh, one mixed of agitation and disappointment, as the feline wanders over to the room's window, peels back the blinds, and peers out at what barely passes for a world for a moment. Perhaps a moment almost too long as to seem rude.

There is a breath upon nails before they are buffed against the fabric of the front of that black coat. These nails, in turn, are displayed with a glint in the dim lighting as he holds that hand up and out to the side -- still fully facing away -- in gesture of emphasis. "But, I did already mention what I suspected. For the sake of ease, though, I'll repeat myself: the symptoms appear to be searching for those with special abilities. These are often the ones hurt the worst, from what I've discovered in my investigating."

That hand falls to rest loosely against the feline man's hip. The reflection of his face can just be made out in the glass, although his amber eyes really are the details that stand out the most. "I believe there are those, so combined together, with abilities that can stop the spread of such symptoms, although that says nothing for the curing of the source."

Jack Hawksmoor purses his lips. "Which means it's only a matter of time before they attack me. I *am* a threat to them." No arrogance. "I will note one thing...it took us forever to catch this guy, *please* don't let him get away." Hence the concern.

"If there is one thing I can be very adamant about, Detective: I don't plan on letting him go free."

The tall beast-faced fellow turns about on his heels with a flowing flutter of his cape. His arms rest akimbo and a light smirk with narrowed eyes punctuates his facial expressiveness. "If anything, I may be able to use this to my advantage. His papers show that he has been under care since the day he ran screaming to you and your guardsmen for help. He hasn't been attacked again in all this time. I somehow think the guard at the door would be ill-prepared to deal with such a sudden threat. That tells me something new." After all, being able to do nothing at all might be just as good as being dead, if death truly was the initial goal. And, as for the other matter? Jack nearly was fully attacked. The stranger stepped in to intervene before Hawksmoor had any direct contact.

Jack Hawksmoor nods. "And I'd like to know what it tells you." His eyes glint red, just slightly, as he regards the cat. "I never caught your name."

"It's quite simple: the best move to make is to keep him here. If he eventually rouses, reinduce coma. Keep him from being a target until I have a better understanding of which role he and others like him play in this game." With the stranger now technically handed over custody, that also means that he'll be footing any bills.

Apparently, what he sees is enough. Not one to waste time unnecessarily, the figure walks toward Jack with the intention of passing him by to find his way out. "And, don't be silly. Any inquisitor worth their weight in G's would have checked the papers handed them for identification. Good day, Detective. Seek me once you've learned more. We'll share."

"Of course, but that would have been impolite," Jack says, with a wry expression. He sees this one's game now. "We will talk later, Lynx."

"Of that I am quite certain," replies the feline in clear amusement of Jack's visual reaction and includes a pause following the statement that accents the following word with a tint of intentional awkwardness, "Jack."

|}}

2020-03-09 - Libraries, Friends, and Fixed Perceptions

2020-04-28T03:53:43Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = Libraries, Friends, and Fixed Perceptions |Summary = Chiffon and Calwa visit the library where they meet up with Silver Sight, another piece of Calwa..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = Libraries, Friends, and Fixed Perceptions
|Summary = Chiffon and Calwa visit the library where they meet up with Silver Sight, another piece of Calwa is restored, and plans for the future are discussed.
|Who = [[Chiffon]], [[Calwa]], [[SilverSight]]
|Date = March 9th, 2020
|Where = The Public Library
|Log=

SilverSight is sorting books in the library! The place is less dusty these days at least, but now he needs to work on getting the books in their proper place. The Dewdrop Decimal system must be adhered to!

Chiffon feels like he's fulfilling a promise! But whether it's one he made or suggested is beyond site. The candletail holds open the way into the stacks and glances around. "... maybe we should reassure them our tails don't actually start fires," he offers most-helpfully, and then waves to SilverSight in greeting. "We're not arsonists!" ... yeah perhaps his level of excitement isn't suitable for such an area.

The one that follows in just behind the lead given by the caped quadruped seems a bit more sheepish. Quietly agreeing, "You're right. Not a bad idea." The followup phrase boisterously stated by Chiffon makes the smaller, Calwa, first perk up his ears before pushing them flat. With a gasp, Calwa presses his face in against Chiffon's side. "Oh, wow, that's...one way to put it."

SilverSight looks at the pair as they come in and tilts his head, "Well um.. I would hope not. I would hate for all my hard work to be reduced to ashes. I would likely fly into a blind rage and try to do the same to you in return." He smiles brightly, "So let's not do either! Welcome!"

Chiffon laughs into his forepaw with a hint of amusement. "That's not us at all, nothing to worry about. If anything I am prone to guarding one's life work. Thank you for having us!" He gives Calwa an encouraging bunt. "I had the feeling this one could do with wading around in the books a little. Plu~s it's nice to see you again after all that."

"Well, how could we turn down not visiting the library?" asks Calwa with a rhetorical edge. It's been a number of years since he's had the time to just lounge and read. He's had a lot of other stuff going on ever since he began his courier job. He wobbles some at the contact made and takes just a moment to brush the end of his tail against Chiffon's before pulling away to look over some books on a cart that haven't been put away yet. Chiffon is better at the social thing. "Burke. Hollans. Jacob J. Jacobson. ...Peppermint Oil?"

SilverSight just nods to the pair, "Be sure to let me know if you need anything. The books are kind of in disarray at the moment, due to lack of proper maintenance over a couple years. I'm working on sorting things out properly."

Chiffon chews on this question a bit, and then just nods. "Of course, of course. I think we're just... browsing? At least, we're not really in research mode." He flicks his tail once, almost twining and then pulling away as he paces a little, looking up this shelf and down this stack. "Anything we can help with? I think it'd good for Calwa's mood, hehe."

"Well, I can't do too much reading until I get my glasses repaired, but I wanted to, uh, you know-" Chiffon says it for Calwa first. "Yes, browse. Get the feel of the place. See which spirit of knowledge calls to me the most." Low conversational volumes for voices from the smaller of the Sanuye; it should be more than easy to hear at a comfortable indoors distance. "Winnifred Baker. Huh." Chances are Calwa just isn't going to find much familiar literature from his origin world here, but there's always that grain of hope held. "We're, uh, good at helping out. Chiff especially. You should see him help old ladies across the street."

SilverSight gives a soft laugh to that one from Calwa, "Well I imagine that he offers a ride on his back for them. Much faster than their own two feet." A small shrug is given and he's magicing books from shelf to shelf, trying to get things in order, "You're welcome to help get stuff put up properly if you want. It'll help you get to know the place as well. Fiction over here, reference there, so on."

Chiffon sticks his tongue out at Calwa, and then hangs his head. "If it ~helps~ there's not much to complain about, yes." He nods to Silversight, and then looks to Calwa. "... ah. Now that's something. I don't suppose you know anything that could help with fixing his glasses?" Though Chiff is more than willing to help, he might need Calwa's lead to even understand what he's looking at half the time..

Calwa's glasses are, essentially, prescription reading glasses. He's not wearing them at the moment -- he hasn't actually worn them since not too long after his entry into Twisted -- but he keeps them in his pack. "I'd probably need an optometry professional to fix them, but I don't have the money for th-that kind of work to be done yet." A slight stutter accents his speech. He doesn't want to have to explain how the one lens got cracked. "I can still mostly read okay, if the print isn't too small. I'm sure Joan Ruckerforth here has plenty to say without need for me to have glasses." Squint. Oh, it's a book on Home Remedies for use by...Menstrual Minstrels? His ears dip back.

SilverSight perks up on that question with a smile, "Oh, actually I know how to repair glasses pretty well." He adjust the pair on the bridge of his nose, "It's quite a handy skill to have when travelling in distant lands. Let me take a look at them and I can see about getting them fixed up."

Chiffon smiles a bit at that. He'd wondered, but did not want to ask outright. "And if this one decides to feel bad about the imposition, I'll remind him we're offering our services in turn! Because that's what friends do." He nods decisively and leans in to peer at a spine. "... hmmm. Fiction or non-fiction..."

"..but Chiff, I-" Like a deer in headlights, Calwa stares off in the direction of his partner before turning that gaze upon the librarian. "I- Well, I guess th-there's no harm in t-t-taking a look." A slow path is followed closer to the pony before he sits, lifts his left foreleg out of the way, and reaches in with his muzzle to unfasten the bag strapped to that side and dip his nose within.

The next image of Calwa that Silver Sight gets to see is of a Sanuye with armless glasses held carefully by the very tip of front teeth. One lens has a complex fracture split three ways and a spiderweb of microfractures stemming from there across the rest of the surface and throughout.

SilverSight's magic picks up the glasses and he looks it over quite critically and with a practiced eye, "Hmm.. Yes this is quite the nasty one you got here. May I ask how it happened?" He takes the thing over to a table and sets it down, magicking up a small toolkit from his saddlebags and getting to work on removing the lens.

Chiffon goes along with Calwa. Not too close, not too far. Surely there's something over here he can think about shelving. He glances up at the query. ... well, it'll be good for him to get used to talking about it. "You've been sitting on getting those mended for too long, anyway... we're going to need you full fit if we're going to be bringing in regular coin too. Though I suppose I could be pulling a bit more..."

"Well, I- I don't need them for my deliveries. Usually.." Calwa's jaw goes slack as he looks away, blankly eyeing the floor instead of the books so housed all about. "Ch-chiffon and I are..." Yes, they are, but that's not what he's going to say, "p-partners in a freelance adventuring busi- Business." His eyes focus on spots on the floor, darting about from one to the next in a very obvious attempt at, well, not lying, but skirting around the truth.

"We sometimes run into trouble. Th-they got b-b-busted up in...thatkindofthing..."

SilverSight ooohs and nodnods, "Yes I fully understand that concept. I did much the same in my world and Neo Tokyo. I need to get me a proper bounty hunting license before I can do such around here though." He pulls out the heavily cracked lense and looks it over briefly before setting it down on the table. From his saddlebag comes a box! From the box comes.. multiple pairs of glasses, most damaged in some way. He starts comparing shapes.

Chiffon nods a bit and gives Calwa a reassuring shoulder-hug. "Ahh, then you know how it is... even trying to keep things on the up and up, sometimes trouble just... follows you." He flicks his tail and watches with rapt interest. "I've been tossing around the idea, you get more business as a Company. And people are a little less eager to... start things."

Calwa feels more like a tagalong with Chiffon's business interests than anything most of the time. It's not that Calwa doesn't have business smarts or experience -- he does, as an experienced courier -- but everything since his meeting Chiffon has been a bit of a whirlwind and sometimes it feels like all you can do is keep up.

The smaller Sanuye leans into the hug so given with a bit of a sigh, but the contact feels great. He watches the process, too, and would say something about lens thickness, concavity, and magnification, but he holds his tongue and lets what happens simply happen. It's not like he can use his glasses as they are now anyhow.

"I'm not sure about bounty hunting. That's...a b-bit of a different thing than what I think Chiffon and I have experience with so far."

SilverSight seems to find a good match and he holds the two lenses side by side. His horn glows brighter as he concentrates. The non-cracked lens seems to.. shrink somehow? Meanwhile the original lens cracks shrink as well, melding back into the shape it's supposed to be with no visible defects. The now much smaller piece of glass is tossed aside and the repaired lens fitting into the glasses once more, tightened up a little and levitated over to be placed on Calwa's nose.

Chiffon props. If nothing else, he's sturdy. "We~ll, I've done a couple things that might be considered in that vein. Helping manage, uh, out of control wildlife. It's a bit different than chasing criminals. Still... a variety of skillsets is good. If nothing else it's good to have reliable friends!" He peeks over and nods as the glasses fall into place.

Calwa has plenty of experience with magic and being around magic. It's not as ubiquitous on his home planet as it used to be, for very specific reasons, but it's still present. This, however, is a very different kind of magic and all Calwa can do is watch, standing there shoulder to shoulder with Chiffon, as the process is undergone. Having the glasses placed on his snout feels a bit awkward, what with the levitation and all, but ultimately they fit well when put into place. They were custom made for a face like his, after all, and have had a place there for a while now. In fact, a close eye can probably see exactly where they've been sitting due to fur growth and adaptive skin deformation.

Calwa blinks a couple times. They sit lower on his snout, meant for reading and not corrective sight, so it's hard to judge without something to read at hand. Still, he tries focusing through one eye and then another. It might look a little silly. "Huh..."

SilverSight smiles brightly with a nod, "Not an easy spell, but it's very good for repair. I need near-exact objects to do such a thing. In theory any of those lenses could have worked, but the closer the match the better."

Chiffon gives a little nod, a little wiggle of his tail. "I really appreciate it. Like I said, however I can make myself useful... I wouldn't want to just volunteer us both without permission. But such that it is..." He gestures with free forepaw. "We seem to be lucking out with friends of late."

"I- Um..." The usually quiet Calwa isn't quite sure what to say at the moment. "Let me just...t-take a moment to see, uh..." Peeling away from Chiffon, the introvert wants to just have a quick stroll through the books by himself to try out the glasses. It's not that he's ungrateful; it's the opposite, really, but sometimes it's hard for Calwa to just come out and give thanks. Thankfully, having Chiff around usually makes this a bit easier on everybody.

SilverSight doesn't seem to take any offense to the sudden running off. If he just had his glasses fixed, he'd want to take them for a test-drive as well! A small nod is given to Chiffon, "Well I'd be quite happy to have more friends about. And you're welcome to invite me on your little adventures as well. It'd be quite entertaining and put a part of my mind at ease."

Chiffon is taken for a while just watching Calwa adjust. It's just... nice to see something get better for him right now. "Only the little ones? Because we're bound to find some grand ones." He chuckles and pats the other Sanuye on the back. "What do you think? Hmmmm?" There's an almost silly grin to him. "You know what that means? Adventuring paaarty."

There's a lingering pull of attention on Calwa that begs to be given focus, yet instead of giving in to the urge to find something to read for the next few hours the quiet Calwa finds himself soon back at Chiffon's side. He offers a soft smile to hide any anxiety over leaving the city. The thoughts are fun, though. Chiffon always finds ways to keep things interesting, it seems. Maybe that's just what Calwa thinks, but... "Think you could keep up with us? I mean, w-we can take things slow, too."

SilverSight gives a soft laugh to that one, "Keep up with you? No offense, but I've been through some serious shit myself. You're not the only ones who have been 'adventuring', in search of lost artifacts and fighting hideous monsters. I'd quite enjoy a good run through whatever hellscape you could pull out for me. Might take some of the edge off my paranoia."

Chiffon bobs his head. "Maybe 'keeping up' isn't really the thing to be concerned about. After all, when things get hectic, it's good to have a feel for each other's... dynamic." He wiggles his claws. "We should have an idea what we're all going to be up to without having to shout it from the rooftops. Though, I don't mind a good howl." He snickers and noses in at Calwa. "... not in the library though. Mm."

There's a sideglance to Chiffon from Calwa with a bit of surprise as what he asks is somewhat misinterpreted. Eyes wide at first, the smaller of the pair stammers in speaking as the conversation branches off in a differing direction from what was intended. "No, I- I- I- I meant m-more literally. It's, well, you see, what I- I mean to say is that, you have to under- understand that we-"

So prompted by Chiff, Calwa tries to hide his embarrassment behind Chiffon's snickering, more or less, and tucks his bespectacled muzzle in against the big lug. Sanuye are legendary for their running speed and stamina, at least where he's from. "...no, not in the library. At least not today."

SilverSight gives a small shrug, "Well if you mean can I keep up with you in speed? Probably. But I usually prefer to find safe places to hide and snipe my opponents from a distance when possible. Depending on numbers and armaments, it's usually better to just kill the raiders off rather than run for it."

Chiffon wiggles a little more. "Well, we can always run a test race to figure THAT out. Might matter in a pinch, but I don't see any reason we can't play to each other's strengths..." He rubs at the back of his neckruff a moment, leaning over to offer Calwa juuust enough cover. "Mayhaps we can stir up something a bit less... lethal the first time out. Not that that usually ends up a choice." He rubs at his chin. "Regardless, we have our work cut out for us here..."

"At, uh, the very least...thank you for helping with my glasses. I'm sure I'll put them to good use studying more about this planet we're on." Spoken still mostly from hiding, peeking out just enough to make proper direct gaze, Calwa makes sure to at least hand out thanks, although he still feels obligated to pay in more than just favors or business promises. "Let me know if, mm, you n-need anything delivered somewhere, so long as I can carry it."

|}}

Calwa

2020-04-19T04:37:18Z

TheSmileDog:

{{2019Profile|
|Image=Missing.jpg
|Name=Calwa
|Pronunciation=(kɑˈlu ə)
|Alias=Son of Nanaki; Grandson of the Great Warrior Seto; Calwa of Cosmo Canyon
|Series= Final Fantasy
|Threat= Street Sweeper
|Occupation= Monk/White Mage
|Alignment=Neutral Good
|Gender=Male
|Species=Sanuye
|Age= 45
|Birthdate=[ ν ] - εγλ 0504
|Height=4'2"
|Weight=450 lbs.
|Short=A quadrupedal ember orange-furred beast with a spiky black mane and a flaming tail-tip. Often compared to a cross between a wolf and a lion, his form is built for speed, stamina, and precision.
|Extra1=
|Desc=Four legs. Fur. Tail-flame. And glasses?
|Extra2=

Dark red to light orange colors span this quadrupedal creature's pelt and tend to shift depending on how the light hits it. His toned appearance confounds most with the seeming mix of species he must possess, although he is no true hybrid at all. His larger thinner chest and smaller-around belly are similar to those of a cheetah's or a greyhound's body while his musculature seems closer to that of a leopard. One solid look at his face would show a resemblance to the structure of a wolf's, but with a larger nose, nose bridge, and upper lip cleft seen in panthers and lions. His tail is also like that of a lion's, although the tuft of fur at the end is replaced by an ominous flickering flame that casts mysterious shadows across his strange form as it moves about. His ears are pointed like that of a canine, as well, and a pair of armless spectacles sit on the bridge of his nose in stark contrast to the otherwise lack of clothing.

His mane is definitive of himself. A sharp-looking blade of fur juts from the base of his head to the spot between his shoulders, similar yet shorter than that of a horse's mane and altogether more stiff and vertical, and is a midnight black color that shows a faint blue or red, depending on how the light shines off of his fur. His headfur, the extension of his mane up between his ears, seems unkempt. Part of his short bangs hang loosely in front of his face, although a good portion of his head-lining mane haphazardly tussles about in a tastefully youthful manner. He may at times bear saddle bag-like courier satchels attached by harness used for carrying things. If not for the glasses on the creature's face or a familiarity for his kind one might confuse the individual with some type of beast-of-burden.
|Skills='''The Natural and the Learned'''
* '''Cosmo Candle:''' The fiery tip on a Sanuye tail is tied to the Eternal Flame, Cosmo Candle, which provides them with extremely long lives (often lasting a couple thousand years), resilience against harm, and much faster recovery in healing. This fire is special and can, for a time, burn underwater. It may diminish to be nearly impossible to see with the naked eye, but it never fully extinguishes. Uniquely fueled, it radiates warmth and light yet never fully seeks to spread or harm that which it touches.
* '''Run, Run, Run:''' Sanuye are natural runners. If space on land allows them to get up to speed, they can cover distances that are extreme clocked in at times that may seem unnatural. Furthermore, they have nearly endless running stamina. Ancient legends tell of the beating feet of the Sanuye people in their running causing Gaia to turn to bring the planet through Day and Night.
* '''Listen to the Planet:''' The Sanuye people have a natural cosmological tie to their planet, Gaia, and instinctively know how to listen to its many voices. This is what guides them in doing their part to keep the planet healthy and safe. This sense, however, extends to other terrestrial and celestial bodies, too, although unfamiliar, new, or strange ones may have voices or problems that are alien.
* '''Parkour Expert:''' Able to get from Point A to Point B in a complex environment despite heights or threat of environmental hazard in as quick and efficient way as possible without the use of assistive gear.
* '''Koh'bikeh:''' This is the Monk-like Martial Style taught to him by his father, Nanaki, based on the adaptation of fighting styles of friends witnessed during the Meteor Crisis to work for one of his type of shape of form. It is based on agile movements and shattering precision strikes that make use of all major bodily extensions and facets. There exist abilities tied to these deep levels of training and focus that enhance the self with healing and speed or purge the body of impurities and impediments. Meditative Ability comes with this.
* '''White Magic:''' While not referred to as such where he is from, this is the learning of helpful magical abilities that heal or empower allies or, rarely, allow White-oriented Magical Attacks often aligned with the element Holy. These knowledges were once ready to anybody that used crystallized pieces of Planet Gaia's Lifestream, Materia, but Materia use fell out of fashion after the Meteor Crisis. Such abilities can still be learned, but they require intense training and study and cannot simply be 'swapped out'. They become stronger through use and practice.
* '''Lore and Legend:''' As a bookworm in his free time, Calwa often reads as a form of educative meditation. Locations, buildings, people, history, animals and monsters and fiends and cryptids; he tries to become knowledgable about many things that can help out his adventure partnership and courier career.
* '''Partners, Always:''' Due to the nature of his partnership and relationship with Chiffon, Calwa will always behave with improvements across the board when the two are paired together. This effect is even greater if his partner is in major danger.
* '''Limit Break: Howling Moon:''' When one is pushed and pushed and pushed even more to the very point of their personal limitations, a few find the strength to draw on power deep within (or even without) to aid themselves or allies through various means. Howling Moon allows Calwa to throw himself into battle with full ignorance of all distractions. His physical speed is greatly increased (Haste) and his attacks become much much stronger at the expense of not being able to use other abilities for its duration (Berserk). He becomes a blur of red on the battlefield. This was taught by Calwa's father.
* '''Limit Break: Cosmo Memory:''' When one is pushed and pushed and pushed even more to the very point of their personal limitations, a few find the strength to draw on power deep within (or even without) to aid themselves or allies through various means. Cosmo Memory allows Calwa to pull helpful energy from the Cosmos itself in order to smite all nearby foes with a tremendous non-elemental strike and engulfing explosion. This was taught by Calwa's father.
|Gallery=
|MusicEmbed=<center><websiteFrame>
website=https://www.youtube.com/embed/af27aTI7j2M?autoplay=1
name=YouTube
align=middle
height=315px
width=420px
border=0
scroll=auto
longdescription=A video on YouTube
</websiteFrame>

Reuben Kee - Ascension to Cosmo Canyon
|Logs={{Template:Logs}}

|Background= 
==Background==
Calwa is the youngest of four, son of Nanaki, grandson to Seto, protectors of the Buga Tribe, guardians of Planet Gaia, and serve as arbiters of cosmic balance. Centuries after the events of Meteorfall and Geostigma instigated by the extraterrestrial threat JENOVA, the people living on Gaia have moved on. Generally pacifistic unless necessary, the shy bookworm Calwa eventually took up a job as a courier delivering various items either intracity or even cross-continental.

However, one day he was tasked with moving an important artifact to a client whose identity was made to stay a secret. Unknown to Calwa, this object was sought by the mysterious Black Hand organization and various agents were sent to eliminate the courier and retrieve the item. These encounters became more frequent and Calwa was unable to complete the delivery while being actively hunted. During an ambush in New Corel, Calwa leapt from a building during gunfire and the target building vanished leaving him to tumble from the sky. He was rescued by another of his kind named Chiffon and the two became partners for an adventuring enterprise in the mysterious realm called Neo Tokyo. That all changed one day, sadly, when the two were separated. It would seem the Black Hand were far more dangerous and tenacious than anyone could have figured.

They eventually reunited far outside the City of Mabase where the culmination of much abuse and torment was discovered. Calwa was captured by the Black Hand and endured much punishment for his keeping their prize away from them for so long. Despite Chiffon rescuing him with help, the Black Hand managed to escape with the potentially dangerous artifact: The Icon of Weapon!|}}
[[Category:Active]]

2020-04-12 - Surveying the Land for House and Home

2020-04-14T00:58:02Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = Surveying the Land (For House and Home) |Summary = Chiffon and Calwa wander the lands outside the city with thoughts of looking for a place to build a..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = Surveying the Land (For House and Home)
|Summary = Chiffon and Calwa wander the lands outside the city with thoughts of looking for a place to build a home more suitable to their sizes and shapes.
|Who = [[Chiffon]], [[Calwa]]
|Date = April 12th, 2020
|Where = Outside the City
|Log=

Halfway between Civilization and Nowhere. Unfortunately, nature seems to have missed the memo here? Still, there's a quiet to it, a real Quiet that's good for pacing and getting away from urban noise. Paws on dirt and ears to the wind. Chiffon draws a careful breath, pacing off of paved stone and swishes his tail. "Not exactly the marshes...." He mumbles. "Not a lot of competition for real estate this far out though... hrmm. What's your wishlist?" He glances back at the other candletail, smiling softly. "The library might take some effort."

Following behind is Calwa, always happy to get some open air about even if he adores the complexities of cities, whose pawsteps leave a dusty-swirled trail just beside that of Chiffon's wake. "The library? No, ha. I mean, reading is wonderful, but it's just a personal interest. A hobby." Padding smoothly up beside the other Sanuye, Calwa brushes cheek, neck, shoulder, and tail against in affection before turning to look away and about. "Something with some open space is nice. W,we shouldn't get too far outside the city, though." A light stammer reveals some discomfort in how shifting and how broken things get too far out. He doesn't understand it, yet, so it's very spooky. "Maybe something with different levels? A place to lounge and examine the stars at night?" A simulated sky, yes, but Calwa is unaware of the facts. It appears as real as any view of the cosmos from Gaia.

Whatever Calwa knows of this place, Chiffon probably knows even less. Even if he's.. well, that's just how he manages. "A bookshelf? Even that might be a little difficult." He turns his paw over, flexing toes, imagining trying to do even woodcarving. "Probably not this far out, but it's.... easier to see here. You think we'd be able to see something elevated poking up around the city." He turns to the cityline and tilts his head. "... might need to go for a proper romp and cover some ground. Find you the perfect observatory. I'll get a nice sunning rock..."

The larger Sanuye paces over and brushes his cheek against Calwa's shoulder. "How are your legs today?"

"A sunning rock. Hah. Maybe a nice chunk of claystone." Like from the Valley of the Fallen Star. Pausing and taking a moment to rest on his haunches, a tip of the head passes a studious gaze back toward the direction of the heart of Mabase. At that angle and position, his mane stands out quite a bit. Distracted, the contact against his shoulder is a mild surprise; Calwa turns his head to rub his chin and nose along Chiffon's noggin before parting with a lick.

"Oh, hello again. They're okay. I'm okay. I'm almost back up to weight again." Kah is skinny by natural build, but he was looking much worse previously. "Don't want to gain too much. People might mistake me for you," he jokes even if some people do already think they 'look the same'. That's people for you.

Chiffon chuckles. He might think that Calwa should be used to it by now, but those little jumps are just adorable. He snuffles a bit, and engages in a bit of nuzzle-rumble, chasing with a lick before he shares the sit. "Oh, whatever would you do then? You're going to need a few more beef bowls to hit my size." He wags a paw good-naturedly; still, there's a much greater ease to him now that Kah is no longer in danger--health or otherwise immediate.

"... if we're so lucky for that. At this point I'll take 'safe' and 'smells nice.' Good earth for digging maybe..." He says, stretching out. "We just gotta look. And... keep looking."

"Digging. You mant to dig out a cave or underground den?" Calwa is used to living in suspended huts on the sides of a butte with steep sides high off the ground. But, at the same time, he's also used to the inside of the butte, throughout the natural and crafted Buga caverns. He's not opposed to the idea of being underground, but he'd likely prefer something with positive verticality instead. "We can do that. If you want." If they're just spitballing ideas, why not plan for both? Calwa's tail creeps over to settle against and slightly drape over Chiffon's.

"Bit of both, I reckon." Chiffon shrugs. No reason they can't have their ups and their downs. If the earth is cooperative to begin with. "Grandpa's marsh had a lot of little tunnels. They're... handy." For various things. He looks out for a long while, leaning a little towards Calwa. His tail curls and brushes back up at the other candletail. "But we're more likely to find something closer to where you came from, out here." It doesn't sound like it bothers him any. He smiles over. "Probably will be a bit more... fixer-upper."

Calwa's brows tip outward as he leans in to put some of his weight against his sturdier companion. It's a bit of a sad expression, but he tries to hide it by being closer. As a courier, only one place his life has ever been home. Everything else was transitory, temporary, with no connection. The idea of building something is not the kind of thing he's very much used to thinking about at all. "You're probably right. I don't know how property ownership works around here. We may need to visit a, um, property surveyor? Don't cities have those? Isn't land...expensive?"

"That's assuming anyone owns... anything this close to the border. It seems like a bad idea." Chiffon rolls his shoulder back and laughs. "We can check with the city, but I think we're fine. Plus we're kind of in our own category..." He leans back, offering his support to his companion. "And for all we know, quite.. temporary."

"I don't understand how anything works around here. I...suppose I mean that as literally as I mean it figuratively. Everything is strange, but I'm glad you're here. Contact with you, you around, it's the only way I know I'm real anymore." A sideglance is passed to Chiffon along with a single pointed ear tipping back to lay flat. "I am real. Aren't I?" That's invitation to check, at least!

Chiffon peers back at the glance, the earnest question. He leans over, lazy-jawed and opening his mouf to lightly clamp on Cal's shoulder. There's a bit of slobber, mouthing, and a few slow 'omf, omf' noises. Then he pulls back, licks his face clean, and smiles. "Feels real to me," he says simply, before giving a feline stretch. "... we'll figure it out the same way everyone does. Lots'o learning. We had to figure out where we came from too..."

Calwa seems to pull away, not by distance by in light shift of weight where he sits, as Chiffon playfully nomfs his shoulder and leaves a damp spot. This turns into soft laughter and a playful swat from a forepaw. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Like usual. No use worrying too much about it right now. Would be nice to have a cozy private place to sleep at night. The librarian lives there, I think. Not many other four-leggers around, are there?" Not much for social example.

Chiffon takes the swat across the nose and just grins back in that unflinching way of his. "Hey, it's a rare treat for me. I'm going to enjoy all this propping-you-up until you know everything about anything and are telling me what to do all the time." He laughs and leans his head back, looking skyward. "Mm. More than usual for me. Less than I'd like. We find a nice place, maybe we can throw a tea party. Or a barbeque..."

"Just as long as people don't expect us to roast the meat over our combined tails," comments the smaller to the larger. "Though that does sound better than relying on...beef bowls." Pushing against the ground with his hindlegs, Calwa lifts to all fours and takes a few padded steps toward one of the sparse nearby buildings just for casual investigation. "But you know it'll come up in conversation, right?"

"Hah! That's right, you missed that part. There's... not bad hunting here and there." The larger rubs at his mane a bit, almost a little sheepish. "Never understood what the big deal about those were..." he murmurs before following after. A casual flick of his tail and he nods. "They're inescapable, aren't they.."

Calwa is a city-Sanuye more than anything else. His travels between locations don't really count too much since there are always civilized stops along the way after a good long run. "Hunt. I mean, I can... I can fight, if I have to, but I've never had to do much hunting." It's his turn to look a little sheepish. What a pair. "I guess I'll have to have you show me your secrets, wise huntmaster."

Chiffon pauses a moment. There are... certain aspects of hunting that he wonders how Calwa will take to. Though he doesn't want to get caught up in a philosophical quandry of it while they're already digging around for a home. 'Sparse' about describes things that pop up in the radius of the city, usually either remnants or ramshackle structures. Things that last way longer than they should, and things meant to be abandoned quickly. "Oh, well.. we're going to be trading a lot of knowledges, I think, 'Master Calwa.'"

"Masters of our craft, big guy. I'm agile, mobile, and know a few things about first aid. And you...get hit a lot and eat even more." Calwa laughs and tries to slip out of range for any teasing retaliation. His tail bumps against Chiffon, likely, in this pulling aside to avoid a swat or a tackle and he tries to circle about in case chase is given.

"That about sums it up, doesn't it?" Chiffon laughs and nips in that direction. Sometimes the sound of teeth going *click* is almost as effective as a nip. The liondog sways a bit, watching Calwa circle while making a slow follow himself. Ears tilting, paws curling and stance deceptively lax. "So you're the agile one, hm?"

It's a game of keep-away, it would seem, rather than tag. Calwa's entire pattern of movement is to keep a slow circle just outside comfortable range. "Ahah ha. Eep, careful with those teeth. Biting is bad." And, as if to tease just a bit more, he adds, "Bad, bad Chiffon. No beef bowls." A crooked smile creeps onto his muzzle.

"How would you know? Maybe you just need to experience it." Chiff wiggles a bit more... waiting for the right moment, maybe just a step slightly different than the rest to set him off. "Think that's bad? I'll show you how bad I can be!" And with a wuff he's off, springing off his hindlegs and going into a short-range sprint. Though getting a clear angle is unlikely, if the lither Sanuye is sticking to circles and ready to bounce angles on him..

"No no no, that's okay, Chiff. I think I'll do better to not have to worry about i-eee!" Calwa was expected some retaliation. After all, that was the whole point of the game, but instead of immediately bolting forward instinct is to take a side-step first away from the charge. There's a little bit of a tangle of feet that turns into a scramble to get away -- a bit slow enough to give chiffon some advantage -- which just might wind up with an oncoming impact.

When you've been big this long, and you know the pitfalls, you know how to turn. It's not the stumble that gets it so much, but the pause from recovery that is enough to set Chiffon back on a straight line! It's actually a *careful* pounce more than a takedown one, not aimed at a sort spot or something to come disjointed... but it's definitely rough lion play. Proper pounce and tumble coming in full speed.

The smaller twists when contact is made in an attempt to not only get free, but to place him in more of a defensive position for the inevitable sideways fall and tumble. To an outside observer this might look like a truly epic battle between beasts! Flashes of claws and teeth, grappling and kicking; Calwa has as thick a hide as Chiffon. Both should be able to take some rough play although there are remarkably less free seconds amidst such a tangle for words between pawing and nipping and the whipping about of fire-tipped tails.

In the end, it is play, and everything is done with a knowledge of who can take what; and they would know how much they can handle. Chiffon is pushing it pretty far, not shying from letting push come to shove. The lug ofcuses on... holding on for the most part, keeping motion when it looks like he might be taken over and building up a crimson colored frenzy of rumbles, paws, and a little bit of laughter.

Chiffon's partner may be shy and quiet, but he can take a lot more punishment than he lets on. As such, pushing it a little bit could look a lot worse than it really is. Forelegs wrapped about in return, Calwa even tries to wrestle in position to twist and roll. He's more about speed, precision, and agility than strength and endurance, so Chiff's hold has a lot more advantage. Still, Kah can be a slippery devil to keep holding onto. Teeth aim to make contact along some shoulder in this maneuver so any playful laughter is muffled by Chiff-pelt and saliva.

It would hardly be fun to just try to *oomph* Calwa into the ground. Well, maybe once, but even for all his strenght there are still ways to squirm. Nibbling and gnawing that pinches but doesn't break hide.. occasionally the flurry broken with an impromptu bout of grooming. Not that it can make up for the mess they'll be in not too long.

Plenty of dust gets kicked up from this tangle. Calwa's roll isn't as successful as it might otherwise be. While he might briefly force Chiffon into a barreling over, the bigger Sanuye is very adept at rolling with the force of things; Calwa winds up underneath the big guy right where he started...only a little bit more to the side. Hindlegs kick a bit, but the fierce play slows and leaves the smaller of the two doing little more than just holding on tightly.

Chiffon is almost still again now that he's on top! There have been a few of these moments, surely, between bursts of play and what might be mistaken for violence. Still, he's warm, cozy, and panting a little from the heat of it. He leans down and, smiling, bumps his nose against Calwa's while holding firm. "Heh. Pinned ya."

The notion of being pinned earns Chiffon a quick bit of wiggling from Calwa, although it doesn't last too long. Yup, he's stuck. Huffing a little, Calwa wraps his forelegs around the thicker build above him. "No fair. You're heavy." Cal has his own share of heat-reducing panting going on, too, but he's trapped underneath Mr. Furnace so it can't be helped. "Maybe the food truck jingle will sound nearby and save me from such a horrible fate."

"Mm? Oh, we really have to teach you how to deal with... heavier things if you're going to be following me hunting." Chiffon laughs and turns, pulling the pair onto their sides. still loosely tangled. He squints at the quip, and nips at Cal. "You keep poking at me like that, and I just might not share~"

There's a light grunt from Calwa at being repositioned into something more lazy. The big lug winds up with a face trying to bury itself against the ruff of his chest. Bump. "Chiff," he says muffledly. "Needing help grooming your whiskers of gravy doesn't count as sharing." The way Kah says the word 'gravy' is drawn out, at that, emphasizing the fact he's being silly even if his voice comes off a little flat.

"You say that, but you're always so eager to help, aren't you?" Chiff keeps a paw draped over, looking down as his smaller counterpart buries into his fur. Still catching his breath, tail a-flicker and stillness coming less than easy.

There comes a certain amount of pure rubbing of face against chest in slow circles before Calwa pulls his head back and reveals his face to the other once again. "Just because it isn't sharing doesn't mean you don't need help." Perhaps Cal's gaze is met and eyes become briefly locked; either way, Chiffon gets a demonstrative lick over the side of his muzzle. Each hair, each whisker, gets dragged along and preened into smooth damp order. "Gravy fiend."

Chiffon gives Calwa a deadpan look at this. "You realllly think that's what I like so much?" He wonders, eyebrows lifting with another laugh. He tilts his head and leaaans into the licking to return one. "I've been accused of many things, but that really takes the cake."

"Don't tell me you have cake with gravy, too," he pushes, far-reaching, then laughs at himself because it's just too stupid of a mental picture. At the very least Calwa is plenty relaxed and cozily chill. "I'm just teasing," he states, in case it wasn't already painfully obvious. "No, really. Hey, Chiff? You know I'm teasing, right? Honest."

Chiffon stares on a bit longer, letting the silence drag out before laughing and nuzzling his partner. "Yes, dear. I know." He manages, rolling a little more and resuming the sprawl. "... this is nice. I mean, it's actually TERRIBLE out here, but it's kind of nice to be here. ... probably not where we should put down though."

In his own lazy sprawl, Kah has a look around, too, then sighs a little. "I mean, you're not wrong. Maybe somebody has a rooftop penthouse they don't want anymore and we can just...move in. We'd ask first! But, you know... Y-you know." A slight twist has Calwa's hip against the ground while his chest turns to be exposed to the sky so he can peer at the strange world upside-down.

"I know." Chiffon likewise rolls over and stares up. At least it's not too windy or dusty to make the experience unpleasant. Fur will need cleaned later, but that's just a cost of going out. And they still have so much ground to explore. He sighs and stretches out, holding a few claws skyward before softly adding, "we're really not that good with doorknobs."

"Had somebody tell me to grip it with my teeth once. Nobody ever washes their hands. Some never take baths. Could you imagine?" Calwa sticks his tongue with a shudder. "It's awful. Like, I don't want to lick my butt, so why would I ever lick yours, fancy bipedal grabby-hands person. Eheheh." There's a beat, then... "We're not upside-down. We're just carrying the world on our backs. Together."

"If they'd just... lower them maybe." Chiffon frowns. "We can grab them kind of... it's just... rrr. What I wouldn't give for some of that fancy pants unicorn magic." Chiffon siiiighs~ and lets his head thump back against the ground. "... 'ss that what it is, hm? You think it'd feel heavier, hehe."

"Eh. It's not so bad..." comments Calwa as he tips his head just enough to pass a glance toward the other. Wait, what's that curl on his muzzle? What's he thinking? "...after getting used to being squished underneath you, Chiffy." So cheeky! "But, hey! At least it shows we can do anything if we work together?!"

"Haha. Make fun of it all you like. These thick shoulders will carry you everywhere you need to go." Chiff gives a satisfied wiggle, and then kicks out aimlessly with a sigh. "Yeah. Ready to take on the whole world and all that! ... can we find a darn hill or stack of rocks out here though."

"We'll just have to look harder." Rolling over to become rightside-up, Calwa hops up completely onto his feet and has a very very good shaking out. Mind the dust, Chiff! Cal then takes a quick moment to scratch the top of his head with his right hindpaw before one last shake. There. "For a moment there I wanted to take a nap with you, but a little shelter might be better for that."

"That we can do. And if you need to be taught a lesson every step of the way, well, we'll just nap somewhere a bit more... rustic." Chiffon takes his time righting himself, grooming his paws a bit and shaking off a second layer of dust. "Maybe a nice tree or something, for now."

"You make it sound like I'm a troublemaker or something," remarks Calwa just before yawning and having a good look around as if anything has possibly changed in the past five minutes (it could totally happen!). "Really, big guy, is this the face of a troublemaker to you?" He shows off his face with the sweetest cutest expression ever and after a few seconds abruptly makes a really goofy face, jaw open and tongue hanging out, eyes crossed. "Hllllllaaaaaaah."

Chiffon puts on his best Lion Grin of Steadily Implying and watches Calwa defend, guff, and contort. The end expression makes him laugh and slap his paw once, before bunting and brushing past him affectionately. "Mmhm. The kind that can get away with it. The worst kind."

"Chiiiff, careful. You might hurt my feelings." There is a mock-sniffle in there somewhere, but the silliness fades quickly enough as Calwa falls into step beside Chiffon. "Seriously, though, thanks. As always. You really do help me feel real."

"Heee. You've had your head a bit in too much meditation if you're doubting yourself this often." Chiffon noses at Calwa and rumbles. "But I'll remind you as many times as it takes! I know that ticklish spot above your tail, anyway..."

It's true. Calwa spends a lot of time meditating, one way or another. However, at mention of certain weakspots, the shy nature of the smaller male comes back out all of a sudden. His ears splay and become very warm and his walking posture seems to shrink just a bit. "...Chi- Chiff. I thought we came to an agreement and..."

"Hehe..." Chiffon gives the Sanuye a gentle check with his hips, sashaying on and tilting back his head. "Mmm. We sure did. Still, I might have to remind you now and then... which one of us is the real troublemaker." He winks and flicks his tail. "Race you past the bend?"

Kah gets so very close to whining in response to Mean Ol' Chiff and his Threats of Doom that when the notion of racing is brought up there's nearly an interruption to that question. Calwa takes off in speed. That's a false start! Not a word in his defense is spoken. There's just a soft toothy smile pasted on his muzz.

Chiffon keeps up that smile. Threats and all. Not like Calwa ever minded, right? He lets the smaller one have a few moments head start, before shaking his head, laughing, and bolting off after with a yowl. There's plenty of good space here, probably the best to run around Twisted in any... and when they've decided they're tired, they can just find a nice place to... stop. Rest. Soak in the sights.
|}}

2020-04-11 - Bar Politics, A Reunion Story

2020-04-14T00:45:21Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = Sex, Guns, and Violence Part 2 |Summary = Rocket Raccoon and Urus meet again after much time has passed and alcohol is involved with what follows. |Wh..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = Sex, Guns, and Violence Part 2
|Summary = Rocket Raccoon and Urus meet again after much time has passed and alcohol is involved with what follows.
|Who = [[Urus]], [[Rocket Raccoon]]
|Date = April 11th, 2020
|Where = The Usual Restaurant
|Log=
Urus is in the usual, he's armed as per usual as the usual is unusually quiet for this time of evening. The hybrid hyena is drinking, which is not his usual but what is neccesary to calm his senses down tonight. The hyena has a small stack of about 6 shot glasses, upside down and emptied his tail deathly still as he stares out at the other side of the bar. He gives a decent sigh to himself, not looking rowdy or even dangerous at this point as if the world has disapointed him today.

The door to the men's toilet opens with a bang against a wall and a tall figure stumbles out backwards. The man, human, looks very physically capable. His shirt is barely a shirt at all; it lacks sleeves, too, which displays muscularly-thick tattooed arms. The man does not fall from his stagger, though, as he manages to regain his balance. During this recovery a smaller figure follows, quickly, which bounds twice out the door before springing into the air almost effortlessly as high as the man's chest. The musclebound fellow throws a wide swing -- it's a fight! -- but the blow misses. Instead, the small furry critter grasps that swung arm, kicks off of it, and lands the smallest left hook ever on the man's jaw. How cute! What a laugh! Look how the cute fuzzy thing ''sends the man sideways to crash against the side of a table six feet away before hitting the floor.

"Hey! No fighting!" yells a member of staff as a few other customers make unhappy sounds in response to the violence. The fuzzy animal, now on the floor and ready to brawl, points a finger in threat at the man on the floor that slowly tries to get up.

"You 'ear vat, you krutacking flarknard. No figh'ing! You touch me tail one more time and you'll be paying in teef." Well, that's an accent with a voice not easy to forget.

Urus raises his head and looks to watch and goes wide eyed at seeing an old aquaintance. that furry boastful raccon has made his way here too. impressive to say the least though he is more impressed by the hook that sends a guy reeling. it has to be him. "Hey, its the guardian with the three hundred pound gun!" the hyena smiles, his sharp teeth showing. "It has been too long smallfry, get up here and I'll buy you a drink, and I'll finish what you started if he comes back." the hyena says with a chuckle patting the bar stool next to him as the hyena looks a bit more worn down than the last time they met.

The man on the floor aims to pretest to some degree, but a stomping step forward sends the man scrambling to just leave. It's already embarrassing as it is. The raccoon spits after him, which earns a sigh from staff because that's just disgusting, but what else can they do aside from kick the small guy out? Scrunch-muzzled, Rocky turns and stalks over to the bar because 'I'll buy you a drink' is a universal attention-getter. Hopping up onto a stool, the critter doesn't sit there upon it. Instead, as before so long ago, he sits on the countertop. "I fink I know you from somewhere -- wait. Wait!"

Rocket leans back away rom Urus and squints a bit. "Were you vat bloke wot needed a good lay? Tell me you found somefing in alla vis time, mate." Squiiiiiint.

Urus chuckles after the guy runs. "good to see you again. supprised you made the jump." he says. The hybrid having been many places recently and only a month or so ago was just re-ariving in twisted for the second time. "Back in neo- tokyo, and... well, no, no I have not." he admits. "Lucky in many ways but that one." he admits. "Get him whatever he wants" the hyena nods to indicate Rocket to the bartender who nods. Rocket would recognize the old beat up SMG is still with him as well, was a good number of years but yeah, same guy.

Now, the Usual Restaurant is one of the only places you can get free food and drinks, but that's beside the point. The offer to buy a drink, even if you don't have to pay for it, can be what matters more...so long as there is actual drink to be had. Rocket isn't picky. He orders some flavor of gutrot before throwing his hands up. "Va flark, mate! Am I going t'af to get you a date?" This is one hell of a conversation for such a small and now carefully watched figure to have so ''loudly'' in a public place. Keeping it classy. He's also keeping focus on one aspect of the conversation while holding off on the whole 'Welcome to Twisted' part.

Urus shakes his head. "if its human it wouldnt be for long and if you have not noticed theres not a hell of a lot of non human women in our feild of work willing to deal with us. I know one but she's the damned police cheif." he chuckles. him with rayne is a deffinate no but he's entertained the thought once. The hyena pats Rocket on the back firmly. "how about you, plundered anything 'special' lately?" If Rocket is gonna entertain himself on urus' love life, what goes around comes around.

"Police Chief? Oi..." that last word comes out in a shudder, voice shaky, while the coon makes a face. "Vat gets dangerously close t'politics." Rocket knows of Rayne, but has never actually met her. Not yet. Knowing Rocky, though, he's bound to bump into the authorities eventually. Sure, he does bounty hunter work, but he also has a passion for overkill and collateral damage that Rayne and TASK won't much care for in execution. "As for me? Mate." He levels his gaze and flattens his voice to show that he's being direct and serious. "Women adore me." Rocky scrunches his face briefly and quickly adds, "And so do some blokes." He shakes his head and offers a shrug. "Va point being," he interrupts himself, "I keep sa'isfied. Often." This very restaurant has seen many of those 'nights' begin. Or, well, end before they get going far.

This conversation probably happened in part before. Something about plush animals. "Honestly, it only takes asking. Sssssso you can't bang 'umans. So wot? Vey are way overra'ed." And Rocket? He has a string of broken hearts in his wake and a lot of his exes are very bitter about it. Such is the life of a love 'em and leave 'em type. "If you could choose, like, men'ally construct an ideal, wot would it be?" The ringtail is trying to flip the conversation again.

Urus shakes his head. "you do realize you are speaking to an ex human. right?" he asks. "honestly it would almost feel weird if I did find some girl like me." he admits not being as progressive as he might lead others to beleive with his live and let live lifestyle. which is broken as soon as the money hits the table. "what, not willing to embarass the men too?" he chuckles. "regardless. you're not tricking me into saying that. beleive me, I know what is the ideal and its never going to happen." he admits.

Rocket crosses his arms and willfully ignores the teasing question to instead quip, "Well, you'uh a bloody tough nut a'bust open. If'ats any indication, vat fits your profile so far. Funny fing, innit." The raccoon seems to find this funny, but his attention is turned to the delivery of drinks and the sound of money being put on the counter. Rocky's eyes move from the drinks to the money to the hyena-hybrid back to the drinks and then to the money again before slowly settling on Urus fully.

"Wot, you don't know?"

Urus cackles his own hyena like way. "hehe I would hope so after all the time I spent turning into this." he says. "30 days of nonstop internal torture." he smirks. "not fun." the hyena gets his own drink and knocks back whatever the clear fluid is. "sorry, what? don't know what?" he asks with a tilt of his head. "what are you thinking of?"

The ringtail reaches over to place a hand on the money on the counter and slides it in Urus' direction just a couple inches. "Anywhere else, yeah, but money's no good in 'ere. You could tip va workuhs if you wan'ed, but it's not necessary." There's a pause. "Probably best if you 'old on to wot you 'ave, mate, until you find some reguluh work." Rocket speaks from experience -- he's been here quite a while and he's assuming that Urus hasn't been? It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that only a new arrival wouldn't know that.

Rocky's tone changes. Sure, while sex is important, there are other important needs, too. "You doin' all right, mate? You 'ave a place t' stay? ...steady work?"

Urus shrugs. "hey I'm just trying to pay out for whats there, Yeah, I have a place to stay though work is a bit rough, took an odd bounty or two. thats it." he admits. "not sure what I'm good at that is marketable other than, well you know. making many holes in people without holes." he says raising his gun for half a second. the hyena looks a little uneasy at that even as if its that fact that brought him here in the first place. he takes back the payment. "what about you, you got somthing stable?"

"Salvage. Invention. Boun'ies. I do wot I always 'ave, excepting va 'ole piloting frough space and figh'ing cosmic monstuhs wot freaten va Galaxy." Rocket pauses for a moment to shotgun the booze awaiting his interaction. He grunts and shakes his head. That's a burn. "Somefing tells me you still don't believe I can use an Ion Cannon." That would be his three hundred pound gun he mentioned working on a while back, in the other place. "Well...va d'ast fing got left be'ind. Working on somefing else now, but it's taking some tweaking wif photoacoustic phonons. Touchy fing, innit. Not ready for testing yet. Soon." And maybe a special occasion for it, if danger rears its ugly head with Rocky around.

Urus nods "maybe I can learn a bit more from Johann, I patched myself up enough times I might as well learn the rest of it I guess." he shrugs. "besides he's probably swamped having to take care of all of twisted by himself." he says. Urus rubs his head before it traces around to the back of his neck. "best case senario I guess because I don't know if I'm civil enough for law enforcement." he admits. he looks to the raccon and chuckles. "If you can lift a 300 pound gun I dare you to take me off the ground." he says standing up and looking smug. the hyena is a little under 200 himself, which makes him a little more dense than he looks even at 6'1. the rest of the technobabble goes right over his head, hearing not much more than 'touchy weapon tech thats not yet perfected'. "well, not as many monsters as of late. usually I would have had at least three brawls with some zombie but..."

Rocky eyes Urus. He just made a meathead eat the floor. "You know as well as I do it's not just lifting somefing. You need balance and stabili'y. Me Ion Cannon were about a metre and a 'alf long, but dense; compact and made from 'eavy materials, yeah?" He pauses a couple seconds so the math can sink in. "If I picked you up you'd just fall right ovuh or somefing and risk me breaking your leg." The raccoon raps his knuckles on the countertop upon which he sits perched. He wants another round or two. "You realize I didn't 'it vat bloke in va face with full strengf, yeah? Didn't want a'murder 'im; just teach 'im a lesson." Boy can the little guy brag.

Urus rolls his eyes and sits back down. surrrre balance. at this point he feels like Rocket is full of shit even though it shouldnt be supprising that the raccoon is not as it seems. "I'm sure you could absolutely do so, and while you're at it your workout regiment consists of squatting park benches and bench pressing cars..." he says with the tone to tell he does not beleive a word of it. "got a special diet too hercules?" he jokes.

"Rocket fuel," says he in namesake as he thumbs at the shots refills incoming. Not the most high brow humor, but there's something to be said for simplicity and timing, complete with a toothy laugh that accompanies it. "Why are you so adamant about me picking you up? Ain't you best worried about trying t' pick up somebody yourself?" More humor from the short and fuzzy. "Flarking 'ell," he comments before draining a shot of ethanol-based throat-lubricant. "People are going a'talk. Ha ha ha ha!"

Urus chuckles, that was decent he'll give the little fuzzball that. "I am not, I'm just figuring that your words might not match your actions is all. no offense but until I see you in action I don't beleive half of what you said about your prowess with your 'ion cannon' he says. he shoots a small glare at Rocket for briging them full circle. "so now that you've had a drink why don't we have dinner." he says. he's willing to bat for both teams and if it flusters the 'coon then its all worth it.

"Ain't vey one in va same?" asks Rocket as he holds a shotglass in one hand and points at it with the other. His gaze then passes over to the stack of shot glasses before the hyena guy and competitive nature kicks in. "One, two, free, four, five. Bring me five more!" A pointed glare is given Urus. "You might fink me teef are dull, but you've got anuhvuh fing coming, mate. You sop up vat liquor in you if you need to, but I'm going to do some catching up. Maybe pass you once or twice around va track." The notion about dinner meaning anything close to a date goes over Rocky's head at the moment.

Urus chuckles. "you sure you can hold that many? youre more than half the size, dont you need half the alcohol?" he asks "No need to pass out on me." the hyena sighs at the fact his half hearted attempt going wide, he can't even pick up the guy who is rooting for him to get a date. figures thats his luck. "So, I'm a bit partial to long walks on the beach, how about you." he says with attempt two, If the steryotype were not obvious he'll probably try the more blunt approach. because why the hell not, what does he have to loose, well his dignity but that probably went half when he was naked and watched as he transformed into the hyena he is now... "you ever contemplated somthing more long term than one night stands?"

"Trust me, mate. I can outdrink you. Solid fact. Period. End o' sentence." Yes, it's true. Rocket Raccoon is one cocky sonavabitch and it's usually justified. That's how he gets away with it. "But seeing as 'ow vis is only va second time you've evuh 'ad a drink wif me I can forgive you for not knowing va trufe o'vit." Staff so serving might seem a little dubious at the order. It's not because Rocket -can't- drink that much. It's just a matter of the things he's more likely to do when drunk. One more shot goes down.

"As for a beach, I fink vere's one near 'ere... I've been wif women wif similar interests. Some planets 'ave beh'uh beaches van uhvuhs. And nuffing -- nuffing! -- beats Beaches. Va's a movie. The Movie. And I'll shoot anybody wot disagrees wif me." This is why staff get worried. Two more shots.

"As for your uhvuh uhvuh conversational topic, I actually 'ave been in rahvuh cemen'ed relationships before, but vey just don't sit wif me lifestyle. Knowha'amean?" And the last two more. He sniffs the air and blinks a couple times. Visual focus is a good thing.

Urus shrugs "hey I just want to know how much I've had." he says honestly, those 6, now 7 were over the period of a few hours, so that much in a few minutes is the disparity between Urus' rather level head and the raccoon's less so demeanor. "I see so who you need, is someone who likes you, That loves beaches, doesnt mind if you go missing from time to time... and is well versed in having violence and explosions around them..." annnd here comes the wind up...

"I'unno. I suppose. You even evuh seen Beaches?" Rocket shifts his weight a bit where he sits on the counter and his attention is pulled downward. "Oi, what's got me bum all sticky? I sit in somefing?" That's what you get for sitting on the countertop, even if sitting on a stool would be too low. "Flark. Ech." The raccoon picks up his tail and some of the fur near the base sticks to the counter, as well. "I'm listening, you d'ast poor bloke." No matter how careful he is, some of the fur winds up pulling out to stick to the countertop but the rapid shots have him a bit too buzzed to be all that dexterous in the process, but it's not like he'd let anybody else do it after that display earlier. "...but I know wot you want t'ask me." He does?

Urus nods the affirmative "I lived on one for near a year and worked near one for three so yeah I've seen plenty. always captures the imagination." he says. the hyena brings his one half filled water glass, learned how to keep from getting hangovers. and hands it off, the water should help loosten whatever it happens to be. until of course he goes the hard way and the hyena sighs. "Then I know you have an awnser in mind, Do you want to go out on a date some time smallfry?"

"Sure, we could to'ally go work a boun'y togevuh sometime." There's a pause, a silence, as Rocky works to get his tail and butt unstuck from whatever syrupy confection that wound up puddled on the counter. He finally manages, more or less, although the act nearly fully upsets his position to have him fall off the bartop. He doesn't, but for a moment it sure seems like he might. The beyond-tipsy coon then hops up to his feet and tries look back at the dirty spot on his backside-covering clothing -- also a dangerous game when you wobble a bit -- before suddenly laughing. Not a giggle, not a chuckle, but a full on bellow that ends in a snort.

"I dunno wot vey served me, but it really went t'me 'ead. For a moment, I fought you asked me for a date." Thing is, it's not derisive laughter. It's drunken amusement, plain and simple. "Wait. You DID ask me on a date. Va's it! See?!" Rocky hops over before the hyena, standing on the bartop, and offers what must pass as a high-five. "Just like vat. Flarking 'ell, well done, mate. You'uh learning! Next fing I know you'll be needing date re'earsal."

Rocket shakes his head. "I'm not va best one t'elp wif vat kinda practice, mate, but I can at least try. What else are mates-in-arms for, right?" There's a bit of misunderstanding, question mark?

Urus sighs he stands up. the high five goes unawnsered there's a good way to knock sence into someone super drunk and Urus is done playing games. "rocket." he reaches out and gives a few firm but not full on taps to the raccoon's face. "Your drunk as a skunk but I'm going to try this one more time. I'm not practicing, I'm not playing games. Date, Yes or no damnit." he says outright. there is no denying it even by the firmness of the hyena's eye contact. "So what's it going to be. by your definition I should be right what your looking for.. except maybe if I had tits..."

"Ha ha ha. Wot." The raccoon reaches up to grab that hand after a tap or two. He has impressive grip strength. "I'm not drunk." He might be a little, but he has the capacity to get far far worse before he reaches a passing-out point. "Okay. Let me get vis straight," mentally puzzles the small mammal a bit more sluggishly than normal. "You." Rocky points to Urus. "Want me." He points to himself. "On a -date- date." He flounders a bit. "Togevuh." At this point he motions back and forth between the two. "On a date," he repeats.

Drunken or not, the ringtail turns to gesture around the culinary establishment with arms held extended. "Wot precisely is your definition of a date, mate, because we are already vere. A coffee in a cafe? A lengfy chat atop a pile o' salvage in va junkyard? Listening in on police communications on a rooftop waiting for a new boun'y?" After turning full circle twice, the dizzy and wobbly 'smallfry' peers at Urus with a soft smile.

"Isn't all just a mah'uh o'semantics and situation or am I really missing somefing 'ere?"

Urus smirks. "well if you want to consider this our first one sure. as long as you can wrap your brain around the concept of getting back in the saddle with a legitimate relationship." he says egging the competitive raccoon on. "of course though you couldnt possibly understand how to have a real relationship like I had once. your farrrrr to shallow to even give it a chance." its a little exadurated but its all in the hopes that he'll treat this like he treated the drinks, a challenge for him to prove it. and fall straight into where the hyena now wants him. "The last one didnt sound half bad if I'm honest." he admits. "been a long time since I went on a legitimate hunt."

Many many exes have tried to get the raccoon to fall into line and not a single one has been successful. Some could consider it a challenge, but... There's something to be said for setting up for disappointment, too. There's a reason many of those exes actively seek to deal harm to Rocket. They've even teamed up in the past! Rocket inhales deeply before letting it slowly out. He raises his hands before himself in gesture. "Look, mate. By loose definition I'm date material, yeah? But relationship material is a different fing, innit. I live one day at a time with ulterior plans for potential futures, but I don't plan for va future aside from basic survival. I 'ave murdered many hundred faces -- all justified! I've fought freats to galaxy and universe alike. I've stepped onto va edge of known space and time in a place called Knowhere. I've slept wif countless women from across all galactic quadrants. If I've been wif any blokes, mate, I was likely too drunk at va time t' remembuh. Probably on purpose."

"But! If you want a drinking mate, a 'unting mate, or a mate wot knows 'ow t' build really dangerous weapons; va's me! I can't call it a date and I can't say I'm attracted t'va idea of sex wif a bloke. I dunno wot I can comprehend va mechanics. But I'm two-parts 'edonist when I'm one-'alf efanol, so, take a pint o' beer and call it a magic 8-ball. I'll tip it boh'oms-up and we'll see if it reads 'ask again latuh'. Ven you 'af a try again, I figure." Yes, everybody can hear this drunken conversation that is nearby. Nothing is sacred.

"I could use a top up." More? "But we should defini'ly go shoot fings sometime. Like, a lot. Bet you me gun's bigguh." What an arse.

Urus sighs, he half expected this, he's been here before so, hey not as bad as a first time rejection but.. still doesnt feel good. "you know, I am very good freinds with the police cheif, I would be careful what bounties you hunt..." he says. he was willing to give the benifit of not being that way were they to hook up and if it didnt work out he probably would have considered friends and all that. but now, he's got a side and an aleigance. "or if you do, make sure I'm not there. ok smallfry?" he says. the hyena turning a bit on the raccoon, then again, according to rocket this has happened many times to him so... "We can be freinds sure but hey, if you do go off the grid, I will have plenty of work to do hunting you down next." he says. wait, is he finally considering law enforcement? or is it just another bounty? maybe its the drinks. "hey.' he says to the bartender who listens. "strong one this time, bigger glass. just got rejected."

The bartender nods, slightly annoyed. "We all heard."

With a tip of his head to one side, Rocky watches Urus with curiosity. He said he was human once, right? Rocket can't ever seem to understand humans. Even admitting he might get drunk enough to do something he normally never would is going out of a limb of honesty, but Rocket's not going to take the backing down and turning around as offensive. That's just not how Rocket operates. "Don't 'ave t'worry, mate. I'm one a'va good guys. I might be one o'va only Guardians around 'ere, but I'll do me best t' figure fings out and keep people safe. It's wot I do. Nice t'get paid and all, but... Eh. I'm flexible. More van I might want t'admit."

With a hesitant hop, the raccoon jumps from the counter onto the stool. "You can take wot I said at your own definition, o'course. Wotevuh is safest for you. If it's one fing I'm really good at, it's testing boundaries. I'm not va safest choice, maybe, so vat makes you smartuh van me when it comes t'vis kinda stuff. I'll give you some space and step out. I know 'ow vis works. I've been frough it before."

The small fellow hops from the stool to the floor with a thud. "Just remember, mate. A closed door isn't a rejection. A locked door is. And va's about all va metaphor I can come up wif while va room spins. Pretty cool a'see you again. You got a great laugh, mate. Don't get murdered."

Urus cracks his long neck. "Good, I'd hate to have to kill you." he says. guardian or no he knows how easily someone can turn, hell he's one of them. "You are right about one thing, I should find someone, and its obvious you've saved me a hell of a lot of effort, its obvious you are a one man operation in every way possible." he says now slightly bitter. "oh beleive me, many things have tried to kill me, havent found a creature yet that could."

With eyes wide, pupils dilated, and rounded ears dipping backward, Rocket stuffs his hands into his jumpsuit pockets and slowly heads toward the exit. He's not embarrassed. He's not offended. He's a bit confused, though. He's not sure he can possibly extend friendly invitation any clearer than he has. "I'll see you around, mate," he offers. "I'll pay for va next round."

|}}

2020-04-05 - Echoes of the Past and How to Look Ahead

2020-04-09T15:17:10Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = A Sailor's Wisdom, The Mercenary's Path |Summary = Urus reflects on those he has left behind while at the beach and winds up in conversation with a na..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = A Sailor's Wisdom, The Mercenary's Path
|Summary = Urus reflects on those he has left behind while at the beach and winds up in conversation with a nautical figure over the past, present, and future.
|Who = [[Fazbear and Friends]], [[Urus]]
|Date = April 5th, 2020
|Where = Zeku-Kari Beach
|Log=

Zeku-Kari Beach

One of the most peaceful places on Twisted so far is the beach. Vast, crystal-clear waters - seeming to stretch out to eternity - whisper up to meet smooth, cool white sands. There is a street, of sorts, although it ends quickly in the grassy hill that leads down to the water. A small church squats here, with full windows and even a little tower with a bell, though it may not ring often. Down to the east, closer to the water, is a dockside with a rundown shack. The dock is safe enough, not yet stained nor eaten away by salt water, though the shack certainly looks like it's seen better days.

----

Urus is here on the beach. the hyena human hybrid looking out over the morning sunrise. his gun is behind his back, though loaded and ready, his top bare while his bottom half is covered in his usual cargo pants. scars populate his arms, chest and a bit of his face. his eyes looking out over the water. "well... I hope you all are safe..." he says reminising about those he left behind.

"Not what most people say to mateys lost at sea," comes a comment from not too far away. A tall humanoid vulpine wearing a tricorn hat sporting the Jolly Roger and a blue naval coat slowly walks close to where the surf meets land. The addition of an eye patch and a prsothetic hook for a right hand certainly completes the look, but the other hand and even the feet appear to be metal prosthetics, too. The fox's gaze is centered on the water, although a slight glance to Urus is given briefly as if inquiring further without words.

Urus, unlike his new counterpart is completely organic, he turns though curiously. "Not lost, just very far away," he admits, though he is supprised to see anything slightly like him, as he did with Alden. "Have not seen you around? You new or have we simply not met?" His voice is also paved with a decently thick russian accent so the pirate fox is not the only one with an interesting speech pattern.

The fox's metal left hand clasps behind the base of the hook behind his back and seems relaxed enough. The beach tends to have that effect on many folks, though some more than others. "Ye've never heard o' me? Cap'n Foxy and his ragtag band adventurin' about in search o' fine company and merry times?" Most would say 'captain and crew' rather than band, but that works? "Aye, we've all been around for quite some time. Suppose the tide brought us together for a meetin', arr." There's a slightly pause before this Captain fellow looses his hand and gestures with his hook. "But mayhaps I've seen ye around. Before. A different shore, may it be, but me memory is as fuzzy as me mug." A shrug follows along with a very faint curling of the inner corners of his muzzle-maw.

Urus shakes his head. "I would think I would have remembered you," he says; hard to forget a pirate fox. "Well, fine company I'm not much of and I'm sorry to say I'm not in the best of moods so... you're probably best looking elsewhere," he admits, the hyena shifing his paws and digging his toes into the sand a bit as he stretches a shoulder. "Suppose it did," he mimics. "There plenty like us, the fuzzy folk?" he says with a slight smirk and suppressed laugh.

"Like two vessels adrift in th' sea, each busy, with only a glimpse between, lad, it be not always a matter of remembering flown colors, aye? Still, ye be better company than th' bear; I be sure of it." There's something off about the fox, like reality trying too hard and somehow managing to succeed. Foxy's face scrunches lightly in thought. "As for numbers? Aye. There be a healthy mix, as vibrant as the creatures o' th' sea. Ye be sure t' find more than just the fuzz and fluff what be different, mind." The one-eyed fox casts his gaze higher, up above the water, to the sky for quiet reflection.

Urus actually smiles a bit. "Bear hunh, well sounds like I'm not alone after all," he says. "Between you and him, that is." though he does notice somthing off but cant put his finger on it exactly. "Right, I understand that much, but there is no one like me in my world so any similar faces to mine are a happy sight," he admits. "You must have been raised aboartd the most steryotypical pirate ship known to man if your talking like that without thinking..." he says

"Be that as it may, lad," responds the fox without a single shred of defensiveness regarding the observation. "I be a pirate, through and through, and there be few greater loves than that o' th' sea, but there be more to th' life o' being such a celebrity than sailing. Why, it be fair reckoning that there be no end to adventure." A few very heavy steps are taken. While it may not be the most apparent, the displacement of the white sand from each metal footfall is telling. This brings the fox just a tiny bit closer to his conversational partner, but with respectufl distance held still. "There be many paths to take. Are ye sure ye be unable to find yer mateys left behind?" While the tone is clearly aiming to instill consolation and confidence, there is still an underlying tone of concern.

Urus nods. "If you are happy with it who am I to say otherwise." he says. "I've been on my own 'sea' and it gets a bit lonely out there but by your previous comments your crew is a good bunch," he states shrugging and pacing a bit closer, he honestly at this point couldnt care less if the fox is truly real or not; he's being a good companion. "I'm sure, I've sailed one two many seas and they..." he smirks and shakes his head as he tries: "They be too far away for a man without a vessel," imitating the fox.

The vulpine figure is in no rush to lower his face from the seeming heavens above even upon approach. If one word could be used to sum up the fox's demeanor, 'chill' would certainly suffice. While his features contain wear and tear, he may not seem to have the same level of grunge and ill-repute that most would attribute to dread pirates of the sea. One of those large ears swivels in place before the self-proclaimed captain turns at the waist to face Urus more directly. "Mm? I know a thing or two about losing something I be unable to find despite me best efforts. Still, if finding that which is dear t' ye be a noble goal, then set that as a destination of which to guide yer course. One thing I can say from me time as a sailor, lad, is that the destination ye choose may guide ye rudder and sail, but it be the spots ye find along th' way that be most important."

Extending his right arm, the naval-dressed nautical figure offers a very metal and very dangerously pointy hook, possibly for a handshake? "Captain Foxy," he says in formal introduction with a bit clearer enunciation because of it.

Urus takes the hook without hesitation, firm grasp to shake though aware of the pointy end. "Urus Deravin." He nods. "You are right, there are plenty of things and people Ive seen that have made alot of this worth it, but in time I'm worried about losing them too. That I could eventually be the cause of their suffering," he blathers on with the animatronic fox having no idea what he's on about. "But nevertheless I'm lost at sea, you have a crew, what's your destination if I may ask?"

Obviously the fox has no displayed grip strength with a hook, but there is a strength and firm resistance behind that arm that may seem odd compared to his build, even if he is taller than the average human. "Me, the lads, and the one lass simply wander, moving where the winds take us, following the calling of need or opportunity. There be...a longing, I suppose ye might say; a longing for home, or the sense of home, which has after all this time adrift become lost to us. Will we find what we seek?"

There's a pause and the fox offers some direct eye contact. Something is off about it, of course, but not in the same way as the rest of the fox. Any amount of empathy would allow somebody to see great sadness deep within. "I can't say. It be beyond knowing. Doesn't mean it be unfit to be a goal, aye?" Foxy offers a grin to offset the gloom; many of teeth are gold-capped. "Fortune favors th' bold and bold ye must be to man th' helm. Waters be treacherous, crewmen come and go, ye may not visit th' same island twice."

"Can ye take th' wheel...Urus?" Very direct question.

Urus understands that feeling all too well, and there is a sense of understanding in his face as the fox tells him his story. "I understand, I too have been adrift too long and I have many homes but some not in the same way," he says. "Split between places." The hyena rubs the back of his head when asksed, he's lost himself and yet he's being asked to lead a party. "Well, I can certainly give it my all." he says.

"Arr!" exclaims the fox in piratical jubilation. "That's what I like t' hear, lad," he states with a confident clench of his robotic left hand in the air. "Ye grab that wheel and ye set sail and ye keep her steady, but be not afraid to make stops along th' way. Yarr ha ha ha har." That hook points at Urus while the fox tries to share some courage and confidence aiming for some level of charismatic infection. "Take a look where ye be. Ask yerself, lad, do this be yer destination? This where ye aim to be? If so, fantastic! Ye made it. If not? Well, Bloody Marinara, don't lose sight o' what ye want."

Captain Foxy leans forward a bit to half-whisper, "And I should know a thing or two about that, bet ye be thinking, what with the eye patch and all, aye?"

Urus jumps slightly at the sudden excitement. "I won't hesitate thanks," he says. Who knew that children's pirate animatronics made decent shrinks...yet regardless the hyena smiles back. "Not close, but... best advice I've heard all month," he admits as he claps the fox on the back with a chuckle. Bloody marinara, thats a new curse. "I try not to pry into those but, sure why is it with the patch?" he asks.

In every manner of conspiratorial motion ever, the pirate has a good look to the left and then to the right in the most exaggerated way possible to make sure nobody else is around before leaning in a bit closer (probably at great risk of invading even the most lenient definitions of personal space) as he reaches for his face with his hook and deftly lifts the patch to show that he has a perfectly good eye underneath it. "Aye, ye don't be in the know, as most, so I'll tell ye a secret," he voices with great articulation of the mouth amidst a scandalous tone of voice. "We sailors use a patch to keep one eye adjusted to th' dark for when we venture below deck out o' th' harsh blistering sunlight." Of course, that serves no practical purpose presently, but...

Urus considers the new info, the closeness is a bit weird but fine he's not afraid of contact. "You know, that would have been really good to know alot earlier in life, that would have helped so much in some of my contracts..." he admits. Being a mercenary, boarding actions are common and there have been plenty of times where some help with the light, or lack of, would have been helpful. "So, Captain, where is the rest of your crew?"

"Scattered around th' city." It's a sober answer to follow the ready excitement already shown. "Arr, but always happy to make others honorary pirates be that something they wish. Maybe ye'd like a hat or something, lad? Although it sounds like ye'd prefer a patch o' yer own. For future adventures, maybe?" The fox takes a moment to look over his person, face scrunched in thought, as he has no easy way to dispense a gift at this moment in time. "Hmm. I may have to get back to ye on that. I seem to be in short supply at th' moment." He's funny! Wait, unless he's actually serious?

"I take it ye be newly arrived yerself from distant shor-?" asks the sailor before stopping himself as if suddenly realizing that it's not the best question to ask, chalked up to strange inclination or the whisper from some metaphysical muse. Instead, Foxy changes to, "That city be incredible in size compared to here, yarr, but the waters here be more turbulent. And -that- be a metaphor, lad." 'That' city? Odd, it's like he's not talking about Twisted, or 'Mabase' for clearer, modern, specific reference.

"I didnt know there was a club I had to join, next time someone calls me one I'll tell them Captain Foxy sent me," Urus chuckles, this doing wonders for his mental health. "Recent re-arrival, not my choice but happened," he states. "Well, I would be happy to help you find them if you need," he says sniffing the air, he can find a rotten carcass from a mile away, whatever sort of bear it is shouldnt be difficult to find he figures...

"Arr ha ha ha ha ha ha har. No need for that. We have a way of finding one another exactly when we need to. And sometimes when we don't." It's a cute thing to say, maybe, but it's entirely true to the eerie level that such a notion suggests. The breeze from the sea flutters the naval coat and the steadily rising tide begins to lap at the fox's metal toes (for as real as they seem to be given circumstances fits oddly well with the uncanny pirate captain enjoying it). "Me? I'm here now because this be where my heading took me.

"But this be yer beach. Here. Now. A stop by a familiar island far in a sea of uncertainty, swept about by unruly currents and betraying gales, allows a moment of respite, aye? So. Urus. What be the one thing ye can do here that ye want to do th' most now that ye be Here and not There? Top o' yer head, first thing, matey." Metal fingers can't snap, yet somehow, when the fox follows through with the gesture, there is a clear snapping noise to be heard.

Urus nods. "Spending time with friends," he states aloud. He furrows his brow as he impulsively said that. "I mean..." Well, so much for tough hyena guy, hunh. "Yeah, I had family but I never got to relax more than a minute," he states with a shift of his weight.

There is sweeping gesture from the nautical fox as he turns on his heels with a billowing flap of his coat, left arm extended fully while his hook rests against his chest, presenting the city as it stands opposite the border to the endless sea in all it's contrariwise reflection of soothing calm. This whipping around in motion upsets the hat on his head and it begins to tumble off, but the hook is quick to catch it to hold it against his chest, as well. Showmanship.

"Then, as I be sayin', don't spend yer time here when ye could be doing exactly what ye want. If yer mateys afar be true to ye, they wouldn't want ye betraying yer heart for th' sake o' solitude...even if th' sea be a mighty beautiful thing." What can only be described as a powersigh follows Foxy's words. He also holds the pose throughout, waiting. That was good, wasn't it? He thinks that came off really smooth.

Showmanship indeed. The fox definitely makes a mark. The hyena stands close and looks out at the city as the fox does. "You're right, but I would be remiss not to at least remember those I left behind," he admits. The hyena stands up a bit straighter. "Captain, if you'll allow, I would like to meet your crew, and if you are the captain maybe I'll join your band of merry misfits," he says. Admittedly the fox's speech has just netted him a first mate, though the hyena has no clue that the animatronics are likely much more tame than he's bargaining for violence wise.

Join the band? If honorary pirate is a thing then honorary band member has to be a thing, too. "A meeting can be managed, though maybe not just today, lad. The-" Foxy pauses suddenly to think about what he says before he actually says it with a scrunching of canine upper lips in comical expression. "Some things be needin' discussing first. Ye may not be aware, Urus, but pirates are truly free, aye? We operate by democracy, use voting -- every pirate has a voice." Foxy replaces his hat atop his head and lifts his eye patch once more to have a shifty-eyed glance about. "We'll figure something out, matey." He drops the patch back into place and uses his left hand to push an imaginary tack into the air. "Boop! Ye've got yerself another stop on yer heading to yer destination. Until ye get there, the city be yours, Urus! Ha ha har, I be knowing how to share."

|}}

2020-02-27 - Toon-In Weather Report: 60 Percent Chance of Musical Numbers

2020-03-01T18:36:09Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = Toon-In Weather Report: 60 Percent Chance of Musical Numbers |Summary = Fun and mischievousness meet a man on the street that suddenly fears the worst..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = Toon-In Weather Report: 60 Percent Chance of Musical Numbers
|Summary = Fun and mischievousness meet a man on the street that suddenly fears the worst may come to pass.
|Who = [[Bendy]], [[Nathan Xeos]], [[Fazbear and Friends]]
|Date = February 27, 2020
|Where = Twisted Street
|Log = The Twisted Street

Appropriately-named, this street seems to bend and twist as the eye perceives it. This fact in no way discourages the world's denizens from freely moving along it, rendering any concept of the 'middle' of the road rather moot, and begging caution from even the toughest pedestrians. Nonetheless, this street is much-frequented, in no small part thanks to the invitingly rustic, wood-panelled front of the famous Usual Restaurant, whose painted sign swings to and fro in the pleasant lamplight beneath its awning.

Opposite the Usual, on the south side, Twisted Street forms a promenade of sorts as it overlooks Zeku-Kari beach. Further to the east, it curves to become a makeshift and decidely unlikely bridge over the edge of Lake Emepherea, where the housing district can be found.

To the west, the street becomes more unstable.

----

Appearing in a weak flash of green light, Nathan quickly looks around for his new surroundings. "I'm... Here now. Lovely. I guess this really is the center of this universe, somehow." Well, isn't it nice when a spell goes right for a change, even if it wasn't where he expected to end up.

"'Ey! Get back here you," a voice calls out as it's owner seems to rush toward the newly appeared Nathan. Looks like it belongs to some Joe Nobody Average guy who was running some kind of stand. Actually, no, his aim seems lower than Nathan. His sight is aimed at a smaller person who's also running right at Nathan in the midst of the persuit. "Why are ya even chasin' me," a strange, little black and white creature wonders as it attempts to leap at Nathan and climb up him, "Ya just had the stuff out where anyone could grab it."

Nathan Xeos turns around in time to see someone chasing an... escapee from old ink blot cartoons? "Oh, good. I needed more of this." He mutters, standing in the way of the rubber limbed menace. "Alright, what's this then?"

"That thing took one of my goods without paying for it," the chaser answers Nathan. Meanwhile the black and white thing shakes his hea da little. "Ya didn't say it costed anything. And I don't have money anyway," the toon responds, which makes the guy chasing him look like he wants to burst a blood vessel in annoyed disbelife.

Nathan Xeos groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You.. That's not how it works. Probably even in whatever celluloid vault you crawled out of." How anyone is going to stay in business is a mystery indeed.

"But I aint got money," the monotone figure states, "Why would I have money?" The stand owner demands to just have his stuff back, causing the small toon figure to puff out his cheeks in annoyance and look as if he's considering rather he wants to or not. Of course that just gets him glared at harder.

"Dum dee dum, dum, diddly-dum, de dum-dum dum de diddly-dum," softly self-sings an individual walking down the street some distance away from the goings-on. Heavy footsteps pause and the figure turns to look over the contents of a street stand that is currently unattended. A curious glance is given first one way and then the other before the red-furred creature reaches over the sales counter to rummage about for something. What is withdrawn is a red marker. "Ah ha!"

Next, so long as the now absent kiosk owner remains absent (and preoccupied), the floof-tailed and pointy-snouted person flips over a sign set up for customer information and begins to write in large lettering:

F r 3 E S a m p 
u l L s 

"Arr ha ha har."

Nathan's in half a mind to return the thing himself and save everyone the headache. The question of cartoon money can come later. Meanwhile, Nathan pushes his glasses back into place, there's the rather interesting sign vandalism going on as well. He wishes he had a sign, it would just read 'I want off Mr Bones' wild ride.' in high visibility paint. "Really?"

"Huh...really what," the toon wonders before peering in the direction of the stand, "Frthree samp ulis? What's that?" The stand owner holds out his hand impaciently before the toon sighs and reaches to pull a hat out of some sort of hammer space, giving it back to the guy. "But seriously, what's that supposed to mean?"

Tip-toeing away from the kiosk after returning the marker, for as stealthy as a creature like he can be, metal toes press against the sidewalk to carry the individual closer to the argument over money. Not actually knowing that one of the three is the kiosk owner, the fox thing (details easier to see the closer he gets) chimes right along.

"Aye, thar be free samples to be had, lads. True generosity strikes again. Why, it be best to collect on that grace while it lasts." Okay, not just a fox thing. A heavily damaged fox thing. A metal finger on the left hand taps against the right hand- no, a metal hook with a 'ting'! "Bell of opportunity and all that." Oh. An eye patch, too.

There was something familiar about that fox. Something Nathan at first can't put his finger on, but it's the pirate outfit that gives it away. Well, he's not screeching and running at Nathan, so that's a plus. "Riiiight." He turns to the stall owner. "You have a stall to run, and I think it would be best to get back there before anything else happens... I'll figure out what to do with these two." He says, crossing his arms. What is he going to do with a cartoon demon and animatronic fox?

"Ooooh, that's what people should be doin'" the toon states before pausing and tilting his head, "But if it's free, then why can't I have the hat? That's the same stand, aint it?" At this and Nathan's words the stand owner finally turns around and lets out a cry of annoyance and rushes back to his stand, making some garbled statement about things not being free. The little toon demon peers at Nathan curiously. "Figure out what to do with 'these two'," he wonders, "What, we gonna do a song and dance now?"

Leaning in closer to Nathan, the familiar fox lifts a metal hand to speak behind. The facial and oral articulation is likely uncanny. It's a far cry from the representation Nathan may know. "Just between ye two and ol' Foxy, that guy be needing a bit more patience staffed in th' PR department, aye? Yarr." A mischievous glance is given off to the side in the direction of the kiosk owner, only his eyes shifting to do so without turning his head, and he uses his hook to lift his eye patch to complete the gesture.

Drawing back, the fox laughs. "Do that be so? Ye want a show, do ye? For free?" Arms cross and the clearly damaged foxbot regards the smallest of the pair with the same as he might any child. "A sea shanty, say ye? What have ye in mind?" intones this 'Foxy' with a melodic edge. "What song to do be ye personally inclined?"

Oh no. It's a song cue.

Nathan Xeos has been pondering what to do with the two. They're not much more than pranksters really so no need to involve MCPD. Wait Sea Shanty? "What are you... No no nonononono!" He should realize it's physically impossible to stop a musically inclined toon, but he's going to try, lest the street be overcome with the animated antics of a song number.

"Uhh, know any of the ones about the dancin' demon," the small toon wonders curiously before blinking at Nathan, "Whatcha panicin' for? Ya don't like dancin' or somethin'?""

Perhaps thankfully for Nathan, the lead-in to a song routine is paused, at least in part, as the fox moves his left hand to scratch thoughtfully at his chin. "Dancing demon, dancing demon. Bloody marinara, nothing comes to mind. I be having to wing it." Eyes fall upon Nathan with a toothy grin; some of those teeth are capped in gold.

"I bet he just needs a good dancing partner, aye? Leave it t' dashing Cap'n Foxy t'lead ye in naval warfare or in th' ballroom." That hand is offered out to Nathan. "Dancing be easy, lad. Just follow the Cap'n's lead. Ye can trust me." Pause. "I don't bite." The vulpine's uncovered eye briefly glows red.

Nathan's choreography is terrible, but that's besides the point. "I can dance, but you do know what's going to happen right? You start and the entire street is going to end up joining in." Probably not the right thing to say. "Weird road'll probably have a band here within minutes knowing my luck."

"Ah, well that's fine," the small monochromed toon states, "I was just curious if ya heard about me before." At Foxy's offer to Nathan he tilts his head and looks interested. "Oooh, a dance class? That sounds fun! ...Aww but I'm missing a cane as well as a hat," he realizes with a pout, "I guess I've gotta do this with just my own handsome looks." At Nathan's reply he crosses his arms. "Eh, sounds like we got a hater here...might drive him a bit off the bend if we start up something that big.""

The fox seems to find this exchange terribly funny and tips his head back to laugh, laugh, laugh a piratey laugh. "But, lad! It be a bit late for that. I be representing the band I be in already, ye see." As if to prove the point, this Captain Foxy guy withdraws that offered hand for dance and instead grips an invisible guitar so that he can pluck a few strucks with the tip of his hook. The result is a simple bass line for a blues song, fully audible and in perfect sync.

Foxy looks up from his playing and glances between Nathan and Bendy. "So. What's it gonna be? A song? Dance lessons? Or have either o' ye another option to offer? Arr ha ha ha ha ha har."

Nathan Xeos makes a noise. "Of course you are." He'd forgotten that detail. He could try to teleport elsewhere, but temperamental magics being what they are, that isn't happening any time soon. "Alright, fine, go ahead. I shall not be responsible for the ensuing cartoony chaos." Pay no attention to queued up ice spell. It's just there for an emergency. They don't call it Twisted street for nothing.

The demon looks very lostly at Nathan's reaction. "Eh...I don't get whatcha are worked up about." he states simply, "...anyway, my name's Bendy, Bendy the Dancing Demon."

Humming a little to himself, Foxy the Pirate observes the reactions and introduction between Bendy and Nathan. "Dum de dum du-dum de dum dum, dum de dum de do," he seems to vocalize quietly. "The brighter place, a warmer sand, a far away vacation land, a rhythm played without a band and happy blesses all." The heck is he going on about. "The mountain tall, a smoky sky, you never need a question why, just listen to the natives cry out in their native call. `A`ole pilikia, daimonio ka 'oni'oni, and that's all you need to know to know what you know now." A metal foot taps heavily against the ground. "`A`ole pilikia, daimonio ka 'oni'oni, worry not and be the one to frown but upside-down."

Nathan probably knows who Foxy is, even if Foxy did mention his name in the third-person already.

Nathan Xeos does indeed know Foxy and his bandmates, if you can call them that. He never thought he'd meet them 'in person' as it were. "Nathan. Nathan Xeos. Someone in the not exactly enviable position of dealing with some of the stranger aspects of this little pocket of weird." To be fair to the Bounty Office, they do print the dangers rather clearly on their notices. "You really never know who or what you might run into. Which does include, but isn't limited to animated ragtime bands."

Bendy raises a brow. "Well it's a pleasure to meetcha, even though it sounds like ya got a problem with ragtime too," he seems honestly confused and not as if he's teasing Nathan with this, "Do you just hate everything fun?" He pauses and seems to catch on to what else was said. "...hey, the singing fox aint that wierd, my best bud's a wind instrument plain' wolf in fact!"

"Well, I weren't going t' be the one t' say it, but..." comments Foxy in turn as his little Hawaiian side-song abruptly ends. The puckish rogue spreads his arms in a shoulderless shrug while the corners of his muzzle upturn devilishly. "Ol' Foxy did offer to show him how to dance. I suppose that could be an open offer, but the moment has come and gone, aye?" Head turned to one side yet that one-eyed gaze still locked onto Nathan, Foxy leans in a bit closer for emphasis. "Aye? Or be I mistaken?"

"I do not hate fun, and the only thing I hated about the ragtime band was actually corralling them for arrest... Long story." Nathan says. He turns to Foxy. "As for you, one of these days I should dredge out the shanties I picked up in New England. Once the chances of musical mayhem die down-" And he's gone, in a second flash of light, dropping a snowball where he once was. This is why you use chaos magic sparingly, ladies and gentlemen.

Bendy looks confusedly at the snowball. "I don't much make sense of that guy..." he says with a shrug before smiling at Foxy. "It's good to meet you too...Captain Foxy right?"

"Aye, lad, so I be! Cap'n Foxy, feared pirate o' the seas, masterbuckler of all swashes, seeker o' treasure, plunderer o' booty, collector o' loot." Strike a pose, fox. Strike a pose. It's a very practiced introduction, surely, but he does his best to sell it.

"I also be player o' bass for me band. Grand adventurers we all be." Whispered behind a hand, "but I be more adventurerer than they, arr." That hook from before is extended, pointing at the toon directly, yet no threat is meant. Rather, it would seem that the fox is offer to 'shake'. "Ye be well met, Bendy. And, also..." That left hand reaches behind his back to pull out a hat. It's a little curmpled, but where did he get- Dang pilfering pirate!

"Free sample for ye. Shh, it be our secret."

Bendy shakes the hook and grins widely as Foxy offers him the top hat he went after earlier. "Ooooh, thank you captin'," he replies as he takes the hat and situates it on his head, making him look more like some sort of short, proper tap dancing guy. "My own band seems to be M.I.A., uh, on second thought, it might be that /I/ am.," he states, "Just let me know if ya and the band wants a guest or the like."

"A'course, lad! We be known for meeting and performing with guest stars." Just watch the cartoon and see! "I'm sure me band wouldn't mind. Yarr, speaking of..." A gesture of the arms reveals a bit of annoyance in obligations. "I be having t'do some things for 'em so I best not idle in still waters for too long."

Bendy takes off the hat, holding it safely aside as he takes a deep and graceful bow. "Aye, your show and mine can make good with eachother and manage who knows what in time," Bendy says with a grin, "Maybe I'll actually be able to control a boat next time I get stuck with one." He waves as it proves to sound like a totally fine idea, "Have a good day out there!"

|}}

2020-02-08 - Recovery and Reflection at the Water's Edge

2020-02-10T05:55:55Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = Recovery and Reflection |Summary = Following Calwa's rescue from the grip of the Black Hand and following medical treatment, he and his partner Chiffo..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = Recovery and Reflection
|Summary = Following Calwa's rescue from the grip of the Black Hand and following medical treatment, he and his partner Chiffon take a moment in the park to discuss matters amidst their reunion.
|Who = [[Calwa]], [[Chiffon]]
|Date = February 8, 2020
|Where = Nowhereto Park, Lakeside
|Log=

Calwa looks much better than he did when he was first taken back to Mabase for medical care after being rescued from his then captors. He was dehydrated, malnourished, multiple sprains, a few broken bones (including a heavily damaged nose), with sores from where metal had rubbed away at fur to expose skin. He's certainly better now than he was, although he still bears some signs of the aftermath such as the ring about most of his neck. The fur will grow back soon enough. Other wounds, though, go deep and not even advanced medicine or magics can heal the mind.

Chiffon's partner has been quiet. That's not entirely unusual for the more introverted Sanuye of the two. It would be more accurate to say that he's had little to say about those events. He has since learned that the object of his responsibility was stolen and that few clues, if any, remain after the firestorm and changing realities of that location of the outskirts of Mabase area.

Calwa walks along, almost with a limp, although not from any actual injury. He's favoring his front right leg likely from soreness alone. He hasn't worn his glasses, which were cracked and need repairing, since the incident and doesn't have his bags on, either. He seems relieved to be back out amongst nature; the Park really is the best option for some settling. A small smile is given to the side, to the larger of the two, as if to offer some reassurance that he'll be okay.

"I've missed you, you know."

Chiffon's body matches his spirit, stalwart and cheerful at this turn of events but certainly a little worried. He is difficult, if not impossible to pry from Calwa's side since his recovery. Which may be abrasive on occasion, but this is the price we pay.

Though he's got a few marks and mars from the fight, it's nothing compared to what the smaller Sanuye has dealt with, and so these Chiff bears with little complaint. It's strange to be back here again, or some version of here, with his counterpart like the distance between those moments was more than fleeting.

There will be ways to pursue what is needed, but now is a time of mending. Chiff leans over to bump his snout against Calwa's smile. "I was worried I'd lost you."

A tiny quiet laugh is elicited from the bump. Calwa dips his nose lower and intends to return the gesture with an upward nudge, but the motion goes very soft at the last possible moment. It's not that his nose is still injured or that it even hurts, but sudden reminder that it did hurt as much as it did causes the contact made to be very gentle, yet no less genuine.

"Still kind of hard to believe I'm here next to you. I don't know what's going on anymore or where we are." Calwa's voice trails off at the end as he turns his head to look over the water's surface while slowly strolling along.

The gentleness is reciprocated. Aside from a little lick, Chiffon is careful not to exert too much of his usual... enthusiasm on Calwa. Not yet, at least. Right now he's a good block, easy to lean and easy to draw from while being there, and warm.

"Mmm. I never know what's going on." Chiffon admits with a toothy grin. "But... it's much better with you there, yes." He sighs a little and watches the water, too, ears tilting back. "Though I'd like if it.. stayed in place for once."

"Sometimes," starts the markedly less-clothed of the two. "Especially when I think about it now," Calwa continues, talking in small segments with a lowered voice. Thankfully, the general calm of the park at the moment allows for ease of conversation throughout this. "I wonder if maybe I- I dunno. Died jumping from one building to another back in New Corel." That would have been when he 'fell from the sky'.

The smaller takes a moment to swallow some saliva -- a feeling that is odd after being so dry for so long -- before adding, "And maybe this is some kind of purgatory, instead of returning to the Lifestream, or punishment for things I'm not sure about." Calwa turns a bit and lifts a foreleg, his sore right foreleg, to give Chiffon a hug from the front while brushing cheek to cheek.

"But, if that were the case, I wouldn't have you with me to prove it all false."

"If reincarnation works like that... hooo. That'd be a real trip." Chiffon looks up thoughtfully, and scrunches a face. "Really painful way to travel around the cosmos though. I uh. This seems like some magical cataclysm to me, if anything..." A bit of wisdom and consolation along with all of the silliness.

And a little blush too. He's not used to being so... directly addressed in a romantic manner. Chiff leans back, helping prop up with his barrel and draping a thick paw around Calwa's withers for a little squeeze. "I'm really, really not going anywhere again. Promise. Somehow, all of this is just.. makes more sense with you here."

It could be seen as more romantic maybe, if Calwa weren't dealing with such an existential problem. Honestly, it's a measured level of stability that Chiffon offers that keeps the smaller from getting too deeply lost in thought over it all. All the same, the hug is heartfelt and the contact shared, for just a moment if it can be kept, is needed. Faintly, Calwa slightly trembles.

"That's kind of you to say. I don't recognize anything here expect for that one building back there." That would be the Usual. "Wow. I guess everyone must feel this way if they wind up here like me. Us. Th-that must be really sad."

"I think part of that is just... it still feels like it's transitional for everyone. I wonder. I want a way to make you feel at home. But... while we keep trying to find the way to real home." Chiffon shrugs his shoulders and smiles a bit. "I guess the concept is foreign to me. You're like... the closest thing I have to one."

So being parted is definitely traumatic. He pauses, and looks over with a little smile. "... worried about the others, huh?"

"Well, yeah." There are a lot of questions from and about the previous place that extend to this one. Are all denizens here Lost? Or only some? That could make for painful politics concerning new arrivals. Reluctantly, Calwa pulls himself away from Chiffon and turns to look out over the water.

"Speaking of, do you think it's safe to sleep here? This seems like a nice place to rest." It's true, though: Calwa doesn't have a home and, as a courier usually on the go, is fairly used to resting where able more than having an established place to call 'home'. That would be Cosmo Canyon.

There is a slow sigh. "I miss curling up next to the Candle on a clear night looking up at the stars. The heartbeat of Gaia below and the whispers of Greatness in the Cosmos above. Maybe you can see it someday. With me." Calwa pauses before adding with an awkward laugh.

"You could meet my dad." And his brother and sisters.

"We can try to help them. When we're ready." Chiffon bobs his head. Heroics isn't really in his nature, despite what has been seen. Still, it's hard to ignore that they all have a shared plight, and might have a shared solution. Chiffon looks up as Calwa pulls away but doesn't chase after immediately.

He's not far away, though, turning on his paws and gesturing. "I'm sure if we find a quiet spot no one will bother us. It's... not exactly a quiet inn, but until we find a place."

He trails off, listening and imagining with a little bit of a smile. "I'd like to see it with you. Meet your family. The uh, swamp where I was raised is hardly as awe-inspiring. But I'd still show you off." Around. off. Around, one of those two.

With a gaze that droops in order to look over the ground, Calwa finds a nice spot to rest and lowers himself to lie down there near the lake's sandy edge, without actually winding up on the sand and grooming nightmare that might entail. His forelegs cross and he lays his head down next to them while his tail curls a bit and bumps Chiffon's incidentally.

"I've seen some swampy areas, but I didn't linger long." To say that Calwa is usually only 'passing through' would be accurate. Until now. "Still, i-it could be worth a look. Right?"

Chiffon watches for a while, turning his nose to the air. A quick sniff check, and a few alert ears before he allows himself to rest again. A little. Listening for passers by and any possible... interruptions before he slinks over and lays beside the smaller liondoggo. Tails cross with little fanfare and he laughs. "Strange but loving people have been a hallmark of my life," he admits. "And any place can be made.. homely. With the right look and the right table spread."

As strange and outright alien as Qu were, there is no question as to their mastercraft of hospitality. "You think you'd like a place to stay that reminded you of home? Or would that be too much?"

"Home?"

Calwa's face shows a drift in thought paused only by the welcome company of Chiffon's warmth and proximity. "There are few places I've ever seen or read about that are anything like the Valley. It's dry and hot during the day, but it gets cold at night. There's almost always a breeze. And, uh, it's tradition to have your own personal hut. The Buga build these huts out of wood and metal on the sides of the observatory mesa where there are natural and hand-dug caves within. Very sturdy and cozy."

His left ear flicks twice before his weight rolls just a little to settle in against Chiffon's form while he simply stares out at the water but doesn't actively observe the lake. "Not sure there's anything like it elsewhere."

"Mm... that's true. But, you can be surprised what little it takes to evoke feelings of that place. It seems like you carry a lot of it in you as it is." Chiffon ponders, drawing little circles in the sand with a toe while he looks over. Makes a soft 'oof' as he feels the smaller Sanuye against him, and shifts his hinders a bit to help make a crescent-moon shelter for warmth and presence.

"So... let's find some places that aren't like anywhere else, either."

"Something tells me there's plenty of that to go around, at least around here." Given, Calwa has seen little of Twisted or even Mabase and has no idea what to expect, there's probably a little more dryness in his tone that he fully intends.

"But, hey, we're explorers, right?" Well, yes, although Calwa makes a better Urban explorer due to his talents. "So, I mean, I'm sure we'll find all sorts of things." His voice gets a little shaky when he adds, "I just don't want to explore outside the city alone."

"Yeah. You have to admit... it's exciting for an explorer. So many friends! So many possibilities! Between the two of us, we can cover a whole lot of ground." Chiffon puffs a little, sounding a little.. excited? Admittedly, it's there. "But I won't lose sight of the important things. And you know. If you find a way home." He tilts his nose over and brushes it down the snout of the smaller Sanuye.

"I'll go with you. And I won't send you out alone, of course."

Calwa is somebody used to being away from family and home for long periods of time. It takes a while to ever reach that 'homesick' point. As such, Calwa does not yet truly pine for home in any sense. Rather, he's mostly feel overwhelmed by being thrust into places wherein he has no knowledge. He could tell you the history of the Nation of Wutai, its feudal intricacies, and the relation of its belief system under the deific guidance of Leviathan compared to the Buga or Sanuye people, but these strange and random places so now discovered are so alien.

It is...unsettling.

"Well, I need to make more Gil," Calwa comments as a matter of terminological habit. "The sooner we get more coin, the sooner we get properly on our feet-" -to track down the people that got away. He doesn't say it. He says nothing about those fresh memories. Chiffon may be able to infer meaning, though. "-and maybe get more food."

Lifted from the ground, Calwa-snoot moves over to bump against a Chiff once more. "Thank you. You know, for being such a good friend."

Chiffon's origin in being somewhat... spirited away makes him more attuned to the alien. A little more at home in it, and at times seeking it out to further his own strange knowledge of the world. Priorities though have shifted from following his Grandpa's teachings with quite as much... vigor. And there is a strange sort of docility to it, even with the strange landscape. He nods his head along, though, in agreement. "We can both take on jobs. Probably even tougher ones, if we're together!" Quick money is usually either dangerous, or dishonest. And the former is usually preferred.

"It's nothing. You'd do the same for me. And besides..." Chiffon trails off with a little low laugh and a purr. "I may have been telling people we're a bit closer than that." So openly, too! "...How do you feel about beef bowls?" No, that's not our thing, that's Liyara's thing. but still.

Closer than that? "Well... We are. But you know what I meant. It's still- It's s-still a friendship." Chiffon has him stammering again, it seems. Flustered, Calwa winds up burying his face against Chiffon's neck after the nuzzling initiated. There he rests, against the larger's form, a pile of fuzz and mane and tailflames together overlooking the water.

"Beef bowl? Like...what, a bowl with beef in it? Sounds simple."

Chiffon puffs up a little proudly. "I'm happy to hear that." And a little pleased at making the Sanuye stammer, shy, and be silly. It feels like things are right again, in some way. "It is though. I'm happy to call you a friend." He tucks his head down and nuzzles between ears, letting him rest close and giving a shift to get more comfortable. "Heehee... oh, they've got other stuff in them. Rice and seasoning and... uh, there's a lot of ways to do them. A friend introduced me to them." He laughs softly. ".. guess we've got new friends now too."

"Definitely a dish from Wutai, then. Well, the style. Or so it sounds like. I'm pretty familiar with that kind of stuff, so it'd probably be fine." Plus, there's the added benefit of it being a bowl, and that makes it easier to eat when you don't necessarily need cutlery or anything like that. "I'll try one. When I have money for one. But, maybe a nap first?"

There's a moment where Calwa feels Chiffon's fur directly against the exposed bit of skin around most of his neck in that ring. It's a very odd feeling, but somehow it doesn't bother him too much. Maybe he's too worn out to be bothered. Maybe it's just because it's Chiffon. "You've made new friends already? I don't know how you do it."

"That sounds about right, from what you told me about Wutai. I've got a little tucked away for emergencies but we can find some postings in the morning..." Chiffon nods a little and rests his head on the ground, just so he can peer at the other Sanuye a little and keep his senses out. If feeling those fresh marks bothers him, he doesn't let on. He just likes being here.

"Dumb luck, really.. and at least one you already knew I think..."

"What?"

This catches Calwa off guard. Up until this point it felt like the two being reunited was some sort of cosmic miracle, and, while it still is, this brings to question the curious nature of that statement. "Somebody I already know?" This doesn't make him get up or anything, but his relaxed posture against the bigger Sanuye lessens by a degree or two. There's a beat of silence as gears turn inside Calwa's head despite the sluggishness of tiredness pulling toward the notion of sleep.

"Who?"

"You met Rocket, right?" If not, that would be weird. With all of them cruising around the Usual and all. Still, it's possible those streams haven't crossed. "It seems like a few of us have crash landed here. It's.. not exactly a coincidence. The topography and the people, it's more like someone took a chunk out of where we were and dropped it all.. um... here?" A bit different than their first transition, to say the least. Chiffon notices the stiffness and responds by washing a few licks over the Sanuye to reassure. "I have a feeling more if we look around, too.."

"Sounds familiar," muses Calwa over the name without any sort of immediate jolt of recognition. There have been many colorful types stumbled across in the not-too-distant past. "But, by Gaia, that's weird." Those licks have a notable effect, though, which causes Chiffon's partner to slump in place a little more accompanied by a sigh. A good sigh, mostly.

"I wonder what cosmic disaster would have to unfold to cause such a place to exist, if what you say is true."

"Everything about this place is a bit weird..." Chiffon murmurs between licks. Maybe it's instinctive. Maybe it's meant to be soothing, but it falls into a natural rhythm of little long licks that'll fall off before they get annoying. "Whatever it is, we're probably just caught up in it... not in the center of it. 'n we can figure things out from here..." He rumbles a little and lays a forepaw over his Calwa. "I don't have anything tomorrow... you should try to close your eyes though."

Part of Calwa wants to stay awake to better enjoy present company after such an absence and especially so in the wake of trauma, but the sheer amount of stress he has endured coupled with the need for some honest recovery time after his medical care weighs upon him in a way that makes the warm suggestion given by his affectionate and protective boyfriend very difficult to resist.

He actually gives a reply, but the words are mumbled. Calwa's tail twitches lightly against Chiffon's before coming to a rest once more. He'll be better soon. There will be a lot to distract him from 'stuff' to allow him to process it on his own.

There will be plenty of time for that, as is self-aware and an assurance Chiff would give if he weren't happy to see Calwa resting again. In a somewhat natural state, at least more than in medical beds and dealing with the worst of the mend. There's soreness, but a semblance of normalcy. The sound of soft breaths and a familiar touch that won't abate until he wakes up in the morning.

As he rests there, his ears swivel and tune to the environment around. This will probably be a light sleep for Chiff, on alert and just hanging on for some scent or sound that might be a danger threatening to return. The comfort of the situation is infectious, and they're hidden well enough that one night here probably won't be amiss...

|}}

2020-02-09 - A Game of Cat and Mouse: Mabase, the Metropomancer, and the Stranger

2020-02-10T05:37:04Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = A Game of Cat and Mouse: Part 2 |Summary = Yet another attack on an innocent by unknown entities is investigated by Jack Hawksmoor. |Who = Jack..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = A Game of Cat and Mouse: Part 2
|Summary = Yet another attack on an innocent by unknown entities is investigated by Jack Hawksmoor.
|Who = [[Jack Hawksmoor]], [[Lynx]]
|Date = February 9, 2020
|Where = Around to the side of the S-Mart
|Log=

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
S-Mart Parking Lot

There's not a lot to be said about the S-Mart parking lot. Like all department stores it's larger than it needs to be, and there are more cars parked here than anyone ever sees coming and going. At night, a lone security guard patrols around in an S-Mart-branded golf cart. The place is built on a hill, so the view of Mabase is pretty nice, especially at night - save for the forbidding void full of shattered rock to the west.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It must be frustrating for the Mabase police force. Scattered reports of people being attacked by shadow creatures have been reported off and on. Nothing has been outright fatal, but at least two people needed medical care before full recovery. Inflicted wounds are generally superficial, no more than cat-claw scratches, although they seem to mark the bodies of folks without actually damaging or being impeded by clothing. There are no magical or mundane traces left behind. No DNA or lingering aura in which to provide clues or tracking. The creatures seem to be anywhere, attack without warning, and disappear before help arrives leaving victims distraught and mentally traumatized more than anything physically lasting.

It must be frustrating for Jack Hawksmoor. The mystery creatures seem to be everywhere in the city, and yet Mabase has very little it can tell Jack. The creatures are not physical and thus have no general interaction or contact with the city's streets or alleyways. They must often stick to preexisting shadows to get around, at that. It's as if they simply aren't there at all. Yet, they are. It's like a crawling infestation of fleas. There is something there, but they move too fast to track; glimpses alone don't allow much information. The City can only whisper that they exist, and in numbers, and the only time that something becomes solid enough to pinpoint is a situation that is very quickly over with a person left in tears and pain.

There's a ping.

There's a creature presence near the S-Mart, up on the hill. A young woman, likely a very young adult, was chased by something, crying and yelling, through the parked cars and around the side of the store where there's more of a blind spot to the public. It's clearly a measured corral. That's going to be a frightening fact to review later.

Screams of terror go silent, although there is breathing. The fear in the air is intense, but what the woman stares down /isn't there/. Yet, it is. There's enough of a presence there to warrant investigation and, with the combination of the terrorized young lady, it's enough to show that something is clearly wrong.

But, it does not appear that they belong here; of course that is, perhaps, a harder judgment for Mabase than for cities where random folk *don't* drop out of the sky. Enough of a presence? And the street not far from the young lady erupts upwards, buckling and then reforming as Jack Hawksmoor literally...rises out of the ground. NOT right next to her, she's scared enough. "Breathe," he informs her. "I'm on your side." A promise, that, and one which likely means something.

The woman is scared, yes, and clearly has some minor injuries. On her knees, breathing heavily, she simply cannot respond with words as her eyes jerkily move from what she sees to where Jack makes his approach and back again. Her breathing becomes a little more strained, the breath drawn in a higher pitch, as panic begins to set in.

How much like a wild animal are these creatures? If she runs, will it attack? Does it matter?

Where she looks, nothing stands. There is heavy shadow cast by a parked transportation truck nearby. Whatever it is remains hidden and practically invisible. Nothing more than shadow, no more physical, no more interactive. Is something there? The woman seems to think so.

''She knows''.

It doesn't take a magical expert to know that something is wrong. Barely, only just faintly, Jack can likely pick up on the faint reflection of eyes low to the ground. It is fleeting, but shows that something is there. Is it small? Does size matter? Everything about the situation seems to line up with other reports.

The woman mouths some words, likely some variation of 'help me', but something else that could be 'make it stop' or 'make it go away'. So sharp are the tools used to inflict injury that, as the woman kneels there breathing heavily in her steeped terror, a cut sustained before Jack's appearance on her face finally begins to leak a little. Fight or flight builds and the woman is clearly ready to bolt.

"...gottagohomegottagohome..."

"Breathe." Jack moves, drops into a crouch to study the eyes, but putting himself between them and the woman. He's not sure whether telling her its real will make this better or worse. Jack is no magic expert, no, but he sees this, feels it. KNOWS it's real.

Oh, she's breathing, but it's hardly in a way that reflects calmness or wholeness of composition. Even with Jack moving in to place himself between her and the large patch of shadow, she seems to jerk at the knees and elbows, her bosom rises and falls, and she begins to scramble in a way that allows her to run. Of course, with the way she begins to move, this would pave the path for her to escape further behind the building itself rather than around the front where many other oblivious shoppers come and go. It is notably more shadow-filled behind the store.

"Ohgodohgod."

There is a glimmer of reflection once more in the shadow of the truck, but it is not in the same place as the previous. Its position seems fluid and indeterminate while within such umbral covering. It's a stirring. A feeling. It's all shadow, but one can still feel a presence. A casting of unseen eyes upon. It is not a sense of multiple, only a singular that is unquantified. How does one confront a something that is a nothing at the same time?

A clatter of shoes upon rough asphalt from behind Hawksmoor, accompanied by a sharp gasping intake of breath, is an immediate indication that the woman has given up on staying still and instead feels the need to flee. Jack, however, is a physical barrier in a mostly direct path.

Ultimately? You don't. Jack reaches out into the city, his eyes flickering red as he has Mabase track the girl, staying in that crouch. Ready to move, ready to merge with the city. You don't confront. You try to understand, tendrils of psychic power that flow through him. "Who are you?" he asks the something that is nothing.

If Jack could be granted any sense of psychic sensation in response to such a question, the reply would not be an identification. No, the sense would merely be something closer to jeering laughter, but there's nothing there and nothing to provide that communication. Except, there is. There sheer presentation is enough to make a person's head hurt.

This is not like dealing with Shadow People or Wraiths or Shades, reflections of the dead of which some can manipulate shadows in tangential influence over the physical, because those things have a presence, a focus, a center of which can be felt or tracked or even attacked. Despite there being something there, there is only Nothing and shadow and a mostly imperceptible notion of cruel mockery.

The woman flees. Screw this noise, she's out. Nearly tripping over herself in the process, terror and panic grip her completely like a vice and send her reeling in escape despite her surface injuries. To her feet and some distance had, she involuntarily screams. This flare of fear seems to be enough to elicit an even greater response from the nothing held at bay by Jack's presence and position.

The shadows don't move. They are simply shadows. It would be false to say that the shadows reach out toward Jack, because they can't. It's more that something within the shadow moves in that direction but such speed that an eyeblink would easily conceal it. A streak of shadow -- no, a streak of nothingness that might be seen as shadow -- rushes from the shadow, through the air, almost directly at Jack. It is quick and it is terrible and it is of the shape of nothingness and blurred only by the perception of movement that may not even exist. It is the same type of lashing movement that the TASK veterans present at JR's detention witnessed just before the man-in-custody was attacked in a way that the cameras never properly recorded. There was nothing to record.

No, he can't fight this physically, because it isn't physical, but he has a data point. It feeds on fear. It was menacing the woman to get that energy. Does Jack feel fear? Often. But it's the controlled fear of a combatant, not the panic of a civilian, held firmly within him. He doesn't dodge. "Let her go."

While, in that instant, nothing seems to materialize, there is, for Jack's personal experience, a grim flash of mental imagery that shows a horrific and monstrous face. It is also in this instant that the City is aware of another presence nearby, yet Jack's stonewalling between the creature and the woman might prevent him from being able to directly observe. Yet.

This face, this warped and hideous face built from the waking nightmares of children fed by fevers and illness, lasts not even an instant of an instant as such a presence streaks straight toward the unmoving man. And, with a whistle of movement, that face is wrenched to the side and broken. The base presence of the threat is torn away mid-attack as something whirls inches from where Jack's face might otherwise be and curves through the air before embedding itself into the wall of the S-Mart with a stone-chipping ''KRAK''.

There, in the outside wall, sticks the blade of a scythe impaling what seems to be something the general size and shape of a housecat. It is shadowy and barely there, yet it IS there and has piercing yellow eyes. It writhes as if to get away, but is trapped, in full view, with no shadow to bathe it. It does not seem to feel pain and no indication of pain is given despite having a blade stuck cleanly through it.

Somebody nearby had to have thrown that weapon. The presence is only just out of sight, walking around behind the transport truck to the back despite having thrown the dangerous item from the front -- the farthest point away. Footsteps are soft and steady. The creature, it would seem, is presented for Jack to have a closer glimpse.

Well. Handy. Jack will track down the thrower later, he has some questions for them, but for right now, he moves over to the...creature. Monster. Alien. It doesn't seem to be dead, likely because it was, in fact, never alive. Things like that aren't. Then again, some argue he isn't either. Alive has all kinds of definitions. It's...felinoid, shadowy, barely there. "Well *huh*."

There is something about the creature that is disproportionate and wrong. At face value, it is small and insignificant. Could things like these be what all the fuss is over? Is it these things causing such reports across the city. It doesn't look like much. It really doesn't. Still, it had the woman terrified to the point she nearly peed herself and clearly did some damage to her.

It remains there, caught and squirming like a worm on a hook, before eventually starting to drift away like smoke in the wind. It discorporates, is undone, and fades away until nothing remains but the warscythe itself. If one were to witness such a thing, it might be best attributed to a snapping out of existence. Does that mean it's dead?

A tall figure finally rounds about the loading end of the parked truck, hands clasped behind the back, while measured steps are taken to close the distance to the point of wall impact. "Strange and dangerous, isn't it?" It is a man dressed in military uniform. A very specific uniform that reports from before might easily identify. He has a cat's face and ears. "Are you safe? Did it touch you?"

"It didn't touch me, I'm not sure about the woman who ran. It seems that they feed on fear," Jack adds. The guy with the cat's face doesn't bother him at all; there are plenty of non-humans in the city, after all, and he just assumes this is another of them.

In absolutely no hurry whatsoever, the feline man walks over to the wall, places a hand upon the handle of the scythe, and begins to pull it free with ease. "Yes. Still, she's lucky you intervened. A bit foolish to confront it like that, but it did provide just enough opening to catch off-guard."

Resting the scythe on his left shoulder, the cat person regards Jack fully with a look from top to bottom. "I feel as though I've seen you somewhere before, in passing," muses the unnamed officer. "Have we met?" A right hand is held out to offer what might be a handshake. The hand is immaculately clean and nails kept tidy. "This is how people gesture in greeting around here, is it not?"

Jack Hawksmoor does reach to shake hands; his hand is slightly cooler than one might expect. "I've faced worse," he says by means of explanation. "And I learned something." To him, perhaps, that does make it worth a certain amount of risk.

The cat person's grip is firm, bold, but not meant to be crushing. His hand is not worn, though. For what it is, it's smooth. So is the catman's gaze. The question of previous passing goes unanswered for now, it seems. "Good. Next time, however, I would not advise on letting it touch you. They are far more dangerous than they may seem." And, in saying as much, the stranger reveals that they have previous experience or knowledge beyond the single present encounter.

"I was hoping to track down the source of the symptoms before it became a larger issue, but the city is too large for me to secure every person targeted." This feline-faced man turns glance off in the direction of the woman who fled, out behind the department store; she remains safe from any other pursuit. "A good thing you were here. Did you see the initial attack?"

Jack Hawksmoor frowns. "I *sensed* the initial attack and came as quickly as I could." Hence his odd arrival. He takes several deep breaths. "What is the risk of them touching somebody?" It might be something he has to worry about. It might not.

Turning his gaze from the direction of the woman's escape, the fuzzy-faced man's body shifts position to point more toward the front of the building even as he settles his free fist on one hip and coolly cocks his hips to one side in both a confident and relaxed posture. "Honestly, for the most part, nothing too severe, but I have seen instances of certain targets," explains he without using the term 'victims', "going mad, losing touch with reality, or going blind. These tend to be individuals that are more brutally attacked."

"I need to learn more, but the Guardsmen of this city haven't been the most helpful." The stranger likely means the Police. "Such as it is, it's been a slower process than I would prefer. I'll spare you the details, but I have a plan." A hint of annoyance plays over the cat's face as he offers the faintest shoulder-shrug.

Jack Hawksmoor ahs. "Given I already don't interact with reality the same as most, I suppose I am either more vulnerable or less." Then he fixes his gaze on the cat. "Spare me the details?" he inquires, a slight sharpness coming to his voice. Of course, Lynx has no idea he's a cop, most likely.

With dramatic fashion, the catman sighs deeply and hoists that scythe to swing it downward so that it rests against the ground as a support for a light leaning against. "Look, I understand that you must be very concerned to have interjected yourself into such a dangerous situation and that you must be dreadfully curious about the symptoms running loose in the city." That's twice he's used that term. "But, the more you know, the more you'll likely feel empowered to go poking about them more."

Amber eyes move to fall upon Jack's face for as much as the man's positioning and posture may allow. "You'll get hurt and that's what I'm trying to keep from happening. I don't believe the Guardsmen have much clue as to how to protect their people from these symptoms, much less deal with the problem behind it."

The cat man lowers his voice with a shake of his head and leans forward only slightly with a glance to the side. "And just between you and me, I'm pretty sure this sickness is searching for those with an ability to end it, hence the more brutal attacks. The Guardsmen refused to allow me to protect one of them and I do hope he's still alive. Chances are they wouldn't tell me if he wasn't, so I've had to play their game and waste more time." The guy sighs again, sounding exasperated, but he quickly waves this off with his right hand as dismissively as he can.

"I don't think you get it." Jack finally straightens all the way. "You seem to think that by not telling me what the danger is to this city you can keep me from *doing my job*." He's not exactly angry; of course the catman doesn't know who he is or, for that matter, what he is. "I'm not some random overly curious person." Sickness. Symptoms. What he doesn't say, out loud, is that he has no choice. Didn't have a choice from the moment this started. Hasn't had one for years. Perhaps never did. "So, are we going to work together or are we going to get in each other's way?"

Jack's received response is an amount of laughter. Not a syllable of it is derisive. The catman is honestly tickled by the resolve on display. "Ha, well well. You really are quite eager to meet FATE head on, aren't you?" There's a beat or two as the felinoid inhales then exhales. "I like that. If you truly want to discuss this, I'm not sure here is the best place for it."

A broad arm-lifted gesture sweeps to the side around the general area. "There are eyes everywhere. Perhaps it is wise that we have not shared names here." The stranger lifts his scythe once more to rest it on his shoulder and turns to walk toward the front of the building, though not at a pace that cannot be conversationally matched. "Tell you what. I have business fetching something from the Notary Office of which requires me to then take it to the Guardsmen's secretarial desk for collecting a package. That might be a safe place to meet, seeing as how it's all the same building complex. Do you know of it?"

"We can meet there," Jack agrees...easy enough, after all And then he can get this guy in his office and they can talk in as much safety as possible. And no, he doesn't give his name; he might BE one of the eyes everywhere, but he'll respect the catman's paranoia; under the circumstances somebody probably is out to get him. "Soon." And then? He sinks into the ground. Show off. Or, likely, making sure the cat knows Jack has his tricks.

|}}

2020-02-02 - All The Meat.

2020-02-06T03:54:42Z

TheSmileDog:

{{Logsummary|
Title = a.k.a. A <nowiki>[</nowiki>White Wind<nowiki>]</nowiki> Blows
|Summary = Chiffon pays for Liyara's services in the form of food - but they both find more than they bargained for when her spellwork is complete.
|Who = [[Chiffon]], [[Liyara]], [[Calwa]]
|Date = February 2, 2020.
|Where = Twisted Street, Road to Nowhere, The Middle of Nowhere.
|Log=

It's going to be a busy day, today. Liyara has brought a series of books from the public library, this time about the history of wired and wireless communication in the twentieth century.

While the dragonborn is not particularly interested in human history from places that aren't her homeworld, she does have more than a passing interest in how human technology has developed. The idea of humans accomplishing almost anything on their own, and without magic no less, is a novelty to her, still. She'll have plenty of reading material for the parts where she only needs one hand. Which is roughly ten of the sixteen hours that lie ahead of her.

The red-haired woman doesn't actually wait to see if Chiffon will show up, so if he isn't already present when she arrives at 6 AM, she'll begin without him. It's not as though she's in a particular hurry, but she recognizes that he might be. And while few would actually call Liyara /considerate/, she isn't *completely* self absorbed. The other fire lion may well be in mortal danger. Time is of the essence.

So, it begins small; Liyara simply traces a single burning sigil into the surface layer of the ground beneath her, just enough to leave a mark but not enough to otherwise damage it. But while it starts small, it will not end small. What starts with a single burning finger eventually becomes a full-hand exercise, with Liyara's fingers each contributing depth, detail, embellishment, and interwoven connections to a complex array of patterns that don't quite sync up.

As if there's anything that would make Chiffon be late, short of a catastrophe. Liondostrophe. He takes this whole matter with an unusual amount of seriousness, and he's only accountable for bringing two things.

One, his lunky self to... whatever end. And a lunch order. There's the hiss and clunk of a convoy truck rocking as it pulls down the street, weighted down by... something. The smell is probably obvious, too, reminiscent of a butcher shop after a long day.

The vehicle pulls to the side of the road, the door opens, and Chiffon hops out, minding a foreleg. There's a little bit of a limp and--did he drive himself here? No, probably not, from the small bag of coin he wings across the cab to the driver. And with a proud strut, pops the tailgate. Under the canvas is what remains of several auroch, recently deceased and MOST of which properly broken down. There's one in the back that has a distressingly sized hole in the flank, cauterized, that looks more reminiscent of a ship's cannon than any conventional hunting gear.

"If we need to cook, I guess it'll give me something to do while you're... um...." His eyes follow the patterns, and then up to Liyara with a tired smile. "Doing what you do best?"

Liyara doesn't look up from her work immediately when a giant convoy truck pulls up. In fact, even when the animals are dumped and Chiffon comes limping out, she continues focusing on her work. If Chiffon doesn't say anything, it will take her several minutes before she says anything, but regardless of when she speaks up, she says the same thing. "Hmm? Didn't see you there." Of course. She never sees anyone there. Ever.

As she carries out her (entirely too large) task, Liyara will occasionally have herself a bit of a giggle at something she's reading. She'll also put the books away entirely for many parts. And, well, time will pass.

Eventually, Liyara will look up and see the food. When she does, her eyes will light up, and she'll ALMOST break with what she's doing. Almost. "Oh my, you did not disappoint." With food provided, Liyara will take a minute every half hour to literally spit-roast and consume a frankly impossible-looking amount of food. The woman is neither tall nor wide, in fact she's quite slender, but every half hour or so she's putting away enough food for a man three times her size. And quickly, too.

Yet somehow, she's not increasing in size, or even getting so much as a distended belly. People with comically large appetites are not foreign to Twisted, but unlike them Liyara doesn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing down. At all. Other women must hate her.

She seems to be pacing herself based on the amount of food Chiffon brought - but ... amazingly... it looks like she could actually eat more.

Chiffon responds to the statement by puffing up a little. Why, no, he's not below notice, but merely /sneaky/. Or stealthy. For his part, once he's done insisting that he /has/ to help some other way, and occasionally stealing--stealing, really, a bit of his own haul--he gives a cheerful barrely laugh.

"There's no half-assing things where friends are concerned." And course--of COURSE he's mutedly curious about the aracana all abound, but there is perhaps an even more pressing question after seeing all that voracious activity. ".... do you do contests? Would you get banned from contests?" Thoughtful critter..

The technical support expert from before did not disappoint or forget. Some time after that initial food delivery, a food truck rounds the corner and slowly pulls up to pause on the road near where the goings-on are taking place. The driver within clearly hand-cranks the window down and leans partially out the window to squint in suspicion. "Uhhh, somebody order food? This talking beaver paid me off for the day and said I was only supposed to cater to some..." The man within shuffles through some cluttered paperwork to find a note. "...'hot-blooded lizard chick? And...down here it says 'Red Wizard need food badly', whatever that means. This the right place? Hold on, I'm gonna pull over there and open up the side."

It's definitely a roach coach, as some call it. The truck pulls over, idles for a moment, then cuts the engine. After a moment more, the shutter on the side of the truck opens up and a counter inside slides out. There's a kitchen inside the truck and a menu on display. Only then does the name of the man's business become apparent. It's simply called We Got Beef Bowls. Now You Do, Too! Prepping the inner workings of the food truck, the man goes about a well-practiced routine.

"I'm not sure an eating contest would be ethical." Liyara's comment reflects the fact that her metabolism is sized for a gargantuan creature, and not a tiny slender dragonborn. The woman doesn't immediately notice the second truck, either, but when she hears 'hot blooded lizard chick', she glances up for a moment. "...Oh, that is probably me." Who else did she think the truck was for?! "...Red wizard need... Huh. Alright. You're in the right place." She looks back down to her work, now smiling slightly more, but using both hands. It's not a 'reading a book' time just now.

After about twenty minutes, at her next food interval, she looks to the truck, then her left eye twitches at the name. "...Beef Bowls. Of course." She glances to Chiffon, and furrows her brows. "...Tell him to just... keep making food and don't stop. If he's here and mine for the day, I'm going to eat him out of everything he has." And so she is. Once the food starts going, she'll adjust her intake to be exactly as much as would last the rest of the time.

As the day goes on, the circle begins to take shape. Sixteen hours is a long enough time that it remains abstract, and the progress hard to follow, but as the tenth hour comes and goes, the circle is starting to draw together in a fifty-foot crescent that will obviously close by day's end. It's quite a spectacle.

And it's not without incident. People are walking through the area, sometimes disrupting things just a bit, or just distracting Liyara with mundane questions like "Do you have a permit for that?" Or "Are you planning to kill us all?" Or even "What're you doing Saturday night?"

Liyara takes it all in stride; she seems to be more than accustomed to tiny setbacks in day-long circle casting by now. But then, she's done this a lot lately.

Chiff's jaw curls up a in a bit of a smile, a careful grin that's cautious of showing any teeth. Glowy tail flicks and he lifts a hand. "I'll take one of those. Something tells me I'm going to need a full belly when all else is said and done..." Though he doesn't empty it in quite the same way. No, at least there's spectacle for it all. One can only watch what one can't do for so long, though, with increasing restlessness.

So Chiffon does what he does best, and gabs up the crowd, steering some away, spinning tales where needed and adding just the right amount of just-so without presuming authority to, hopefully, get them through this without getting into major trouble.

"'n if you happen to have a big monster problem, or a little monster problem..." The latter.. well, no one wants to bring Howie into this.

The people are easily steered away when Chiffon turns his attention to them, and Liyara actually bothers to thank the Sanuye, which he probably doesn't realize is out of character for her. Having someone help keep people off her is actually a very, very welcome addition to ritual casting. One she can't usually be bothered to secure. And it's good that he's found something to do, because he will be feeling that restlessness for quite some time still.

As it turns out, the amount of food increasing has the opposite effect one might expect; instead of slowing Liyara down, the food increases her speed, if only a little. She's up to, with the slain beasts and food truck, a football team's worth of food every half hour. At this point, she's starting to actually not leave the Auroch bones, either. Is she digesting them straight? Grinding them into dust?

As the hour grows late and dark, the circle finally begins to close, and Liyara begins making small flying passes over it, her wings fluttering here and there. There are calculations that couldn't be made until the circle was complete, variables that have to be tweaked, and layered runes that connect other runes. But... Eventually Liyara slows down in her movements, and then stops, alighting outside the circle. She takes a moment to look things over. The day did not exactly fly by - it's almost 10 PM.

"Alright. Done." She announces simply, then looks around to make sure Chiffon hasn't wandered off out of sheer boredom. Not that he seems the type, but she basically wasn't paying attention to much while she was working.

The Sanuye probably doesn't even grasp the magnitude of gratitude, it's all just a matter of duty and common decency. That, and he seems to rather enjoy it. For someone who makes a career out of wandering wild, he's practically cosmopolitan. "I'm realllly going to have to figure out where the ol' rumor mill here is these days... people love a good yarn."

Hmm. Yarn. Ideas for later. For now, he's inspecting, careful not to step on any of it, or get too close, or... well, as he does. "That was... wow. Either a ritual or some very convincing street art. So...." He leans back and looks up. "What do we do now?"

Liyara makes a face at Chiffon's question, and then heave-sighs. "...My favorite part." Her left hand suddenly darts to her side, and in a smooth, quick motion, draws and slashes her dagger across her right palm, drawing a frankly unhealthy-looking amount of fire blood. Liyara doesn't wince, but she furrows her brow in concentration as she pours that blood into a very specific spot in the circle. The circle reacts by slowly starting to glow.

It's a slow process, and as each drop of her firey orange blood pours in, the runes and matrices begin to light up, the smaller circles within begin to spin, and the entire fifty-foot circle lurches bit by bit into brilliant orange life. Particle effects. Irridescence. This isn't like her smaller circles. Runes and intricate patterns meld up into the sky as they receive power, and the ground positively begins to rumble. Of course the Usual is fine, but people start avoiding the area she and Chiffon are in VERY quickly.

Within the sights and sounds, Liyara speaks her twenty five words. "...Chiffon's looking for you. If you accept, he and I will find you. If not, stay safe, help's on the way. Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers." She really did add that at the end. What a crock. After what can't be less than a *PINT* of her blood, the rumbling ceases, and the orange light reaches a peak... And then fades away. There's a low sound, and a wooshing of air, and then the entire circle she spent all day on disappears almost immediately.

"Well, easy come, easy go." Liyara quips, hand on her hip. She doesn't seem to have her human phrases down right. That did not come easily. As if on cue, she goes and polishes off her last small mountain of meat for the day.

"... that's your *favorite* part?" Chiffon's ears tilt to the side. Well, dragonkind are just... all sorts of extra special, aren't they? "Definitely can't copy this... I get beat up enough as it is." He looks at his paw pads, and flexes his claws a few times while watching the fire glow.

A step back, then another, a little hop here and there. He mouths the words as they're being spoken and quiets down from his cheerful demeanor. Tail twitching in anticipation as it all just... vanishes. "It worked though, yeah? It sounded like it worked."

And the great reveal, the climax of the spell's hours and hours of prepariong, has the bated breath-worthy response of:

Nothing. Absolutely nothing comes in response. The spell doesn't allow Calwa to reply.

HOWEVER! There is the arcane inclination of acceptance, permission granted almost -immediately- so, and all that comes with it. Calwa is, in fact, somewhere within Twisted. He is not, however, within the city of Mabase. He's quite a distance out, actually. While not a trip that would necessarily take hours to traverse, it is rather out of the way and almost suspiciously so.

Chiffon would be aware from Calwa's stories of the Black Hand that cities were the most dangerous to be in when pursued by the group and that open areas where Sanuye landspeed can be used in full optimization was the best option to get away. However, Twisted is a place that can get downright bizarre too far outside the city. He may have been too confused to have a distance advantage if he is still being hounded by the same people. Who are those people anyway?!

"Oh, it worked." Liyara nods, furrowing her brow. "...It worked, but it might take just a second." Her tail thumps impatiently on the ground behind her. "He has to receive it, process it, and decide whether to accept or deny. Could be a trap from his pursuers. That's a tough deci--"

'''DING.'''

"--Nevermind! Found him. That was quick." She flutters up into the air, and orients herself. "He's..." She turns so that she's facing the exact, straight-line direction, and points her hand forward. "...That way. A lot. Oh. He's out there far, that's no good. Strange things happen out there." ... Didn't this lady just get hit by a falling truck yesterday? "Actually strange things. Not normal strange like falling cars." ... Oh. Well. Like that's going to stop them.

"Hopefully we won't be giving him away in the meantime. Unless." Chiffon stretches on his hinders, exercising muscles that have grown a little aching in idleness and pacing. "Unless it means that we can catch whoever's chasing him off guard. I'm not about to use my boyfriend as bait, but if we can throw in a fastball special..." Who's getting figures of speech just-off, now?

He looks antsy, though, ready to get an answer and ready to go on enough notice. "There's... no reason you have to get on their bad side, though. We've already caused enough trouble for you as it is. I am..."

Ding. He looks at Liyara, looks at the directions, and his ears perk up simultaneously. He starts a step and glances back. "... I've got all I need. Strange? Strange just comes with the business." Now, it's not like he's disinviting Liyara by any means, nor trying to leave her behind. It's a convenient out for someone who does't want to put it all on the line for random firedoggos.

"Fastball... special?" The reference, off as it is, still falls flat on Liyara. Sounds baseball-y. She doesn't know a lot about baseball. She definitely hasn't read any X-men comics. Mostly DC so far. Yes, she HAS read some DC comics. They were OLD though. Long story. She shakes the reference off.

"...Get on THEIR bad side?" Liyara's tail flicks left, then right. "...No, friend." The tail flicks left and right harder. "...They're on MY bad side." Tail flick. Tail flick. "I'm emotionally invested in this journey, now. They're making me have... FEELINGS." Tail Thump. Crack. Crack. Crack. Splinter.

Liyara looks down at the concrete below her, seeing a spiderweb of cracks. "...Alright. We should go." Once more, this is totally not her fault. She is innocent. But best not to be around when Jack asks her why the road needs to be repaired. "Race you?" Liyara doesn't actually wait for the answer - she literally just bursts off straight in the direction she was pointing. There's a car in the w-- scratch that. The way looks clear.

"I'll get back to you on that one." Chiffon offers with a slight tilt of his head, and a smile. "... then, by all means. Once we're clear of the city we don't have to worry too much about catlateral damage..."

We should go. We should go? Yes! The challenge back to Chiffon is met with a half-chuckle and a nod that Liyara... likely misses. But if the way is clear, and if she's clearing the way, even with the earlier damage to his forepaw he still bolts full tilt. A red and fuzzy streak that makes up the distance in a hurry. He's got his game face on here, and has no intention of stopping until they get there, one way or another.

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

''The Road to Nowhere''

''The farther one journeys down this road, the more broken and miserable it seems. Eventually, there's no real road to speak of, the only trees in sight are bone-dry husks, and every building looks neglected or derelict, except perhaps one; a gaudy tin diner, slumped on the edge of a dusty lot dotted with rusting vehicles.''

''At road's end, the remains of its demise seem to have been cobbled loosely together into a highly suspect bridge, which arcs up into the almost literal nothing between one floating hunk of rock and the next. Leading from Twisted City to... Nowhere? Yeah, that feels right. This is fine.''

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

The road off Twisted, and it is mostly a road up to a point, starts to break down and lose cohesion as the pair travels in the direction Liyara is heading. It's not really clear if a simple lack of maintenance is the cause, or something more dire, but ahead looks almost... devoid of anything. At least, today. Tomorrow it might be on fire ahead. Who knows? It's not really a smooth, temporally stable place they're running to, it turns out, but a bit of chaos intruding onto the more stable areas of Twisted.

Beware. Here be dragons.

Well. Now, at least.

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

''The Middle of Nowhere''

''The farthest away from civilization you can get is the arid, empty area once known as the Wastelands. Dry and overcast, Nowhere is a maelstrom of chaos and sand. Sane people won't venture out this far from the axis of the world, due to the instability equating to suicide. A desert and a dead land, they mirror the Wastelands of Hell, broken trees and expired brush lightly specking the view.''

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------
''

Go figure that the lion looking thing actually seems a bit more comfortable outside of civilization. Well, outside of urbanization. And this whole situation? Anything but comfortable. He sounds like he's muttering little mantras when they manage to slow down. Dragons, and Sanuye... the population is up a bit.

Eyes ahead, ears perked, Chiffon's putting all his senses to use.

If it's on fire tomorrow, that's fine, as long as they've pulled the Calwa out.

This part of Twisted lies some distance away from the more ordered city of Mabase. This small area appears to be reflections of a different city, a few scattered ruins that don't fit in with anything else, providing a sense of desolation and post-apocalyptic sobriety. The ground is a cobbled patchwork of concrete, asphalt, and soil. Shells of long-abandoned buildings dot the area providing a sense of dire gray atmosphere while displaying what might pass as streets. Doors and windows have long ceased to be or function. Strangely, this place must have been like this for a very long time before it ever wound up where it is now.

Where once the foundation of a larger building sat, an open space is presented in the now soil-covered floor with only the hints of load-bearing walls present around the perimeter no more than five feet tall around it. Metal beams and rebar that once reinforced concrete forms a sparse and chaotic pattern that extends above the open space while any scattered chunks of vertical walling that remain provide places to be out of sight. That isn't the most striking thing about the location, however.

"That's not yours!" cries a strained voice.

In the most open area, in the center of the remains of the building's defined foundation, is a gathering of six people. Most of the people are dressed in form-fitting all black. Faces also covered, their eyes are enhanced by goggles that glow an eerie red. Every single one of those people are armed with high caliber automatic ranged or technological melee weaponry. One man stands alone and apart from the others by appearance alone. This man might pass as the leader, if his size and physical might are any indication. He wears a similar outfit as the others yet his head bears no hood or mask. His face is heavily scarred and one eye might be damaged beyond use. His expression is a mix of disdain and smugness. When he speaks, his words are thunder while the muted peal of laughter from the others that follows is much higher.

"Shut up, beast. Know your place," booms the largest of the group before swiftly bring his leg up into the side of the animal chained next to him. This elicits a roar of pain that is followed by laughter. Sinking back in recoil from the blow, the red-furred creature seems to try to catch his breath. This quadruped, once easily recognized as a shy pacifist with a touch of refined dignity, now looks anything but.

Calwa is disheveled and filthy. His fur is caked in a mix of mud and, presumably, blood. More of the latter cakes his dried and cracked nosepad as testament to the abuse endured by his captors. He is clearly chained up, the massively heavy chain winched into place and hung over a thick metal beam, all connected to a massive metal shackle which serves as a collar that is still too tight to be anything but very painful. It would explain the difficulty in Calwa trying to breathe. The fur underneath the collar has worn away to leave a nasty bare ring that looks just as cruel as the face of the one standing near him. His tailflame is notably dim.

Calwa lunges at his captor! Though the act may be in futility, there is an underlying level of rage and defiance that fuels the act. It is not a controlled attack. It is the swiping, gnashing, raw flailings of a caged animal ready to tear away flesh and crack bone between powerful jaws. With a strained roar, he viciously throws himself into the direction of the larger man, claws extended and jaws snapping. Like a feral animal in danger, so acts he. For the moment, there is nothing else that rules his mind. Stopped only JUST short of being able to make contact, Calwa finds himself jerked quickly away and upward.

One of the other minions is nearby the presumed boss, turning a crank that further shortens the chain with each click. The anger in Calwa's eyes turns to desperation as he is forcefully raised upward by the neck. Only just able to stand on his hindlegs to support himself, his forelegs and tail flail even more. He's clearly being choked. The wear on his neck may be a clue as to how often this has happened recently.

At a strongbox not far away, a minion places a courier bag and harness into the thing; they've stripped the candletail bare! He doesn't even wear his glasses. "Enough of this," speaks the large man. "We have what we came for. This filthy animal has been too much of a pain to simply let loose." With a gesture to the one at the winch, he moves his hand upward a few times. With glee, the crank gets turned another click and the goons laugh in sadistic glee.

"Bye bye, kitty!" bids one.

"I'll enjoy the target practice!" exclaims another while switching the safety off of their gun.

While the minions of the Black Hand organization are scattered and randomly patrolling, nobody will be able to get close to Calwa while the big guy is standing nearby and chances are it won't be easy to deal with the big guy until most of the others are dealt with. Time is clearly of the essence here, but these people are dangerous. There are many blind spots where other dangers could be hiding. You only get the element of surprise once, yet the time for action is now!

 [Battle start! Cue the Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JP7rjW5jAb8] 

Liyara has pretty poor passive perception, but when she's actively looking for things, she has a distinct height advantage over Chiffon, being mostly aerial. When she spots the men, all roughly where her ritual has pointed her, she assumes exactly what further observation would tell her - these are the bad ones. She shouts quickly to Chiffon. "I see six, one's alone and big. And... a chain. The animals chained him." She growls a bit, which has a much lower rumble than her voice might hint at. It reverberates, even. "...I'll handle the chain, you start the party." And then she's off.

The dragoness spirals up into the air, circling quickly and taking a deep breath as she goes twenty, thirty, then forty feet straight up, and off to one side. And then she just seems to explode in bright light and sound, a giant signal flare pointedly NOT in the direction Chiffon is approaching from. Sometimes you get TWO elements of surprise. The first one? Someone is flying in the air, burning like the sun, and...

She.

Looks.

Pissed.

Oh, she's gonna get that chain. But first, distraction!

The last Chiffon saw this situation, he ran face-first into a brick wall. For a moment that draws, like a string pulled near breaking, it feels like he might snap into a bolt again. There's a concensus look to Liyara, and a grin. This one has characteristically more teeth. "Fly safe."

The pain is barely contained, shielded in preparation and barely contained within trembling muscles. He flexes his sore paw once and then stalks into the shadows. Six with guns and a strung out target? Those guns obviously need to be focused somewhere else.

The finds a dark spot, and then charges. Rapid sprinting feet, almost more flying than sprinting by the time he takes a coiled leap airborne and throws himself square between the shoulders of one of the armored minions. There may be teeth. There may be claws. Wet crunching like someone went a little overboard with the celery. Execution isn't the intention, but he doesn't want this one getting up anytime soon.

And if the struggle wasn't enough, Chiffon howls to the heavens in one log, drawn, three-tone bellow.

A beat later he's flashing onto the field, jaws dripping with blood, eyes white with glow and claws tearing dirt.

Jesus Christ It's A Lion Get In The Car

In the middle of nowhere where reality itself seems to warp or break down it's not too difficult to hear shouting that doesn't belong to your own squad in your makeshift temporary base. Many goggled eyes turn to gaze at the flare and their enhanced vision causes them to yell and recoil. The apparent boss uses more than just his sense of sight, though. He has the intuition of a war-forged beastmaster. Any distraction the flare presents regarding most of the thugs is lost on him. His gaze is drawn straight to Chiffon even before one of the Black Hand thugs goes down from as realistic a critical strike backstab as one could ever attain.

The arrival of meddlers is one thing, but to see that one of them is the same kind as the captive Calwa brings a sadistic smile to the big guy's face. First pushing his shoulders up and tipping his head to the side with a crackling pop, the apparent boss puts two fingers to his mouth and blows. The result is a shrill whistle that alarms and alerts, but serves a very different purpose.

Two hounds, similar in size to Chiffon (only slightly smaller, but definitely more trim in build), come to heed their master bounding from their own shadowed resting place. These large guard dogs have very short sleek hair, enough to show off their strong musculature, but notably have a single large tentacle that extends from the middle of the shoulder blades backward. In exchange, they seem to have very short docked tails.

Immediately, one of the hounds responds by a short howl. The glitter of magicka shows an energy-based triangular pyramid forming around the large man as the beast itself seems capable of magical ability! This shield is capable of greatly reducing all physical damage done to the one protected. The other of the pair follows suit and releases a growl and another type of protection forms around the man. This effect appears to be more of a sphere in shape and it is a spell designed to greatly reduce magical damage. Big Guy doesn't play around.

The minions mobilize with deadly intent, but are generally unable to react to the surprise attack by ground due to the aerial display. Bursts of fire kick up dirt and soil and chip away at the walls as one soldier alone lays down blind suppression with his rifle in Chiffon's direction.

Not one to let the distraction pass without some personal action, Calwa -- still forced to stand on his hindlegs with great difficulty breathing -- flails and wobbles and begins, with great effort, to get a bit closer to the release device. If he can reach that unimpeded, he should be able to get free on his own.

[!] Ebony Hound casts '''''Barrier''''' on ????

[!] Ivory Hound casts '''''Shell''''' on ????

[!] Calwa draws closer to the '''Release Device'''

Looking down on the poor, blinded masses from above, Liyara starts making a noise that is probably not the most confidence-inspiring sound the men have ever heard. She starts laughing. You probably don't want to hear the burning, exploding, winged witch laughing when you start shooting at things.

"Barriers! Aww, look who thinks he's people~!" She calls out from the sky, and then holds both hands above her. "I changed my mind! I have a much better idea!" Does she? Does she really?

The sky fills with a low rumble, that one could easily mistake for thunder, until they realize the booms are cracking in the form of words. Words in the form of skyquakes. Neat.

"''Bathed in radiant light - I am the gate that opens into the Nine Hells.''" The woman's hands light up with brilliant white fire, and she grins. "''And I overflow with...''" Her eyes flash a brighter green than exists in the visible spectrum. Somewhere, a mantis shrimp cries. "'''''INDIGNATION!'''''"

She brings her hands down and throws them towards each of the hounds, and the burning sun-fire around her brightens, growing hot enough to slag steel in an instant, before she sends it down towards the puppies, not worried about silly things like buildings or people in the way.

...That's hot.

"Oh come on, now, that's hardly a fair fight..." Chiffon dances on his paws in a quick jolt back behind some rubble. Long enough to either draw out a pause or the end of a magazine before considering his next move.

Think quick. Don't think too much. Calwa's already dealt with this much, now is your turn to take some of the heat. And even if this guy has his number, he's not hesitating.

Back into the line of fire. The Sanuye clears back over a line of rubble even as bullets splinter off pieces of stone and hisses of dirt. There's a primal twist of of magic in his guts, a flash of sky-blue in his eyes and a bristling of fur. There aren't any incantations, just the evocation of some unseen muscle twisting, arcane circuits and his gullet swelling before he... uhh.....

A rather unpleasant sound, splattery, sputtery, and guttural with a thick miasma of rotten green gas from his mouth towards the shielded individual. [Bad Breath], magic meets chemical warfare meets nature's worst idea meets.... eww. Mundane filters aren't enough, and though the spread dissipates beyond a single plume it gets. In. Everything. Becoming tar-like as it reacts with the open air and conjuration.

Chiffon sputters. No, it's not nearly as cool as the dragon witch above; someone get him a breath mint.

There is a flash from one of the taller ruins outcroppings nearby as another one of the Black Hand thugs leaps to perch atop it and begins using something in their hands to focus. A discharge of power, however, sees nothing come of it. Well, that is, until flaming chunks of magically summoned ice balls come tearing through the air with a violent screech from compressed air as a salvo of large explosive magical projectiles. They are not exactly aimed well, but when your attack detonates on impact you don't always need to. This presents not only an added edge of chaotic offensive to the battlefield where Chiffon zips about, but is not entirely unintended to present some aerial hazards for the flying she-demon above.

Ebony Hound and Ivory Hound leave their master's side to join the fray even as death begins to rain from above. Agile and quick, they seek to close the distance fast to engage the other quadruped. Side by side, they dip and dart as they growl and weave back and forth through the ruins to give chase. It could become much more difficult to avoid crossfire with two hounds harrying your every step. One gunner winds up in the way, but the hounds neatly go around. What hits the thug doesn't come from the side, but from above.

The white dog, throughout this mad chase, is struck from above and bares a yelp before going down. It's not pretty, but it's quick. The black one barrels forward, leaping over slag and fire and the fading remains of its partner, to meet the heels of the Sanuye. Ebony Hound's tentacle glows red and, with its added reach, aims to slap Chiffon with what some might call a vampiric effect. It's able to draw strength from a foe to grant itself greater constitution!

The spewed attack-and-run aimed at the Big Guy isn't trying to strike a moving target and the magical protections on him do little to prevent against such a nasty miasma. He's faced down fiends that have used such attacks before, but experience alone isn't enough to prevent the wave of dizziness and nausea that follows. He grunts loudly at this, hand moving to his face for a moment with a shake of his head, but this act brings his attention to the chained prisoner nearby inching away on two legs. Scowling, his thick leg is brought swiftly upward again to strike the nearby Sanuye. Despite his dizziness, he connects.

Calwa's attempt is interrupted and this leaves him off his feet, hanging only by his neck, as he flails around to try to find support on the ground once more. His progress is not only reset, but he's completely stunned and unable to do anything at the moment other than struggle. There's no way he can reach the trigger for the winch so long as the Big Guy near him remains unengaged directly.

There is no additional gunfire just yet as the gunners move to take up full positions behind cover to protect themselves from direct aerial line of sight while keeping out of the open where the free-roaming beast has an advantage.

[!] Black Hand Mage casts '''''Cometeor'''''

[!] Ebony Hound attacks Chiffon with '''''Tentacle Drain'''''

[!] Calwa is Dazed and cannot act

[!] ???? is afflicted with Poison and Confuse

Liyara's attention is immediately drawn to the Black Hand Thug who leaps atop a ruin, and she waits for him to fire a weapon at her, but even though there's a flash, no bullets arrive. She tilts her head to one side, and then looks back down to see how the hounds fared, when an icy comets slams through the air directly into her. Or rather, that's how it should be - one of the summoned frozen meteors hits her straight on, and even detonates in the air where she was, but there's a golden flash at that same instant.

...And the woman's suddenly behind the thug that appeared to summon the things in the first place. Her skin has a light patch of frost on it, but it looks like she actually escaped everything but that initial contact with her. Somehow. Is that a thing dragons do? Just teleport out of harm's way in mid-hit?

"Interesting toy. Mine's better." The woman drives her dagger towards the thug's seventh vertebrate swiftly, but she's not looking at him. The big guy kicked Calwa? That won't do. And one of the dogs avoided her blast. Decisions, decisions. Liyara drops her dagger, potentially INSIDE the thug's spine if he didn't dodge, and sinks into her own shadow.

...And pops out from the Ebony Hound's shadow, reaching up to give the puppy a nice big hug with both hands. It's ok, she's just a slender young thing, there's probably not much danger. Right?

There's a lot of danger. That is a danger hug. Run, puppy, run.

Too bad Chiff saved all the big guns for the cows, apparently.

The heavier Sanuye is fleet enough to avoid the worst of it, but chaos still takes its toll. A bullet shearing through fur and hide here, a tentacle slap there. Even an extra little bit of singe to top it all off from magic colatteral. The smack of the tentacle off-centers him, leaving him dazed. More than dazed. He shakes his head, bracing himself for a still moment while his pupils shift and his fur twists. There's a *snap*, a contort that looks like an ephemeral tentacle burrowing into his shoulder blades but it doesn't seem to hurt.

His gaze dances over towards Liyara joining the fray, and a look that's--horrified? Grateful? Furious? Just raw adrenaline pushing from one flurry to the next, but he's not going to waste the opportunity now that the beast is restrained. He needs to give Calwa a chance to free himself, keep eyes off a little longer. "We don't need to kill them all. Just get him and get out." Didn't they steal something? Probably he's not thinking straight. He pins towards ???? and hunches down. Red fur, now starting to resemble a bit more his smaller companions in its mussed state, shines and bristles up as shackles run from head to tail. They start to resemble... needles. A whole lot of them. [1000], if you're counting, and he's pincushioning the 'beastmaster.' "Eyes on me, you son of a man."

There is a thunderous rumble of three motorized presences closing in fast on the location. Vroom, vroo-vroom! Two chunky and armored motorcyles come tearing across the land, dipping and weaving around obstacles while a third takes to the air over a makeshift ramp of broken concrete before thudding against the ground. Slowly turning in place, the last motorcycle revs up and begins spraying dust and gravel into the air behind it throughout the circle it makes to create a temporary smokescreen of dirt and exhaust to hinder sight of area from those within and without. The other two machines begin to zip dangerously around with full intent to run anybody over they can. Such movements only prolong the duration of the visual cover.

This obscuring cover, however, is only an advantage for the enemy team, though. Their enhanced sight allows them to detect heat and movement even through such a screen. Anybody directly in the line of sight from the now dug in gunners risk having bullets shot at them.

The Big Guy turns and stumbles a bit before regaining his composure the best he can. Opening his mouth, he barks a command to his hounds -- or at least the one remaining -- but the command is slurred. Realizing how bad his speech is, the apparent boss man finally manages to shake himself out of the confusion and mind funk. He still looks green about the gills, though.

This strange command actually spells doom for Ebony Hound as such a thing causes it to actually stop chasing and turn its head to listen for some clarification. Limited intelligence, but fantastic training. Still, the ceased movement makes for an easy target to grapple.

Hindlegs finding purchase once more while the swirling dust and engine smoke obfuscate, Calwa once again begins to strain at the shackle and chain, forelegs and tail jerking about in his careful attempt to balance and walk without choking himself more than necessary. It's incredible painful, but after a point it all dulls together and peaks; it only matters if it becomes too much and the mind shuts off. He's not there yet. Not yet. Close, but not yet.

The name-unknown Big Guy flinches at first, then stomps his foot to the ground out of annoyance and anger. The pins and needles from the attack strike away despite his magical protection; this leaves him bruised and distracted and extremely pissed off at anything Sanuye-related. Gaia's Guardians need to just all die!

[!] The Battlefeild is covered in a potentially Blind-inducing smokescreen 

[!] ???? is no longer Confused

[!] Calwa draws closer to the '''Release Device'''

Liyara's hug is not the gentle, warm kind. If the puppy doesn't writhe free in time, there's going to be a single moment before a sickening pop is heard, followed by several almost as sickening crunches and other sounds that would be censored on television. In fact, over by Chiffon and the new guy, there would likely be several black bars appearing in the background covering up the display.

Danger hugs.

After a long moment where she just looks disappointed at the fragility of the puppy, Liyara looks back to Chiffon. He's not doing well. Well, he was injured when they started, that stands to reason. And that's when she notices the thugs on bikes putting up some smoke screen - well that's just silly, how will *they* see? And she gets a flash of memory. She's read up almost exclusively on human technology since she's been here - because the idea that humans could even function without magic amuses her. Heat tracking. Like the flaming arrows fired from that mechanical bird she saw. So ambitious. Let them track something, then.

The woman takes in a deep breath, and rumbling fire builds within her. Flows through her veins. Fogs out of her pores. Surrounds her. Is her. She is the fire. And it's quite a fire. How hot will their heat sensors read before the entire area is simply unreadable due to the ambient noise? The surface of the sun? She'll start there as she tries to put herself between Chiffon and the minions, hoping to keep them from interrupting, or at least interfere dramatically.

It worked in that historical documentary, Top Gun, after all.

"Come on boys, am I not hot enough for you? Who wants a free hug?"

"You can't win this." Chiffon bares his teeth in the hellfire. Gotta give this Black Hand a chance to back off, right? Yeah, that'll happen. He's feeling better about his odds witH Liyara in the mix, though. "Sorry. Let me count on you a bit longer...." Calwa is in his peripheral vision, at least until obscure, at least.. always. As the fog of war settles in, the toll taken out of his hide he's only focused on one thing--keeping the heat. If that means taking a few shots, a few spells, a few bites... so be it. Fire, fog, shadow... he just has to be able to sniff this guy out long enough. Remember where the reeling bastard is and set up for another pounce.

The barrier might take the worst out of the impact, but it's still five hundred pounds of flying fur and fury.

This isn't pounce and pin, though. This is pounce, roll, release. Hit and run. Stay on top. And see just who wants to throw bullets and black magic at a tousling pair.

It's a gamble, if this bloke is used to tangling with beasts up close. But it'll serve.

Chiffon's move to confront the Big Guy within the cloud of dust and exhaust is a bold one, especially with the loud motorcyles zooming around that perpetuate the loss of visual clarity. One moves ahead of his direction, perpendicular and beyond, while after a few steps more another zips by so close behind his charge that it nearly touches the trailing flame of his tail. Through the motor stink and dry soil in the air, his nose leads him to a dark shape that is revealed only at close range.

Furthermore, Chiffon's charge puts him in the spotlight for scattered rifle fire whose shells strike so close to his form and feet that they help kick up more dirt than his footsteps would on their own. This gunfire trickles to a lesser degree, though, as a different target presents itself: a massive heat signature.

The sudden heat has an added effect, though. The air begins to whorl and whip about as the increase temperature causes a sudden chaotic shift in local atmospheric climate. This does not clear out the machine-driven smokescreen; at least, not all of it or immediately. It does cause great turbulence which, in itself, adds to the difficulty in seeing. There is so much dust and dirt and dry soil at present in this set of city ruins that all easily gets picked up. Conversely, the whipping winds do push away this obfuscation from the dragonborn's position.

The sudden sandstorm rages as Chiffon leaps into the air to throw his full weight against the apparent boss man providing a greater sense of dramatic introduction as his solid form appears in the air, paws first, before crashing into the brick wall of a man. He falls back onto the ground while the heaviness pushes the air from his lungs, world spinning briefly amidst ground and claws, yet before he can react Chiffon has moved on. In reaction, the Big Guy gets to his feet from the knockdown and growls off in a direction away from the struggles of his captive behind him.

Calwa continues to strain against his bindings. His eyes water as he forces them to stay open despite the blowing sand and filthy exhaust that stings the senses. He can see the winching device, although it's a dark blur just ahead of him, and his ability to support himself upright grows more difficult the further to the side he walks. The choking manacle about his neck digs into his hide while the tension and pull of the thick metal chain threatens to topple him over with the slightest misstep. Almost. Almost.

"Stupid beast!" calls out the large man in a taunt over the roar of the engines and the howl of the wind and the crackle of gunfire. "I'll leash you as my prize once we've disposed of the runt!"

Liyara's move to blind the thugs using heat-sensing gear may provide just enough definition that one with it turned off might get a lucky shot in. There's not much safe ground at present, or safe air, as many bullets are all too happy to try to find a mark.

[!] Calwa has nearly reached the '''Release Device'''

As the smoke swirls, the fire within Liyara rages. Those using heat gear may be having a hard time, but those not using the heat goggles are presented with a clearer target; Liyara's green eyes are starting to cast their own light, and since she's doing her best to keep herself between the firing squad and Chiffon, well, she's actually hard to miss. The first bullet takes her square in the stomach, where her heat is greatest, but it's actually turned to slag by the time it hits her, and it only stings.

Liyara grins at that, just in time to take another bullet straight to the shoulder. She gasps a bit in surprise as her entire torso is twisted back from the momentum, and her fiery blood spurts out behind her. Fortunately for the attackers, Liyara's fiery blood is quite far away from them, presenting no risk to them as it would to a melee attacker. Unfortunately for Chiffon, the splatter is going right in his direction. And if it gets on him, it will most certainly burn.

The dragon woman grits her teeth, raising a hand to the fresh wound, and then turns her grimace into a grin before digging into the wound just a bit with her fingertips, and then intentionally splashing that blood out towards the armed men shooting at her. Her heat signature dies down to normal as the liquid fire that runs through her veins now flies towards her attackers, but then she snaps her fingers, and her blood just *ignites*, setting ablaze anything it touches. Like objects. Or people. This will unfortunately include Chiffon, if he didn't manage to avoid the splatter.

[!] Liyara uses the monster skill: '''''Burning Spray'''''

"I'd be a waste on you." Chiffon taunts, using the limited field of vision. It cuts both ways, leaving him vulnerable at stretches where bullets hiss and sand gets in uncomfortable places. Dirty, bloody, and exhausted, but still running on adrenaline and anger. And he's not a runt. Chiff is just big.

"You're outgunned. You're outmuscled. And dare I say you're outsmarted." It's around this time that the area gets washed in a *wave* of heat. Chiffon snarls as he's hit by the Spray; he's no stranger to powerful attacks, but pain is pain. Fire is fire and his fur blazes on the end, giving heat and silhouette and an immolation that sets in deeper than physical. There's a fire kindled in along with that Sanuye blaze. That might be a problem with the infrared. But it does make a cool silhouette as he unleashed another shotgun spray of [Needles] at the big boss.

"You severely underestimate my dear companion. I'll be taking him back." Rough words, though made through labored breath and effort to stay upright with all of the fire.

The flash fire doesn't just create splotches of immolation. Just because the source of the sudden wind mostly fades, it doesn't cause the winds to rescind. If anything, the bloodborne napalm only adds to the localized storm to create a whirling inferno. Fiery blazes spiral in place as the winds blow through and multiple fire tornadoes grow in height and intensity to add a hellish glow to the dusty turbulence now far out of the control of simple motorbikes. What this must look like at a distance should be quite a sight. Within, though, the red glare of illumination brightens the swirling dirty air without actually providing much additional distance of vision.

If any people caught in the rain or the ignition scream, the sounds are incredibly muted compared to the noises created by the hellscape. In reality, most of the remaining thugs are pulling back into a tactful retreat and the motorcycle drivers are now finding the local landscape conditions too hazardous to safely navigate. As such, the gunfire mostly dies off and one by one, the motorcycles take one last pass or two before leaving.

Chiffon's words are met with dark laughter even as the man has to pull off his upper clothing to toss aside since it has caught on fire and not just a little bit. The skin of his back is already blistered from the limited exposure, but the bared revelation of his form shows that it's not just his face that is heavily scarred. This man looks as if he's battled countless beasts with his bare hands, for what one might actually get to see of it.

"Your kind are nothing but animals waiting to be put to heel! If you think you can best me, /BEAST/, then try! You'd make better use of your freedom by tucking your tail and fleeing while you can, but ask the RUNT how much good that did."

A blast of 1000 Needles in the man's direction yet again, much less done in the raging madness and low visibility, comes at the cost of being predictable. Instead, the Needles mostly miss the human monster with the threat of striking the struggling one behind him. In turn, there comes another loud crack, but it isn't a gun. Rather, an extremely long and thick whip is uncurled with the sheer intent of striking Chiffon to tangle about his neck even as the sound of a motorcycle speeding beside the Sanuye and Big Guy can be heard.

Fire and needles, fire and needles! Calwa's slow dance of desperation allows him no room or time to dodge anything. Somehow, miraculously, the dangers so very close to his position only ever just miss him. He does have to shuffle in a way to avoid a patch of burning, a sudden danger that causes his to widen his eyes in surprise and nearly topple over backward in a way to would upset his attempt a second time, yet a skillful recovery of balance is just enough to keep him progressing. He has no hands and his forced upright position affords him no real means to disengage the winch. Forelegs and tail working together just to keep him steady, he has only one option.

Calwa does the dangerous thing and pushes with his hindlegs against the ground to swing the center of his gravity forward toward the winch controls. This temporarily alleviates all the weight pulling on the chain and, for the moment, his choking ceases. His spine rolls starting at the shoulders and in fluid motion this change of bodily orientation follows all the way down until it reaches his hips. They rotate midair and an extending hindleg focuses a sharp kick right into the device knowing that less than a second later his body will awkwardly fall and put all of his weight on his collared neck.

The winch itself needs to be powered down before disengaged so as to avoid mechanical failure. Getting kicked with the force of a speeding car does little to help this terrible event from not happening. There is a grinding of mechanical parts -immediately- followed by smoke and a loud bang of explosion that sends the coiled chain within in many directions at once. Some links shatter, most do not, and hardly any of this catastrophe can be visually witnessed. The shrapnel causes crazy collateral damage to the ruins of the buildings as well as anybody caught in the snapping flail of the thick metal braid.

The motorcycle rider near Chiffon and the presumed bossman is clotheslined in a brutal way yet the bike keeps going. The chain coils around the armor of the back wheel while the other end flies around in an arch. The bike sways its path some at this but remarkably stays steady.

The Big Guy attacking with his whip finds a thick length of chain suddenly wind about his off-hand and, without further warning, is jerked off his feet to the ground. Chiffon may or may not become a part of that deadly ground-dragged chained-chain if he isn't careful or cannot loose the tangle of that whip if it hits its mark.

There is an uncomfortable tug at Calwa's neck as the chain breaks off and leaves the metal collar as the only thing left attached to him. This happens before he even touches the ground. Even so, finally able to be on all fours again, the smaller Sanuye has to quickly roll aside in the fall to keep from landing in that groundbound fire that was near his feet. Is he free?

Calwa's eyes narrow.

He's free.

[!] Calwa has joined the party

The inferno may be too loud to hear much, and the moments with any real visibility might be few and far between, but in those moments, when the wind and fire and chain and explosions and death ebb? There is laughter. And not just a little laughter.

"Yes! Hahaha, yes!" Liyara is either in some way directing the fire tornadoes as they whip up, or just a really, really big fan of them, since she's waving her hands back and forth like a conductor to her orchestra. "Burn! BURN!" They don't seem to be chasing down the fleeing people, but they sure are scattering them. Maybe that was her plan. Certainly, that is what she will claim when she composes herself. But right now? Right now she is just having the time of her life. She flaps her tiny little wings, carrying her ever so slightly aloft as her vividly glowing green eyes pierce outward into the smoke and fire and ash and wind and dust. She's not blinking. She wants to see every single microsecond. Maybe... maybe someone might need to remind her she came here to help.

Chiffon smirks, and licks his bloodied lips. Exploit the anger, exploit the pride, whatever it takes to keep him engaged. Because he's not alone in this fight, and it's one that's steadily dwindling down on one side. "I won't run, because I'm not alone." He might have [ze magicks], but he's also a brute by necessity and taking a punch, a bullet, a bite, a flame, that's just the price of admission.

So of course his manner of dealing with the whip is just to Not. He takes the lash and the coil and grunts as it pulls taut, levelling a glare of challenge at the man. For a moment there's a wonder who might come out on top of that perverse tug of war, the beast or the master. Then there's the matter of the untimely interruption as a third, unexpected force daisy chains the whole scene across the ground.

The whip is probably built to take a beating, a biting, anything creatures can throw out. Chiff knows what kind of punishment one might expect, and be built for. But he also knows it's awful hard to keep a precise grip when you're being dragged at such velocity. So he just needs to get a good turn. He *slaps* the ground with a paw, the battered, burned ground starting to tremble. There's a roar of ground, rocks parting and dirt spilling as broken sections of ground rise up with the localized [Earth Shake]. The right slope, the right *slap* in the middle of the arc of the whip, and a twist as he's dragged up a newly formed slope... tilting to the side and falling free, tumbling a few times before finally springing up onto his paws and taking a stance.

"Calwa! Liyara! Can you see me?" No, he's not vogueing this time. If they're free... it's either time to finish this or get out of dodge. His ears swivel to the laughing dragon-witch and he half-grins. "... if you're not too busy!"

Calwa, while free, isn't the most combat capable in his current state. While he knows restorative spells and focus abilities due to his training and learning, he hasn't had a chance to rest and fully recover his ability to use most of them in a long while. Legs trembling with each step, the Sanuye keeps low to the ground as he slowly tries to find his way out of the dangerous area. He walks with a limp, only seemingly with every leg, making for a fairly pathetic sight. If seen.

During this, the driverless motorcycle continues peeling away while dragging the man behind it out of sight through the smoke and dust and fire. It can't be comfortable by any means. The Big Guy likely already has many scrapes and gashes and abrasions to match his scars and burns and poisoning. He says nothing throughout this damaging display, even when his whip is forced loose from his hand due to an eruption of ground, and instead pulls himself along the chain closer to the bike itself.

"Chiffon!" calls out a cracked and parched voice that has little strength to it, especially compared to the goings-on around him that have gotten entirely out of hand. Calwa can barely see. He trips over the remains of a box and takes a tumble to the ground and, for the moment, there he stays. He isn't sure he has the strength to try standing again. Maybe if rests there the fire won't spread closer to him. He can regain his strength. He just needs to close his eyes for a minute since they won't stop stinging.

When the motorcycle breaks free from the fiery cloud, the unnamed man is driving it. He looks extremely roughed up but clearly has the fortitude to take as much as he can dish out. He's leaving. Just like all the others. Apparently they have no more use for fighting right now.

[!] Black Hand Gunner is fleeing the battle

[!] Black Hand Gunner is fleeing the battle

[!] Black Hand Thug is fleeing the battle 

[!] ???? is fleeing the battle

"Yes! YES!" Liyara yells, exulting in her moment of fiery glory, when she hears Chiffon's call and very quickly rolls with it. "Yes, I can hear you!" ... He asked if you can SEE him, Liyara. Ah well. The woman turns, lowering her hands and surveying the scene behind her. A chain-bike-man-whip-lion scenario is not what she was expecting to see in between the drifts of smoke. She's not sure precisely what she WAS expecting to see, mind.

"That seems... unhealthy." Liyara remarks when the ground erupts around Chiffon. But the leocanid recovers somewhat gracefully, which pleases Liyara, and she smiles for a moment. It's a toothy smile, but it's a smile. And then she sees that the humans are fleeing. Or rather, she sees them further and further away between each break in the multiple plumes of smoke now surrounding them. She could try chasing them, but the lessers are no concern of hers, and she can't catch that motorcycle anyway. It's out of her range almost the moment it peels out of the smoke.

Well. Out of range for her to chase it down.

Liyara's green pupils dilate, and she takes in a deep breath of nice, freshly singed, smoke-filled air. So refreshing. To her eyes, the billowing smoke seems to slow, going from a chaotic mess into a lazy, easily distinguished and predictable flow. Liyara knows smoke - has spent lifetimes knee deep in the fire - and she can read its movements easily. So she focuses, clearly, waiting, for that agonizingly small window, when the empty spot in all the plumes of smoke line up, and she has a single, fleeting glance of the motorcycle, now so far away.

[!] Liyara uses 1 AP.

Time halts. That window, so vanishingly brief, is held open as everything around Liyara just stops for her; there is no more sound, no more heat. In fact, there is no more breathing. There is just Liyara, and that tiny hole in the flames. And the motorcycle. Liyara casts one open palm out towards the space between her and the vehicle. Energy approaching but not-quite reaching the heat of the sun gathers around her hand, a magnificent achievement for most fire mages, but just a basic attack for Liyara. Her hair lifts up on the thermals, whipping above her before it ignites in white-hot blaze, along with the fire around her hand. It blazes brighter than the sun, now, and hotter too. It would be a heck of an impossible shot to hit the motorcycle's gas tank now. So she takes it.

The elemental bolt courses through the intervening space in an instant, aimed directly at... the inventory box on the side of the motorcycle. What? Liyara doesn't know what a gas tank actually looks like - she's only read about them. Her hair slowly drifts back down to its normal position, and she exhales as time resumes its normal function, looking disappointed that she didn't blow the entire thing up. That was certainly her intention. Ah well.

Chiffon's ears continue to tilt to the side. 'Watch our back!' he seems to want to say, but she's already. Uh. Going above and beyond the call of duty. With them in, for the moment, retreat, the larger Sanuye's attention turns solely to Calwa.

He sniffs, listens, and peels his way through the dark with what is now a much more measured gait. A stroll, almost, or a more powerful limp than he was showing this morning. The need for valor is almost passed, the need for discretion coming on swift. He is almost blind to Liyara's world class snipe, because he's going to keep going until he finds Calwa.

A paw is pressed on the smaller lionwolf's back and it's like the universe bites into a peppermint patty. A cool breath of fresh air without, like, the breath or anything. An aura of [White Wind] passing over--a bit of a better use than dealing with headaches and hangovers. Spending down his arcane and mundane stamina rather thin, he slumps down for a moment. Maybe magic won't magically fix everything, but it should take the edge off. Maybe be enough to get home.

The man on the motorcycle is heavily injured, but a sudden interruption forces him to react quicker than he would like. Some sort of energy strikes the side of the bike near his leg and the box blows open. The contents eject into the air like a jack in the box without a tether. A first aid kit, a pack of rations, a box of ammunition, and many papers are a part of those that shoot into the air from the attack. Amongst them chiefly is a jade and gold statuette of some sort of anthropomorphic creature. It almost gleams with internal light as its seemingly fragile form gains weightlessness.

The man twists to grab at the statuette, but his knuckles glance it and pop it higher into the air and off to the side. He bolts up onto the saddle and kicks off of it. The motorcycle careens out of control with a wobble before the front tire turns sharply and the entire motor vehicle cartwheels forward. Each strike against the ground looses more parts free that probably should stay where they are. Airborn, the large man makes one more grab for the statuette...and succeeds. However, he does not hit the ground. His form, and the form of the creature so crafted from precious stone and metal, suddenly vanish into shadow. The barest hint of surprise on the man's face is the only clue that this isn't expected. The motorcycle lay crashed and smoking, a complement to the now battleless battlefield scene not too far away.

[Battle End! Cue the Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5h5SsQ_C90]

[!] Gained EXP and AP 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 
EXP                                 24p   <nowiki>|</nowiki>   AP                             2p 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 

[!] Gained Gil 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 
Gained Gil                         0G   <nowiki>|</nowiki>  Gil                           214G 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 

Calwa's eyes suddenly open, then his ears perk up, and rolling to his side and into the side of the broken box he wiggles onto his back with forelegs held spread far apart. The expression on his face is a mix of pained relief and bittersweet joy. He says something, almost managing the first syllable of Chiffon's name, before his voice cuts out and he reaches to grab and pull the big lug into a hug with a sob. Strange when tears are a mix of pain, sadness, and sudden happiness, and colored with an outburst of longing-fulfilled hope and love. His heartbeat races.

Beside him, his personal effects are present in what remains of the container. His bags are there. So are his enchanted glasses, although one lens has a nasty crack in it. Aside from some Gil and a few mundane bottled drinks, however, the bags are empty. Clearly. They are all turned out and nothing could remotely be hidden within. That's not good.

It is also a problem that will need addressing later. Chances are that neither Sanuye are in a condition to go blindly chasing down fleeing minions for clues. Hugs and reunion come first for now.

The events that happen to the motorcycle rider cause Liyara to look surprised, but then, she was expecting a LARGE explosion, not a loot explosion. "So..." The redhead puts a hand on her hip, before looking over to Chiffon and Calwa. "...I think that went well." You murdered people, did unspeakable things to puppies, and unleashed a fire maelstrom, while your companions choked, burned, and bled. "Very well, if I'm being honest." So she just doesn't have a lot of empathy, apparently.

Now that the dragoness has a moment to look over the firelions, she purses her lips together, and then tilts her head to one side; this gets some fire-blood from her wounded shoulder on her cheek and she grimaces. The firelions are having a moment - she should probably let them have it. Probably. But she doesn't. Instead, she gestures back the way she and Chiffon came from. "Joyful reunions later. Medical attention now." Well - someone's off the Valentione's Day List.

The odds are seriously unfair when worlds start whisping away, collapsing, and all that madness. Chiffon blinks when Calwa grabs him, and returns a tired foreleg around the smaller one's shoulders. Then the other. Right, he should probably take the leaning, otherwise they'll both end up on the ground in a heap.

That's fun sometimes, but not now.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, buddy," he manages, before his voice drops, his head lowers, and he presses his chin between the Sanuye's ears. "Sorry it took so long, Calwa." That's about as much reunion as he manages to squeak in before Liyara gets a word in. Chiff looks up and gives a little nod. "... yeah." We can argue about who needs what later. Chiffon is more durable than he looks, but, he only went through a fight or two; Calwa has been dragged out for longer than he would like. "Can you walk?" The Sanuye asks. If not, well, he's got a shoulder. And a back. And he'll scoop you up if you make him.

Chiffon will likely have to endure having some tears wiped away on his pelt as Calwa takes a moment to just take in the presence and voice. He wants to take in Chiff's scent, too, but his nose is dry and cracked and hurt. All he can smell at the moment is what lingering pain that hasn't been quelled by the help offered from the larger Sanuye.

Calwa nods a bit and looks away in the direction of Liyara's voice. His vision is still greatly hampered, but he can hear just fine. That's not a voice he's familiar with. Calwa doesn't question it. "I have to find my things, though. They.../took/ them." He doesn't even know they're right there. Due to history, Chiffon knows about Calwa's troubles and about the artifact being carried, guarded, until it can be safely delivered. Chiffon also knows what it looks like: Calwa described is as an Icon of Weapon. Not -a- weapon. A /Weapon/. At this point, though, Chiffon's adventuring partner expects the worst, but he hurts too much to be able to hurt any more over the possibility or reality. After enduring such great trauma, what's another load of straw on the pile?

Before Calwa lets go completely, though, he shudders and whispers, "I won't let you leave me again." Untangles are completed and the notably smaller of the two pushes achingly up to his feet. "Please lead the way. Don't go...too fast."

|}}

2020-02-02 - All The Meat.

2020-02-06T03:31:12Z

TheSmileDog:

{{Logsummary|
Title = All The Meat.
|Summary = Chiffon pays for Liyara's services in the form of food - but they both find more than they bargained for when her spellwork is complete.
|Who = [[Chiffon]], [[Liyara]], [[Calwa]]
|Date = February 2, 2020.
|Where = Twisted Street, Road to Nowhere, The Middle of Nowhere.
|Log=

It's going to be a busy day, today. Liyara has brought a series of books from the public library, this time about the history of wired and wireless communication in the twentieth century.

While the dragonborn is not particularly interested in human history from places that aren't her homeworld, she does have more than a passing interest in how human technology has developed. The idea of humans accomplishing almost anything on their own, and without magic no less, is a novelty to her, still. She'll have plenty of reading material for the parts where she only needs one hand. Which is roughly ten of the sixteen hours that lie ahead of her.

The red-haired woman doesn't actually wait to see if Chiffon will show up, so if he isn't already present when she arrives at 6 AM, she'll begin without him. It's not as though she's in a particular hurry, but she recognizes that he might be. And while few would actually call Liyara /considerate/, she isn't *completely* self absorbed. The other fire lion may well be in mortal danger. Time is of the essence.

So, it begins small; Liyara simply traces a single burning sigil into the surface layer of the ground beneath her, just enough to leave a mark but not enough to otherwise damage it. But while it starts small, it will not end small. What starts with a single burning finger eventually becomes a full-hand exercise, with Liyara's fingers each contributing depth, detail, embellishment, and interwoven connections to a complex array of patterns that don't quite sync up.

As if there's anything that would make Chiffon be late, short of a catastrophe. Liondostrophe. He takes this whole matter with an unusual amount of seriousness, and he's only accountable for bringing two things.

One, his lunky self to... whatever end. And a lunch order. There's the hiss and clunk of a convoy truck rocking as it pulls down the street, weighted down by... something. The smell is probably obvious, too, reminiscent of a butcher shop after a long day.

The vehicle pulls to the side of the road, the door opens, and Chiffon hops out, minding a foreleg. There's a little bit of a limp and--did he drive himself here? No, probably not, from the small bag of coin he wings across the cab to the driver. And with a proud strut, pops the tailgate. Under the canvas is what remains of several auroch, recently deceased and MOST of which properly broken down. There's one in the back that has a distressingly sized hole in the flank, cauterized, that looks more reminiscent of a ship's cannon than any conventional hunting gear.

"If we need to cook, I guess it'll give me something to do while you're... um...." His eyes follow the patterns, and then up to Liyara with a tired smile. "Doing what you do best?"

Liyara doesn't look up from her work immediately when a giant convoy truck pulls up. In fact, even when the animals are dumped and Chiffon comes limping out, she continues focusing on her work. If Chiffon doesn't say anything, it will take her several minutes before she says anything, but regardless of when she speaks up, she says the same thing. "Hmm? Didn't see you there." Of course. She never sees anyone there. Ever.

As she carries out her (entirely too large) task, Liyara will occasionally have herself a bit of a giggle at something she's reading. She'll also put the books away entirely for many parts. And, well, time will pass.

Eventually, Liyara will look up and see the food. When she does, her eyes will light up, and she'll ALMOST break with what she's doing. Almost. "Oh my, you did not disappoint." With food provided, Liyara will take a minute every half hour to literally spit-roast and consume a frankly impossible-looking amount of food. The woman is neither tall nor wide, in fact she's quite slender, but every half hour or so she's putting away enough food for a man three times her size. And quickly, too.

Yet somehow, she's not increasing in size, or even getting so much as a distended belly. People with comically large appetites are not foreign to Twisted, but unlike them Liyara doesn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing down. At all. Other women must hate her.

She seems to be pacing herself based on the amount of food Chiffon brought - but ... amazingly... it looks like she could actually eat more.

Chiffon responds to the statement by puffing up a little. Why, no, he's not below notice, but merely /sneaky/. Or stealthy. For his part, once he's done insisting that he /has/ to help some other way, and occasionally stealing--stealing, really, a bit of his own haul--he gives a cheerful barrely laugh.

"There's no half-assing things where friends are concerned." And course--of COURSE he's mutedly curious about the aracana all abound, but there is perhaps an even more pressing question after seeing all that voracious activity. ".... do you do contests? Would you get banned from contests?" Thoughtful critter..

The technical support expert from before did not disappoint or forget. Some time after that initial food delivery, a food truck rounds the corner and slowly pulls up to pause on the road near where the goings-on are taking place. The driver within clearly hand-cranks the window down and leans partially out the window to squint in suspicion. "Uhhh, somebody order food? This talking beaver paid me off for the day and said I was only supposed to cater to some..." The man within shuffles through some cluttered paperwork to find a note. "...'hot-blooded lizard chick? And...down here it says 'Red Wizard need food badly', whatever that means. This the right place? Hold on, I'm gonna pull over there and open up the side."

It's definitely a roach coach, as some call it. The truck pulls over, idles for a moment, then cuts the engine. After a moment more, the shutter on the side of the truck opens up and a counter inside slides out. There's a kitchen inside the truck and a menu on display. Only then does the name of the man's business become apparent. It's simply called We Got Beef Bowls. Now You Do, Too! Prepping the inner workings of the food truck, the man goes about a well-practiced routine.

"I'm not sure an eating contest would be ethical." Liyara's comment reflects the fact that her metabolism is sized for a gargantuan creature, and not a tiny slender dragonborn. The woman doesn't immediately notice the second truck, either, but when she hears 'hot blooded lizard chick', she glances up for a moment. "...Oh, that is probably me." Who else did she think the truck was for?! "...Red wizard need... Huh. Alright. You're in the right place." She looks back down to her work, now smiling slightly more, but using both hands. It's not a 'reading a book' time just now.

After about twenty minutes, at her next food interval, she looks to the truck, then her left eye twitches at the name. "...Beef Bowls. Of course." She glances to Chiffon, and furrows her brows. "...Tell him to just... keep making food and don't stop. If he's here and mine for the day, I'm going to eat him out of everything he has." And so she is. Once the food starts going, she'll adjust her intake to be exactly as much as would last the rest of the time.

As the day goes on, the circle begins to take shape. Sixteen hours is a long enough time that it remains abstract, and the progress hard to follow, but as the tenth hour comes and goes, the circle is starting to draw together in a fifty-foot crescent that will obviously close by day's end. It's quite a spectacle.

And it's not without incident. People are walking through the area, sometimes disrupting things just a bit, or just distracting Liyara with mundane questions like "Do you have a permit for that?" Or "Are you planning to kill us all?" Or even "What're you doing Saturday night?"

Liyara takes it all in stride; she seems to be more than accustomed to tiny setbacks in day-long circle casting by now. But then, she's done this a lot lately.

Chiff's jaw curls up a in a bit of a smile, a careful grin that's cautious of showing any teeth. Glowy tail flicks and he lifts a hand. "I'll take one of those. Something tells me I'm going to need a full belly when all else is said and done..." Though he doesn't empty it in quite the same way. No, at least there's spectacle for it all. One can only watch what one can't do for so long, though, with increasing restlessness.

So Chiffon does what he does best, and gabs up the crowd, steering some away, spinning tales where needed and adding just the right amount of just-so without presuming authority to, hopefully, get them through this without getting into major trouble.

"'n if you happen to have a big monster problem, or a little monster problem..." The latter.. well, no one wants to bring Howie into this.

The people are easily steered away when Chiffon turns his attention to them, and Liyara actually bothers to thank the Sanuye, which he probably doesn't realize is out of character for her. Having someone help keep people off her is actually a very, very welcome addition to ritual casting. One she can't usually be bothered to secure. And it's good that he's found something to do, because he will be feeling that restlessness for quite some time still.

As it turns out, the amount of food increasing has the opposite effect one might expect; instead of slowing Liyara down, the food increases her speed, if only a little. She's up to, with the slain beasts and food truck, a football team's worth of food every half hour. At this point, she's starting to actually not leave the Auroch bones, either. Is she digesting them straight? Grinding them into dust?

As the hour grows late and dark, the circle finally begins to close, and Liyara begins making small flying passes over it, her wings fluttering here and there. There are calculations that couldn't be made until the circle was complete, variables that have to be tweaked, and layered runes that connect other runes. But... Eventually Liyara slows down in her movements, and then stops, alighting outside the circle. She takes a moment to look things over. The day did not exactly fly by - it's almost 10 PM.

"Alright. Done." She announces simply, then looks around to make sure Chiffon hasn't wandered off out of sheer boredom. Not that he seems the type, but she basically wasn't paying attention to much while she was working.

The Sanuye probably doesn't even grasp the magnitude of gratitude, it's all just a matter of duty and common decency. That, and he seems to rather enjoy it. For someone who makes a career out of wandering wild, he's practically cosmopolitan. "I'm realllly going to have to figure out where the ol' rumor mill here is these days... people love a good yarn."

Hmm. Yarn. Ideas for later. For now, he's inspecting, careful not to step on any of it, or get too close, or... well, as he does. "That was... wow. Either a ritual or some very convincing street art. So...." He leans back and looks up. "What do we do now?"

Liyara makes a face at Chiffon's question, and then heave-sighs. "...My favorite part." Her left hand suddenly darts to her side, and in a smooth, quick motion, draws and slashes her dagger across her right palm, drawing a frankly unhealthy-looking amount of fire blood. Liyara doesn't wince, but she furrows her brow in concentration as she pours that blood into a very specific spot in the circle. The circle reacts by slowly starting to glow.

It's a slow process, and as each drop of her firey orange blood pours in, the runes and matrices begin to light up, the smaller circles within begin to spin, and the entire fifty-foot circle lurches bit by bit into brilliant orange life. Particle effects. Irridescence. This isn't like her smaller circles. Runes and intricate patterns meld up into the sky as they receive power, and the ground positively begins to rumble. Of course the Usual is fine, but people start avoiding the area she and Chiffon are in VERY quickly.

Within the sights and sounds, Liyara speaks her twenty five words. "...Chiffon's looking for you. If you accept, he and I will find you. If not, stay safe, help's on the way. Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers." She really did add that at the end. What a crock. After what can't be less than a *PINT* of her blood, the rumbling ceases, and the orange light reaches a peak... And then fades away. There's a low sound, and a wooshing of air, and then the entire circle she spent all day on disappears almost immediately.

"Well, easy come, easy go." Liyara quips, hand on her hip. She doesn't seem to have her human phrases down right. That did not come easily. As if on cue, she goes and polishes off her last small mountain of meat for the day.

"... that's your *favorite* part?" Chiffon's ears tilt to the side. Well, dragonkind are just... all sorts of extra special, aren't they? "Definitely can't copy this... I get beat up enough as it is." He looks at his paw pads, and flexes his claws a few times while watching the fire glow.

A step back, then another, a little hop here and there. He mouths the words as they're being spoken and quiets down from his cheerful demeanor. Tail twitching in anticipation as it all just... vanishes. "It worked though, yeah? It sounded like it worked."

And the great reveal, the climax of the spell's hours and hours of prepariong, has the bated breath-worthy response of:

Nothing. Absolutely nothing comes in response. The spell doesn't allow Calwa to reply.

HOWEVER! There is the arcane inclination of acceptance, permission granted almost -immediately- so, and all that comes with it. Calwa is, in fact, somewhere within Twisted. He is not, however, within the city of Mabase. He's quite a distance out, actually. While not a trip that would necessarily take hours to traverse, it is rather out of the way and almost suspiciously so.

Chiffon would be aware from Calwa's stories of the Black Hand that cities were the most dangerous to be in when pursued by the group and that open areas where Sanuye landspeed can be used in full optimization was the best option to get away. However, Twisted is a place that can get downright bizarre too far outside the city. He may have been too confused to have a distance advantage if he is still being hounded by the same people. Who are those people anyway?!

"Oh, it worked." Liyara nods, furrowing her brow. "...It worked, but it might take just a second." Her tail thumps impatiently on the ground behind her. "He has to receive it, process it, and decide whether to accept or deny. Could be a trap from his pursuers. That's a tough deci--"

'''DING.'''

"--Nevermind! Found him. That was quick." She flutters up into the air, and orients herself. "He's..." She turns so that she's facing the exact, straight-line direction, and points her hand forward. "...That way. A lot. Oh. He's out there far, that's no good. Strange things happen out there." ... Didn't this lady just get hit by a falling truck yesterday? "Actually strange things. Not normal strange like falling cars." ... Oh. Well. Like that's going to stop them.

"Hopefully we won't be giving him away in the meantime. Unless." Chiffon stretches on his hinders, exercising muscles that have grown a little aching in idleness and pacing. "Unless it means that we can catch whoever's chasing him off guard. I'm not about to use my boyfriend as bait, but if we can throw in a fastball special..." Who's getting figures of speech just-off, now?

He looks antsy, though, ready to get an answer and ready to go on enough notice. "There's... no reason you have to get on their bad side, though. We've already caused enough trouble for you as it is. I am..."

Ding. He looks at Liyara, looks at the directions, and his ears perk up simultaneously. He starts a step and glances back. "... I've got all I need. Strange? Strange just comes with the business." Now, it's not like he's disinviting Liyara by any means, nor trying to leave her behind. It's a convenient out for someone who does't want to put it all on the line for random firedoggos.

"Fastball... special?" The reference, off as it is, still falls flat on Liyara. Sounds baseball-y. She doesn't know a lot about baseball. She definitely hasn't read any X-men comics. Mostly DC so far. Yes, she HAS read some DC comics. They were OLD though. Long story. She shakes the reference off.

"...Get on THEIR bad side?" Liyara's tail flicks left, then right. "...No, friend." The tail flicks left and right harder. "...They're on MY bad side." Tail flick. Tail flick. "I'm emotionally invested in this journey, now. They're making me have... FEELINGS." Tail Thump. Crack. Crack. Crack. Splinter.

Liyara looks down at the concrete below her, seeing a spiderweb of cracks. "...Alright. We should go." Once more, this is totally not her fault. She is innocent. But best not to be around when Jack asks her why the road needs to be repaired. "Race you?" Liyara doesn't actually wait for the answer - she literally just bursts off straight in the direction she was pointing. There's a car in the w-- scratch that. The way looks clear.

"I'll get back to you on that one." Chiffon offers with a slight tilt of his head, and a smile. "... then, by all means. Once we're clear of the city we don't have to worry too much about catlateral damage..."

We should go. We should go? Yes! The challenge back to Chiffon is met with a half-chuckle and a nod that Liyara... likely misses. But if the way is clear, and if she's clearing the way, even with the earlier damage to his forepaw he still bolts full tilt. A red and fuzzy streak that makes up the distance in a hurry. He's got his game face on here, and has no intention of stopping until they get there, one way or another.

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

''The Road to Nowhere''

''The farther one journeys down this road, the more broken and miserable it seems. Eventually, there's no real road to speak of, the only trees in sight are bone-dry husks, and every building looks neglected or derelict, except perhaps one; a gaudy tin diner, slumped on the edge of a dusty lot dotted with rusting vehicles.''

''At road's end, the remains of its demise seem to have been cobbled loosely together into a highly suspect bridge, which arcs up into the almost literal nothing between one floating hunk of rock and the next. Leading from Twisted City to... Nowhere? Yeah, that feels right. This is fine.''

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

The road off Twisted, and it is mostly a road up to a point, starts to break down and lose cohesion as the pair travels in the direction Liyara is heading. It's not really clear if a simple lack of maintenance is the cause, or something more dire, but ahead looks almost... devoid of anything. At least, today. Tomorrow it might be on fire ahead. Who knows? It's not really a smooth, temporally stable place they're running to, it turns out, but a bit of chaos intruding onto the more stable areas of Twisted.

Beware. Here be dragons.

Well. Now, at least.

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------''

''The Middle of Nowhere''

''The farthest away from civilization you can get is the arid, empty area once known as the Wastelands. Dry and overcast, Nowhere is a maelstrom of chaos and sand. Sane people won't venture out this far from the axis of the world, due to the instability equating to suicide. A desert and a dead land, they mirror the Wastelands of Hell, broken trees and expired brush lightly specking the view.''

''------------------------------------------------------------------------------
''

Go figure that the lion looking thing actually seems a bit more comfortable outside of civilization. Well, outside of urbanization. And this whole situation? Anything but comfortable. He sounds like he's muttering little mantras when they manage to slow down. Dragons, and Sanuye... the population is up a bit.

Eyes ahead, ears perked, Chiffon's putting all his senses to use.

If it's on fire tomorrow, that's fine, as long as they've pulled the Calwa out.

This part of Twisted lies some distance away from the more ordered city of Mabase. This small area appears to be reflections of a different city, a few scattered ruins that don't fit in with anything else, providing a sense of desolation and post-apocalyptic sobriety. The ground is a cobbled patchwork of concrete, asphalt, and soil. Shells of long-abandoned buildings dot the area providing a sense of dire gray atmosphere while displaying what might pass as streets. Doors and windows have long ceased to be or function. Strangely, this place must have been like this for a very long time before it ever wound up where it is now.

Where once the foundation of a larger building sat, an open space is presented in the now soil-covered floor with only the hints of load-bearing walls present around the perimeter no more than five feet tall around it. Metal beams and rebar that once reinforced concrete forms a sparse and chaotic pattern that extends above the open space while any scattered chunks of vertical walling that remain provide places to be out of sight. That isn't the most striking thing about the location, however.

"That's not yours!" cries a strained voice.

In the most open area, in the center of the remains of the building's defined foundation, is a gathering of six people. Most of the people are dressed in form-fitting all black. Faces also covered, their eyes are enhanced by goggles that glow an eerie red. Every single one of those people are armed with high caliber automatic ranged or technological melee weaponry. One man stands alone and apart from the others by appearance alone. This man might pass as the leader, if his size and physical might are any indication. He wears a similar outfit as the others yet his head bears no hood or mask. His face is heavily scarred and one eye might be damaged beyond use. His expression is a mix of disdain and smugness. When he speaks, his words are thunder while the muted peal of laughter from the others that follows is much higher.

"Shut up, beast. Know your place," booms the largest of the group before swiftly bring his leg up into the side of the animal chained next to him. This elicits a roar of pain that is followed by laughter. Sinking back in recoil from the blow, the red-furred creature seems to try to catch his breath. This quadruped, once easily recognized as a shy pacifist with a touch of refined dignity, now looks anything but.

Calwa is disheveled and filthy. His fur is caked in a mix of mud and, presumably, blood. More of the latter cakes his dried and cracked nosepad as testament to the abuse endured by his captors. He is clearly chained up, the massively heavy chain winched into place and hung over a thick metal beam, all connected to a massive metal shackle which serves as a collar that is still too tight to be anything but very painful. It would explain the difficulty in Calwa trying to breathe. The fur underneath the collar has worn away to leave a nasty bare ring that looks just as cruel as the face of the one standing near him. His tailflame is notably dim.

Calwa lunges at his captor! Though the act may be in futility, there is an underlying level of rage and defiance that fuels the act. It is not a controlled attack. It is the swiping, gnashing, raw flailings of a caged animal ready to tear away flesh and crack bone between powerful jaws. With a strained roar, he viciously throws himself into the direction of the larger man, claws extended and jaws snapping. Like a feral animal in danger, so acts he. For the moment, there is nothing else that rules his mind. Stopped only JUST short of being able to make contact, Calwa finds himself jerked quickly away and upward.

One of the other minions is nearby the presumed boss, turning a crank that further shortens the chain with each click. The anger in Calwa's eyes turns to desperation as he is forcefully raised upward by the neck. Only just able to stand on his hindlegs to support himself, his forelegs and tail flail even more. He's clearly being choked. The wear on his neck may be a clue as to how often this has happened recently.

At a strongbox not far away, a minion places a courier bag and harness into the thing; they've stripped the candletail bare! He doesn't even wear his glasses. "Enough of this," speaks the large man. "We have what we came for. This filthy animal has been too much of a pain to simply let loose." With a gesture to the one at the winch, he moves his hand upward a few times. With glee, the crank gets turned another click and the goons laugh in sadistic glee.

"Bye bye, kitty!" bids one.

"I'll enjoy the target practice!" exclaims another while switching the safety off of their gun.

While the minions of the Black Hand organization are scattered and randomly patrolling, nobody will be able to get close to Calwa while the big guy is standing nearby and chances are it won't be easy to deal with the big guy until most of the others are dealt with. Time is clearly of the essence here, but these people are dangerous. There are many blind spots where other dangers could be hiding. You only get the element of surprise once, yet the time for action is now!

 [Battle start! Cue the Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JP7rjW5jAb8] 

Liyara has pretty poor passive perception, but when she's actively looking for things, she has a distinct height advantage over Chiffon, being mostly aerial. When she spots the men, all roughly where her ritual has pointed her, she assumes exactly what further observation would tell her - these are the bad ones. She shouts quickly to Chiffon. "I see six, one's alone and big. And... a chain. The animals chained him." She growls a bit, which has a much lower rumble than her voice might hint at. It reverberates, even. "...I'll handle the chain, you start the party." And then she's off.

The dragoness spirals up into the air, circling quickly and taking a deep breath as she goes twenty, thirty, then forty feet straight up, and off to one side. And then she just seems to explode in bright light and sound, a giant signal flare pointedly NOT in the direction Chiffon is approaching from. Sometimes you get TWO elements of surprise. The first one? Someone is flying in the air, burning like the sun, and...

She.

Looks.

Pissed.

Oh, she's gonna get that chain. But first, distraction!

The last Chiffon saw this situation, he ran face-first into a brick wall. For a moment that draws, like a string pulled near breaking, it feels like he might snap into a bolt again. There's a concensus look to Liyara, and a grin. This one has characteristically more teeth. "Fly safe."

The pain is barely contained, shielded in prearation and barely contained within trembling muscles. He flexes his sore paw once and then stalks into the shadows. Six with guns and a strung out target? Those guns obviously need to be focused somewhere else.

The finds a dark spot, and then charges. Rapid sprinting feet, almost more flying than sprinting by the time he takes a coiled leap airborne and throws himself square between the shoulders of one of the armored minions. There may be teeth. There may be claws. Wet crunching like someone went a little overboard with the celery. Execution isn't the intention, but he doesn't want this one getting up anytime soon.

And if the struggle wasn't enough, Chiffon howls to the heavens in one log, drawn, three-tone bellow.

A beat later he's flashing onto the field, jaws dripping with blood, eyes white with glow and claws tearing dirt.

Jesus Christ It's A Lion Get In The Car

In the middle of nowhere where reality itself seems to warp or break down it's not too difficult to hear shouting that doesn't belong to your own squad in your makeshift temporary base. Many goggled eyes turn to gaze at the flare and their enhanced vision causes them to yell and recoil. The apparent boss uses more than just his sense of sight, though. He has the intuition of a war-forged beastmaster. Any distraction the flare presents regarding most of the thugs is lost on him. His gaze is drawn straight to Chiffon even before one of the Black Hand thugs goes down from as realistic a critical strike backstab as one could ever attain.

The arrival of meddlers is one thing, but to see that one of them is the same kind as the captive Calwa brings a sadistic smile to the big guy's face. First pushing his shoulders up and tipping his head to the side with a crackling pop, the apparent boss puts two fingers to his mouth and blows. The result is a shrill whistle that alarms and alerts, but serves a very different purpose.

Two hounds, similar in size to Chiffon (only slightly smaller, but definitely more trim in build), come to heed their master bounding from their own shadowed resting place. These large guard dogs have very short sleek hair, enough to show off their strong musculature, but notably have a single large tentacle that extends from the middle of the shoulderblades backward. In exchange, they seem to have very short docked tails.

Immediately, one of the hounds responds by a short howl. The glitter of magicka shows an energy-based triangular pyramid forming around the large man as the beast itself seems capable of magical ability! This shield is capable of greatly reducing all physical damage done to the one protected. The other of the pair follows suit and releases a growl and another type of protection forms around the man. This effect appears to be more of a sphere in shape and it is a spell designed to greatly reduce magical damage. Big Guy doesn't play around.

The minions mobilize with deadly intent, but are generally unable to react to the surprise attack by ground due to the aerial display. Bursts of fire kick up dirt and soil and chip away at the walls as one soldier alone lays down blind suppression with his rifle in Chiffon's direction.

Not one to let the distraction pass without some personal action, Calwa -- still forced to stand on his hindlegs with great difficulty breathing -- flails and wobbles and begins, with great effort, to get a bit closer to the release device. If he can reach that unimpeded, he should be able to get free on his own.

[!] Ebony Hound casts Barrier on ???? 

[!] Ivory Hound casts Shell on ???? 

[!] Calwa draws closer to the Release Device 

Looking down on the poor, blinded masses from above, Liyara starts making a noise that is probably not the most confidence-inspiring sound the men have ever heard. She starts laughing. You probably don't want to hear the burning, exploding, winged witch laughing when you start shooting at things.

"Barriers! Aww, look who thinks he's people~!" She calls out from the sky, and then holds both hands above her. "I changed my mind! I have a much better idea!" Does she? Does she really?

The sky fills with a low rumble, that one could easily mistake for thunder, until they realize the booms are cracking in the form of words. Words in the form of skyquakes. Neat.

"''Bathed in radiant light - I am the gate that opens into the Nine Hells.''" The woman's hands light up with brilliant white fire, and she grins. "''And I overflow with...''" Her eyes flash a brighter green than exists in the visible spectrum. Somewhere, a mantis shrimp cries. "'''''INDIGNATION!'''''"

She brings her hands down and throws them towards each of the hounds, and the burning sun-fire around her brightens, growing hot enough to slag steel in an instant, before she sends it down towards the puppies, not worried about silly things like buildings or people in the way.

...That's hot.

"Oh come on, now, that's hardly a fair fight..." Chiffon dances on his paws in a quick jolt back behind some rubble. Long enough to either draw out a pause or the end of a magazine before considering his next move.

Think quick. Don't think too much. Calwa's already dealt with this much, now is your turn to take some of the heat. And even if this guy has his number, he's not hesitating.

Back into the line of fire. The Sanuye clears back over a line of rubble even as bullets splinter off pieces of stone and hisses of dirt. There's a primal twist of of magic in his guts, a flash of sky-blue in his eyes and a bristling of fur. There aren't any incantations, just the evocation of some unseen muscle twisting, arcane circuits and his gullet swelling before he... uhh.....

A rather unpleasant sound, splattery, sputtery, and guttural with a thick miasma of rotten green gas from his mouth towards the shielded individual. [Bad Breath], magic meets chemical warfare meets nature's worst idea meets.... eww. Mundane filters aren't enough, and though the spread dissipates beyond a single plume it gets. In. Everything. Becoming tar-like as it reacts with the open air and conjuration.

Chiffon sputters. No, it's not nearly as cool as the dragon witch above; someone get him a breath mint.

There is a flash from one of the taller ruins outcroppings nearby as another one of the Black Hand thugs leaps to perch atop it and begins using something in their hands to focus. A discharge of power, however, sees nothing come of it. Well, that is, until flaming chunks of magically summoned ice balls come tearing through the air with a violent screech from compressed air as a salvo of large explosive magical projectiles. They are not exactly aimed well, but when your attack detonates on impact you don't always need to. This presents not only an added edge of chaotic offensive to the battlefield where Chiffon zips about, but is not entirely unintended to present some aerial hazards for the flying she-demon above.

Ebony Hound and Ivory Hound leave their master's side to join the fray even as death begins to rain from above. Agile and quick, they seek to close the distance fast to engage the other quadruped. Side by side, they dip and dart as they growl and weave back and forth through the ruins to give chase. It could become much more difficult to avoid crossfire with two hounds harrying your every step. One gunner winds up in the way, but the hounds neatly go around. What hits the thug doesn't come from the side, but from above.

The white dog, throughout this mad chase, is struck from above and bares a yelp before going down. It's not pretty, but it's quick. The black one barrels forward, leaping over slag and fire and the fading remains of its partner, to meet the heels of the Sanuye. Ebony Hound's tentacle glows red and, with its added reach, aims to slap Chiffon with what some might call a vampiric effect. It's able to draw strength from a foe to grant itself greater constitution!

The spewed attack-and-run aimed at the Big Guy isn't trying to strike a moving target and the magical protections on him do little to prevent against such a nasty miasma. He's faced down fiends that have used such attacks before, but experience alone isn't enough to prevent the wave of dizziness and nausea that follows. He grunts loudly at this, hand moving to his face for a moment with a shake of his head, but this act brings his attention to the chained prisoner nearby inching away on two legs. Scowling, his thick leg is brought swiftly upward again to strike the nearby Sanuye. Despite his dizziness, he connects.

Calwa's attempt is interrupted and this leaves him off his feet, hanging only by his neck, as he flails around to try to find support on the ground once more. His progress is not only reset, but he's completely stunned and unable to do anything at the moment other than struggle. There's no way he can reach the trigger for the winch so long as the Big Guy near him remains unengaged directly.

There is no additional gunfire just yet as the gunners move to take up full positions behind cover to protect themselves from direct aerial line of sight while keeping out of the open where the free-roaming beast has an advantage.

[!] Black Hand Mage casts Cometeor 

[!] Ebony Hound attacks Chiffon with Tentacle Drain 

[!] Calwa is Dazed and cannot act 

[!] ???? is afflicted with Poison and Confuse 

Liyara's attention is immediately drawn to the Black Hand Thug who leaps atop a ruin, and she waits for him to fire a weapon at her, but even though there's a flash, no bullets arrive. She tilts her head to one side, and then looks back down to see how the hounds fared, when an icy comets slams through the air directly into her. Or rather, that's how it should be - one of the summoned frozen meteors hits her straight on, and even detonates in the air where she was, but there's a golden flash at that same instant.

...And the woman's suddenly behind the thug that appeared to summon the things in the first place. Her skin has a light patch of frost on it, but it looks like she actually escaped everything but that initial contact with her. Somehow. Is that a thing dragons do? Just teleport out of harm's way in mid-hit?

"Interesting toy. Mine's better." The woman drives her dagger towards the thug's seventh vertebrate swiftly, but she's not looking at him. The big guy kicked Calwa? That won't do. And one of the dogs avoided her blast. Decisions, decisions. Liyara drops her dagger, potentially INSIDE the thug's spine if he didn't dodge, and sinks into her own shadow.

...And pops out from the Ebony Hound's shadow, reaching up to give the puppy a nice big hug with both hands. It's ok, she's just a slender young thing, there's probably not much danger. Right?

There's a lot of danger. That is a danger hug. Run, puppy, run.

Too bad Chiff saved all the big guns for the cows, apparently.

The heavier Sanuye is fleet enough to avoid the worst of it, but chaos still takes its toll. A bullet shearing through fur and hide here, a tentacle slap there. Even an extra little bit of singe to top it all off from magic colatteral. The smack of the tentacle off-centers him, leaving him dazed. More than dazed. He shakes his head, bracing himself for a still moment while his pupils shift and his fur twists. There's a *snap*, a contort that looks like an ephemeral tentacle burrowing into his shoulder blades but it doesn't seem to hurt.

His gaze dances over towards Liyara joining the fray, and a look that's--horrified? Grateful? Furious? Just raw adrenaline pushing from one flurry to the next, but he's not going to waste the opportunity now that the beast is restrained. He needs to give Calwa a chance to free himself, keep eyes off a little longer. "We don't need to kill them all. Just get him and get out." Didn't they steal something? Probably he's not thinking straight. He pins towards ???? and hunches down. Red fur, now starting to resemble a bit more his smaller companions in its mussed state, shines and bristles up as shackles run from head to tail. They start to resemble... needles. A whole lot of them. [1000], if you're counting, and he's pincushioning the 'beastmaster.' "Eyes on me, you son of a man."

There is a thunderous rumble of three motorized presences closing in fast on the location. Vroom, vroo-vroom! Two chunky and armored motorcyles come tearing across the land, dipping and weaving around obstacles while a third takes to the air over a makeshift ramp of broken concrete before thudding against the ground. Slowly turning in place, the last motorcycle revs up and begins spraying dust and gravel into the air behind it throughout the circle it makes to create a temporary smokescreen of dirt and exhaust to hinder sight of area from those within and without. The other two machines begin to zip dangerously around with full intent to run anybody over they can. Such movements only prolong the duration of the visual cover.

This obscuring cover, however, is only an advantage for the enemy team, though. Their enhanced sight allows them to detect heat and movement even through such a screen. Anybody directly in the line of sight from the now dug in gunners risk having bullets shot at them.

The Big Guy turns and stumbles a bit before regaining his composure the best he can. Opening his mouth, he barks a command to his hounds -- or at least the one remaining -- but the command is slurred. Realizing how bad his speech is, the apparent boss man finally manages to shake himself out of the confusion and mind funk. He still looks green about the gills, though.

This strange command actually spells doom for Ebony Hound as such a thing causes it to actually stop chasing and turn its head to listen for some clarification. Limited intelligence, but fantastic training. Still, the ceased movement makes for an easy target to grapple.

Hindlegs finding purchase once more while the swirling dust and engine smoke obfuscate, Calwa once again begins to strain at the shackle and chain, forelegs and tail jerking about in his careful attempt to balance and walk without choking himself more than necessary. It's incredible painful, but after a point it all dulls together and peaks; it only matters if it becomes too much and the mind shuts off. He's not there yet. Not yet. Close, but not yet.

The name-unknown Big Guy flinches at first, then stomps his foot to the ground out of annoyance and anger. The pins and needles from the attack strike away despite his magical protection; this leaves him bruised and distracted and extremely pissed off at anything Sanuye-related. Gaia's Guardians need to just all die!

[!] The Battlefeild is covered in a potentially Blind-inducing smokescreen 

[!] ???? is no longer Confused 

[!] Calwa draws closer to the Release Device

Liyara's hug is not the gentle, warm kind. If the puppy doesn't writhe free in time, there's going to be a single moment before a sickening pop is heard, followed by several almost as sickening crunches and other sounds that would be censored on television. In fact, over by Chiffon and the new guy, there would likely be several black bars appearing in the background covering up the display.

Danger hugs.

After a long moment where she just looks disappointed at the fragility of the puppy, Liyara looks back to Chiffon. He's not doing well. Well, he was injured when they started, that stands to reason. And that's when she notices the thugs on bikes putting up some smoke screen - well that's just silly, how will *they* see? And she gets a flash of memory. She's read up almost exclusively on human technology since she's been here - because the idea that humans could even function without magic amuses her. Heat tracking. Like the flaming arrows fired from that mechanical bird she saw. So ambitious. Let them track something, then.

The woman takes in a deep breath, and rumbling fire builds within her. Flows through her veins. Fogs out of her pores. Surrounds her. Is her. She is the fire. And it's quite a fire. How hot will their heat sensors read before the entire area is simply unreadable due to the ambient noise? The surface of the sun? She'll start there as she tries to put herself between Chiffon and the minions, hoping to keep them from interrupting, or at least interfere dramatically.

It worked in that historical documentary, Top Gun, after all.

"Come on boys, am I not hot enough for you? Who wants a free hug?"

"You can't win this." Chiffon bares his teeth in the hellfire. Gotta give this Black Hand a chance to back off, right? Yeah, that'll happen. He's feeling better about his odds witH Liyara in the mix, though. "Sorry. Let me count on you a bit longer...." Calwa is in his peripheral vision, at least until obscure, at least.. always. As the fog of war settles in, the toll taken out of his hide he's only focused on one thing--keeping the heat. If that means taking a few shots, a few spells, a few bites... so be it. Fire, fog, shadow... he just has to be able to sniff this guy out long enough. Remember where the reeling bastard is and set up for another pounce.

The barrier might take the worst out of the impact, but it's still five hundred pounds of flying fur and fury.

This isn't pounce and pin, though. This is pounce, roll, release. Hit and run. Stay on top. And see just who wants to throw bullets and black magic at a tousling pair.

It's a gamble, if this bloke is used to tangling with beasts up close. But it'll serve.

Chiffon's move to confront the Big Guy within the cloud of dust and exhaust is a bold one, especially with the loud motorcyles zooming around that perpetuate the loss of visual clarity. One moves ahead of his direction, perpendicular and beyond, while after a few steps more another zips by so close behind his charge that it nearly touches the trailing flame of his tail. Through the motor stink and dry soil in the air, his nose leads him to a dark shape that is revealed only at close range.

Furthermore, Chiffon's charge puts him in the spotlight for scattered rifle fire whose shells strike so close to his form and feet that they help kick up more dirt than his footsteps would on their own. This gunfire trickles to a lesser degree, though, as a different target presents itself: a massive heat signature.

The sudden heat has an added effect, though. The air begins to whorl and whip about as the increase temperature causes a sudden chaotic shift in local atmospheric climate. This does not clear out the machine-driven smokescreen; at least, not all of it or immediately. It does cause great turbulence which, in itself, adds to the difficulty in seeing. There is so much dust and dirt and dry soil at present in this set of city ruins that all easily gets picked up. Conversely, the whipping winds do push away this obfuscation from the dragonborn's position.

The sudden sandstorm rages as Chiffon leaps into the air to throw his full weight against the apparent boss man providing a greater sense of dramatic introduction as his solid form appears in the air, paws first, before crashing into the brick wall of a man. He falls back onto the ground while the heaviness pushes the air from his lungs, world spinning briefly amidst ground and claws, yet before he can react Chiffon has moved on. In reaction, the Big Guy gets to his feet from the knockdown and growls off in a direction away from the struggles of his captive behind him.

Calwa continues to strain against his bindings. His eyes water as he forces them to stay open despite the blowing sand and filthy exhaust that stings the senses. He can see the winching device, although it's a dark blur just ahead of him, and his ability to support himself upright grows more difficult the further to the side he walks. The choking manacle about his neck digs into his hide while the tension and pull of the thick metal chain threatens to topple him over with the slightest misstep. Almost. Almost.

"Stupid beast!" calls out the large man in a taunt over the roar of the engines and the howl of the wind and the crackle of gunfire. "I'll leash you as my prize once we've disposed of the runt!"

Liyara's move to blind the thugs using heat-sensing gear may provide just enough definition that one with it turned off might get a lucky shot in. There's not much safe ground at present, or safe air, as many bullets are all too happy to try to find a mark.

[!] Calwa has nearly reached the Release Device

As the smoke swirls, the fire within Liyara rages. Those using heat gear may be having a hard time, but those not using the heat goggles are presented with a clearer target; Liyara's green eyes are starting to cast their own light, and since she's doing her best to keep herself between the firing squad and Chiffon, well, she's actually hard to miss. The first bullet takes her square in the stomach, where her heat is greatest, but it's actually turned to slag by the time it hits her, and it only stings.

Liyara grins at that, just in time to take another bullet straight to the shoulder. She gasps a bit in surprise as her entire torso is twisted back from the momentum, and her fiery blood spurts out behind her. Fortunately for the attackers, Liyara's fiery blood is quite far away from them, presenting no risk to them as it would to a melee attacker. Unfortunately for Chiffon, the splatter is going right in his direction. And if it gets on him, it will most certainly burn.

The dragon woman grits her teeth, raising a hand to the fresh wound, and then turns her grimace into a grin before digging into the wound just a bit with her fingertips, and then intentionally splashing that blood out towards the armed men shooting at her. Her heat signature dies down to normal as the liquid fire that runs through her veins now flies towards her attackers, but then she snaps her fingers, and her blood just *ignites*, setting ablaze anything it touches. Like objects. Or people. This will unfortunately include Chiffon, if he didn't manage to avoid the splatter.

[!] Liyara used the monster skill: Burning Spray

"I'd be a waste on you." Chiffon taunts, using the limited field of vision. It cuts both ways, leaving him vulnerable at stretches where bullets hiss and sand gets in uncomfortable places. Dirty, bloody, and exhausted, but still running on adrenaline and anger. And he's not a runt. Chiff is just big.

"You're outgunned. You're outmuscled. And dare I say you're outsmarted." It's around this time that the area gets washed in a *wave* of heat. Chiffon snarls as he's hit by the Spray; he's no stranger to powerful attacks, but pain is pain. Fire is fire and his fur blazes on the end, giving heat and silhouette and an immolation that sets in deeper than physical. There's a fire kindled in along with that Sanuye blaze. That might be a problem with the infrared. But it does make a cool silhouette as he unleashed another shotgun spray of [Needles] at the big boss.

"You severely understimate my dear companion. I'll be taking him back." Rough words, though made through labored breath and effort to stay upright with all of the fire.

The flash fire doesn't just create splotches of immolation. Just because the source of the sudden wind mostly fades, it doesn't cause the winds to rescind. If anything, the bloodborne napalm only adds to the localized storm to create a whirling inferno. Fiery blazes spiral in place as the winds blow through and multiple fire tornados grow in height and intensity to add a hellish glow to the dusty turbulence now far out of the control of simple motorbikes. What this must look like at a distance should be quite a sight. Within, though, the red glare of illumination brightens the swirling dirty air without actually providing much additional distance of vision.

If any people caught in the rain or the ignition scream, the sounds are incredibly muted compared to the noises created by the hellscape. In reality, most of the remaining thugs are pulling back into a tactful retreat and the motorcycle drivers are now finding the local landscape conditions too hazardous to safely navigate. As such, the gunfire mostly dies off and one by one, the motorcycles take one last pass or two before leaving.

Chiffon's words are met with dark laughter even as the man has to pull off his upper clothing to toss aside since it has caught on fire and not just a little bit. The skin of his back is already blistered from the limited exposure, but the bared revelation of his form shows that it's not just his face that is heavily scarred. This man looks as if he's battled countless beasts with his bare hands, for what one might actually get to see of it.

"Your kind are nothing but animals waiting to be put to heel! If you think you can best me, /BEAST/, then try! You'd make better use of your freedom by tucking your tail and fleeing while you can, but ask the RUNT how much good that did."

A blast of 1000 Needles in the man's direction yet again, much less done in the raging madness and low visibility, comes at the cost of being predictable. Instead, the Needles mostly miss the human monster with the threat of striking the struggling one behind him. In turn, there comes another loud crack, but it isn't a gun. Rather, an extremely long and thick whip is uncurled with the sheer intent of striking Chiffon to tangle about his neck even as the sound of a motorcyle speeding beside the Sanuye and Big Guy can be heard.

Fire and needles, fire and needles! Calwa's slow dance of desperation allows him no room or time to dodge anything. Somehow, miraculously, the dangers so very close to his position only ever just miss him. He does have to shuffle in a way to avoid a patch of burning, a sudden danger that causes his to widen his eyes in surprise and nearly topple over backward in a way to would upset his attempt a second time, yet a skillful recovery of balance is just enough to keep him progressing. He has no hands and his forced upright position affords him no real means to disengage the winch. Forelegs and tail working together just to keep him steady, he has only one option.

Calwa does the dangerous thing and pushes with his hindlegs against the ground to swing the center of his gravity forward toward the winch controls. This temporarily alleviates all the weight pulling on the chain and, for the moment, his choking ceases. His spine rolls starting at the shoulders and in fluid motion this change of bodily orientation follows all the way down until it reaches his hips. They rotate midair and an extending hindleg focuses a sharp kick right into the device knowing that less than a second later his body will awkwardly fall and put all of his weight on his collared neck.

The winch itself needs to be powered down before disengaged so as to avoid mechanical failure. Getting kicked with the force of a speeding car does little to help this terrible event from not happening. There is a grinding of mechanical parts -immediately- followed by smoke and a loud bang of explosion that sends the coiled chain within in many directions at once. Some links shatter, most do not, and hardly any of this catastrophe can be visually witnessed. The shrapnel causes crazy collateral damage to the ruins of the buildings as well as anybody caught in the snapping flail of the thick metal braid.

The motorcycle rider near Chiffon and the presumed bossman is clotheslined in a brutal way yet the bike keeps going. The chain coils around the armor of the back wheel while the other end flies around in an arch. The bike sways its path some at this but remarkably stays steady.

The Big Guy attacking with his whip finds a thick length of chain suddenly wind about his off-hand and, without further warning, is jerked off his feet to the ground. Chiffon may or may not become a part of that deadly ground-dragged chained-chain if he isn't careful or cannot loose the tangle of that whip if it hits its mark.

There is an uncomfortable tug at Calwa's neck as the chain breaks off and leaves the metal collar as the only thing left attached to him. This happens before he even touches the ground. Even so, finally able to be on all fours again, the smaller Sanuye has to quickly roll aside in the fall to keep from landing in that groundbound fire that was near his feet. Is he free?

Calwa's eyes narrow.

He's free.

[!] Calwa has joined the party

The inferno may be too loud to hear much, and the moments with any real visibility might be few and far between, but in those moments, when the wind and fire and chain and explosions and death ebb? There is laughter. And not just a little laughter.

"Yes! Hahaha, yes!" Liyara is either in some way directing the fire tornadoes as they whip up, or just a really, really big fan of them, since she's waving her hands back and forth like a conductor to her orchestra. "Burn! BURN!" They don't seem to be chasing down the fleeing people, but they sure are scattering them. Maybe that was her plan. Certainly, that is what she will claim when she composes herself. But right now? Right now she is just having the time of her life. She flaps her tiny little wings, carrying her ever so slightly aloft as her vividly glowing green eyes pierce outward into the smoke and fire and ash and wind and dust. She's not blinking. She wants to see every single microsecond. Maybe... maybe someone might need to remind her she came here to help.

Chiffon smirks, and licks his bloodied lips. Exploit the anger, exploit the pride, whatever it takes to keep him engaged. Because he's not alone in this fight, and it's one that's steadily dwindling down on one side. "I won't run, because I'm not alone." He might have [ze magicks], but he's also a brute by necessity and taking a punch, a bullet, a bite, a flame, that's just the price of admission.

So of course his manner of dealing with the whip is just to Not. He takes the lash and the coil and grunts as it pulls taut, levelling a glare of challenge at the man. For a moment there's a wonder who might come out on top of that perverse tug of war, the beast or the master. Then there's the matter of the untimely interruption as a third, unexpected force daisy chains the whole scene across the ground.

The whip is probably built to take a beating, a biting, anything creatures can throw out. Chiff knows what kind of punishment one might expect, and be built for. But he also knows it's awful hard to keep a precise grip when you're being dragged at such velocity. So he just needs to get a good turn. He *slaps* the ground with a paw, the battered, burned ground starting to tremble. There's a roar of ground, rocks parting and dirt spilling as broken sections of ground rise up with the localized [Earth Shake]. The right slope, the right *slap* in the middle of the arc of the whip, and a twist as he's dragged up a newly formed slope... tilting to the side and falling free, tumbling a few times before finally springing up onto his paws and taking a stance.

"Calwa! Liyara! Can you see me?" No, he's not vogueing this time. If they're free... it's either time to finish this or get out of dodge. His ears swivel to the laughing dragon-witch and he half-grins. "... if you're not too busy!"

Calwa, while free, isn't the most combat capable in his current state. While he knows restorative spells and focus abilities due to his training and learning, he hasn't had a chance to rest and fully recover his ability to use most of them in a long while. Legs trembling with each step, the Sanuye keeps low to the ground as he slowly tries to find his way out of the dangerous area. He walks with a limp, only seemingly with every leg, making for a fairly pathetic sight. If seen.

During this, the driverless motorcycle continues peeling away while dragging the man behind it out of sight through the smoke and dust and fire. It can't be comfortable by any means. The Big Guy likely already has many scrapes and gashes and abrasions to match his scars and burns and poisoning. He says nothing throughout this damaging display, even when his whip is forced loose from his hand due to an eruption of ground, and instead pulls himself along the chain closer to the bike itself.

"Chiffon!" calls out a cracked and parched voice that has little strength to it, especially compared to the goings-on around him that have gotten entirely out of hand. Calwa can barely see. He trips over the remains of a box and takes a tumble to the ground and, for the moment, there he stays. He isn't sure he has the strength to try standing again. Maybe if rests there the fire won't spread closer to him. He can regain his strength. He just needs to close his eyes for a minute since they won't stop stinging.

When the motorcycle breaks free from the fiery cloud, the unnamed man is driving it. He looks extremely roughed up but clearly has the fortitude to take as much as he can dish out. He's leaving. Just like all the others. Apparently they have no more use for fighting right now.

[!] Black Hand Gunner is fleeing the battle 

[!] Black Hand Gunner is fleeing the battle 

[!] Black Hand Thug is fleeing the battle 

[!] ???? is fleeing the battle

"Yes! YES!" Liyara yells, exulting in her moment of fiery glory, when she hears Chiffon's call and very quickly rolls with it. "Yes, I can hear you!" ... He asked if you can SEE him, Liyara. Ah well. The woman turns, lowering her hands and surveying the scene behind her. A chain-bike-man-whip-lion scenario is not what she was expecting to see in between the drifts of smoke. She's not sure precisely what she WAS expecting to see, mind.

"That seems... unhealthy." Liyara remarks when the ground erupts around Chiffon. But the leocanid recovers somewhat gracefully, which pleases Liyara, and she smiles for a moment. It's a toothy smile, but it's a smile. And then she sees that the humans are fleeing. Or rather, she sees them further and further away between each break in the multiple plumes of smoke now surrounding them. She could try chasing them, but the lessers are no concern of hers, and she can't catch that motorcycle anyway. It's out of her range almost the moment it peels out of the smoke.

Well. Out of range for her to chase it down.

Liyara's green pupils dilate, and she takes in a deep breath of nice, freshly singed, smoke-filled air. So refreshing. To her eyes, the billowing smoke seems to slow, going from a chaotic mess into a lazy, easily distinguished and predictable flow. Liyara knows smoke - has spent lifetimes knee deep in the fire - and she can read its movements easily. So she focuses, clearly, waiting, for that agonizingly small window, when the empty spot in all the plumes of smoke line up, and she has a single, fleeting glance of the motorcycle, now so far away.

[!] Liyara used 1 AP.

Time halts. That window, so vanishingly brief, is held open as everything around Liyara just stops for her; there is no more sound, no more heat. In fact, there is no more breathing. There is just Liyara, and that tiny hole in the flames. And the motorcycle. Liyara casts one open palm out towards the space between her and the vehicle. Energy approaching but not-quite reaching the heat of the sun gathers around her hand, a magnificent achievement for most fire mages, but just a basic attack for Liyara. Her hair lifts up on the thermals, whipping above her before it ignites in white-hot blaze, along with the fire around her hand. It blazes brighter than the sun, now, and hotter too. It would be a heck of an impossible shot to hit the motorcycle's gas tank now. So she takes it.

The elemental bolt courses through the intervening space in an instant, aimed directly at... the inventory box on the side of the motorcycle. What? Liyara doesn't know what a gas tank actually looks like - she's only read about them. Her hair slowly drifts back down to its normal position, and she exhales as time resumes its normal function, looking disappointed that she didn't blow the entire thing up. That was certainly her intention. Ah well.

Chiffon's ears continue to tilt to the side. 'Watch our back!' he seems to want to say, but she's already. Uh. Going above and beyond the call of duty. With them in, for the moment, retreat, the larger Sanuye's attention turns solely to Calwa.

He sniffs, listens, and peels his way through the dark with what is now a much more measured gait. A stroll, almost, or a more powerful limp than he was showing this morning. The need for valor is almost passed, the need for discretion coming on swift. He is almost blind to Liyara's world class snipe, because he's going to keep going until he finds Calwa.

A paw is pressed on the smaller lionwolf's back and it's like the universe bites into a peppermint patty. A cool breath of fresh air without, like, the breath or anything. An aura of [White Wind] passing over--a bit of a better use than dealing with headaches and hangovers. Spending down his arcane and mundane stamina rather thin, he slumps down for a moment. Maybe magic won't magically fix everything, but it should take the edge off. Maybe be enough to get home.

The man on the motorcycle is heavily injured, but a sudden interruption forces him to react quicker than he would like. Some sort of energy strikes the side of the bike near his leg and the box blows open. The contents eject into the air like a jack in the box without a tether. A first aid kit, a pack of rations, a box of ammunition, and many papers are a part of those that shoot into the air from the attack. Amongst them chiefly is a jade and gold statuette of some sort of anthropomorphic creature. It almost gleams with internal light as its seemingly fragile form gains weightlessness.

The man twists to grab at the statuette, but his knuckles glance it and pop it higher into the air and off to the side. He bolts up onto the saddle and kicks off of it. The motorcycle careens out of control with a wobble before the front tire turns sharply and the entire motor vehicle cartwheels forward. Each strike against the ground looses more parts free that probably should stay where they are. Airborn, the large man makes one more grab for the statuette...and succeeds. However, he does not hit the ground. His form, and the form of the creature so crafted from precious stone and metal, suddenly vanish into shadow. The barest hint of surprise on the man's face is the only clue that this isn't expected. The motorcycle lay crashed and smoking, a complement to the now battleless battlefield scene not too far away.

[Battle End! Cue the Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5h5SsQ_C90]

[!] Gained EXP and AP 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 
EXP                                 24p   <nowiki>|</nowiki>   AP                             2p 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 

[!] Gained Gil 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 
Gained Gil                         0G   <nowiki>|</nowiki>  Gil                           214G 
<nowiki>=============================================</nowiki> 

Calwa's eyes suddenly open, then his ears perk up, and rolling to his side and into the side of the broken box he wiggles onto his back with forelegs held spread far apart. The expression on his face is a mix of pained relief and bittersweet joy. He says something, almost managing the first syllable of Chiffon's name, before his voice cuts out and he reaches to grab and pull the big lug into a hug with a sob. Strange when tears are a mix of pain, sadness, and sudden happiness, and colored with an outburst of longing-fulfilled hope and love. His heartbeat races.

Beside him, his personal effects are present in what remains of the container. His bags are there. So are his enchanted glasses, although one lens has a nasty crack in it. Aside from some Gil and a few mundane bottled drinks, however, the bags are empty. Clearly. They are all turned out and nothing could remotely be hidden within. That's not good.

It is also a problem that will need addressing later. Chances are that neither Sanuye are in a condition to go blindly chasing down fleeing minions for clues. Hugs and reunion come first for now.

The events that happen to the motorcycle rider cause Liyara to look surprised, but then, she was expecting a LARGE explosion, not a loot explosion. "So..." The redhead puts a hand on her hip, before looking over to Chiffon and Calwa. "...I think that went well." You murdered people, did unspeakable things to puppies, and unleashed a fire maelstrom, while your companions choked, burned, and bled. "Very well, if I'm being honest." So she just doesn't have a lot of empathy, apparently.

Now that the dragoness has a moment to look over the firelions, she purses her lips together, and then tilts her head to one side; this gets some fire-blood from her wounded shoulder on her cheek and she grimaces. The firelions are having a moment - she should probably let them have it. Probably. But she doesn't. Instead, she gestures back the way she and Chiffon came from. "Joyful reunions later. Medical attention now." Well - someone's off the Valentione's Day List.

The odds are seriously unfair when worlds start whisping away, collapsing, and all that madness. Chiffon blinks when Calwa grabs him, and returns a tired foreleg around the smaller one's shoulders. Then the other. Right, he should probably take the leaning, otherwise they'll both end up on the ground in a heap.

That's fun sometimes, but not now.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, buddy," he manages, before his voice drops, his head lowers, and he presses his chin between the Sanuye's ears. "Sorry it took so long, Calwa." That's about as much reunion as he manages to squeak in before Liyara gets a word in. Chiff looks up and gives a little nod. "... yeah." We can argue about who needs what later. Chiffon is more durable than he looks, but, he only went through a fight or two; Calwa has been dragged out for longer than he would like. "Can you walk?" The Sanuye asks. If not, well, he's got a shoulder. And a back. And he'll scoop you up if you make him.

Chiffon will likely have to endure having some tears wiped away on his pelt as Calwa takes a moment to just take in the presence and voice. He wants to take in Chiff's scent, too, but his nose is dry and cracked and hurt. All he can smell at the moment is what lingering pain that hasn't been quelled by the help offered from the larger Sanuye.

Calwa nods a bit and looks away in the direction of Liyara's voice. His vision is still greatly hampered, but he can hear just fine. That's not a voice he's familiar with. Calwa doesn't question it. "I have to find my things, though. They.../took/ them." He doesn't even know they're right there. Due to history, Chiffon knows about Calwa's troubles and about the artifact being carried, guarded, until it can be safely delivered. Chiffon also knows what it looks like: Calwa described is as an Icon of Weapon. Not -a- weapon. A /Weapon/. At this point, though, Chiffon's adventuring partner expects the worst, but he hurts too much to be able to hurt any more over the possibility or reality. After enduring such great trauma, what's another load of straw on the pile?

Before Calwa lets go completely, though, he shudders and whispers, "I won't let you leave me again." Untangles are completed and the notably smaller of the two pushes achingly up to his feet. "Please lead the way. Don't go...too fast."

|}}

Calwa

2020-02-05T11:15:18Z

TheSmileDog:

{{2019Profile|
|Image=Missing.jpg
|Name=Calwa
|Pronunciation=(kɑˈlu ə)
|Alias=Son of Nanaki; Grandson of the Great Warrior Seto; Calwa of Cosmo Canyon
|Series= Final Fantasy
|Threat= Street Sweeper
|Occupation= Monk/White Mage
|Alignment=Neutral Good
|Gender=Male
|Species=Sanuye
|Age= 45
|Birthdate=[ ν ] - εγλ 0504
|Height=4'2"
|Weight=450 lbs.
|Short=A quadrupedal ember orange-furred beast with a spiky black mane and a flaming tail-tip. Often compared to a cross between a wolf and a lion, his form is built for speed, stamina, and precision.
|Extra1=
|Desc=Four legs. Fur. Tail-flame. And glasses?
|Extra2=

Dark red to light orange colors span this quadrupedal creature's pelt and tend to shift depending on how the light hits it. His toned appearance confounds most with the seeming mix of species he must possess, although he is no true hybrid at all. His larger thinner chest and smaller-around belly are similar to those of a cheetah's or a greyhound's body while his musculature seems closer to that of a leopard. One solid look at his face would show a resemblance to the structure of a wolf's, but with a larger nose, nose bridge, and upper lip cleft seen in panthers and lions. His tail is also like that of a lion's, although the tuft of fur at the end is replaced by an ominous flickering flame that casts mysterious shadows across his strange form as it moves about. His ears are pointed like that of a canine, as well, and a pair of armless spectacles sit on the bridge of his nose in stark contrast to the otherwise lack of clothing.

His mane is definitive of himself. A sharp-looking blade of fur juts from the base of his head to the spot between his shoulders, similar yet shorter than that of a horse's mane and altogether more stiff and vertical, and is a midnight black color that shows a faint blue or red, depending on how the light shines off of his fur. His headfur, the extension of his mane up between his ears, seems unkempt. Part of his short bangs hang loosely in front of his face, although a good portion of his head-lining mane haphazardly tussles about in a tastefully youthful manner. He may at times bear saddle bag-like courier satchels attached by harness used for carrying things. If not for the glasses on the creature's face or a familiarity for his kind one might confuse the individual with some type of beast-of-burden.
|Skills='''The Natural and the Learned'''
* '''Cosmo Candle:''' The fiery tip on a Sanuye tail is tied to the Eternal Flame, Cosmo Candle, which provides them with extremely long lives (often lasting a couple thousand years), resilience against harm, and much faster recovery in healing. This fire is special and can, for a time, burn underwater. It may diminish to be nearly impossible to see with the naked eye, but it never fully extinguishes. Uniquely fueled, it radiates warmth and light yet never fully seeks to spread or harm that which it touches.
* '''Run, Run, Run:''' Sanuye are natural runners. If space on land allows them to get up to speed, they can cover distances that are extreme clocked in at times that may seem unnatural. Furthermore, they have nearly endless running stamina. Ancient legends tell of the beating feet of the Sanuye people in their running causing Gaia to turn to bring the planet through Day and Night.
* '''Listen to the Planet:''' The Sanuye people have a natural cosmological tie to their planet, Gaia, and and instinctively know how to listen to its many voices. This is what guides them in doing their part to keep the planet healthy and safe. This sense, however, extends to other terrestrial and celestial bodies, too, although unfamiliar, new, or strange ones may have voices or problems that are alien.
* '''Parkour Expert:''' Able to get from Point A to Point B in a complex environment despite heights or threat of environmental hazard in as quick and efficient way as possible without the use of assistive gear.
* '''Koh'bikeh:''' This is the Monk-like Martial Style taught to him by his father, Nanaki, based on the adaptation of fighting styles of friends witnessed during the Meteor Crisis to work for one of his type of shape of form. It is based on agile movements and shattering precision strikes that make use of all major bodily extensions and facets. There exist abilities tied to these deep levels of training and focus that enhance the self with healing and speed or purge the body of impurities and impediments. Meditative Ability comes with this.
* '''White Magic:''' While not referred to as such where he is from, this is the learning of helpful magical abilities that heal or empower allies or, rarely, allow White-oriented Magical Attacks often aligned with the element Holy. These knowledges were once ready to anybody that used crystallized pieces of Planet Gaia's Lifestream, Materia, but Materia use fell out of fashion after the Meteor Crisis. Such abilities can still be learned, but they require intense training and study and cannot simply be 'swapped out'. They become stronger through use and practice.
* '''Lore and Legend:''' As a bookworm in his free time, Calwa often reads as a form of educative meditation. Locations, buildings, people, history, animals and monsters and fiends and cryptids; he tries to become knowledgable about many things that can help out his adventure partnership and courier career.
* '''Partners, Always:''' Due to the nature of his partnership and relationship with Chiffon, Calwa will always behave with improvements across the board when the two are paired together. This effect is even greater if his partner is in major danger.
* '''Limit Break: Howling Moon:''' When one is pushed and pushed and pushed even more to the very point of their personal limitations, a few find the strength to draw on power deep within (or even without) to aid themselves or allies through various means. Howling Moon allows Calwa to throw himself into battle with full ignorance of all distractions. His physical speed is greatly increased (Haste) and his attacks become much much stronger at the expense of not being able to use other abilities for its duration (Berserk). He becomes a blur of red on the battlefield. This was taught by Calwa's father.
* '''Limit Break: Cosmo Memory:''' When one is pushed and pushed and pushed even more to the very point of their personal limitations, a few find the strength to draw on power deep within (or even without) to aid themselves or allies through various means. Cosmo Memory allows Calwa to pull helpful energy from the Cosmos itself in order to smite all nearby foes with a tremendous non-elemental strike and engulfing explosion. This was taught by Calwa's father.
|Gallery=
|MusicEmbed=<center><websiteFrame>
website=https://www.youtube.com/embed/af27aTI7j2M
name=YouTube
align=middle
height=315px
width=420px
border=0
scroll=auto
longdescription=A video on YouTube
</websiteFrame>

Reuben Kee - Ascension to Cosmo Canyon
|Logs={{Template:Logs}}

|Background= 
==Background==
Calwa is the youngest of four, son of Nanaki, grandson to Seto, protectors of the Buga Tribe, guardians of Planet Gaia, and serve as arbiters of cosmic balance. Centuries after the events of Meteorfall and Geostigma instigated by the extraterrestrial threat JENOVA, the people living on Gaia have moved on. Generally pacifistic unless necessary, the shy bookworm Calwa eventually took up a job as a courier delivering various items either intracity or even cross-continental.

However, one day he was tasked with moving an important artifact to a client whose identity was made to stay a secret. Unknown to Calwa, this object was sought by the mysterious Black Hand organization and various agents were sent to eliminate the courier and retrieve the item. These encounters became more frequent and Calwa was unable to complete the delivery while being actively hunted. During an ambush in New Corel, Calwa leapt from a building during gunfire and the target building vanished leaving him to tumble from the sky. He was rescued by another of his kind named Chiffon and the two became partners for an adventuring enterprise in the mysterious realm called Neo Tokyo. That all changed one day, sadly, when the two were separated. It would seem the Black Hand were far more dangerous and tenacious than anyone could have figured.

They eventually reunited far outside the City of Mabase where the culmination of much abuse and torment was discovered. Calwa was captured by the Black Hand and endured much punishment for his keeping their prize away from them for so long. Despite Chiffon rescuing him with help, the Black Hand managed to escape with the potentially dangerous artifact: The Icon of Weapon!|}}
[[Category:Active]]

Calwa

2020-02-05T11:11:27Z

TheSmileDog:

{{2019Profile|
|Image=Missing.jpg
|Name=Calwa
|Pronunciation=(kɑˈlu ə)
|Alias=Son of Nanaki; Grandson of the Great Warrior Seto; Calwa of Cosmo Canyon
|Series= Final Fantasy
|Threat= Street Sweeper
|Occupation= Monk/White Mage
|Alignment=Neutral Good
|Gender=Male
|Species=Sanuye
|Age= 45
|Birthdate=[ ν ] - εγλ 0504
|Height=4'2"
|Weight=450 lbs.
|Short=A quadrupedal ember orange-furred beast with a spiky black mane and a flaming tail-tip. Often compared to a cross between a wolf and a lion, his form is built for speed, stamina, and precision.
|Extra1=
|Desc=Four legs. Fur. Tail-flame. And glasses?
|Extra2=

Dark red to light orange colors span this quadrupedal creature's pelt and tend to shift depending on how the light hits it. His toned appearance confounds most with the seeming mix of species he must possess, although he is no true hybrid at all. His larger thinner chest and smaller-around belly are similar to those of a cheetah's or a greyhound's body while his musculature seems closer to that of a leopard. One solid look at his face would show a resemblance to the structure of a wolf's, but with a larger nose, nose bridge, and upper lip cleft seen in panthers and lions. His tail is also like that of a lion's, although the tuft of fur at the end is replaced by an ominous flickering flame that casts mysterious shadows across his strange form as it moves about. His ears are pointed like that of a canine, as well, and a pair of armless spectacles sit on the bridge of his nose in stark contrast to the otherwise lack of clothing.

His mane is definitive of himself. A sharp-looking blade of fur juts from the base of his head to the spot between his shoulders, similar yet shorter than that of a horse's mane and altogether more stiff and vertical, and is a midnight black color that shows a faint blue or red, depending on how the light shines off of his fur. His headfur, the extension of his mane up between his ears, seems unkempt. Part of his short bangs hang loosely in front of his face, although a good portion of his head-lining mane haphazardly tussles about in a tastefully youthful manner. He may at times bear saddle bag-like courier satchels attached by harness used for carrying things. If not for the glasses on the creature's face or a familiarity for his kind one might confuse the individual with some type of beast-of-burden.
|Skills='''The Natural and the Learned'''
* '''Cosmo Candle:''' The fiery tip on a Sanuye tail is tied to the Eternal Flame, Cosmo Candle, which provides them with extremely long lives (often lasting a couple thousand years), resilience against harm, and much faster recovery in healing. This fire is special and can, for a time, burn underwater. It may diminish to be nearly impossible to see with the naked eye, but it never fully extinguishes.
* '''Run, Run, Run:''' Sanuye are natural runners. If space on land allows them to get up to speed, they can cover distances that are extreme clocked in at times that may seem unnatural. Furthermore, they have nearly endless running stamina. Ancient legends tell of the beating feet of the Sanuye people in their running causing Gaia to turn to bring the planet through Day and Night.
* '''Listen to the Planet:''' The Sanuye people have a natural cosmological tie to their planet, Gaia, and and instinctively know how to listen to its many voices. This is what guides them in doing their part to keep the planet healthy and safe. This sense, however, extends to other terrestrial and celestial bodies, too, although unfamiliar, new, or strange ones may have voices or problems that are alien.
* '''Parkour Expert:''' Able to get from Point A to Point B in a complex environment despite heights or threat of environmental hazard in as quick and efficient way as possible without the use of assistive gear.
* '''Koh'bikeh:''' This is the Monk-like Martial Style taught to him by his father, Nanaki, based on the adaptation of fighting styles of friends witnessed during the Meteor Crisis to work for one of his type of shape of form. It is based on agile movements and shattering precision strikes that make use of all major bodily extensions and facets. There exist abilities tied to these deep levels of training and focus that enhance the self with healing and speed or purge the body of impurities and impediments. Meditative Ability comes with this.
* '''White Magic:''' While not referred to as such where he is from, this is the learning of helpful magical abilities that heal or empower allies or, rarely, allow White-oriented Magical Attacks often aligned with the element Holy. These knowledges were once ready to anybody that used crystallized pieces of Planet Gaia's Lifestream, Materia, but Materia use fell out of fashion after the Meteor Crisis. Such abilities can still be learned, but they require intense training and study and cannot simply be 'swapped out'. They become stronger through use and practice.
* '''Lore and Legend:''' As a bookworm in his free time, Calwa often reads as a form of educative meditation. Locations, buildings, people, history, animals and monsters and fiends and cryptids; he tries to become knowledgable about many things that can help out his adventure partnership and courier career.
* '''Partners, Always:''' Due to the nature of his partnership and relationship with Chiffon, Calwa will always behave with improvements across the board when the two are paired together. This effect is even greater if his partner is in major danger.
* '''Limit Break: Howling Moon:''' When one is pushed and pushed and pushed even more to the very point of their personal limitations, a few find the strength to draw on power deep within (or even without) to aid themselves or allies through various means. Howling Moon allows Calwa to throw himself into battle with full ignorance of all distractions. His physical speed is greatly increased (Haste) and his attacks become much much stronger at the expense of not being able to use other abilities for its duration (Berserk). He becomes a blur of red on the battlefield. This was taught by Calwa's father.
* '''Limit Break: Cosmo Memory:''' When one is pushed and pushed and pushed even more to the very point of their personal limitations, a few find the strength to draw on power deep within (or even without) to aid themselves or allies through various means. Cosmo Memory allows Calwa to pull helpful energy from the Cosmos itself in order to smite all nearby foes with a tremendous non-elemental strike and engulfing explosion. This was taught by Calwa's father.
|Gallery=
|MusicEmbed=<center><websiteFrame>
website=https://www.youtube.com/embed/af27aTI7j2M
name=YouTube
align=middle
height=315px
width=420px
border=0
scroll=auto
longdescription=A video on YouTube
</websiteFrame>

Reuben Kee - Ascension to Cosmo Canyon
|Logs={{Template:Logs}}

|Background= 
==Background==
Calwa is the youngest of four, son of Nanaki, grandson to Seto, protectors of the Buga Tribe, guardians of Planet Gaia, and serve as arbiters of cosmic balance. Centuries after the events of Meteorfall and Geostigma instigated by the extraterrestrial threat JENOVA, the people living on Gaia have moved on. Generally pacifistic unless necessary, the shy bookworm Calwa eventually took up a job as a courier delivering various items either intracity or even cross-continental.

However, one day he was tasked with moving an important artifact to a client whose identity was made to stay a secret. Unknown to Calwa, this object was sought by the mysterious Black Hand organization and various agents were sent to eliminate the courier and retrieve the item. These encounters became more frequent and Calwa was unable to complete the delivery while being actively hunted. During an ambush in New Corel, Calwa leapt from a building during gunfire and the target building vanished leaving him to tumble from the sky. He was rescued by another of his kind named Chiffon and the two became partners for an adventuring enterprise in the mysterious realm called Neo Tokyo. That all changed one day, sadly, when the two were separated. It would seem the Black Hand were far more dangerous and tenacious than anyone could have figured.

They eventually reunited far outside the City of Mabase where the culmination of much abuse and torment was discovered. Calwa was captured by the Black Hand and endured much punishment for his keeping their prize away from them for so long. Despite Chiffon rescuing him with help, the Black Hand managed to escape with the potentially dangerous artifact: The Icon of Weapon!|}}
[[Category:Active]]

File:Calwa-icon.gif

2020-02-05T10:48:00Z

TheSmileDog:

Calwa

2020-02-05T10:22:19Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{2019Profile| |Image=Missing.jpg |Name=Calwa |Pronunciation=(kɑˈlu ə) |Alias=Son of Nanaki; Grandson of the Great Warrior Seto; that Beast named Kahlua |Series= Final Fant..."

{{2019Profile|
|Image=Missing.jpg
|Name=Calwa
|Pronunciation=(kɑˈlu ə)
|Alias=Son of Nanaki; Grandson of the Great Warrior Seto; that Beast named Kahlua
|Series= Final Fantasy VII
|Threat= Street Sweeper
|Occupation= Monk/White Mage
|Alignment=Neutral Good
|Gender=Male
|Species=Sanuye
|Age= 45
|Birthdate=[ ν ] - εγλ 0504
|Height=4'2"
|Weight=450 lbs.
|Short=A quadrupedal ember orange-furred beast with a spiky black mane and a flaming tail-tip. Often compared to a cross between a wolf and a lion, his form is built for speed, stamina, and precision.
|Extra1=
|Desc=Four legs. Fur. Tail-flame. And glasses?
|Extra2=

Dark red to light orange colors span this quadrupedal creature's pelt and tend to shift depending on how the light hits it. His toned appearance confounds most with the seeming mix of species he must possess, although he is no true hybrid at all. His larger thinner chest and smaller-around belly are similar to those of a cheetah's or a greyhound's body while his musculature seems closer to that of a leopard. One solid look at his face would show a resemblance to the structure of a wolf's, but with a larger nose, nose bridge, and upper lip cleft seen in panthers and lions. His tail is also like that of a lion's, although the tuft of fur at the end is replaced by an ominous flickering flame that casts mysterious shadows across his strange form as it moves about. His ears are pointed like that of a canine, as well, and a pair of armless spectacles sit on the bridge of his nose in stark contrast to the otherwise lack of clothing.

His mane is definitive of himself. A sharp-looking blade of fur juts from the base of his head to the spot between his shoulders, similar yet shorter than that of a horse's mane and altogether more stiff and vertical, and is a midnight black color that shows a faint blue or red, depending on how the light shines off of his fur. His headfur, the extension of his mane up between his ears, seems unkempt. Part of his short bangs hang loosely in front of his face, although a good portion of his head-lining mane haphazardly tussles about in a tastefully youthful manner. He may at times bear saddle bag-like courier satchels attached by harness used for carrying things. If not for the glasses on the creature's face or a familiarity for his kind one might confuse the individual with some type of beast-of-burden.
|Skills='''The Natural and the Learned'''
* '''Cosmo Candle:''' The fiery tip on a Sanuye tail is tied to the Eternal Flame, Cosmo Candle, which provides them with extremely long lives (often lasting a couple thousand years), resilience against harm, and much faster recovery in healing. This fire is special and can, for a time, burn underwater. It may diminish to be nearly impossible to see with the naked eye, but it never fully extinguishes.
* '''Run, Run, Run:''' Sanuye are natural runners. If space on land allows them to get up to speed, they can cover distances that are extreme clocked in at times that may seem unnatural. Furthermore, they have nearly endless running stamina. Ancient legends tell of the beating feet of the Sanuye people in their running causing Gaia to turn to bring the planet through Day and Night.
* '''Listen to the Planet:''' The Sanuye people have a natural cosmological tie to their planet, Gaia, and and instinctively know how to listen to its many voices. This is what guides them in doing their part to keep the planet healthy and safe. This sense, however, extends to other terrestrial and celestial bodies, too, although unfamiliar, new, or strange ones may have voices or problems that are alien.
* '''Parkour Expert:''' Able to get from Point A to Point B in a complex environment despite heights or threat of environmental hazard in as quick and efficient way as possible without the use of assistive gear.
* '''Koh'bikeh:''' This is the Monk-like Martial Style taught to him by his father, Nanaki, based on the adaptation of fighting styles of friends witnessed during the Meteor Crisis to work for one of that type of shape of form. It is based on agile movements and shattering precision strikes that make use of all major bodily extensions and facets. There exist abilities tied to these deep levels of training and focus that enhance the self with healing and speed or purge the body of impurities and impediments. Meditative Ability comes with this.
* '''White Magic:''' While not refered to as such where he is from, this is the learning of helpful magical abilities that heal or empower allies or, rarely, allow White-oriented Magical Attacks often aligned with the element Holy. These knowledges were once ready to anybody that used crystalized pieces of Planet Gaia's Lifestream, Materia, but Materia use fell out of fashion after the Meteor Crisis. Such abilities can still be learned, but they require intense training and study and cannot simply be 'swapped out'. They become stronger through use and practice.
* '''Lore and Legend:''' As a bookworm in his free time, Calwa often reads as a form of educative meditation. Locations, buildings, people, history, animals and monsters and fiends and cryptids; he tries to become knowledgable about many things that can help out his adventure partnership and courier career.
* '''Partners, Always:''' Due to the nature of his partnership and relationship with Chiffon, Calwa will always behave with improvements across the board when the two are paired together. This effect is even greater if his partner is in major danger.
* '''Limit Break: Howling Moon:''' When one is pushed and pushed and pushed even more to the very point of their personal limitations, a few find the strength to draw on power deep within (or even without) to aid themselves or allies through various means. Howling Moon allows Calwa to throw himself into battle with full ignorance of all distractions. His physical speed is greatly increased (Haste) and his attacks become much much stronger at the expense of not being able to use other abilities for its duration (Berserk). He becomes a blur of red on the battlefield.
* '''Limit Break: Cosmo Memory:''' When one is pushed and pushed and pushed even more to the very point of their personal limitations, a few find the strength to draw on power deep within (or even without) to aid themselves or allies through various means. Cosmo Memory allows Calwa to pull helpful energy from the Cosmos itself in order to smite all nearby foes with a tremendous non-elemental strike and explosion.
|Gallery=
|MusicEmbed=<center><websiteFrame>
website=https://www.youtube.com/embed/af27aTI7j2M
name=YouTube
align=middle
height=315px
width=420px
border=0
scroll=auto
longdescription=A video on YouTube
</websiteFrame>

Reuben Kee - Ascension to Cosmo Canyon
|Logs={{Template:Logs}}

|Background= 
==Background==
Calwa is the youngest of four, son of Nanaki, grandson to Seto, protectors of the Buga Tribe, guardians of Planet Gaia, and serve as arbiters of cosmic balance. Centuries after the events of Meteorfall and Geostigma instigated by the extraterrestrial threat JENOVA, the people living on Gaia have moved on. Generally pacifistic unless necessary, the shy bookworm Calwa eventually took up a job as a courier delivering various items either intracity or even cross-continental.

However, one day he was tasked with moving an important artifact to a client whose identity was made to stay a secret. Unknown to Calwa, this object was sought by the mysterious Black Hand organization and various agents were sent to eliminate the courier and retrieve the item. These encounters became more frequent and Calwa was unable to complete the delivery while being actively hunted. During an ambush in New Corel, Calwa leapt from a building during gunfire and the target building vanished leaving him to tumble from the sky. He was rescued by another of his kind named Chiffon and the two became partners for an adventuring enterprise in the mysterious realm called Neo Tokyo. That all changed one day, sadly, when the two were separated. It would seem the Black Hand were far more dangerous and tenacious than anyone could have figured.

They eventually reunited far outside the City of Mabase where the culmination of much abuse and torment was discovered. Calwa was captured by the Black Hand and endured much punishment for his keeping their prize away from them for so long. Despite Chiffon rescuing him with help, the Black Hand managed to escape with the potentially dangerous artifact: The Icon of Weapon!|}}
[[Category:Active]]

Lynx

2020-01-23T06:04:51Z

TheSmileDog:

{{ChronoProfile|
|Image=Lynx.jpg
|Name={{PAGENAME}}
|MagicAffinity=Black
|Occupation=[Data Expunged]
|Series=Chrono Cross
|Threat=Block Buster
|Alignment=Chaotic Lawful(?)
|Gender=Male
|Species=Wildcat Demi-human
|Short=This is a wildcat demi-human that stands at 6'4", looks very physically capable, and wears a black military uniform that has gold trim with a matching hat, gauntlet-styled sleeves, mantle and cape.
|Extra1=
|Age=36
|Birthdate=969 AD
|Height=6'4"
|Weight=176 lbs
|Desc=
This is cat person, a feline demi-human, that stands 6'4" tall yet weighs only 176 lbs giving him a tall lanky appearance. A thin bestial face, cat's nose, and pointed ears give away the nature of the man while his well-defined amber eyes, marked with a natural thin outline of black, gives his gaze a piercing cold element. Not much else can be seen of his uncovered form aside from his strong neck and clawed bare hands while a bit of a brown mane pokes free from underneath the hat that he wears.

The hat is of military origin and style, a variant of a bicorn, that is colored black and gold. He wears a jacket of matching style that is tight, yet flexible, fully revealing his thin build. The front of the fabric's torso might seem to reveal a rippling display of toned muscle, yet this is purely a matter of aesthetic. Even the sleeves are form-fitting, showing that muscle definition is not all a matter of clothing design, save for the ends of the sleeves. The sleeve-ends are designed to appear as gauntlets protecting the top of each hand while otherwise allowing the hands freedom of motion. His jacket extends down past his knees mostly obscuring his pants. The leggings of the pants bunch up just above his boots. These boots are quite large, presumably to work for his demi-human feet, and have thick soles.

Accessories so worn, he has a high-collared mantle over his shoulders with an attached cape. The outside of the cape is black, much like most of his outfit, while the inside is gold like the rest of the fancy trim and ornamentation of his attire. Furthermore, a purple obi (cloth belt) is tied around his waist in colorful contrast to the black and gold worn otherwise.
|Background=[Redacted] was a simple man living in [Redacted] that made a living off of [Redacted], the village's chief supply of [Redacted], that eventually [Redacted] and had a son, [Redacted]. His son was, however, [Redacted] and fell deathly ill. Fearing for [Redacted]'s life, he convinced his best friend, [Redacted], to help him make the trip to [Redacted] by sea for a [Redacted]. An unexpected [Redacted] blew them off [Redacted] and they [Redacted] within the [Redacted] outside of [Redacted]. The [Redacted]'s [Redacted] were shut down due to [Redacted] which allowed [Redacted] to talk [Redacted] into helping him [Redacted] for help. Because of the [Redacted] of [Redacted] and the [Redacted] that [Redacted] it, this was all [Redacted].

Within [Redacted] was a [Redacted] of great [Redacted]: [Redacted], a [Redacted] of [Redacted]'s [Redacted]. [Redacted] was the [Redacted] integral to [Redacted] for which the [Redacted] was [Redacted]. [Redacted] made contact with [Redacted] and was instantly [Redacted], yet this [Redacted] the [Redacted] which [Redacted] the [Redacted]'s [Redacted], [Redacted], from [Redacted] its [Redacted] as [Redacted] became [Redacted].

For further information, please consult your closest Record of FATE. Remember, a wealth of knowledge is at your fingertips when you use a Record of FATE. You don't want to be poor and ignorant, do you?
|Extra2='''Flaws:''' 
We're sorry. The data you are looking for is not available at this time. Perhaps you would be interested in the following instead: 
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Awf45u6zrP0 Sail Cat] 
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7x1iRyDumiE McNugget Rampage] 
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phFgCLguSNI Fensler Films GI Joe PSA cliff] 
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfr64zoBTAQ JustNOW News: Secret behind Mabase's Existence] 

For further information, please consult your closest Record of FATE. Remember, knowledge is power and knowledge is available for free when you use a Record of FATE. You don't want to be weak and stupid, do you?
|Skills= 

Good Looks 
Nam gravida odio in diam blandit mattis. Praesent aliquam tortor nunc, non ultrices eros consectetur vitae. Donec scelerisque elit a metus vestibulum, ut bibendum tortor porttitor. Donec nec elementum diam. Aliquam id ullamcorper sapien. Integer convallis purus a ex tincidunt blandit. In eget neque neque. Quisque at mattis nulla. Fusce aliquet sodales dolor, et volutpat massa ullamcorper fringilla. Etiam vitae leo nisl. 

Soothing Voice 
In dictum dui at faucibus porta. Aliquam euismod posuere arcu, laoreet tristique ante fringilla sed. Nullam ultricies mollis erat, a pharetra nibh blandit vitae. Etiam vitae mauris in quam aliquet eleifend non eu ipsum. Etiam a efficitur diam. Mauris nec auctor metus, quis auctor risus. Morbi non mauris felis. Mauris iaculis vehicula justo ac convallis. Vestibulum a commodo nunc, et cursus massa. Morbi vel sem dui. Vivamus porta ipsum eget mauris tincidunt, id dignissim mauris dictum. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. 

Dressed to Kill 
Nunc at rhoncus ante. In non mauris sed enim pulvinar porttitor. Pellentesque sit amet justo fringilla, egestas erat sed, feugiat libero. In dapibus rutrum facilisis. Integer a ipsum ut augue venenatis volutpat. Aenean ultrices, tellus id varius auctor, nulla lectus accumsan nulla, sit amet vulputate orci nulla et est. Aliquam vitae euismod lacus, ut aliquam ligula. Pellentesque dictum velit at tortor tincidunt cursus. Phasellus tellus lorem, fringilla nec augue at, vulputate dapibus risus. Nullam et porta magna. Aliquam luctus, nisl nec maximus sagittis, felis odio rutrum turpis, et lobortis ante purus vitae velit. Maecenas est felis, aliquam nec sapien id, tempor viverra quam. Etiam posuere nisl purus. Duis sapien quam, laoreet ut odio a, luctus vestibulum massa. In auctor nulla quis convallis gravida. 

Winning Personality 
Maecenas consectetur quam vitae elementum sollicitudin. Suspendisse egestas mauris at varius venenatis. Sed euismod leo fermentum lacus sodales maximus. Integer iaculis sapien dui, eu tempus ex aliquam tincidunt. Donec interdum suscipit nulla quis placerat. Aliquam in tincidunt ex, eu tincidunt enim. Cras ut felis a leo fringilla pharetra. Quisque cursus euismod orci quis laoreet. Ut volutpat, ante ac elementum auctor, magna libero placerat elit, a placerat mauris orci a leo. 

Magic Touch 
Duis dui lacus, varius sed nisl non, rutrum fringilla nulla. Aenean sed vehicula lectus. Aliquam erat volutpat. Sed pretium neque libero, at lobortis ligula venenatis lacinia. Cras efficitur libero a justo aliquet interdum. Duis vitae tincidunt ligula. Vivamus sit amet molestie est, id consequat orci. Quisque euismod ac ipsum vel luctus. Curabitur fringilla dolor a facilisis volutpat. Praesent elementum felis ligula, sed lobortis nisi consequat non. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae; Nunc sagittis urna in velit tempor, in vulputate urna dignissim. 

|Gallery=<gallery>
File:Missing.jpg
File:Missing.jpg
File:Missing.jpg
</gallery>
|MusicEmbed=<center><websiteFrame>
website=https://www.youtube.com/embed/NdOLQQIx3t4
name=YouTube
align=middle
height=315px
width=560px
border=0
scroll=auto
longdescription=OA - Thrash's Snakebone Pit (Snakebone Mansion - Radical Dreamers)
</websiteFrame></center>

<center><websiteFrame>
website=https://www.youtube.com/embed/GjXWtEqs8I4
name=YouTube
align=middle
height=315px
width=560px
border=0
scroll=auto
longdescription=Muse - Knights of Cydonia
</websiteFrame></center>

|}}

{{Navbox/Chrono_Cross}}

2020-01-19 - A Game of Cat and Mouse: The Felon, The Stranger, The Civilian, and the Firefly

2020-01-23T05:58:05Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = A Game of Cat and Mouse: The Felon, the Stranger, The Civilian, and the Firefly |Summary = A Wanted Man pursued by a militant stranger turns himself i..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = A Game of Cat and Mouse: The Felon, the Stranger, The Civilian, and the Firefly
|Summary = A Wanted Man pursued by a militant stranger turns himself in to the Police. What follows defies explanation.
|Who = [[Lynx]], [[Rayne]], [[Ami]]
|Date = Early Evening
|Where = MCPD, Inside and Out
|Log=

It's early evening and the police station is... as busy as always. Some pickpocket is being brought in by regular officers, a couple of old TASK veterans are there talking to some rookies about how weird things got back under the last Director, Captain Cosgrove is pointing out another rookie for being a 'whiney boy'. And Rayne, the chief, walks down the hallway with a clipboard in hand as she looks over something or another.

Footsteps slam against the concrete along the street and the one running is panting hard, lungs heaving, sweat pouring down his brow as he hurries onward. This is no simple person out for exercise, though. The thick-soled boots, ripped jeans, tank top shirt and leather jacket, and the signature cross-shaped scar taking up half the man's face: this is Johnston "Ironfist" Reynolds, known as JR by his closest friends, and is a man that has been in hiding for a long time. He has a hefty bounty on him and is greatly wanted by the police with charges ranging from Grand Larceny to Aggravated Sexual Assault. The bruiser of a gang boss is running scared. In a panic. Running so hard for so long that his balance is shot and he nearly eats the road at least twice in one block's worth of distance. Where could he possibly be going?

The Main Entrance to the Mabase City Police Department's local precinct is nearly bust into by the frantic nature of the man pushing when he should be pulling, zigging when he should be zagging, and undoubtedly causes an uproar of immense levels as he makes it inside and is recognized. JR crashes to the floor in a partial heap, rough hands going to his head; he cannot believe he's doing this, but what other choice does he have?

"Hurry up and arrest me, damn it! You have to protect me!"

Rayne raises an eyebrow as several officers quickly move in. Even if they didn't recognize him, someone just bursting in behind doors closed to the public is going to get pounced on anyway. "On alert. Watch the door, he's being chased. Rival or bounty hunter, I don't know." If it's a bounty hunter? Well, they chased him in here, they collect the bounty. Simple as that to the chief. But the man is now in custody. Rayne walks over and crouches down to put herself closer to the now arrested perp. "Congratulations, Junior. You're under arrest. Why the turn of heart? Grow a conscience?" No, it's not a genuine thought to her. She's being quite sarcastic. Eyes flicker to the entrance again, however, ready for a possible threat to happen.

Sitting in the waiting area near the entrance to the MCPD are several civilians either lodging complaints or looking for some other help they think the police are either equipped or willing to help them with. One such person, a young woman roughly the age of eighteen, is sitting quietly and fidgeting nervously. She's come in to report a reckless endangerment crime - against herself. The other day a young man startled her very thoroughly, and she reacted instinctively, coming an inch away from hurting him with a sudden explosion of ice. Ami isn't certain why her powers are manifesting themselves outside of her transformed state, but by her thinking that makes her a danger - and the police should be informed. Lawful good.

When someone bursts into the entrance of the department, she hops out of her chair in surprise, and her bright blue eyes go wide, then blink twice. She doesn't recognize the man, but he's afraid, and she recognizes that. "A-are you alright?" She starts to ask, before officers converge on the scene, and she steps back to let them work, putting her hands down in front of her and trying to not be in the way, which probably means moving to a different area. Well, whatever it is, it's probably under control now.

If Chief Rayne has an unhealthy obsession with personnel files, she might know that Ami has written some code for the the anonymous internet tip-sites that sometimes assist the MCPD, but that was independent consultant work, and several years ago, to boot. The woman hasn't exactly kept in touch.

"What? Why are you keeping me here? Get me to a protected room! If I wanted to stay in the open I would have made my way to a god damned supermarket -- DO YOUR JOB!" Johnston does not resist in any way, though with the charges brought upon him over the years he may indeed face quite a rough treatment and it would be completely justified. "It's not a Tax Collector following me," he says, really stupid slang for a bounty hunter noted, and he dares to lift his head enough to stare back with intense eyes. This man is terrified.

The faintest flicker of shadow creeps into the station entrance from the outside, although no doors open, while the commotion provides distraction. All the same, the shadow is exactly that and its movement may be noticed in the corner of the eye fleetingly. It wavers, like a flame in the wind, only with almost no illumination or definition. Its presence blends in with natural soft shadows that are found indoors and, for the most part, likely goes fully unnoticed.

Rayne sighs and shakes her head. Captain Cosgrove, however, walks over, points JR, and says, "Cut it out," before motioning for the grunts that practically tackled the guy to take him to booking.

"You two, go with them," Rayne says to the pair of the TASK veterans. She stands up properly and looks over the entrances, not really noticing Ami at all. No, she doesn't remember the details about setting up that board... starting up the MCPD was a whirlwind of a nightmare of activity and problems and logistics that she quite simply forgot the names and faces of... pretty much all of the contractors involved. She also doesn't notice, however, the strange shadow moving about, either.

"Oh dear..." Ami muses to herself quietly as she watches the exchange between the street tough and the officers. She looks from the man down on the ground, her eyes tracking their way back to the entrance and out into the street, as if she might catch some sign of who's chasing him. Her eyes aren't particularly sharp, but she furrows her brows a little bit as she almost catches the shadow flickering on the ground. Almost. She was looking, but not for anything so subtle. She was expecting perhaps an assassin or a demon or another gang member. Yes demon was in the list. She's had an odd life.

"..." Something's wrong, but she's can't put her finger on it. Instead, she checks on the others that were seated with her, making sure they're alright. An elderly woman looks like she was spooked just like Ami was, and the young lady makes polite conversation with her and tries to distract her and calm her down. It's not much, but it's something she can do.

Johnston rises to his feet when prompted, at least a head taller than the average person, to be ushered off to where he needs to be to get everything going. He's fully protected here, right? He still looks ready to jump out of his skin. This man is seriously spooked, but compliant. Begrudgingly compliant.

Ever feel the cold hand of Death brush fingers against the side of your neck? Get that uncontrollable shiver that some call 'having your grave walked upon'? Ever go out for a hike only to round a corner and come face to face with an apex predator? Have you ever attended a party only to have your favorite celebrity star make a guest appearance? ...ever get the feeling that something is very terribly wrong?

The front entrance opens yet again and another tall figure steps in from off the street, but there is no urgency or rashness to the simple action. Just like any other person that would enter, yes. Only, there's something about the presence this one gives off that might immediately show an amount of cause for JR's current state of mind, but that can't be all of the story. Calmly, arms behind his lower back and hands resting loosely against one another, a man in fancy military-style dress and a cat's face walks in with a scary level of confidence that borders on smugness. Each footstep is deliberate, his path simple; he has no need to discuss matters with reception. His amber eyes don't spot the one he's looking for in the entry lobby, so he must be deeper in. His path passes by Ami so closely that his cape may even brush against her. Pausing mid-step, this figure turns to look to the young girl with an inquisitive yet commanding gaze. He clearly is looking for somebody. Need he have to say the words to ask? Even a flicker of the eyes would do to give it away.

Rayne has been watching the door, and upon seeing... someone in a military uniform walk in so calmly after all that? Yeah, something's up. Thus, the chief of police herself steps out into the lobby. She looks around in a nonchalant manner that suggests she's not really so nonchalant. She then decides there's not really any point to beating around the bush and walks up to about six feet from the cat-man and points over her shoulder with a thumb. "I take it that was your doing?"

It doesn't take someone very intuitive to put together that the next person to walk into the station might be the one chasing the man from earlier, so Ami isn't exactly taxing herself to come to that conclusion. When the newcomer enters the building, she tucks her chin in a bit, but meets his gaze solidly when he turns it upon her. She's not the one he's looking for. But she also isn't very good at hiding that she saw the one he was looking for, and that she's put two and two together. It's all over her face.

"Good day." Her tone is polite and unshaken, no quiver of either fear or indignation in it. She just waits for his gaze to pass her by. She's not important, after all. And he's here on business that doesn't concern her. But she didn't shy away, for whatever that's worth. Instead, once the new man's gaze passes her by, she'll get a better look at him. There's nothing better to do while waiting, after all. Except perhaps working on that alternative solve for the Riemann Hypothesis... No, now probably isn't the best time.

Ironfist doesn't get his name through any friendly means. His right hand is streaked with metal, his knuckles are completely capped, and the rippling bands provide a not-insignificant amount of protect and damage-dealing with anything that gets slugged by it. Those swirls lattices of epidermal metal extend past the wrist, as well, so that while cuffed there is a constant clatter and scrape of metal. The drawback to this metal on metal is that it also rubs through any skin above such metal and causes a bit of bleeding. It is not severe, but could be a little drippy.

Not too far behind the Wanted Man being herded along toward Booking and Processing is a flicker of movement more. The shadowy phenomenon, like some bizarre glitch in the lighting of reality, simply continues to follow JR. It is not actively trying to hide, but its very nature of being allows quite the natural camouflage. The only hint that something about this corner-of-the-eye movement is more than it might (almost) appear is that this shadow, when spotted at the correct angle, has eyes.

The cat person seems to linger his stare for a moment, as if reading the girl like a book, before turning away to face and meet the one that approaches. "Prompt service. Good. I'm here to collect." It's a very simple thing said, but it's also very contradictory to what Johnston said regarding his pursuer. Now, Johnston is worth a nice penny for sure. Perhaps all the commotion is a bit over the top after all.

Rayne raises an eyebrow at the cat-man's reaction. "You must be new. Bounties are paid in the bounty office in the courthouse. If I can get your name and preferably a registration number, I could have this processed in just a few minutes and they'll be able to pay you there."

Certainly, Ami relaxes some when the cat-person says he's here to collect a bounty. Well, that's simple, then. It's easy to relax when things appear to be going through the proper and orderly channels, and dismiss whatever initial worry gripped her. Sure, something felt off, but the man seems to be well-behaved enough. She is no longer in a position to observe the shadow, or perhaps she would have a different take on the situation.

When the chief explains that bounties aren't processed in the precinct, however, Ami gets that unsettled feeling in her stomach. She didn't know that, but a bounty hunter certainly would. She doesn't tense up, exactly, but she's watching intently. Maybe too intently - most people would look away or try not to get involved.

The cat bares a soft smile that is just enough to reveal a sharp tooth. "You misunderstand me. I'm not here for money."

"I'm here for the man." The style of military garb may be foreign, but it's authentic. Nothing too strange for the types that show up, certainly. He holds himself with a posture that reflects an amount of importance, true, but not with the rigidity of a seasoned veteran that has worked their way up ranks. The stranger's form is lanky, yet expressive.

"If you could bring me the man now it would save both of us...time." One of the catman's hands rests upon his hip as he delivers this- Well, it's not a request. A command? It's not imposing and is cordially delivered save for the emphasis of the last word of that sentence. His other hand gestures neutrally, "Or, if you are too busy with mundanity, I'll go collect him myself, at the expense of the professional service provided thus far."

Rayne tilts her head, lowering one eyebrow as she looks up at the cat-man. "I think you misunderstand where you are. This is Mabase City Police Department. He was a wanted criminal, and he has done the graceful thing and turned himself in. In a not-so graceful manner, yes. But now he is in custody and awaiting a trial. We are not some barbaric society that we simply let victims or their representatives do whatever they want to a suspect. We are not the TASK of old that would do such acts as Trial by Combat." In her mind, there's the image of the prior Director of TASK physically marking the hyena-headed Urus to try to keep him under control. Rayne refuses to go down such routes. "We are a society with rules. I would ask that you try to follow them."

While Rayne may not have the insane HR knowledge to recognize Ami, the blue-haired girl definitely knows the Chief of Police on sight. It might surprise Rayne to know that she has a fair number of admirers amongst the civic and justice-minded residents of Mabase. Or whatever passes for surprise in Rayne's "seen everything twice" kind of world. So when the man makes demands of Rayne, Ami winces, just a bit.

The young lady takes a deep breath, worried that things will not go well, and turns to the elderly woman next to her. She says something quiet, and the woman blinks at her once, before standing to her feet and starting for the door slowly. Ami offers her an arm, and helps walk her out of the precinct. Whatever she said, it got the woman moving. There's probably nothing bad going to happen. Probably. But if there is, best to minimize civilians in the danger zone. Unknowingly, she's taking herself further away from the 'poor man' already in custody.

"Ah, I see. Your refusal and grounds for refusal are noted. However, I would still prefer you deliver the man to me before long."

Cocking his hips a bit just before pulling his hand from his hip, the cat person's arms cross. "Still, if you have processes to undergo and you can guarantee his well-being, I would be willing to wait a short while until you could then deliver him to me."

The catman turns to allow his gaze to roam the reception and front area. He doesn't stare this woman down by any means, but there's simply something that might surface as inclination or glimmer of intuition that anything this person learns is damning and, at present, he's having a very good look around. So much so that he doesn't even stand still.

He begins to walk away while examining the establishment and the workers present and even wipes a finger over the rim of some furnishings to check for how much dust has accumulated. "His maintained health is important. What would happen were he to...'expire'...while in your custody?" A tap of fingers to his chest emphasizes his next few words, "He has a bad heart, you know. Stress will do that to you."

Rayne straightens her head again and raises the lowered eyebrow. "I'm glad you understand. However, I would also like to know your reason for demanding him to be turned over to you. As I said. We do not turn people over to victims or their representatives." She doesn't believe in the slightest that this sidran (okay, so cat-people in her universe are called sidrans, give her mental explanations a break!) is actually a victim or representative of such. She wants to know what the hell is going on here now. "Because, of course, without knowledge of that... we can't turn him over to you. Period." She's also making a mental note to have the guy given a full medical checkup, regardless.

The calm and unworried way this cat-person handwaves away Rayne's suggestions makes Ami nervous, but she's not going to be any help if she's in the way, so she continues walking the old woman out of the lobby and into the city proper. What she's hearing, though... Most threats are more thinly veiled, but she has heard enough of them to at least suspect that's what this is. Is the man capable of doing something to the thug that came in earlier? She has a bad feeling.

Once she has the woman outside, she quietly but firmly suggests that it's a good time to take in a frozen yogurt from one of the vendors at the nearby fountain, and then turns back to look at the precinct once she's sure the woman isn't heading anywhere near it. She pulls a small palmtop computer out of her purse, which looks like fairly old school technology compared to the modern day cell phones and even occasional cyborgs that can be found in Mabase. But it's not really technology at all, or at least not by any modern definition of the term. Crafted, powered, and accessed by magic, the device can give her a wealth of information when paired with...

The thin-framed spectacles that Ami pulls out of her purse and slips onto her face. A more subtle-approach to her old magical visor, the glasses still do the same trick, analyzing what she looks at and passing the information to her computer. She gives the precinct a quick look over from outside, trying to determine any unusual magical influences that might be happening inside. She's lived here for several years, so the regular magical hustle and bustle expected of the police station is familiar enough that she's hoping she'll be able to spot anything new and unusual. Besides the talking cat, of course.

"Really, it's not hard to deduce that if I have no interest in his so-called bounty that I instead have a vested interested in /him/. Under my care, I shall make sure that his presence is removed from the streets. His needs will be my burden to bear, unless food and board are your specialty and preference. His meeting me is a matter of FATE, after all. You would thank me for the service."

While that says very little, it may provide a little context. It might seem that this Sidran aims to hire the Wanted Man, although that would make wonder to what end. Rather, the fuzzy man continues to stroll; Rayne can choose to keep up or not, both on foot and in conversation. It's rude. There's no two ways about it. He clearly presents himself as somebody that owns his surroundings.

This cat person, as some observers may note, has the glow of the arcane, but is, at the moment, very much 'unpowered'. While his personality may be cause for professional annoyance, nothing of his form or his aura is keyed for hostility. Not right now. However, there's something else of note.

The shadow that has been completely overlooked thus far has followed Johnston Reynolds to the point that it is now in the same room. Nothing comes of it. It's simply there, but in a magical sense it isn't there. Or nothing is there. It's not a matter of shadow so much as a matter of...nothing. And -that- isn't normal. Wait...

Just outside the precinct, near one of the other entrances, is another such anomaly. And over there. And... It's like a scene out of a Hitchcock-directed film. There are MANY such small blips of nothingness nearby, all unmoving, all facing the police building, all watching. All waiting. But, what are they?

"Now that you know, will you retrieve the man for me now?"

It's an actual question. A simple question, but something about it would sit unwell with anybody, perception or intuition removed. While it does not smack of terseness, there is something- No. No, actually, it is presented as something nicer than it is. It /is/ a curt question. "I wouldn't want to waste more of our time."

It actually takes Ami a moment to notice the blips; they're not normal, but they're also not what she'd expect of magical hostilities of any kind. Void isn't something she's ever had to key her sensors to notice before. When she does notice, there's a half-start, a skipped heartbeat, and then when she collates all of the others nothings 'watching' the building, her eyes widen. She swallows, and tries to determine if any are facing her before making her move back towards the precinct. She doesn't want to appear like she's noticed; she's not a good liar, but she can wear a very good impassive face when she has to.

The girl swallows nervously before heading back in - nothing bad appears to be happening yet. Maybe it won't ... but she needs to find a way to let the Chief know without tipping her hand. She leaves the glasses on, keying them so that she can at least spot the spots of nothingness in her vision, even as she puts the palmtop away. She walks back past Lynx, and clears her throat.

"Beg your pardon." She glances to Rayne, wishing now that she had done a better job of maintaining contact with the police. "...Chief." She nods to the woman, and then calmly, almost imperceptibly, jerks her head back towards deeper in the station and purses her lips. She looks serious, and doesn't break eye contact with Rayne for longer than a casual glance. Hopefully that will be enough, for now.

Rayne lowers that eyebrow again. "Of course not. You've not answered my question in the slightest, and are instead being pointlessly cryptic. Why in the galaxy would I even /consider/ handing him over to you? Now if you really don't want to waste my time, you'd speak plainly and clearly instead of talking in riddles and question dodging." She's about to go off on the man even further when the bluenette suddenly makes her presence known. "Uh... yes?" She blinks at the jerk, then looks at the /other/ jerk again to get a serious look at his appearance. Trying to mentally map the spots and everything. "I think we're done here," she says suddenly, then turns to walk straight back into the station proper.

The man listens to Rayne's reply fully and clearly, although there's a hint that it may be just a matter of humoring the Chief. Rather, he nods at her assessment and farewell, as it is. He turns away, eyes coasting over Ami with the faintest curl of a cruel smile, before turning to leave. Nothing else is said. There are no yelled words. No arguments. The cat man has his answer. Door closing behind him, the caped fellow exits to be on his way.

Suddenly and without sound or warning, a blur of shadow streaks through the air to impact JR's face as the Wanted Man sits there amongst other officers in the process of being recorded. He had only just begun to calm down to a point where he might be able to reveal details as to why he is so panicked out of his mind in this situation despite being quite the badass in every other facet of life. The shadowy thing has a vague resemblance of a housecat and is about the same size, if a little larger, and has a manifested appearance akin to that of black flame. It is not fire, however. Contact with it does not cause immediate harm of any kind. The flickering forelegs grip the man's face along the jaws and sink what must be claws deep into flesh.

The shock and sudden pain of this attack leave the man yelling. His arms jerk to react, but they are secured. His yell is quickly muffled, though, as the creature begins to force its head into the mouth of the man, but there's nothing to grab in resistance! It's shadowy, but nonphysical, and any attempt to touch it would pass right through. It, however, seems to be able to interact physically just fine. The man's jaw dislocates with an audible pop and he rocks in his chair violently from the intrusion. He needs assistance -right now-, because every half second that passes allows the unnatural creature to crawl deeper into the man's mouth. The surprise alone might be more than enough time to have the man's throat bulge from it all.

"Ah..." As the sharply dressed cat-man makes his exit, and Rayne heads back in to presumably check on the welfare of her new inmate, Ami finds herself... back in queue. To file a report on herself. She takes her seat again and folds her hands in her lap unceremoniously. Still, she glances towards the interior of the station, glasses still on, and tilts her head as she tries to make out what she's seeing; it's not very clear, but one of the shadows? Nothings? Voids? ... is doing something strange. She fiddles with the side of her glasses for a moment, trying to get a better view. She'll figure it out in a moment. Probably. Seeing through walls isn't what she built this for.

Inside the room, chaos is of course erupting. The man doing the questioning of course freaks out as the cat-like thing erupts into JR's face. One of the other rookie cops involved is also freaking out, while the other is just shouting into his radio that 'some shadow thing' is attacking Ironfist. But there are also two TASK veterans. One immediately pulls out a pistol and jumps to the side, opening fire on the rear end of the cat-like shape in a way that doesn't put JR's face on an exit-wound potential. The other, however, pulls out a shock baton of sorts and brings it down on the... thing after his partner has fired three shots. Nope, even these two don't want to actually touch that thing.

Outside, Rayne's pace picks up at the call and the sound of the three gunshots. All activity has ended in the reception area at the sound of the gunshots, and most of the station as well. "Damnit!" shouts Rayne. "Security, I want the lobby and interrogation rooms analyzed together with timestamps! I want to know the timing on that attack!" She's assuming it's going to line up almost perfectly with her rejecting that psycho. She breaks into an outright run after saying that and quickly makes her way to the processing room to see just what's still going on in there.

It certainly takes one extremely skilled to aim shots at the back-end of a flickering housecat-shaped shadow half-inserted into the oral cavity of a man thrashing about in muffled panic. This does nothing to calm the man being attacked. While JR's arms may be secured, his legs kick at the floor and nearby furniture. If anything is unsecured, including drinks, they may find a tumultuous upset in the process.

It's not that bullets don't affect the /whatever/ it is, but they certainly have little difficulty punching clean through on a path not slowed in the direction so let loose. Whether the sickeningly-muffled yell from the man being choked is a response to the gunshots or pain induced by damage from the creature is unclear, the shadow certainly flickers before redoubling its assertive insertion. "Glk!" is the only sound that comes from Ironfist before he can longer make use of his throat at all and the skin on his face begins to go pale.

The stun baton-like weapon has a very different effect. While it does not find physical resistance or impact, it does find discharge. Only the most scrutinous eye amidst the chaos could possibly notice a very important detail in this: It wasn't contact with the flickering darkness that prompts an electric result, but the barest touch against something -within- the darkness of the creature that faintly glows, such as a core or faint ember.

The next few seconds become greatly intense as much as they are strange and unnerving. The creature, which, while dark, is mostly naught more than a shadow; it, however, notably becomes more opaque at this attack...immediately as the discharge travels through its body and into the man. At the very least, he stops thrashing about as he becomes dazed and his head rolls back to present the dangerous blackness half-buried.

Ironfist passes out.

Any further attacks made on the creature seem to have much more physical results.

It does not halt its attempt to crawl down the man's throat, but it has been mildly impeded.

Meanwhile, the cat person has left the precinct and is on his way, wherever that may be. Whatever strange creatures may be about, he does not look toward them or interact with them in any way. Rather, his path takes him not too far away to where a traveling doner kebab truck is temporarily paused. He doesn't even get the chance to look over the menu and order something before gunshots are heard coming from the station. The vendor interjects with expletives and hastily closes the window to find somewhere else marginally safer to sell food and leaves the military official, amongst a couple others, behind. The others soon disperse, too, leaving the cat guy to frown in thought while staring. "Did you shoot him?" He visibly sighs before shaking his head. "He had better be safe after such a refusal. I won't tolerate incompetence," he says to nobody else but himself.

"Oh!" Ami is startled by the sounds of gunshots, and she stands from her chair, continuing to fiddle with her glasses. She finally gets a good reading on the voidling - which is what she will now be calling them unless someone points out it looked like a cat - and furrows her brow. She can't see much about the unpowered PD officers, but she can see that the swirling aura of fiery magic that usually surrounds Chief Rayne is booking it for the room.

The primary difference between normal people and Ami is that normal people just watch helplessly, and Ami acts. While she can't do much from out here, she concentrates rather hard, to the point that she almost bursts a few vessels, and attempts to freeze the 'core' of the creature - from rather far away.

Maybe if she was transformed it would actually be possible to consider this a proper attack - maybe. But from this distance and in her civilian form, it's actually a minor miracle that anything happens at all. If the creature is vulnerable to such things, a light layer of frost begins to form on the core - something to further slow it down and perhaps even make it just that little bit more smashable. It's not a lot, but it's something. Of course... she COULD transform. But she doesn't, for some reason. Presumably it's a good one - a man is in serious danger, even if Rayne is likely about to have it under control.

The cop with the shock baton swings down hard again on the cat-thing, then the other sees that it's now more solid and yells for him to get back. Another three gunshots ring out, once again he's careful to make sure there's no one on the exit wound. It's this point where the door flies open to admit the Chief, her left hand already engulfed in the flames of an attack. Seeing the thing in person, she goes in for a flame-enhanced punch on the cat-thing, a punch with then is then followed up with a swift drawing of one of her swords with her right. There's a quick step back and she slashes horizontally, trying not to cut off the end that's still outside of him but cut that part in half. "The hell happened in here?!" she demands.

It's strange, no doubt, as a generally amorphous creature becomes solid enough to interact with. The bludgeoning swing may present the feeling of smacking a balloon filled with watery oobleck. There's give where there shouldn't be, but there isn't give when there should be. This gains a different response despite the shared voltage conducted through its form into JR, though: the blackness stops trying to enter the man's face and begins to withdraw.

This withdrawal process is much faster than the horrific act of whatever it was trying to do, certainly. It provides great opportunity for the confident marksman to squeeze off three controlled shots -- perfect training and by the book. These bullets do not seem to merely fly through the shape. They... The rounds enter, cleanly, before exiting with nearly no velocity to simply tumble to the floor. There are no entrance or exit wounds or -- well, if there are, the thing is too dark to really discern such. It's not natural, whatever it is. Its withdrawal from throat and jaws gains more haste, a scramble, as clawed appendages offer no care or caution to the already scarred face of the Wanted Man so passed out and motionless.

During this, outside forces seem to be offering magical assistance. This thing, whatever it is, is very resilient and unmistakably dangerous. Its internals face a bit of altering focus. There /is/ an effect. To what extent is hard to tell. For a moment, at the least, it is quite possibly a little bit weaker.

The creature's face finds nothing but darkness within the tight confines of the gastric entrance and is ill prepared to retaliate to the aggression lain upon it. Battering, piercing, electrifying, and frosting... A solid and fiery blow is rendered against it in its weakened and damaged state from the leader of the peacekeepers. It is neither glancing or questionable. It seriously hurts. The creature's sight once again fills its glowing eyes to reveal the room, those within it, and the woman nearby swinging a blade.

Rayne is gifted with the horrifying image of the shadow's face welling up into a twisted distortion of a face -- nobody's face in particular -- but of one neither feline nor human. Its features stretch and wind and wrinkle into a brief yet powerful display of a laugh. A silent mockery. Something altogether terrible and gleefully sinister. Something...wrong.

The cleaving blade passes through it with the feel of any amount of resistance one might expect to find cutting through a block of mud. The creature fades away into the hint of purple afterimage before drifting away on an absent breeze. Did it die? Was it alive? Did it escape? Does it matter? There is no trace of it in the station. There are no traces of such things anywhere else nearby, either.

Once the voidling situation *seems* to be taken care of, Ami swallows slowly, and then glances around the lobby to make sure no more are around and watching her. Once certain, she lets out a great big breath she was holding and takes her seat again. She didn't have to help empty the lobby; most people in it were out the moment they heard gunshots. Noone survives here long without having at least some sense of self preservation. So, now... Ami is one of the only people still in the waiting area. Technically, she just got promoted to the head of the line.

Yay?

After her heart rate and breath return to normal, the young woman with the blue hair pulls out her palmtop and starts making some adjustments. Ami had been able 'see' these things, but they were the very opposite of easy to track. That's something that needs fixing. And so begins the one-handed typing. It's faster than seems plausible for a portable device, but that kind of thing is possible when you have actual keys instead of capacitive touchscreens.

Rayne looks down at the thing as it silently laughs, glowing eyes and all. She doesn't look impressed. Yeah, the other five still awake in the room seem cowed, but to Rayne, it's just an attempt to intimidate. It's nothing. The cut complete, the creature gone, she inspects her blade for damage or detritus while one of the TASK officers tries to explain what happened. The attempted explanation complete, Rayne actually growls before stepping outside the room again, then calls over he shoulder, "Call in a medic for the asshole." No, still no respect for JR. She steps through the hallways on her way to her office, proclaiming loudly and angrily, "We have /GOT/ to find a magic analysis expert!" before she slams her office door shut behind her.

Meanwhile, at the reception counter that Ami now finds herself at, there's a little old lady that... doesn't seem to have even noticed the gunshots. She looks with a bored expression at teenager and with a gravelly voice, says, "What can I do for ya, honey?"

Johnston Reynolds still hasn't woken up.

JR's heart is still.

The medic called in will no doubt announce a state of emergency considering the criminal's state of health and begin administering chest compressions. It's not good and time is very much of the essence. Somebody will have to inform the Chief, perhaps, if hospitalization is okayed, for what that entails. It's pretty grim to have such a Wanted Man that has been in hiding for so long to finally be turned in, if even by his own choice, only to not have a chance to face trial.

Outside, not that far away, the tall figure of that cat person observes with a half-scrunched muzzle what one can make of anything by looking at a building. It's annoying to not know whether or not the man he sought to bring into his own custody is alive or not; this is an annoyance that he wears like a suit. Turning away, he instead wanders, hands behind his back, closer to the fountain nearby and slowly walks about it while trailing a few fingertips over its surface.

"A time therein spent chasing trees"

"To loot them of their fare"

"Might best instead be spent in threes"

"For two beside to share."

"But threes are more than one and so"

"The winds begin to die"

"And no one else will ever know"

"The truth behind the lie."

"You live and long and breathe and mate"

"For what good of the pair"

"When all you need is sharing FATE"

"Such as the olden Fair."

"And spinning round as it may go"

"The Record you espy"

"Needs asking more to visit low"

"Or kiss it all goodbye.

Ami looks up from her palmtop at the old-lady at the counter and blinks for a moment, before closing the device and slipping it away quickly. She blushes a bit; it's rude to pay attention to a device when someone is trying to talk to you - apparently this bothers her, even if she was doing something quite important. "Ah, yes. I was here to report--"

It's at about this time that Rayne yells out that the PD needs a magic analysis expert. This actually causes the girl to cut off her speech and blink twice in rapid succession. "... Er..." So she's the only one who saw? Well, that changes her priorities. She clears her throat, straightens her vest, and tries to look important and authoritative. It's cute. So a mixed success, then.

"...To report about the opening for a magic analysis expert? That the Chief was just yelling about?" In her experience, you just don't get such a clear opening very often - you should probably take it.

Rayne steps behind her desk and drops her head to its surface after having dropped into her chair. The call for permission to hospitalize is requested, and Rayne approves, but demands full time two guards. She lifts her head up again before calling up the security footage on her computer.

The old woman at the counter, whose name tag proclaims her to be 'Doris', blinks slowly. "Yeah, I heard her yell it too, dearie. She reported it herself pretty loudly." No emotion in her voice at all. Just a sense of boredom. Some people freak out when the action happens. Some people rush towards it. Others... just shrug and complain later about how it interrupted their work. "That what you were really here for first?" she asks, clearly not buying that's why Ami initially walked up. She shrugs, though, and says, "If you got a card, I'll take it for ya. I'll send her an E-mail, but I'm not so sure she's in her best mind right now." She did have a sword out still when she walked past. And was yelling.

The cat person is shown on video as nodding in confirmation to Rayne's refusal before turning, eyeing over Ami who stands nearby, before walking across the reception lobby to the front exit to leave. Outside footage shows indifference as the stranger quickly veers toward a food truck, and arrives around when the first gunshots went off. Everybody scatters and he's left staring, nonplussed, while speaking.

Inside, however, at the exact timestamp as the cat person turning to head toward the doner kebab vendor just after leaving the building, an indiscernible dark streak, barely of any definition can be somewhat made out before Ironfist is attacked...by nothing. The officers react, some TASK members respond promptly and with force including gunfire and a stun device...at nothing. Ironfist spends this time in a panic, mouth wide open as if yelling, up until the point where that stun-device hits.

There might be a problem with the recording, because that moment causes an error artifact to show up (from any possible angle provided). The entire section of the recording remotely near JR's face is black. Not black as in recording something black, but black as in it recorded nothing at all. Just a blocky blotch of nothingness. Each attack seems to do nothing to this patch of unrecorded footage, save for one.

The Chief's final blow shows something else. Just before contact is made, for what would equate to only a couple frames, there is an imprint of some kind that doesn't look right -- it doesn't look the same as it was physically observed, but there's a hint of a ghostly afterimage that smacks of ghost hunter videos catching faces in the reflection of glass windows. There's a face there...and then there isn't. Is it a face? It's /something/, for sure. Two things even:

It's a mystery.

And, it's also a problem.

Having her (rather poor) bluff called causes Ami to swallow nervously, and also brings one heck of a blush to her cheeks. So, she's not good at lying. At all. "No... It isn't what I came here for, but that will have to wait." You can do this, Ami, just be assertive - this is more important than being polite and proper! Gasp! Perish the thought.

"...This is *urgent*. It's about what just happened." The young lady furrows her brows, and adopts an overly concerned look - which is actually very easy for her as that's one of her default states of being. "And I very much don't think she'd want me to wait until a better time." Actually, in many ways Rayne would probably prefer that, but Ami is thinking of the information's urgency, not how much Rayne would like the stupid to end.

Poor Rayne.

Rayne looks over the footage from all these angles, more or less confirming for her that the cat-man sent the shadow thing at JR. "...'Disappointed if he dies' my ass," she grumbles. "I'm going to have to shift the detective work around. Put Jack on this." No, she's not going to figure out the mystery. There's reasons she has detectives, after all... Rayne has never been one to figure out puzzles and mysteries. The lack of the thing in the recording... isn't as important to her. There's five sets of eyes that can be questioned about what happened in there.

Doris just looks at Ami for about five seconds in silence before saying, "Okay, Honey, I'll give her a call." She fumbles with the phone at her station - a landline model, yes, with many buttons for many extensions. "Oh, good, you picked up," she says. "There's a young lady here that says she might have some information about what happened just now. She's insisting she wants to talk to you as soon as possible." Rayne's voice can even be heard from where Ami is standing(if not quite intelligible), and Doris is holding the phone a few inches from her ear. Apparently the Chief is still in a yelling mood. Doris looks back up to Ami again and says, "Okay, dearie, she said she wants to speak to you, but just try not to piss her off even more, okay?"

Surprising no one, Ami blushes once again. "Thank you. Should I head in, then?" She gestures to the entrance further into the precinct, where Rayne was yelling just a bit ago. If Doris gives the go ahead, Ami will start walking back there. No big deal - just heading to be debriefed by the Chief of Police. It's ok. She's a reasonable person - the Chief is a reasonable person. Ami has heard rumors that she's MORE reasonable when she's had coffee, and isn't dealing with an assault on the precinct, but how bad could it be?

How bad.

Could it.

Possibly.

Be?

You know those moments when celebrity worship, naivete, and starry-eyed idealism are rewarded? This is probably not going to be one of those.

|}}

Lynx

2020-01-16T10:54:41Z

TheSmileDog:

Lynx

2019-12-23T05:06:59Z

TheSmileDog:

{{ChronoProfile|
|Image=Lynx.jpg
|Name={{PAGENAME}}
|MagicAffinity=Black
|Occupation=[Data Expunged]
|Series=Chrono Cross
|Threat=Block Buster
|Alignment=Chaotic Lawful(?)
|Gender=Male
|Species=Wildcat Demi-human
|Short=This is a wildcat demi-human that stands at 6'4", looks very physically capable, and wears a black military uniform that has gold trim with a matching hat, gauntlet-styled sleeves, mantle and cape.
|Extra1=
|Age=36
|Birthdate=969 AD
|Height=6'4"
|Weight=176 lbs
|Desc=
This is cat person, a feline demi-human, that stands 6'4" tall yet weighs only 176 lbs giving him a tall lanky appearance. A thin bestial face, cat's nose, and pointed ears give away the nature of the man while his well-defined amber eyes, marked with a natural thin outline of black, gives his gaze a piercing cold element. Not much else can be seen of his uncovered form aside from his strong neck and clawed bare hands while a bit of a brown mane pokes free from underneath the hat that he wears.

The hat is of military origin and style, a variant of a bicorn, that is colored black and gold. He wears a jacket of matching style that is tight, yet flexible, fully revealing his thin build. The front of the fabric's torso might seem to reveal a rippling display of toned muscle, yet this is purely a matter of aesthetic. Even the sleeves are form-fitting, showing that muscle definition is not all a matter of clothing design, save for the ends of the sleeves. The sleeve-ends are designed to appear as gauntlets protecting the top of each hand while otherwise allowing the hands freedom of motion. His jacket extends down past his knees mostly obscuring his pants. The leggings of the pants bunch up just above his boots. These boots are quite large, presumably to work for his demi-human feet, and have thick soles.

Accessories so worn, he has a high-collared mantle over his shoulders with an attached cape. The outside of the cape is black, much like most of his outfit, while the inside is gold like the rest of the fancy trim and ornamentation of his attire. Furthermore, a purple obi (cloth belt) is tied around his waist in colorful contrast to the black and gold worn otherwise.
|Background=[Redacted] was a simple man living in [Redacted] that made a living off of [Redacted], the village's chief supply of [Redacted], that eventually [Redacted] and had a son, [Redacted]. His son was, however, [Redacted] and fell deathly ill. Fearing for [Redacted]'s life, he convinced his best friend, [Redacted], to help him make the trip to [Redacted] by sea for a [Redacted]. An unexpected [Redacted] blew them off [Redacted] and they [Redacted] within the [Redacted] outside of [Redacted]. The [Redacted]'s [Redacted] were shut down due to [Redacted] which allowed [Redacted] to talk [Redacted] into helping him [Redacted] for help. Because of the [Redacted] of [Redacted] and the [Redacted] that [Redacted] it, this was all [Redacted].

Within [Redacted] was a [Redacted] of great [Redacted]: [Redacted], a [Redacted] of [Redacted]'s [Redacted]. [Redacted] was the [Redacted] integral to [Redacted] for which the [Redacted] was [Redacted]. [Redacted] made contact with [Redacted] and was instantly [Redacted], yet this [Redacted] the [Redacted] which [Redacted] the [Redacted]'s [Redacted], [Redacted], from [Redacted] its [Redacted] as [Redacted] became [Redacted].

For further information, please consult your closest Record of FATE. Remember, a wealth of knowledge is at your fingertips when you use a Record of FATE. You don't want to be poor and ignorant, do you?
|Extra2='''Flaws:''' 
We're sorry. The data you are looking for is not available at this time. Perhaps you would be interested in the following instead: 
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Awf45u6zrP0 Sail Cat] 
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7x1iRyDumiE McNugget Rampage] 
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phFgCLguSNI Fensler Films GI Joe PSA cliff] 
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfr64zoBTAQ JustNOW News: Secret behind Mabase's Existence] 

For further information, please consult your closest Record of FATE. Remember, knowledge is power and knowledge is available for free when you use a Record of FATE. You don't want to be weak and stupid, do you?
|Skills= 

Good Looks 
Nam gravida odio in diam blandit mattis. Praesent aliquam tortor nunc, non ultrices eros consectetur vitae. Donec scelerisque elit a metus vestibulum, ut bibendum tortor porttitor. Donec nec elementum diam. Aliquam id ullamcorper sapien. Integer convallis purus a ex tincidunt blandit. In eget neque neque. Quisque at mattis nulla. Fusce aliquet sodales dolor, et volutpat massa ullamcorper fringilla. Etiam vitae leo nisl. 

Soothing Voice 
In dictum dui at faucibus porta. Aliquam euismod posuere arcu, laoreet tristique ante fringilla sed. Nullam ultricies mollis erat, a pharetra nibh blandit vitae. Etiam vitae mauris in quam aliquet eleifend non eu ipsum. Etiam a efficitur diam. Mauris nec auctor metus, quis auctor risus. Morbi non mauris felis. Mauris iaculis vehicula justo ac convallis. Vestibulum a commodo nunc, et cursus massa. Morbi vel sem dui. Vivamus porta ipsum eget mauris tincidunt, id dignissim mauris dictum. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. 

Dressed to Kill 
Nunc at rhoncus ante. In non mauris sed enim pulvinar porttitor. Pellentesque sit amet justo fringilla, egestas erat sed, feugiat libero. In dapibus rutrum facilisis. Integer a ipsum ut augue venenatis volutpat. Aenean ultrices, tellus id varius auctor, nulla lectus accumsan nulla, sit amet vulputate orci nulla et est. Aliquam vitae euismod lacus, ut aliquam ligula. Pellentesque dictum velit at tortor tincidunt cursus. Phasellus tellus lorem, fringilla nec augue at, vulputate dapibus risus. Nullam et porta magna. Aliquam luctus, nisl nec maximus sagittis, felis odio rutrum turpis, et lobortis ante purus vitae velit. Maecenas est felis, aliquam nec sapien id, tempor viverra quam. Etiam posuere nisl purus. Duis sapien quam, laoreet ut odio a, luctus vestibulum massa. In auctor nulla quis convallis gravida. 

Winning Personality 
Maecenas consectetur quam vitae elementum sollicitudin. Suspendisse egestas mauris at varius venenatis. Sed euismod leo fermentum lacus sodales maximus. Integer iaculis sapien dui, eu tempus ex aliquam tincidunt. Donec interdum suscipit nulla quis placerat. Aliquam in tincidunt ex, eu tincidunt enim. Cras ut felis a leo fringilla pharetra. Quisque cursus euismod orci quis laoreet. Ut volutpat, ante ac elementum auctor, magna libero placerat elit, a placerat mauris orci a leo. 

Magic Touch 
Duis dui lacus, varius sed nisl non, rutrum fringilla nulla. Aenean sed vehicula lectus. Aliquam erat volutpat. Sed pretium neque libero, at lobortis ligula venenatis lacinia. Cras efficitur libero a justo aliquet interdum. Duis vitae tincidunt ligula. Vivamus sit amet molestie est, id consequat orci. Quisque euismod ac ipsum vel luctus. Curabitur fringilla dolor a facilisis volutpat. Praesent elementum felis ligula, sed lobortis nisi consequat non. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae; Nunc sagittis urna in velit tempor, in vulputate urna dignissim. 

|Gallery=<gallery>
File:Missing.jpg
File:Missing.jpg
File:Missing.jpg
</gallery>
|MusicEmbed=<center><websiteFrame>
website=https://www.youtube.com/embed/uD3tUCnL5V0
name=YouTube
align=middle
height=315px
width=560px
border=0
scroll=auto
longdescription=Lacuna Coil - Swamped w/ Lyrics
</websiteFrame></center>

|}}

{{Navbox/Chrono_Cross}}

Lynx

2019-12-23T04:36:34Z

TheSmileDog:

Lynx

2019-12-23T04:28:18Z

TheSmileDog:

Lynx

2019-12-23T03:33:52Z

TheSmileDog:

Lynx

2019-12-23T03:27:27Z

TheSmileDog:

2019-11-18 - First Mate Jackie, Meet Captain Foxy

2019-11-19T06:36:10Z

TheSmileDog: Created page with "{{Logsummary| Title = First Mate Jackie, Meet Captain Foxy |Summary = Captain Foxy boards First Mate Jackie's vessel to save him from pirates only to learn that the ship is..."

{{Logsummary|
Title = First Mate Jackie, Meet Captain Foxy
|Summary = Captain Foxy boards First Mate Jackie's vessel to save him from pirates only to learn that the ship is larger than expected.
|Who = [[Fazbear and Friends]], [[Jack Hawksmoor]]
|Date = November 18, 2019
|Where = On a Rooftop near but not on the MCPD
|Log=

Jack Hawksmoor is perched on the roof of, not the MCPD or Integra this time, but one of the other buildings. From the ground, he looks rather like a humanoid gargoyle. He seems to be watching the sky...such as it is. It was snowing earlier, and not all has melted yet.

Thunk, thump.

What might be heavy footsteps emanate from nearby despite the audio dampening effect that snow has layered about. It might almost be lost to the noises of the city, yet they suddenly speed up.

Thump-thunk-clunk-thunk-clunk-thump.

The metallic sound approaches quickly and, from a nearby building, a shape rushes toward the edge and leaps! A crunch of impact announces the sudden appearance of this figure before sliding some feet along. It appears to be a tall bipedal fox with red fur, an eye patch, a right-handed hook, a naval coat with epaulets, a captain's bicorne hat, a belted strap across the chest, and simple brown trousers. The fox's left hand -- bare and mechanical the same as its lower legs and feet -- also wields a cutlass.

"Arr, ye vessel now be boarded by the famous Captain Foxy, fiercest pirate to sail th' many seas. Yarr ha ha ha har." With a flourish, the pirate fox cuts a swatch through nonexistent foes with the flashy sword.

The individual...who appears to be human except for, perhaps, a red glint to his eyes and the odd soles of his feet blinks three times, then bursts out into ringing laughter. It's not mocking laughter, mind, but more appreciative. He flips up to his feet neatly. "I'm afraid I'm not equipped to give you a challenge." He shows his empty, sword-less hands.

There is something almost believable about the choreography and how the invisible fighting is handled that lends itself the notion of actually meeting resistance against other swords and shields before giving way in clean slices and thrusts. Or, you know, it could be because each impact is accompanied by the sound of metallic clangs of weapon against weapon. "Aye, lad, but ye needn't worry. Rival pirates have beset ye intending to claim ye booty. Best be thankful me fight be with them! Arr!"

The Suddenly Pirate ducks to avoid a swing from a foe, only to leave his hat behind as it comes off of his head. That hook snags it before rolling across the snow and cleanly striking a blow from beneath. Rising once more, the hat is swung upward to plop onto the fox's head just behind his ears. Grinning, looking over at Jack, the pirate strikes a broad-armed pose. "Huzzah! Victory be m-" The sword in his hand is suddenly ejected, spinning end over end, before sliding through the layer of snow to stop near Jack's feet.

"Beware, one be left -- a surprise attack!" yells the fox in warning before ducking away from...nobody. Honestly, there's nobody there at all. Clearly.

Jack Hawksmoor picks up the sword with all the expertise of somebody who has never held one before. He knows which way the pointy end goes, but that's clearly about it. "Uh..." He narrows his eyes and they flicker red. What is *there* that he can't see...

Taking up position behind Jack, at a comfortable distance at least, the naval fox peers to one side while his hook hand is raised so that he can lift his eyepatch and peer. "Aye, ye can take him, lad. He be leadin' with his right and he be lacking a shield." It's the most ridiculous thing, really. No. There's -nobody- and -nothing- there. Yet, the fox coaches on anyway is if this were a sudden mini-boss fight.

"Raise yer sword -- even if it be mine -- to protect yer body and face. Parry his attacks. Riposte!"

Okay, so...this guy's some kind of street performer. Jack does his best to comply, although it's clear he's just not a swordsman. A fighter, from the stance, but perhaps more used to defending himself *without* a weapon.

"The sword be an extension of ye arm, me hearty." The fox gets a little closer from behind. "Change ye stance, lad. Legs shoulder-width apart. Back foot pointing to ye left, front foot pointing straight ahead. Unused arm held back for balance." The pirate glares at the foe approaching, apparently slowly enough to give pointers and tips, before the fox creature reaches out with that hook to, with great practiced caution, help adjust arm position. "Don't put too much stress on yer wrist. A sword can be a heavy thing, arr!" This sword? Well, it's not that heavy. Metal, yes, but probably a stage prop. It certainly isn't actually sharp.

Jack Hawksmoor is actually listening. Even though this is crazy and possibly the cyborg or robot fox is hallucinating, the *instruction* sounds solid. It might come in handy one of these days. "Got it." He's got some grace to his movements, at least, and he's certainly not worried about how close the edge of the roof is.

"Use ye forearm for movement. Yer wrist be what ye use for quick slashing movements. We o' th' pirating world call that 'better leverage'." It's surprisingly solid: F=ma after all. Movements of the wrist to increase the acceleration of the mass of the blade is going to increase the amount of Force distributed. Pirates know math?!

A bizarre and impromptu fencing lesson, perhaps. However, once satisfied, the fox takes a step back so that he isn't in the way; he too doesn't seem all that worried about the edge of the building, either. Heights don't bother him. "He be advancin', lad! Raise ye blade to deflect his blow, then counter in th' opening!"

Jack Hawksmoor swings the blade where he imagines the other blade might be. He's actually very aware of where the edge is; he's not going over unless he intends to. It might not LOOK that way, though. He feints down towards the opponent's legs. After this, he's going to find out who the heck the pirate IS.

The fox's jaw drops open for a moment up until he speaks, "He be slippery one, aye?! Ye almost changed his leg's name t' Peggy. Remember, lad, ye want to protect yer limbs and body and neck, but if ye get a solid opening above, ye can spring a kick from below, too. Just watch ye don't wind up with a peg leg, also. Losing a hand be rough enough, I tells ye. Yarr."

At all this, the mechanical fox sidles away to circle around. A single finger is placed to the front of his muzzle in a gesture to 'be quiet', since the clunk of each footstep made is every bit of ninja. Tip-toeing forward in exaggerated effort, the pirate captain raises both arms and then brings them down in order to grapple with the invisible foe from behind. If it's pantomime, it's really well done. The struggles seem authentic in the way his body rocks and jerks and those arms 'flex' in resistance. "Quick, lad! Quick! Ye've no choice but to run him through!"

Jack Hawksmoor is actually trying not to laugh at this point as he pretends to run through what he knows isn't real. Mabase knows it's not real. This guy's *good* at what he does. Could sell tickets!

The fox's eye widens as a terrible sound leaves his mouth when the foe is run through. Free hand gripping the blade of the sword in a tug to tuck the end of the cutlass underneath an arm at his side all in one smooth motion, which may wrench the weapon from the hand of the one so using it, the pirate captain stumbles backwards. The metal fingers holding that blade aren't soon to let go at the risk of losing the illusion.

In a daze, mortally wounded, this Captain Foxy wobbles in place. "Ye did good, lad. Yer vessel now be safe and-" Cough cough, goes the fox with a light glint from his gold-capped teeth. "-and now ye can defend it from here on without me." Stumble clank. "Just promise me--promise me, lad, that ye never forget what ol' Captain Foxy did fer ye." And then, with all the grace of an upturned toybox, the fox collapses onto the snow-lined roof, noisily, and swaps his left hand on the blade with his right-hand hook so that he can dramatically reach up toward the sky one last time before falling still.

Jack Hawksmoor does let go of the sword, although it appears to be intentional, part of the game. He drops to one knee next to the robot. Cyborg. Whichever he is. "Brilliant."

It's a rather extended death and the pile of naval-garbed fox thing is clear to see without all the flashy movements and imaginary foes serving as a distraction. He certainly looks to have been in a number of fights or something, if the wear and tear and damage is any indication. Beyond the fabric of his coat, along the chest, rips and holes in his worn furry pelt reveal mechanical innards. Foxy remains still, sword handle sticking up, eye wide open. How long is too long where it reaches to point of being awkward?

He looks like he could use a good robot mechanic. Jack idly wonders where one might be found in this city. Oh wait. The RAT. He's betting the rat could help. "You look like you've seen better days," he comments, sitting down next to the 'dead' fox.

It's true, the fox looks really beat up and time-worn, although a lot of the damage is in the aesthetics. Otherwise, the clothing and the vulpine parts still undamaged are very well crafted. Silently, the pirate lies there with not a hint of life in him. No motion. No sound. It's a very stark contrast to the noise and movement from the sudden appearance of the last few minutes. That said, there is the faintest weakest little glow of red from the iris of Foxy's exposed left eye.

This place contains the Strange and Unusual.
Jack Hawksmoor's eyes have that habit too. "You can get up now. I'm very curious how you did it." Or what the robot is up to. Or maybe he DID pass out. Yup. He looks beat up, and who knows what might be going on with, say, his power plant.

Still silence. Uh...

However, what sounds like a tape player's audio kicking in before the reels are fully up to speed has spoken audio start slow and work its way up to normal. At first, there is absolutely no movement as the first few words crawl up to something normal, but then there is movement from the mouth, out of sync, that also has to work its way back into something that doesn't look like a badly dubbed cartoon.

"....wwwweeeeellcooome wweelcoome oonee aand all to Captain Foxy's Pirate Adventure!" The fox sits up, jolting upright, and the sword clatters harmless to the rooftop. "Ye wee tykes and sailor-t'-be's, hold on t' yer sodie pops and pizza slices, for fun and adventure await ye all in Pirate Cove."

There's a pause that follows, the fox looks around a bit, and then gazes directly at the man nearby.
"You started out as a theme park mannequin!" Jack abruptly exclaims. Of course. Now it all makes sense. He may have made five rather than four, but he is a detective and he puts stuff together. He meets the fox's gaze. Is there anyone in there? He's pretty sure there is.

The fox furrows his brow in a very realistic way before shifting his eye from side to side in a self-conscious gesture. "...be there something on me face?" finally asks the captain while raising his left hand to speak behind it so that nobody else can hear.

"Only fur," Jack says, smiling a little bit. "You look like you could use some sprucing up."

The fox's eyes light up, figuratively, as he lifts a single finger in a moment of 'ah ha!' before laughing. "Ye forgot about me eye patch." ...ah ha?! Either way, the now sitting fox creation reaches up to adjust his hat. Funny that it didn't fall off when he crumpled over. "Honorary pirate ye may now be, but Captain Foxy be not a dolly for dressing up. Being pretty be for tavern wenches, aye? Nothing wrong with a dashing rogue being handsomely disheveled, be there?"

Jack Hawksmoor laughs a bit. "Good point. I did meet a good tinkerer type, though, a rat named Twitch." Jack shrugs a bit. "But nothing wrong with being disheveled, no." He grins. "Just don't expect me to actually get on a ship."

"Ye don't have a ship o' yer own?" A beat and a half separates before, "O' course ye do! How else do ye sail th' concrete seas, peering about to watch fer danger, while ye hunt fer ye most wanted treasure?" The fox goes about rising to his feet where he has the pure presence of mind to straighten his coat and brush things off a bit before giving his floofy tail a quick shaking out.

One metallic toe presses against the very tip of the blade where it lies and he uses his other foot to kick the tool upward into the air where he can catch it and slip it through the loop of belt around his torso, at the waist, on his right hip. A curious look is passed about. "Where exactly be ye anchored today? Somewhere with rats aboard, ye say, aye?"

"You might say the city's my ship," Jack said. "Although I suppose I'm not the Captain, not really." That would be Bishop. "And the rat seems very nice."

"Aye?" A thoughtful look is passed off to the side as the fox lifts his right arm to scratch lightly under his chin with the hook. "A ship th' size of a city, ye say? Ye sure could fit a lot o' plunder on one o' those. But could we find enough o' me Pieces O' Eight fer everybody aboard?" Captain Foxy turns to face the man rather directly for the first time in the encounter.

"Ye be knowing the who o' me, but who be ye? Not a captain, say ye; a quartermaster? Nay. The lookout! Aye, poised high above in the Crow's Nest. Arr ha ha ha ha harr." Ever been offered a hook to shake? Well, there it is. "What do we call ye, Scout?"

A laugh. "Jack Hawksmoor, and nay, not either of those. Well, perhaps quartermaster is closer." Explaining this in nautical terms is hard, and apparently that's how the fox thinks.

"There we go, Jackie. A right proper int- right proper introduction. Well done!" The hook is offered to shake for am oment longer before it is withdrawn completely. His other hand moves to his coat pocket and mechanical fingers dip inside. "Ye've been such a good sport playing along, lad, that I be happy to give this to ye."

The hand is held out, fingers closed around an item, palm down, ready to deposit the mystery item if it's accepted. And what is the mystery item? An aged 'gold' coin. On one side is the likeness of the fox's face, on the other is text printed around the edges: Foxy's Pieces O' Eight. And printed across the center are two words:

Game Token

Jack Hawksmoor takes it. He's not entirely sure what purpose it has, but he can tell it has one. Or at least it means something to the fox.

"Dum dum dum, de dum diddly-dum," voices the pirate fox in what could only be described as joyful. He looks as if he could easily break into a little jig, but he doesn't. Yet. "Ye should gather up ye crew, rats and all, for a meet 'n greet sometime, aye, quartermaster? Ye must have a splendid captain fer being th' first mate."

Jack Hawksmoor snorts a bit, but elects not to explain right now. The token is slipped into an inside pocket of his jacket. "I'll see what I can do." Rat plus fox. Should be...interesting, at least.

"Fooooooxy!" comes a voice from elsewhere as the layer of snow continues to effectively dampen most distant sounds. "Foxy?" A figure stands on the rooftop from where the pirate fox first leapt. Whomever it is is certainly a bit taller than the fox, broader, and wears some kind of hat.

"How did you get over there?"

This alarms the fox a bit who takes a step backward twice (and nearly steps right over the edge of the roof). "Uh oh. The great Kraken breaks from the sea! All hands on deck! Hoist the anchor! Unfurl the sails! Heave-ho, lads, before the beast overtakes us!" The fox is in a real hurry to leave at this rate and calls out commands to nobody in particular. "Ye not be taking me to Davy Jones' Locker today!" he calls out in return.

The figure on the other roof places their hands on their hips in unamused fashion.
"Friend of yours?" Jack asks, his eyes glinting red as he extends his senses to try and identify the figure.

Across the way, the figure, which is some kind of bipedal bear with a bow tie and top hat, scrunches up his muzzle and looks down at the ground below over the edge of the building stood upon. The bear is, notably, in fantastic shape compared to the fox despite being something of the same style as the vulpine...minus the pirate accessories. Removing his hat with one hand, the ursine scratches between his ears in thought before replacing his hat and turning to exit the roof down the way he first came.

"Hmm?" asks the fox with a lift of one eyebrow. "Oh, nay, he be merely the band manager." Insert toothy grin here.

Jack Hawksmoor ahs. "What kind of band? You certainly know how to perform." Maybe they can do a show at the Usual some time...

"The kind that play music, lad. Not the rubber kind," quips the fox with playful snark. "But, aye, we have played at the Usual. Many times." Of course, which Usual might be something to wonder about, too. "We be having our own place t' play, too. We just haven't found it again yet. Like buried and lost treasure, we be searching far and wide until we find it again. Some day, Jackie. Some day."

Turning around, Foxy faces the edge of the building and peers over and downward, too. "Arr, I best be moving along else the bear may catch up."

Jack Hawksmoor grins a bit. "Well, maybe one day I'll be able to help." Maybe. For right now. "For right now, I had better be going." He stands, stretches, and sets off at a run, NOT in the direction of the bear. He leaps across to the police building, hits the wall, sticks, and scurries upwards rather like a giant humanoid insect. He's sticky? Apparently.

|}}

File:Rocket.jpg

2019-11-13T06:33:03Z

TheSmileDog: TheSmileDog uploaded a new version of File:Rocket.jpg

Rocket Raccoon

2019-11-13T06:30:47Z

TheSmileDog:

{{2014Profile|
|Image=Rocket.jpg
|Name=Rocket Raccoon
|Pronunciation=(rä-ˈket ra-ˈkün)
|Series=Marvel's Rocket Raccoon
|Threat=Block Buster
|Class=All of his own
|Alignment=Sardonic Good
|Gender=Male
|Species=Halfworld Raccoon
|Age=Too old for your crap
|Birthdate=Just one
|Height=~2'6"
|Weight=32 lbs
|Short=He looks like a large raccoon standing upright that wears clothing and is armed with...pistols?
|Desc=Is that a raccoon?

Standing just over two and a half feet tall at full posture is a brown-furred creature with black and white markings. The entirety of his whiskered muzzle is white (save for his black nose) while his eyes have a bandit-mask of black fur ringed with a thin band of white. His fingers, much like most of his body, are brown and have very needle-like sharp claws at the tips. His tail is also brown with a few rings of black along it.

Currently, the individual wears what appears to be a yellow and brown hooded jumpsuit. The hood is clearly designed to fit his head with room for his ears, but when worn fully turns into a protective space 'helmet' with a forcefield for the 'face plate'. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and, on his hands, he wears lightly-armored fingerless gloves. A belt around his waist secures not only pouches for miscellany, but also two holsters for his blasters. Further down, small metal boots are worn designed for his physiology that have an integrated propulsion system built in.
|Skills=
|MusicEmbed=Please see [[Theme Music]] for instructions.
|Logs={{Template:Logs}}
|}} 
==Background==
He is a genetically modified alien life form with cybernetic enhancements originally uplifted by sentient robots to be chief of security for the insane asylum on Halfworld. As such, despite his small size, he's as strong as a top-physique human and far more durable, has greatly enhanced reflexes, and acute senses of smell, sight, hearing, and touch. His sharp claws allow him to scale walls, buildings, and other obstacles. Such athletic ability adds to his fighting prowess. In addition, he's also an accomplished starship pilot, expert marksman, has an affinity for heavy weaponry, and knows far too much about demolitions. He's renown for being a military tactician and, when allowed, makes a great leader. His high intellect allows him to craft weapons from almost anything. Additionally, he: -speaks in an accent comparable to Ray Winstone, reportedly; -is a fan of Bette Midler; -can (probably) drink more booze than you; -actually was a raccoon once (but is now something more)

==Notes==
<references />
[[Category:Active]]

File:Fazbear and Friends-icon.gif

2019-11-10T04:47:24Z

TheSmileDog: TheSmileDog uploaded a new version of File:Fazbear and Friends-icon.gif

Fazbear and Friends

2019-11-09T08:18:15Z

TheSmileDog:

{{2019Profile-4char|
|Image=Fazbear_-_Celebrate.jpg
|Name={{PAGENAME}}
|Pronunciation=
|Alias=FNAF
|Occupation=
|Series=Five Nights At Freddy's
|Threat=Street Sweeper
|Alignment=Various
|Gender=Various
|Species=Audio-animatronic Robots
|Short=These four audio-animatronics are tall compared to the average person and are in the likenesses of various animals: bear, fox, rabbit, and chicken. Products of high quality craftsmanship, these four are often decked out in accessories for taking center stage in playing music and singing. Colorful, friendly, and adventurous they seek l̵̩͒ǫ̸͌v̸͈̏ė̴̖ and admiration in whichever adventure they wind u̸̳͛p̶̨̓ in.

Ḭ̷̧̛̟͙͖͚̥̭͎̺͔̳̯̊̉̌̇̄͂̏̒̈̌̀̉̌̃̓̕͘͜͠͝͠ͅͅţ̶̨̧̢̢̨̘̫͍̼̝̱͎̮̝̗̜͇̹̳͚̮͉̪͉̮̭̹̰͙͍͉̻̬͙̠͈͍̰̞͋̂͝ͅͅ'̵̨̨̨̡̧̨̢̛͓̜̞̠͇͇͉̯̳̲̻͍̱̖̹̜̥̮̭͉̳̺̻̱̼̗̹̮͂̀̽̐̾̇̈́̈́̓͆̏̍̂̂́̌̐̓̉̔͘͘͝͠͠s̷̢̧̨̠̺̟͇͚̳͎̝̤̦̝̭͉͖̀̑̽͒̆̒̓͒̆̊̒͂̀̍̓̆̍͗̉̀̓͛͐͛̐̇̈́͂͂͐͌̌͐͐͘͝͠͠͠ ̸̡̧̯̳̣̮̟̰̤̲̹̜̝͇͔̼̠̹͕̦̹̳͕̺̈́̐̈́̏͜͠͝ả̸̯͚̖̮̩͉̝̖͍̝̞͚͒̐͊̌̄̾́̚l̵̢̧̡̛̛̬̳͓̺̺͈̦̥̗͉̗͇̘͚͓̳͓͈̿́̊̒̋̅̀̏͛̎͗͂̀͛̈́̏̀̈̋͂͛́̎̊̓̕̕͜͜͝ľ̶̢̟̘͕̞͚̲̹͎͉̐̅̏͛̾̽͌͗̅̽̋̀̄̇́͂̿͐̊̂̇͘͘̕͜͜͝ ̶̧̢̣̭̞͕̳̦̲͔͎̮̺͇͈̖̻̦͖͖̪̫͉̖̱͙̩͙̟̫̱̲͈̼̤̮̺͓̥̪̙͆̈͑̀̆̂͋̓͒̌̿̊̔́͒̅̅͛̌́͋̇̾̚͝͝͝͝ą̸̧̧̧̛̘̫̯̩͕̭̫̥̮̖̼͕̳̙̪̩̫̜̣̀̂̇̿͊̿̂̓̈͐̏̌̉̌̓̇́̍̓̽̈́̑̏̈́̽̓̈́͐͒̈́͘̚͘̕͝͝͠ͅ ̸̞̺̮̩̓̾́̈́̉̌̀̃͛́̽̌̊̇̇͠ͅļ̶̧̢̛̟̳͇͎̭̞͉̰̤̘̻̖͚͇͔͔̤̳̺̮̱̬̠̦̹̟̭͔͇̠̣̘͔̞̻̯̥̥̣̠̈́̅͐̀̉̄̓̎̎̀̌͂̇̿̔̎̎͐͂͊̕̚͜͝͝ͅͅͅi̷̡̛̻̝̲̮̻̼̭̝̞̥̝̥̪̣̗͔̰̺̪̲͖̼̹̼̥̘͖͔̫͉͚̼̓͊̃͌́̎͌̈́̈́̾̓͂̋̑͑͆͆́̆͑̽͌̐̈̇̂̊̋̿̿̕̚͜ę̸̡̛̗̘̝̻̱̥̫͍͒͊̐͌͊͛̓͌̔̍͑̈́́̅̽̉̆̕͝͠͝.̸̡̛͈̼̺͇̯̝͍͕͕͕͔͉̜̩̣̗̣̤̖̮̻͔͖̳̯̦͇̂̎̔̀͌̋̀̚̕ͅͅ

|Extra1=

|Name1=Foxy the Pirate Fox
|Image1=Foxy_Icon.jpg
|Age1=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate1=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height1=6'6"
|Weight1=~23 Stone
|Desc1=At full height, standing around 6'6" tall, is an anthropomorphic red-furred fox. His pelt appears quite fuzzy, plush, and soft even if it does not cover him completely. The fur is a high-quality synthetic that possess the same delicate and lush properties that one finds in fox fur, although thicker and much shorter, but it does not shed. The majority of the pelt is a dark red-orange which has lost its vibrancy and appears aged. The upper-half of his muzzle, chest, and belly are a cream tan color instead. His numerous sharp teeth are mostly white, although he has a few gold t̷̤͝e̵̜͋e̴͉̊t̷͓̅h̸̦̓ placed among the number. An eyepatch may or may not cover his right eye; the accessory can be swiveled upward to reveal both eyes whose irises glow red.

The mechanical nature of the fox is painfully obvious. His pelt fails to cover his left hand and both feet and what covering there remains is speckled with small holes. A particularly large rip across the fox's chest, as well as a smaller rip along the lower right side and abs, reveals the pneumatically powered mechanical skeleton inside. The points of articulation overall, however, are too many to number and the expresses of face can be very uncanny due to this. Fast on his feet despite being undeniably heavy, his internal machinations make hardly any noise, but his metal feet create footsteps on most all surfaces. An internal speaker allows him the illusion of speaking from a mouth which has movements that mimic actual speech patterns and expressions

All appearance details considered, the seemingly-forgotten and unused audio-animatronic was once a great adaptation of the Fazbear and Friends cartoon character it represents due to its high-quality craftsmanship but now appears l̷͔̎e̴̮͘s̸̞̈́s̵̨͗ than suitable for any child-friendly presentation
|Extra2a='''Nightmare Foxy:''' 
Ṯ̶̨̦̻͙̾̂͂̊̚h̵̫̲͎͐̆̄͠e̶̠͂͑̒ ̴̳̟̇͜s̶̭̲͋c̶̥̮͚͚̜̈́̚ṟ̸̩͛a̶͓̦̻̿͗̒̍p̷̡̻̲͈̈̀͠͝e̸̥͊̎̈́̾́ ̸̞͍̺̻͂͌͗̎̀o̷̢̰̣̠͉̐͋̆̎̎f̴̩̻̼͂̇̈́͜ ̴̥͚͚̫̇a̵̠̭̩̺̓̉̈͐͝ ̸̘̈́́h̶̼͓͎̀o̶̢̖̮͉̒̓͝o̴̡͙̽k̶̩͎̊ͅ ̵̤͉͙̟̦̈̒͛͂͠c̸͙̦̽̓͆͠r̷͈͙͕̭͐i̴̘̓ḙ̷̓ș̸̢̖͎̣̑ ̵̨̫͙͑̑ǫ̸̙͙̼̫̐̐́͠ṵ̷͙̼͋̿̔t̵̨̮͖̒ ̴̹̪͔̀̊͜f̶̧͇̗̜͆̇o̶̭͎͍͎͛̉r̴̬͙͐ ̸͓̟̞̱̎̂̑̐m̵̢̏̒͂̇e̵̢̩̱̻͕͗̅̄́ą̸̠̠́̂͝ͅt̸̗̯́̈́ͅ.̴̮͖̭̾́̅͗

|Name2=Bonnie the Bunny
|Image2=Bonnie_Icon.jpg
|Age2=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate2=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height2=7'6"
|Weight2=~25 Stone
|Desc2=At full posture, standing around 7'6" tall (including the ears), is an anthropomorphic purple-furred rabbit. He appears to be quite fuzzy, plush, and soft. The fur is a high-quality synthetic that possesses the same delicate and lush properties that one finds in rabbit fur, although thicker overall, but it does not shed. The majority of the pelt is an eminence purple while the insides of the ears, the top part of his muzzle, underside of the fluffy bunny tail, and his chest and belly are a light orchid purple. He has bucktooth incisors among his white teeth, his big bunny nose is all black and a large red bow tie is affixed to his upper chest. His large expressive eyes are lined with twilight lavender to really help those expressions pop. As if to match his bow tie, his eyes' irises glow red.

Only certain joints, when moved in certain ways, fully b̸e̴t̴r̵a̴y̷ the nature of the rabbit by revealing mechanical parts, but the plush pelt that covers such internal workings is good at its job and has few failings. Thus, the creation remains a great adaptation of the Fazbear and Friends cartoon character it represents: he is large yet huggably soft and has far too many points of articulation to count. He is soft on his feet, but is undeniably heavy, while the machinations within provide almost no sound. An internal speaker allows him the illusion of speaking from a mouth which has movements that mimic actual speech patterns and expressions.

All appearance details considered, the high-quality craftsmanship put into such an expensive audio-animatronic provides a cordial presence and child-friendly presentation.
|Extra2b='''Nightmare Bonnie:''' 
This monster of a mechanical creation standing around 8 feet tall (not counting the ears) bears the resemblance of an anthropomorphic purple-furred rabbit. While what fur present appears to be fuzzy, plush, and soft -- the pelt certainly possesses qualities of real fur, as if the pelt worn was crudely s̸͉͒k̵̩̣̀i̴̲͑ṉ̵̹̄̊n̵͖̂ȩ̷͝d̸͙̖̅ from some such animal -- it does not cover the entirety of the nightmarish beast. Holes, almost seemingly formed by burning, are small and dot the pelt exposing internals. Most of the skin and fur that would otherwise cover the front of the abdomen is entirely absent. The internals are all purely mechanical, but seem to be far too broken, incomplete, and simple in design to allow the creature to function as it does. Furthermore, wires and cables for power and pneumatics sag low and in view, red in color and shiny, and may bring to mind a comparison to slick greasy intestines.

Other bits of that plush pelt covering are missing from other places, such as on one of the hands and one of the feet exposing sturdy robotic digits with deadly-looking sharp claws. The rabbit's teeth are anything but subtle and cute: they are over-sized, asymmetric, jagged pointy pillars lining the entirety of the upper and lower jaws. A large slick wet organic tongue rests beyond that toothy display. The pupils and irises of the eyes glow a s̷i̴n̴i̵s̷t̵e̶r̷ magenta. Multiple holes on the front of the top of the muzzle, where whiskers would otherwise be, glow with a supernatural light blue; in fact, that same eerie glow can be seen from other holes dotting the cheeks and from the neck where the robotics disappear underneath the covering for the head. Strangely, that glow is not seen coming from within the creature's mouth. The mouth and t̸̩͌h̵͍͘r̸͎̅ơ̸̼ą̷̍t̷͙̿ all look disturbingly organic.

While a big red bow tie is present upon the bunny's fluffy scruffy chest, it does little to detract from the hellscape so visually constructed. If anything, it adds to it. While not a physical observation, the mechanical nightmare does possess a near tangible aura of F̸̥̙̼͉̂Ě̴̠̣̞̖͔̝̈́̏̊͗̕A̴̛̫̲͔̘͍̳̬̬̓̔̃̀R̵̛͓͍̅̑̉̏͛̄̕͜ and unease...even when unseen yet nearby.

|Name3=Chica the Chicken
|Image3=Chica_Icon.jpg
|Age3=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate3=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height3=6'10"
|Weight3=~24 Stone
|Desc3=Chica the Chicken is more aloof than the boys and tends to have a more practical, if cynical, take on the people and situations she encounters. She can be wonderfully friendly, but her perceived bubbliness is usually temporary. While entertaining others, Chica enjoys being the lively party gal. However, when not under the stage lights or before an audience, she often becomes more quiet, sometimes even sullen, as she pursues her personal interests. A philosophical thinker, she explores her existence with a fascination for baking. While pizza creation is a given, she also enjoys learning how to make other sweeter things. Much like a steadfast older sister to the bunch, she won't back down from bullies and will gladly step in when she sees others being bullied.
|Extra2c='''Nightmare Chica:''' 
T̸̢͎̓̀r̷̛̟͒̌̀u̷͇̬͉̐̐́͠͝ȩ̶̻͇͔͐͐͆͠͠ͅ ̴̪̇h̸͓̮͈͑u̷͈͑̈́͗̈́͂ṉ̸̞̰̐̔g̶̗̩̻͌̂̎̎̕ẽ̴̙ṛ̶̛̺́̋̑ ̵̦͓̱̼̕n̴̳͛̈́e̵̪̰͈͘v̵̩̅̌̕e̴͙͆̅̒́r̴̜̞͆͑̕ ̷̬̫͔͙̾̕ͅḍ̶̱̌̽͝ï̷͙͖͌͌́ḙ̵̡̭͍͌͜s̵̱̐̿͌.̷̧̣̈͛̏̌͜

|Name4=Freddy Fazbear
|Image4=Freddy_Icon.jpg
|Age4=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate4=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height4=7'3"
|Weight4=~26 Stone
|Desc4=At full stature, standing around 7'3" tall (not including the top hat), is an anthropomorphic brown-furred bear. He appears to be quite fuzzy and plush with a bit of extra padding to make him very huggably ṣ̶̒ó̸͖f̵̨̍ţ̸͆. The fur is a high-quality synthetic that possesses the same thick and scruffy attributes that one might imagine in bear fur, although it is thicker overall and does not shed free. The majority of the pelt is a standard brown color while the upper half of his muzzle and the whole of his chest and belly are a dark cream. While not the tallest, he's certainly the largest, and wears a snazzy black bow tie affixed to his upper chest in addition to wearing, atop his head, his signature top hat. He also often has a microphone on hand. While his eyes can be the center of expression for such a strangely charismatic being, the irises tend to glow ṙ̴͎̙͉̚e̶̡̠̬̻̾̓͋̇ͅd̸̤͚̜͙̮̜̠̃́̾̚.

Only certain joints, moved in certain ways, fully betray the nature of the bear as something other than a large suit to be worn by revealing mechanical parts, yet the rich pelt that covers those hidden machinations is remarkably able to hide these internals and has few failings. Thus, the result remains a faithful adaptation of the titular Fazbear and Friends leader and franchise figurehead. He is large, yet soft, and has a seemingly impossible number of points of articulation in which to move and express. Nearly silent on his feet despite his weight, this aspect of stealthiness is increased by the fact his internals are also just as quiet. An internal speaker allows him the i̶l̵l̶u̸s̷i̴o̴n̸ of speaking from a mouth which has movements that mimic actual speech patterns and expressions.

All appearance details considered, the high-quality craftsmanship put into such an expensive audio-animatronic provides a cordial presence and child-friendly presentation of masterful quality.

Hey, kids: His nose hides a playful secret when touched!

[!]Under no circumstances should one ever touch the hat.[!]

.̶̭̊͒̅͝.̴̰̮̻̮̜̀̚.̵̰̙̬̟̓t̸͚̎ȯ̵̞̣̙̉͘ừ̵͕̰̞͙c̷̬͇͐́͝h̶̖͚̹͓̀̿̒̿ ̶̥̾̓̑̓̅ỉ̴͍̠͊t̶͙͍̂.̷̼̙̪͓̑̋̇͝.̶̨̪͎̣̞͂.̸̣̪͓̬̣̀̃

|Extra2d='''Nightmare Freddy:''' 
J̵̫̟͎̠͍́u̶͉̿͠͠͠s̵͉̞̔̽̔̇ţ̷͕́̿͂͐͜ ̸̩̩̘̈́̏́̿w̸̧̰̩̺̓̓̕͝h̷̠͍̘̝̆͆͐͋e̶̺͓̼͐̀̃͊̕ͅn̴̹̲̈́̑̀̾̽ ̶̫̜̬̊̉̈́y̴͓̳̽̊̅̍̉ȍ̷̻̹̫̤̏̏͆͐ù̵͍̝͙̃͝ ̸̯̖͕̥̜͋̉ť̵͈̯̝̫͆̐̉͜h̸̗̏͒̕͘͝ô̶͎̱͚̓u̶̱̬̘̦̣̽͂̄g̶͔̊̉̾̆h̴̦̏̕t̵̞̣͕̫̽̈́̏ ̸̘͖̤͖̎̐ỹ̵͙̜̫̠̙̓͘ǫ̷̧̜̋̽̕ų̴͓͖̘̈̌ ̵̲̿͐͘w̴̳̻̫͂̿́̿e̴̫̺̹͇̔̀r̴̞̳͋͆̾͑͋e̷̖̍ ̴̨̨̠̩́̀̇̊͘r̸͔͆̿è̸̯͇̩̱͎a̸̞̺̫͓̥͋̋́d̶̨̦̼̜̋̃̕͝y̷͕̞̎̒̉͊ͅ ̸̟͕̥̄f̸̡̜̞̾ŏ̴̖̦̉͋̓͗ṛ̵̨̛̼̥̟̈́͑͂ ̷̢̺̻̰̠̔̈́̈́̏F̶̟̊͗̏̈́ŗ̵̱͎͉̲̇̊̔͝ë̸͚́̀̓͊d̷̟̫̻͍͗̇̓̏͝ͅd̷̛̖̓̍̈́͠ỵ̸̢͒͊̋̿͝.̷̻̈́̇̈̂.̷̤̗̰̿͘.̴̬̼̯͙̇̍͌́͐

|Background=Fazbear and Friends is an animated children's cartoon from the mid-1980's depicting a group of anthropomorphic animals: a bear, a bunny, a chicken, and a fox. Together they form the titular band wherein Freddy sings lead vocals, Bonnie plays lead guitar, Chica is on the keyboard, and Foxy plays bass guitar. Their adventures are episodic and contain cartoon violence, cheap gags, and occasional mild adult humor. They tend to get caught up in the plots and plans of others as they tour the world and, through teamwork and disguises, somehow manage to save the day so they can entertain the crowds with song as a closing note.

Freddy Fazbear's Pizza is a pizzeria chain that was established due to the success of the cartoon which offers audio-animatronic entertainment. The four main characters from the show grace the stages and preprogrammed movements sync with played audio to produce a realistic experience for those willing to suspend disbelief. With genius engineering designs, the points of articulation on the large creations help to simulate lifelike organic movements through pneumatics while the overly fuzzy and soft shell hides the internal workings and provides pleasing appearances similar to those of large plush animals. The covering is soft, padded, and flexible as to not restrict mechanical movement while resisting tearing. Overall, the illusion of realism is uncanny.

But then: five kids were murdered. Young Gabriel, Fritz, Suzie, Jeremy, and Cassidy were brutally killed by a man named William Afton as part of a complex overarching plot against his former friend, Henry, as a bid to discredit the Fazbear name through bad publicity, and as part of his secret experiments to power mechanical devices with extracted souls in the hope of learning how to transfer consciousness and memories. Inadvertently, four of the five children's souls took to clinging to the robotic audio-animatronics that were present: Gabriel to Freddy, Fritz to Foxy, Suzie to Chica, and Jeremy to Bonnie. In so bonding, the robotic characters were given life. They were given sentience. And more importantly, they were given sapience.

While the memories of those children linger, they do so as echoes and not as projections. The children died, as did their senses of self -- their identities -- and the chance for them to 'live again', much like tales of reincarnation, is as something altogether new and different. They Are Not Children; they know as they have been programmed and as they witness in the cartoons of their adventures, and know that their popularity is real for they have stages to perform upon and merchandise that people buy. They may possess naivety, but they are able to learn. They may be electromechanical, but they are powered by a non-living force. They may not be malicious, but they can be very very dangerous. They may not remember much of their previous lives, but they remember the face of their deaths. Injustice is not tolerated.

Freddy Fazbear is the leader, the Boss Bear, and the band is named after him. He tends to be more serious than the rest and has the biggest temper. He works as coordinator for their shows and other plans and tends to take on the role of father figure for those he looks after. He sees most other humans as children, no matter their age, and tends to treat them as if they are such with all that it entails. He prefers to think of himself as the most popular of the four and can be jealous of his band mates' own popularity and attention. Whatever you do, do NOT touch his top hat.

Bonnie the Bunny is the most genuinely caring of the four and has a friendly nurturing personality. He displays great empathy and seeks to console those who are in emotional or physical pain. He enjoys playing music and singing as a way to cheer people up and actively seeks to be as helpful as possible. He also desires to understand more about the world around him and how things work. His kindness is genuine, but his peers sometimes take advantage of it. He has an artistic mind and enjoys writing songs and poetry and his creativity often helps the others in times of such need. Also, he just loves watching retro cartoons.

Chica the Chicken is more aloof than the boys and tends to have a more practical, if cynical, take on the people and situations she encounters. She can be wonderfully friendly, but her perceived bubbliness is usually temporary. While entertaining others, Chica enjoys being the lively party gal. However, when not under the stage lights or before an audience, she often becomes more quiet, sometimes even sullen, as she pursues her personal interests. A philosophical thinker, she explores her existence with a fascination for baking. While pizza creation is a given, she also enjoys learning how to make other sweeter things. Much like a steadfast older sister to the bunch, she won't back down from bullies and will gladly step in when she sees others being bullied.

Foxy the Pirate Fox is the odd one out in so many ways. No amount of restoration or repair ever manages to fix his overall appearance. Parts of his outer covering are ripped or missing thus exposing his internals, his mechanical lower legs, feet, and left hand. His right hand is actually a metal hook and doesn't look safe for interaction with children (or anybody) but he is remarkably careful with it. It is this articulation that allows him to pluck bass guitar strings perfectly. He is a risk-taker and his mischievousness can lead to perceived antagonism. Always ready for adventure, his story-telling reflects this, but his stubbornness can often lead the team astray and into trouble. While not necessarily mean-spirited, his pranks combined with his dominance can sometimes seem a little sadistic.

Each of the four have drastically changed demeanors during Nightmare transformation, however.

T̴̘̙̭̏̒̈́͘h̴̪̙̾̔̏̈́̊͌̚ȇ̸̡̨͈̝̰̲̂̍͗̃̚͜͝r̴̰̒̑̄́̉̊̐̈́́ͅễ̵̲̯̝̲͜ ̶̛͉̣̜̮̦͍̎͐̄̇̍̚i̷̤̼̥̔s̷̨̪̈́̏̽̓̋̚ ̶̢̡̣̮̹͍͔̹̫̀͒̚o̵̢̧̮̥̤̥͖̞͍̊͂͌͆̑̆͛ņ̶̨̫̥̥͍̙̾͌̕͜͝l̵̯̩̲̳͕͋̄̕ý̶̯̝̱͓̘̫̲̳̗͗̚ ̸̢̭̯͗̿F̷̢̹͙̞͇̪̻͕̩̓̾̑̒̈́͛̏͌r̷̩͖̘̺̝̪͚̼͌̓͂̈̎̔͛ě̴̬̥̟͔͖̼̲͓͕d̷̢̦̟̗̫̾̉̓̋͒̚b̷̬̫̌̑́͑̿͛̍̕͘͜ȅ̶͖̣̫͎̗̮̹͕͑̽̋a̵̳̱̭̳͑͊́̄̊̌͘͘͝r̵͕͇͍̅̃͂̍̿́̇͝.̷̯̺͕̩̺̲̾̈́̚͝͝͝ ̷̡̲̝̜̲͂̽̆̀͛̅̿ͅͅ ̷̧̬͇̦͕͚̘̹̈́͐͘͝ͅŤ̷̨̨̰͕̞͓̠h̷͇̑͊̒̾͗̓͠͝ȩ̷̩̠̟͈͔͖̰̇̚r̵͓̓̽͋͝e̵̙̱̭̙̽̀́͗̆̈̄̅̎ͅ ̴̬́̇̎̈́̆͗̓̈̈́i̸͓̙̦͙͗̊͠s̸͍̗̤͙̝͓̲̘͜͝ ̶̥̩̩͔͉̣͙͖͝ô̵̘̻̱͇͑̀̓͝n̸̮͈͍̪̏̐̅̄̿̌̾̃l̵͉͕͇̙͙̩̘͙͂̒̊̋̕͜͝y̷̖͔̪̙̖͒͂̑̎̕ͅ ̵̧͓̾̒̓̎̚͘F̴̼͍̟̠̲̦͎̎͗͐̓͘r̵̪͈͖̺͖̩͛͌̚̚e̴͚͇̰̺̥̲̻͑̍̀̇͑͗͒̚d̸̛͍̞̂̊̅͂̔͝͠ͅb̴̢͖̙̯̥̖̏̂̓̄̇́̽̔̿͜e̸̢̛͉̭̩͉̺̼͜͜a̷͔̞̪̲̦͐̽͒͒r̴̢͕͍̙̖̊͗̍͛͗͝͝.̸̥̯̼̄̔́̽͘ ̸̢̹̠͖̱̈́̈́̀̊̎͠ ̸̨̛̲̩̔̎͊̓͐̂̚͘ͅṪ̸̛̘̞̒̍̍̾̚͜ḧ̸̗̦͇̫̠́̐̈́͛̾̈ê̸̙͔̜̽̀͐̊̕͜r̶͓͛̿͋̀̆͑̚͝e̴̢̹̣̓̅̀̒͐̊ ̸̱̾̉̈i̶̲̝͎̙͓̫͍͉͕̔̋̓̀̑͌̾s̴̢̛̛̹͓̩̮̯̒̇̾̏͒̇ ̵̠͈͖́o̴͈͎̖̲͎̗̦͍̎̐̒́̽͆͠n̵͈͔̘̻͑͊l̷̼͔̬̙̝̝̲̻̓̈́͆ý̶͖͎̖̹́͛́͊̉̀͝ ̵̦͙̇͂̏̀̂͒F̷̲̖̟̰̠͊͆̃͂͋̈́̋͋ͅr̴̰͇̯̹̼̻͔̱͋̈́͑̎̆͗͜ė̴̢̙̖̬͎̮̪̅d̴̨̧̝͚̲̳̓b̵̢̡͍̦͖̜̥̘̦̈̃̀͐̐̍͝e̴̢̛͎̮̮̋̒͠å̴͚̠͒̔͑̓͠ṟ̷̡̧͍͆͐̒.̵̬̱̩̒̚ ̷̦̘͔̫̈́̒ ̸̧͇̳͓͂͗́Į̴̨͖̝͙̺̤̅͊t̴̰͚̳̻̟̃͗̔̓ͅ'̴̨̢͇̗̪̘̖̣́͛͋̒͋͐̇ş̶̩̹̙̯͚͙̅̑̅͐̆͘͘͝ ̴͈̼̲̙̮̊̔́̓͜͝͝m̸̢̖͎̤̟̹̐͐́̂e̶͖̐͌͒̀̀!̴͇̀ ̵̥̀̃̅͐̄͠͝͝͝ ̵̛̬̖͗͠T̸͍̻̯̳̰͔̫͚̃́̔̀́̄h̴̡̹͎̘̖͔͉̜͚͘e̸͉̰̫̘̾̉̓̔͗͊͂̅̚ͅͅr̵̖͖̫̯͓̭̦̥͚͑̓̇̿̃̈́ë̴̢̧̯͈̮̭̗́̇̚ ̵̡̘̝͓̤̱͆͑̽ȋ̶̛͖͈̭̳̋̑̀͋s̴͉͔͈̀̑̋̋̇̌̎̆ ̷̘̳͇͓́̇͒̀o̵̟͓͔͓̊̈́͗͗͛̕ņ̷̬͕̹̟̥͇̥̳̏̀͒̄͑l̸̬͈̭̝̀̎̔̓̈ͅy̴̡͕̱͝ ̵̛̙͇̤͈̘̹̒̈́̒̽͑̿͗̀F̸͍͖͐͗͑́̄̋͜r̶̺̳̫̹͚̀̒̒͐͝é̴̯̯͓̻̩̈̀͝ḑ̸͕̟̭̺͇͖̺̓̇̅̌́̊͝͠ͅb̶̢͕̼̐͝e̵̞͚͌̉̃͝å̷̢̱͈͍̺̳̘͚̭͊̅r̶̗̩̰̼̼͇̙̈́̀̄.̵̧̡̳͈̈́̋͊̿̍͜ ̷̱̝̓͐̾ ̷̛͍̮͕̟͗̈̋̋̕T̶̡͚̩̃͑̒h̶̢̛͖̬̙͎̙̽̔͋͂̉͛͂͜ẽ̷̮̜͓̲̟̬̰̺̃͘͠r̸̤̮̻̙͓̐̂̎͆͜ē̶̩̥͂̈́̍͐̉ͅ ̷̢̧̥͙̱̥͛͐́̚͜ì̷̡̱̬̞̠̳̺̦̒s̶͓̽͗͋̐ ̷̯̭̩̯̯̽͊͒̏o̴̗̤̞͛̓n̷̫͈̯̬̑̆̍̃̓͂̐̚͝l̴̢̛̻͈̺̯͎͙͙̟̅̽́̅͊y̵̡̧̯̟̼͉͙̆͑̐̀͗͋̚͘͝ ̵̟̩̘̲̠͉͔̗͓͌́̽͗́͌̉͊͘F̴̯̣̦̽͊̚r̶̡̝̱̍̓͋͒̆͊̈e̷̘̪̠̦̋̐̈́̾͌͘ͅd̸̨̲̝̝̯͖̝͗̋͋̆̇͑̍b̵̩̯̝̝͑̓͌͆͘͠͝ẽ̸̤̲̬̦̲̣͚̠̪̀̔͗́͋̚á̸̝̱̋͠ṛ̸̢̜̤̙̥̘̠̊̕͘.̵̛̰̤͇͈̠̍̀͐̈̓̈́́̽ ̶̡͈͔̪̥̠̣͂͋͑̉̋ ̴̡̤̜͎̇T̴̨̧̰̦̣̖͎́͒͗̓ȟ̴̛̦̦͎̭̤̼̈́̆̈̌͌͘̕e̵̛͕̼̥̓̋͂̀̅̽̚͜r̴̢͉̱̲̥̃̅̒e̶̢̫̪̲͈͙̜͊̂͜͜ ̸̡̯̳̪̝͇̀i̷̧̧̤̰̜̮̳̜̊͗̾̓̚̕ͅş̶̡̣̖̜̥͇̤̯̾͐̿̒́͝ ̵̞͂̔ö̴̳͓́̆̿̀n̶̟̏̈́̒̔͜l̸̦̰̻͝ÿ̴̧̦͇̰̮̗̤̝́̓̈́͒̍̑̿̒ ̸̂̿͋͜F̷̧̰̹͇̮̝̥̯̀̈́̑̒̈̀͑r̸̻̕e̴͈̼̭͉̱̻͎̔́͌̃̉̒̎ḍ̵̯͇̥́̄̉̈́̎̃̾b̵̝͈̘͈͍̟̹̥̲̏̏̀́̿͂͠͝ę̸̻͖̦͙̘̳̪͛́̿́̃͆͝ͅa̵͈̙̹̘͉͚͖̗̒̚ͅṛ̵̳̘̝̬̓̈́̍̔̚.̴̧̱͎͛̎̔̀̆̑͊̋͝ ̶̜̩̲͈͓̮̀̐͛̌ ̸̧͍̲̬̱̹̲̏̑̅͆̍̎I̴̛̫̬͖̦̽̃̿t̸̼̤̬͖̟̥̩͖̔̃͛́͒̋'̷̡̙͚̘́̃͗͊s̵̪̺͓̄ ̷̢͎͖͎́̾̒̾m̷̗̘̳͒͒̓̾́͋͋͝͝e̴͔̒͘!̸̧̼̜͓̱͕̮̏̀̈̀̆͘͘͘͝ ̶͙͊͋̌̏͗͠ ̶̢̛̟̘̮͈̆͊̇́T̶̯͈͆́̆͛̚͜ḩ̷̧̥̩͍͉̝̈́́͋̇͛͘e̴̢͖̬̰̹̩̞͖͋͒͛̎́͗͘r̸̛̳͕̙͑̈́͂̅̍̚e̴͔͉̠̗̳̿̾̎͘͜͠͝ ̶̠͙̙̫̻́̎͌͆̍̃́̀̆ï̷̧̛̦͙͍̼̦̩͖̳̍͛͒̑̕͠ş̴̻̘̤̫̬̟̳̓̾͘ ̶͕̂́͌͆͐̈́o̴̗̲̤̭͗̀́͛̽̿n̶̢̦̻̅̈́̈́̀l̷̢͖̯̼̝̲̪̣̱͊́̾̄y̷͍͈̬̟̬̖̼̖̑̀̌ ̴͓͖̂́͝F̷͚̭̝̳͖̩͙̂́̐̔̅͛͋̕͜r̵̠̟̈́͂̅̉̈́͐͜e̸̢̢̘͈̥͌̎̍̓̈́͘͜͝ḑ̴͇̦͙͕̿̾̽̀̈́̀͠b̷̨̲̮̯̬̰͚̀̋͝e̷̖͕̐̽́̈́̉͠a̴͉̺̰͓͓̍́r̸͍̲̓͛̍̈́̏͐͋̚.̸̥̀̄͛̆͂̄͐ ̴̼̏̄̏͂̊̑́͘̕͜ ̴̠͛Ṫ̸̛̳̮͊h̷̲̜̦͊̇͌͆͘͝ȩ̴̯̲̥̲̦̘͙̄ṛ̵̳̮̝̝̻̓̏͋̽͐̎́e̶͔͌͂̀͑̀̑̂ ̸̛͔̱̩̘͎͐͗͗̅̐͘i̶͓̞͈̹̅́̓͛̏̊s̷̘͖̘͉͛͆̽͐͝ ̵̘͙͖͎͔̞̲̓̈́o̸̧̢̯͉̼̿̎̽̓̒͜n̶̗̙̈́̈́̊̏̓͑̕l̶̢͙̱̒͊̄̕y̵̮̫̰̺̥͎̹̫͛͒̈́̈͑ ̶͔̥͉͔̘͛̓̈́̑̔͠D̶̨̳͔͈͖̤̱̽̀͆̋ę̵̧̛̼̠̦̯̞̱͒̔̍̌͛̚a̶̧͕̤̝̒̑̉̽̑͘͠t̴̛̛͈͙̪̣̱̱̪͖̽ͅh̸̪̲̣̗̓̏͜ͅ.̷̜̬̽̾̂̈́̿ ̶̧͙͇͕̻̘͍̲͖̃̌̂̾̇͝ ̵͎̀̏̆̈́͋̕T̴̠͑̓͊̐̉̓̓̎̈́ḥ̷̨̨̬̝̙̯̫̮̌̿́͑́͘̚e̸̢̛̹̩̰̋̿̆̽̔̈́̉̕r̶̬̟̈́͋̿͑̊ȩ̸̦̭͉̹̳̅ ̵̤̳̲̳̜̺͇̌î̵̞̙̊͆̒͐̌͝s̶̡̧̺͚̟̭̰͙̈́̈́̌͆̾̀͜͝͠ ̷̧̢̛̝̯̤̗̾̀͊͛͂͐̀o̶̢̦͓̰͙̮̥͛͘n̷̰̈́̑̓̽̓́͠ḽ̶̫̖̜̥̟̫̪́̀̽͊̈̇̄͠y̵̢̹͍̻̆̐̔̂͘̕ ̴̞̮̱͐͐͒̓̆̾͒͝͝Ḏ̸̢̤̺̣̭́̾̇̌́͝ê̸̯̰͖̣͕̹̞̓̇̑̍̈́̋a̷̯̼͊̽̇͑̇̓͘t̸̝̝͛̑͒̉h̵̬͙̑̈́̏̓͐́̆͝.̵̦̰̞͒̑̒͑͠ ̶̰̏̃̒͊̓̒̆̋͌ ̶̟̋́͂͗̅̉I̴̢̞͍̒̄̀͗̈́͗ͅt̷̛̹͖̹̦̦͎̞̍͑̅'̶̺̦̐̂͌̇̉̂s̴̮̮̩̈́̎̐͐ ̵̮̗͔͐̀̔̉͊͒̒͘m̷͈̘͕̥͍͈͔̣͒̀̃͆̈́̒̌͘̚ė̸̱̭̮͉̜ͅͅ!̵̬̦̪͕͖͌̄͌̈̏ͅͅ ̴̘̦̘̏̏̈́̈́͐͘ ̷͉̯̗̰̻̅̈́Ṯ̴̹̮̈́h̸̲̋́̌̎̈̐͘͝ȩ̵̨̲̩͚̜̙͙̃̔͊͗̈͘͝r̶̮͕̭̰̦͔̩̰̹̀̄̎e̸̩͇̙̞͒̈́͂ ̷̖̻͙͙̱̖̘̆̽̐͂́̊̈̀i̷̛̥̖͈̜͓̞̳̟̾̒̑̏̽̋͘ŝ̴̞̩̬̅̓̓̈̚ ̷̯̺͓̭͚̟̻͂̓͘ǫ̵̱̞̻̖̳͍̺̈͂n̵̝͈̖̼̐̓̂l̶̡̯͍̭̜͇̯̪̆̿̚͜ý̸̨̘̑̕ͅ ̵̯͒D̸̳̿̂͌̽̂ē̴̖̔̓̕͠a̴̡̠̣͉͖̠̦͙̼͐̔́t̴͖̜̬͎͑̓́h̸̛̙̻̞̗͎͓̗̀͑́̽͆̑͐ͅ.̷̼̠̼̼̎͒́̿̈́̈̿ ̴̡͈̰̹͙̝̅̋͛̿ ̸͙͓̥͉̙͈̩͋̿ͅT̴̢̢͕̲̪̘̿̃͐̇̅̍̀͘͝ḩ̶̤͉̺̳̘͈̓́̂̀͜͝ȩ̶̘̭̘̼͎̼̮̳͋̿̎̐́r̴͉͍͖̹̜͌̆͑͗ë̶̞̮̲̝̻͎́̇̓̔̓̊͠ ̷̹͆ī̷͈̟͗̓͂͐̌͠s̴͇͕͊ ̸̧̥̪̤̻̭̓ỏ̷͍̰̔͊͊̌n̴̹̹̝̤̰̝͈͂̑͌̀̕l̶̳͖̻̀͑͜ͅȳ̵̤͉͐̕̚ ̸̢̹͕̯̺̙͉̓͂̓̀͊̋̚͘͠D̸̪̻́́̚ę̴̪̪̝̜̮̺͓̈ả̸̦̹̜͑̓̌t̴̨̥̜͍̣̤̐̆͒́͑͛̈̚ͅh̷͉͒̂͐͌͗́̏̋ͅ.̸̯̻̘̮̳̉͒̃̍̉̾̏͛ ̵̨̮͔̱͖́̾͌̽̀̇͋͝ ̷̨̧̯͖̖͂̎͆̑́̕ͅT̵̢̰̦̰͎̼̆ḩ̶̳̥̍̔̓̅̍̔e̴̩̲̘͎̻̾̾͘ȓ̷͈̩̄̾́͑ę̵͔̹̜̤̭̣̪͛̀͊̌̔̾̒͐ͅ ̴̢̭͕̖̞̿͘͜į̵͎̙̭̻̳̰̇̂͌̓s̴̫͇͖̖̊̎̀͋́̒ ̸̧̭̠͔̲͚̉̔͛̋͛́̉̌̕ơ̷̡͕̟̿̇͋̆̀̉͛͗ǹ̵̟̭̼̈́͊̍̄͝ļ̷̤̪̞̩̬̅͂̒͐̃͊̀ẏ̴̲͍̙̣͍̓̎̓̔̀̐ ̶̖̅̽̉̐̈́̑̈́̅͝m̶͖̲̪̓͝ͅe̷̢̹̤̾̓̓̐̀̈̈́͊.̸̨̫͚̦̜͌̆ ̸̧̛̑̍͛̂͑ ̷̢͉̥̲̙͔̀̀͆͘Ǐ̸̺̺̠̦̘t̴͍̟̠͕̗̱̩̱͐̐'̸̡͍̫̻͎̲̒̈́͠s̷̪͇͚͍̮͍̥͓̏͐̈͋̎̔ ̷̎̓͗̿͊̀͋͜m̸͖̄́͋̅̊̑̑͘è̷̙̮͒̋͘!̴̡̢͕̘͚͕͆̾͊̊ ̵̨̨͖̙̦͚͖͛̈́͌̒̅̐ ̴̛̥̱̗̘̖̔͂̊̉͆̾̅́͜I̸͎̼̤͎̲̲͑̈́̈́͋͗̔͗̅ẗ̵̡͓͇̜͎̯́͒̈̈'̵̡̡̦̫̞̜͋̔͝ş̸̦͙̜͕̜͓̞͠ ̵̧̙̦̠̟̑̔̆́m̸̘̲͕̿͐͛̎͜ę̷̨̼͈̫̜͔̏ͅ!̷̥͇̤͔̰̙̜̀
|Skills=
|Gallery=<center><gallery>

</gallery></center>
|MusicEmbed=See [[Theme_Music]] for help with this section.
|Logs={{Template:Logs}}

|}}
[[Category:Active]]

Fazbear and Friends

2019-11-09T08:07:48Z

TheSmileDog:

{{2019Profile-4char|
|Image=Fazbear_-_Celebrate.jpg
|Name={{PAGENAME}}
|Pronunciation=
|Alias=FNAF
|Occupation=
|Series=Five Nights At Freddy's
|Threat=Street Sweeper
|Alignment=Various
|Gender=Various
|Species=Audio-animatronic Robots
|Short=These four audio-animatronics are tall compared to the average person and are in the likenesses of various animals: bear, fox, rabbit, and chicken. High quality craftsmanship, these four are often decked out in accessories for taking center stage in playing music and singing. Colorful, friendly, and adventurous they seek l̵̩͒ǫ̸͌v̸͈̏ė̴̖ and admiration in whichever adventure they wind u̸̳͛p̶̨̓ in.

Ḭ̷̧̛̟͙͖͚̥̭͎̺͔̳̯̊̉̌̇̄͂̏̒̈̌̀̉̌̃̓̕͘͜͠͝͠ͅͅţ̶̨̧̢̢̨̘̫͍̼̝̱͎̮̝̗̜͇̹̳͚̮͉̪͉̮̭̹̰͙͍͉̻̬͙̠͈͍̰̞͋̂͝ͅͅ'̵̨̨̨̡̧̨̢̛͓̜̞̠͇͇͉̯̳̲̻͍̱̖̹̜̥̮̭͉̳̺̻̱̼̗̹̮͂̀̽̐̾̇̈́̈́̓͆̏̍̂̂́̌̐̓̉̔͘͘͝͠͠s̷̢̧̨̠̺̟͇͚̳͎̝̤̦̝̭͉͖̀̑̽͒̆̒̓͒̆̊̒͂̀̍̓̆̍͗̉̀̓͛͐͛̐̇̈́͂͂͐͌̌͐͐͘͝͠͠͠ ̸̡̧̯̳̣̮̟̰̤̲̹̜̝͇͔̼̠̹͕̦̹̳͕̺̈́̐̈́̏͜͠͝ả̸̯͚̖̮̩͉̝̖͍̝̞͚͒̐͊̌̄̾́̚l̵̢̧̡̛̛̬̳͓̺̺͈̦̥̗͉̗͇̘͚͓̳͓͈̿́̊̒̋̅̀̏͛̎͗͂̀͛̈́̏̀̈̋͂͛́̎̊̓̕̕͜͜͝ľ̶̢̟̘͕̞͚̲̹͎͉̐̅̏͛̾̽͌͗̅̽̋̀̄̇́͂̿͐̊̂̇͘͘̕͜͜͝ ̶̧̢̣̭̞͕̳̦̲͔͎̮̺͇͈̖̻̦͖͖̪̫͉̖̱͙̩͙̟̫̱̲͈̼̤̮̺͓̥̪̙͆̈͑̀̆̂͋̓͒̌̿̊̔́͒̅̅͛̌́͋̇̾̚͝͝͝͝ą̸̧̧̧̛̘̫̯̩͕̭̫̥̮̖̼͕̳̙̪̩̫̜̣̀̂̇̿͊̿̂̓̈͐̏̌̉̌̓̇́̍̓̽̈́̑̏̈́̽̓̈́͐͒̈́͘̚͘̕͝͝͠ͅ ̸̞̺̮̩̓̾́̈́̉̌̀̃͛́̽̌̊̇̇͠ͅļ̶̧̢̛̟̳͇͎̭̞͉̰̤̘̻̖͚͇͔͔̤̳̺̮̱̬̠̦̹̟̭͔͇̠̣̘͔̞̻̯̥̥̣̠̈́̅͐̀̉̄̓̎̎̀̌͂̇̿̔̎̎͐͂͊̕̚͜͝͝ͅͅͅi̷̡̛̻̝̲̮̻̼̭̝̞̥̝̥̪̣̗͔̰̺̪̲͖̼̹̼̥̘͖͔̫͉͚̼̓͊̃͌́̎͌̈́̈́̾̓͂̋̑͑͆͆́̆͑̽͌̐̈̇̂̊̋̿̿̕̚͜ę̸̡̛̗̘̝̻̱̥̫͍͒͊̐͌͊͛̓͌̔̍͑̈́́̅̽̉̆̕͝͠͝.̸̡̛͈̼̺͇̯̝͍͕͕͕͔͉̜̩̣̗̣̤̖̮̻͔͖̳̯̦͇̂̎̔̀͌̋̀̚̕ͅͅ

|Extra1=

|Name1=Foxy the Pirate Fox
|Image1=Foxy_Icon.jpg
|Age1=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate1=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height1=6'6"
|Weight1=~23 Stone
|Desc1=At full height, standing around 6'6" tall, is an anthropomorphic red-furred fox. His pelt appears quite fuzzy, plush, and soft even if it does not cover him completely. The fur is a high-quality synthetic that possess the same delicate and lush properties that one finds in fox fur, although thicker and much shorter, but it does not shed. The majority of the pelt is a dark red-orange which has lost its vibrancy and appears aged. The upper-half of his muzzle, chest, and belly are a cream tan color instead. His numerous sharp teeth are mostly white, although he has a few gold t̷̤͝e̵̜͋e̴͉̊t̷͓̅h̸̦̓ placed among the number. An eyepatch may or may not cover his right eye; the accessory can be swiveled upward to reveal both eyes whose irises glow red.

The mechanical nature of the fox is painfully obvious. His pelt fails to cover his left hand and both feet and what covering there remains is speckled with small holes. A particularly large rip across the fox's chest, as well as a smaller rip along the lower right side and abs, reveals the pneumatically powered mechanical skeleton inside. The points of articulation overall, however, are too many to number and the expresses of face can be very uncanny due to this. Fast on his feet despite being undeniably heavy, his internal machinations make hardly any noise, but his metal feet create footsteps on most all surfaces. An internal speaker allows him the illusion of speaking from a mouth which has movements that mimic actual speech patterns and expressions

All appearance details considered, the seemingly-forgotten and unused audio-animatronic was once a great adaptation of the Fazbear and Friends cartoon character it represents due to its high-quality craftsmanship but now appears l̷͔̎e̴̮͘s̸̞̈́s̵̨͗ than suitable for any child-friendly presentation
|Extra2a='''Nightmare Foxy:''' 
Ṯ̶̨̦̻͙̾̂͂̊̚h̵̫̲͎͐̆̄͠e̶̠͂͑̒ ̴̳̟̇͜s̶̭̲͋c̶̥̮͚͚̜̈́̚ṟ̸̩͛a̶͓̦̻̿͗̒̍p̷̡̻̲͈̈̀͠͝e̸̥͊̎̈́̾́ ̸̞͍̺̻͂͌͗̎̀o̷̢̰̣̠͉̐͋̆̎̎f̴̩̻̼͂̇̈́͜ ̴̥͚͚̫̇a̵̠̭̩̺̓̉̈͐͝ ̸̘̈́́h̶̼͓͎̀o̶̢̖̮͉̒̓͝o̴̡͙̽k̶̩͎̊ͅ ̵̤͉͙̟̦̈̒͛͂͠c̸͙̦̽̓͆͠r̷͈͙͕̭͐i̴̘̓ḙ̷̓ș̸̢̖͎̣̑ ̵̨̫͙͑̑ǫ̸̙͙̼̫̐̐́͠ṵ̷͙̼͋̿̔t̵̨̮͖̒ ̴̹̪͔̀̊͜f̶̧͇̗̜͆̇o̶̭͎͍͎͛̉r̴̬͙͐ ̸͓̟̞̱̎̂̑̐m̵̢̏̒͂̇e̵̢̩̱̻͕͗̅̄́ą̸̠̠́̂͝ͅt̸̗̯́̈́ͅ.̴̮͖̭̾́̅͗

|Name2=Bonnie the Bunny
|Image2=Bonnie_Icon.jpg
|Age2=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate2=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height2=7'6"
|Weight2=~25 Stone
|Desc2=At full posture, standing around 7'6" tall (including the ears), is an anthropomorphic purple-furred rabbit. He appears to be quite fuzzy, plush, and soft. The fur is a high-quality synthetic that possesses the same delicate and lush properties that one finds in rabbit fur, although thicker overall, but it does not shed. The majority of the pelt is an eminence purple while the insides of the ears, the top part of his muzzle, underside of the fluffy bunny tail, and his chest and belly are a light orchid purple. He has bucktooth incisors among his white teeth, his big bunny nose is all black and a large red bow tie is affixed to his upper chest. His large expressive eyes are lined with twilight lavender to really help those expressions pop. As if to match his bow tie, his eyes' irises glow red.

Only certain joints, when moved in certain ways, fully b̸e̴t̴r̵a̴y̷ the nature of the rabbit by revealing mechanical parts, but the plush pelt that covers such internal workings is good at its job and has few failings. Thus, the creation remains a great adaptation of the Fazbear and Friends cartoon character it represents: he is large yet huggably soft and has far too many points of articulation to count. He is soft on his feet, but is undeniably heavy, while the machinations within provide almost no sound. An internal speaker allows him the illusion of speaking from a mouth which has movements that mimic actual speech patterns and expressions.

All appearance details considered, the high-quality craftsmanship put into such an expensive audio-animatronic provides a cordial presence and child-friendly presentation.
|Extra2b='''Nightmare Bonnie:''' 
This monster of a mechanical creation standing around 8 feet tall (not counting the ears) bears the resemblance of an anthropomorphic purple-furred rabbit. While what fur present appears to be fuzzy, plush, and soft -- the pelt certainly possesses qualities of real fur, as if the pelt worn was crudely s̸͉͒k̵̩̣̀i̴̲͑ṉ̵̹̄̊n̵͖̂ȩ̷͝d̸͙̖̅ from some such animal -- it does not cover the entirety of the nightmarish beast. Holes, almost seemingly formed by burning, are small and dot the pelt exposing internals. Most of the skin and fur that would otherwise cover the front of the abdomen is entirely absent. The internals are all purely mechanical, but seem to be far too broken, incomplete, and simple in design to allow the creature to function as it does. Furthermore, wires and cables for power and pneumatics sag low and in view, red in color and shiny, and may bring to mind a comparison to slick greasy intestines.

Other bits of that plush pelt covering are missing from other places, such as on one of the hands and one of the feet exposing sturdy robotic digits with deadly-looking sharp claws. The rabbit's teeth are anything but subtle and cute: they are over-sized, asymmetric, jagged pointy pillars lining the entirety of the upper and lower jaws. A large slick wet organic tongue rests beyond that toothy display. The pupils and irises of the eyes glow a s̷i̴n̴i̵s̷t̵e̶r̷ magenta. Multiple holes on the front of the top of the muzzle, where whiskers would otherwise be, glow with a supernatural light blue; in fact, that same eerie glow can be seen from other holes dotting the cheeks and from the neck where the robotics disappear underneath the covering for the head. Strangely, that glow is not seen coming from within the creature's mouth. The mouth and t̸̩͌h̵͍͘r̸͎̅ơ̸̼ą̷̍t̷͙̿ all look disturbingly organic.

While a big red bow tie is present upon the bunny's fluffy scruffy chest, it does little to detract from the hellscape so visually constructed. If anything, it adds to it. While not a physical observation, the mechanical nightmare does possess a near tangible aura of F̸̥̙̼͉̂Ě̴̠̣̞̖͔̝̈́̏̊͗̕A̴̛̫̲͔̘͍̳̬̬̓̔̃̀R̵̛͓͍̅̑̉̏͛̄̕͜ and unease...even when unseen yet nearby.

|Name3=Chica the Chicken
|Image3=Chica_Icon.jpg
|Age3=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate3=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height3=6'10"
|Weight3=~24 Stone
|Desc3=Chica the Chicken is more aloof than the boys and tends to have a more practical, if cynical, take on the people and situations she encounters. She can be wonderfully friendly, but her perceived bubbliness is usually temporary. While entertaining others, Chica enjoys being the lively party gal. However, when not under the stage lights or before an audience, she often becomes more quiet, sometimes even sullen, as she pursues her personal interests. A philosophical thinker, she explores her existence with a fascination for baking. While pizza creation is a given, she also enjoys learning how to make other sweeter things. Much like a steadfast older sister to the bunch, she won't back down from bullies and will gladly step in when she sees others being bullied.
|Extra2c='''Nightmare Chica:''' 
T̸̢͎̓̀r̷̛̟͒̌̀u̷͇̬͉̐̐́͠͝ȩ̶̻͇͔͐͐͆͠͠ͅ ̴̪̇h̸͓̮͈͑u̷͈͑̈́͗̈́͂ṉ̸̞̰̐̔g̶̗̩̻͌̂̎̎̕ẽ̴̙ṛ̶̛̺́̋̑ ̵̦͓̱̼̕n̴̳͛̈́e̵̪̰͈͘v̵̩̅̌̕e̴͙͆̅̒́r̴̜̞͆͑̕ ̷̬̫͔͙̾̕ͅḍ̶̱̌̽͝ï̷͙͖͌͌́ḙ̵̡̭͍͌͜s̵̱̐̿͌.̷̧̣̈͛̏̌͜

|Name4=Freddy Fazbear
|Image4=Freddy_Icon.jpg
|Age4=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate4=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height4=7'3"
|Weight4=~26 Stone
|Desc4=At full stature, standing around 7'3" tall (not including the top hat), is an anthropomorphic brown-furred bear. He appears to be quite fuzzy and plush with a bit of extra padding to make him very huggably ṣ̶̒ó̸͖f̵̨̍ţ̸͆. The fur is a high-quality synthetic that possesses the same thick and scruffy attributes that one might imagine in bear fur, although it is thicker overall and does not shed free. The majority of the pelt is a standard brown color while the upper half of his muzzle and the whole of his chest and belly are a dark cream. While not the tallest, he's certainly the largest, and wears a snazzy black bow tie affixed to his upper chest in addition to wearing, atop his head, his signature top hat. He also often has a microphone on hand. While his eyes can be the center of expression for such a strangely charismatic being, the irises tend to glow ṙ̴͎̙͉̚e̶̡̠̬̻̾̓͋̇ͅd̸̤͚̜͙̮̜̠̃́̾̚.

Only certain joints, moved in certain ways, fully betray the nature of the bear as something other than a large suit to be worn by revealing mechanical parts, yet the rich pelt that covers those hidden machinations is remarkably able to hide these internals and has few failings. Thus, the result remains a faithful adaptation of the titular Fazbear and Friends leader and franchise figurehead. He is large, yet soft, and has a seemingly impossible number of points of articulation in which to move and express. Nearly silent on his feet despite his weight, this aspect of stealthiness is increased by the fact his internals are also just as quiet. An internal speaker allows him the i̶l̵l̶u̸s̷i̴o̴n̸ of speaking from a mouth which has movements that mimic actual speech patterns and expressions.

All appearance details considered, the high-quality craftsmanship put into such an expensive audio-animatronic provides a cordial presence and child-friendly presentation of masterful quality.

Hey, kids: His nose hides a playful secret when touched!

[!]Under no circumstances should one ever touch the hat.[!]

.̶̭̊͒̅͝.̴̰̮̻̮̜̀̚.̵̰̙̬̟̓t̸͚̎ȯ̵̞̣̙̉͘ừ̵͕̰̞͙c̷̬͇͐́͝h̶̖͚̹͓̀̿̒̿ ̶̥̾̓̑̓̅ỉ̴͍̠͊t̶͙͍̂.̷̼̙̪͓̑̋̇͝.̶̨̪͎̣̞͂.̸̣̪͓̬̣̀̃

|Extra2d='''Nightmare Freddy:''' 
J̵̫̟͎̠͍́u̶͉̿͠͠͠s̵͉̞̔̽̔̇ţ̷͕́̿͂͐͜ ̸̩̩̘̈́̏́̿w̸̧̰̩̺̓̓̕͝h̷̠͍̘̝̆͆͐͋e̶̺͓̼͐̀̃͊̕ͅn̴̹̲̈́̑̀̾̽ ̶̫̜̬̊̉̈́y̴͓̳̽̊̅̍̉ȍ̷̻̹̫̤̏̏͆͐ù̵͍̝͙̃͝ ̸̯̖͕̥̜͋̉ť̵͈̯̝̫͆̐̉͜h̸̗̏͒̕͘͝ô̶͎̱͚̓u̶̱̬̘̦̣̽͂̄g̶͔̊̉̾̆h̴̦̏̕t̵̞̣͕̫̽̈́̏ ̸̘͖̤͖̎̐ỹ̵͙̜̫̠̙̓͘ǫ̷̧̜̋̽̕ų̴͓͖̘̈̌ ̵̲̿͐͘w̴̳̻̫͂̿́̿e̴̫̺̹͇̔̀r̴̞̳͋͆̾͑͋e̷̖̍ ̴̨̨̠̩́̀̇̊͘r̸͔͆̿è̸̯͇̩̱͎a̸̞̺̫͓̥͋̋́d̶̨̦̼̜̋̃̕͝y̷͕̞̎̒̉͊ͅ ̸̟͕̥̄f̸̡̜̞̾ŏ̴̖̦̉͋̓͗ṛ̵̨̛̼̥̟̈́͑͂ ̷̢̺̻̰̠̔̈́̈́̏F̶̟̊͗̏̈́ŗ̵̱͎͉̲̇̊̔͝ë̸͚́̀̓͊d̷̟̫̻͍͗̇̓̏͝ͅd̷̛̖̓̍̈́͠ỵ̸̢͒͊̋̿͝.̷̻̈́̇̈̂.̷̤̗̰̿͘.̴̬̼̯͙̇̍͌́͐

|Background=Fazbear and Friends is an animated children's cartoon from the mid-1980's depicting a group of anthropomorphic animals: a bear, a bunny, a chicken, and a fox. Together they form the titular band wherein Freddy sings lead vocals, Bonnie plays lead guitar, Chica is on the keyboard, and Foxy plays bass guitar. Their adventures are episodic and contain cartoon violence, cheap gags, and occasional mild adult humor. They tend to get caught up in the plots and plans of others as they tour the world and, through teamwork and disguises, somehow manage to save the day so they can entertain the crowds with song as a closing note.

Freddy Fazbear's Pizza is a pizzeria chain that was established due to the success of the cartoon which offers audio-animatronic entertainment. The four main characters from the show grace the stages and preprogrammed movements sync with played audio to produce a realistic experience for those willing to suspend disbelief. With genius engineering designs, the points of articulation on the large creations help to simulate lifelike organic movements through pneumatics while the overly fuzzy and soft shell hides the internal workings and provides pleasing appearances similar to those of large plush animals. The covering is soft, padded, and flexible as to not restrict mechanical movement while resisting tearing. Overall, the illusion of realism is uncanny.

But then: five kids were murdered. Young Gabriel, Fritz, Suzie, Jeremy, and Cassidy were brutally killed by a man named William Afton as part of a complex overarching plot against his former friend, Henry, as a bid to discredit the Fazbear name through bad publicity, and as part of his secret experiments to power mechanical devices with extracted souls in the hope of learning how to transfer consciousness and memories. Inadvertently, four of the five children's souls took to clinging to the robotic audio-animatronics that were present: Gabriel to Freddy, Fritz to Foxy, Suzie to Chica, and Jeremy to Bonnie. In so bonding, the robotic characters were given life. They were given sentience. And more importantly, they were given sapience.

While the memories of those children linger, they do so as echoes and not as projections. The children died, as did their senses of self -- their identities -- and the chance for them to 'live again', much like tales of reincarnation, is as something altogether new and different. They Are Not Children; they know as they have been programmed and as they witness in the cartoons of their adventures, and know that their popularity is real for they have stages to perform upon and merchandise that people buy. They may possess naivety, but they are able to learn. They may be electromechanical, but they are powered by a non-living force. They may not be malicious, but they can be very very dangerous. They may not remember much of their previous lives, but they remember the face of their deaths. Injustice is not tolerated.

Freddy Fazbear is the leader, the Boss Bear, and the band is named after him. He tends to be more serious than the rest and has the biggest temper. He works as coordinator for their shows and other plans and tends to take on the role of father figure for those he looks after. He sees most other humans as children, no matter their age, and tends to treat them as if they are such with all that it entails. He prefers to think of himself as the most popular of the four and can be jealous of his band mates' own popularity and attention. Whatever you do, do NOT touch his top hat.

Bonnie the Bunny is the most genuinely caring of the four and has a friendly nurturing personality. He displays great empathy and seeks to console those who are in emotional or physical pain. He enjoys playing music and singing as a way to cheer people up and actively seeks to be as helpful as possible. He also desires to understand more about the world around him and how things work. His kindness is genuine, but his peers sometimes take advantage of it. He has an artistic mind and enjoys writing songs and poetry and his creativity often helps the others in times of such need. Also, he just loves watching retro cartoons.

Chica the Chicken is more aloof than the boys and tends to have a more practical, if cynical, take on the people and situations she encounters. She can be wonderfully friendly, but her perceived bubbliness is usually temporary. While entertaining others, Chica enjoys being the lively party gal. However, when not under the stage lights or before an audience, she often becomes more quiet, sometimes even sullen, as she pursues her personal interests. A philosophical thinker, she explores her existence with a fascination for baking. While pizza creation is a given, she also enjoys learning how to make other sweeter things. Much like a steadfast older sister to the bunch, she won't back down from bullies and will gladly step in when she sees others being bullied.

Foxy the Pirate Fox is the odd one out in so many ways. No amount of restoration or repair ever manages to fix his overall appearance. Parts of his outer covering are ripped or missing thus exposing his internals, his mechanical lower legs, feet, and left hand. His right hand is actually a metal hook and doesn't look safe for interaction with children (or anybody) but he is remarkably careful with it. It is this articulation that allows him to pluck bass guitar strings perfectly. He is a risk-taker and his mischievousness can lead to perceived antagonism. Always ready for adventure, his story-telling reflects this, but his stubbornness can often lead the team astray and into trouble. While not necessarily mean-spirited, his pranks combined with his dominance can sometimes seem a little sadistic.

Each of the four have drastically changed demeanors during Nightmare transformation, however.

T̴̘̙̭̏̒̈́͘h̴̪̙̾̔̏̈́̊͌̚ȇ̸̡̨͈̝̰̲̂̍͗̃̚͜͝r̴̰̒̑̄́̉̊̐̈́́ͅễ̵̲̯̝̲͜ ̶̛͉̣̜̮̦͍̎͐̄̇̍̚i̷̤̼̥̔s̷̨̪̈́̏̽̓̋̚ ̶̢̡̣̮̹͍͔̹̫̀͒̚o̵̢̧̮̥̤̥͖̞͍̊͂͌͆̑̆͛ņ̶̨̫̥̥͍̙̾͌̕͜͝l̵̯̩̲̳͕͋̄̕ý̶̯̝̱͓̘̫̲̳̗͗̚ ̸̢̭̯͗̿F̷̢̹͙̞͇̪̻͕̩̓̾̑̒̈́͛̏͌r̷̩͖̘̺̝̪͚̼͌̓͂̈̎̔͛ě̴̬̥̟͔͖̼̲͓͕d̷̢̦̟̗̫̾̉̓̋͒̚b̷̬̫̌̑́͑̿͛̍̕͘͜ȅ̶͖̣̫͎̗̮̹͕͑̽̋a̵̳̱̭̳͑͊́̄̊̌͘͘͝r̵͕͇͍̅̃͂̍̿́̇͝.̷̯̺͕̩̺̲̾̈́̚͝͝͝ ̷̡̲̝̜̲͂̽̆̀͛̅̿ͅͅ ̷̧̬͇̦͕͚̘̹̈́͐͘͝ͅŤ̷̨̨̰͕̞͓̠h̷͇̑͊̒̾͗̓͠͝ȩ̷̩̠̟͈͔͖̰̇̚r̵͓̓̽͋͝e̵̙̱̭̙̽̀́͗̆̈̄̅̎ͅ ̴̬́̇̎̈́̆͗̓̈̈́i̸͓̙̦͙͗̊͠s̸͍̗̤͙̝͓̲̘͜͝ ̶̥̩̩͔͉̣͙͖͝ô̵̘̻̱͇͑̀̓͝n̸̮͈͍̪̏̐̅̄̿̌̾̃l̵͉͕͇̙͙̩̘͙͂̒̊̋̕͜͝y̷̖͔̪̙̖͒͂̑̎̕ͅ ̵̧͓̾̒̓̎̚͘F̴̼͍̟̠̲̦͎̎͗͐̓͘r̵̪͈͖̺͖̩͛͌̚̚e̴͚͇̰̺̥̲̻͑̍̀̇͑͗͒̚d̸̛͍̞̂̊̅͂̔͝͠ͅb̴̢͖̙̯̥̖̏̂̓̄̇́̽̔̿͜e̸̢̛͉̭̩͉̺̼͜͜a̷͔̞̪̲̦͐̽͒͒r̴̢͕͍̙̖̊͗̍͛͗͝͝.̸̥̯̼̄̔́̽͘ ̸̢̹̠͖̱̈́̈́̀̊̎͠ ̸̨̛̲̩̔̎͊̓͐̂̚͘ͅṪ̸̛̘̞̒̍̍̾̚͜ḧ̸̗̦͇̫̠́̐̈́͛̾̈ê̸̙͔̜̽̀͐̊̕͜r̶͓͛̿͋̀̆͑̚͝e̴̢̹̣̓̅̀̒͐̊ ̸̱̾̉̈i̶̲̝͎̙͓̫͍͉͕̔̋̓̀̑͌̾s̴̢̛̛̹͓̩̮̯̒̇̾̏͒̇ ̵̠͈͖́o̴͈͎̖̲͎̗̦͍̎̐̒́̽͆͠n̵͈͔̘̻͑͊l̷̼͔̬̙̝̝̲̻̓̈́͆ý̶͖͎̖̹́͛́͊̉̀͝ ̵̦͙̇͂̏̀̂͒F̷̲̖̟̰̠͊͆̃͂͋̈́̋͋ͅr̴̰͇̯̹̼̻͔̱͋̈́͑̎̆͗͜ė̴̢̙̖̬͎̮̪̅d̴̨̧̝͚̲̳̓b̵̢̡͍̦͖̜̥̘̦̈̃̀͐̐̍͝e̴̢̛͎̮̮̋̒͠å̴͚̠͒̔͑̓͠ṟ̷̡̧͍͆͐̒.̵̬̱̩̒̚ ̷̦̘͔̫̈́̒ ̸̧͇̳͓͂͗́Į̴̨͖̝͙̺̤̅͊t̴̰͚̳̻̟̃͗̔̓ͅ'̴̨̢͇̗̪̘̖̣́͛͋̒͋͐̇ş̶̩̹̙̯͚͙̅̑̅͐̆͘͘͝ ̴͈̼̲̙̮̊̔́̓͜͝͝m̸̢̖͎̤̟̹̐͐́̂e̶͖̐͌͒̀̀!̴͇̀ ̵̥̀̃̅͐̄͠͝͝͝ ̵̛̬̖͗͠T̸͍̻̯̳̰͔̫͚̃́̔̀́̄h̴̡̹͎̘̖͔͉̜͚͘e̸͉̰̫̘̾̉̓̔͗͊͂̅̚ͅͅr̵̖͖̫̯͓̭̦̥͚͑̓̇̿̃̈́ë̴̢̧̯͈̮̭̗́̇̚ ̵̡̘̝͓̤̱͆͑̽ȋ̶̛͖͈̭̳̋̑̀͋s̴͉͔͈̀̑̋̋̇̌̎̆ ̷̘̳͇͓́̇͒̀o̵̟͓͔͓̊̈́͗͗͛̕ņ̷̬͕̹̟̥͇̥̳̏̀͒̄͑l̸̬͈̭̝̀̎̔̓̈ͅy̴̡͕̱͝ ̵̛̙͇̤͈̘̹̒̈́̒̽͑̿͗̀F̸͍͖͐͗͑́̄̋͜r̶̺̳̫̹͚̀̒̒͐͝é̴̯̯͓̻̩̈̀͝ḑ̸͕̟̭̺͇͖̺̓̇̅̌́̊͝͠ͅb̶̢͕̼̐͝e̵̞͚͌̉̃͝å̷̢̱͈͍̺̳̘͚̭͊̅r̶̗̩̰̼̼͇̙̈́̀̄.̵̧̡̳͈̈́̋͊̿̍͜ ̷̱̝̓͐̾ ̷̛͍̮͕̟͗̈̋̋̕T̶̡͚̩̃͑̒h̶̢̛͖̬̙͎̙̽̔͋͂̉͛͂͜ẽ̷̮̜͓̲̟̬̰̺̃͘͠r̸̤̮̻̙͓̐̂̎͆͜ē̶̩̥͂̈́̍͐̉ͅ ̷̢̧̥͙̱̥͛͐́̚͜ì̷̡̱̬̞̠̳̺̦̒s̶͓̽͗͋̐ ̷̯̭̩̯̯̽͊͒̏o̴̗̤̞͛̓n̷̫͈̯̬̑̆̍̃̓͂̐̚͝l̴̢̛̻͈̺̯͎͙͙̟̅̽́̅͊y̵̡̧̯̟̼͉͙̆͑̐̀͗͋̚͘͝ ̵̟̩̘̲̠͉͔̗͓͌́̽͗́͌̉͊͘F̴̯̣̦̽͊̚r̶̡̝̱̍̓͋͒̆͊̈e̷̘̪̠̦̋̐̈́̾͌͘ͅd̸̨̲̝̝̯͖̝͗̋͋̆̇͑̍b̵̩̯̝̝͑̓͌͆͘͠͝ẽ̸̤̲̬̦̲̣͚̠̪̀̔͗́͋̚á̸̝̱̋͠ṛ̸̢̜̤̙̥̘̠̊̕͘.̵̛̰̤͇͈̠̍̀͐̈̓̈́́̽ ̶̡͈͔̪̥̠̣͂͋͑̉̋ ̴̡̤̜͎̇T̴̨̧̰̦̣̖͎́͒͗̓ȟ̴̛̦̦͎̭̤̼̈́̆̈̌͌͘̕e̵̛͕̼̥̓̋͂̀̅̽̚͜r̴̢͉̱̲̥̃̅̒e̶̢̫̪̲͈͙̜͊̂͜͜ ̸̡̯̳̪̝͇̀i̷̧̧̤̰̜̮̳̜̊͗̾̓̚̕ͅş̶̡̣̖̜̥͇̤̯̾͐̿̒́͝ ̵̞͂̔ö̴̳͓́̆̿̀n̶̟̏̈́̒̔͜l̸̦̰̻͝ÿ̴̧̦͇̰̮̗̤̝́̓̈́͒̍̑̿̒ ̸̂̿͋͜F̷̧̰̹͇̮̝̥̯̀̈́̑̒̈̀͑r̸̻̕e̴͈̼̭͉̱̻͎̔́͌̃̉̒̎ḍ̵̯͇̥́̄̉̈́̎̃̾b̵̝͈̘͈͍̟̹̥̲̏̏̀́̿͂͠͝ę̸̻͖̦͙̘̳̪͛́̿́̃͆͝ͅa̵͈̙̹̘͉͚͖̗̒̚ͅṛ̵̳̘̝̬̓̈́̍̔̚.̴̧̱͎͛̎̔̀̆̑͊̋͝ ̶̜̩̲͈͓̮̀̐͛̌ ̸̧͍̲̬̱̹̲̏̑̅͆̍̎I̴̛̫̬͖̦̽̃̿t̸̼̤̬͖̟̥̩͖̔̃͛́͒̋'̷̡̙͚̘́̃͗͊s̵̪̺͓̄ ̷̢͎͖͎́̾̒̾m̷̗̘̳͒͒̓̾́͋͋͝͝e̴͔̒͘!̸̧̼̜͓̱͕̮̏̀̈̀̆͘͘͘͝ ̶͙͊͋̌̏͗͠ ̶̢̛̟̘̮͈̆͊̇́T̶̯͈͆́̆͛̚͜ḩ̷̧̥̩͍͉̝̈́́͋̇͛͘e̴̢͖̬̰̹̩̞͖͋͒͛̎́͗͘r̸̛̳͕̙͑̈́͂̅̍̚e̴͔͉̠̗̳̿̾̎͘͜͠͝ ̶̠͙̙̫̻́̎͌͆̍̃́̀̆ï̷̧̛̦͙͍̼̦̩͖̳̍͛͒̑̕͠ş̴̻̘̤̫̬̟̳̓̾͘ ̶͕̂́͌͆͐̈́o̴̗̲̤̭͗̀́͛̽̿n̶̢̦̻̅̈́̈́̀l̷̢͖̯̼̝̲̪̣̱͊́̾̄y̷͍͈̬̟̬̖̼̖̑̀̌ ̴͓͖̂́͝F̷͚̭̝̳͖̩͙̂́̐̔̅͛͋̕͜r̵̠̟̈́͂̅̉̈́͐͜e̸̢̢̘͈̥͌̎̍̓̈́͘͜͝ḑ̴͇̦͙͕̿̾̽̀̈́̀͠b̷̨̲̮̯̬̰͚̀̋͝e̷̖͕̐̽́̈́̉͠a̴͉̺̰͓͓̍́r̸͍̲̓͛̍̈́̏͐͋̚.̸̥̀̄͛̆͂̄͐ ̴̼̏̄̏͂̊̑́͘̕͜ ̴̠͛Ṫ̸̛̳̮͊h̷̲̜̦͊̇͌͆͘͝ȩ̴̯̲̥̲̦̘͙̄ṛ̵̳̮̝̝̻̓̏͋̽͐̎́e̶͔͌͂̀͑̀̑̂ ̸̛͔̱̩̘͎͐͗͗̅̐͘i̶͓̞͈̹̅́̓͛̏̊s̷̘͖̘͉͛͆̽͐͝ ̵̘͙͖͎͔̞̲̓̈́o̸̧̢̯͉̼̿̎̽̓̒͜n̶̗̙̈́̈́̊̏̓͑̕l̶̢͙̱̒͊̄̕y̵̮̫̰̺̥͎̹̫͛͒̈́̈͑ ̶͔̥͉͔̘͛̓̈́̑̔͠D̶̨̳͔͈͖̤̱̽̀͆̋ę̵̧̛̼̠̦̯̞̱͒̔̍̌͛̚a̶̧͕̤̝̒̑̉̽̑͘͠t̴̛̛͈͙̪̣̱̱̪͖̽ͅh̸̪̲̣̗̓̏͜ͅ.̷̜̬̽̾̂̈́̿ ̶̧͙͇͕̻̘͍̲͖̃̌̂̾̇͝ ̵͎̀̏̆̈́͋̕T̴̠͑̓͊̐̉̓̓̎̈́ḥ̷̨̨̬̝̙̯̫̮̌̿́͑́͘̚e̸̢̛̹̩̰̋̿̆̽̔̈́̉̕r̶̬̟̈́͋̿͑̊ȩ̸̦̭͉̹̳̅ ̵̤̳̲̳̜̺͇̌î̵̞̙̊͆̒͐̌͝s̶̡̧̺͚̟̭̰͙̈́̈́̌͆̾̀͜͝͠ ̷̧̢̛̝̯̤̗̾̀͊͛͂͐̀o̶̢̦͓̰͙̮̥͛͘n̷̰̈́̑̓̽̓́͠ḽ̶̫̖̜̥̟̫̪́̀̽͊̈̇̄͠y̵̢̹͍̻̆̐̔̂͘̕ ̴̞̮̱͐͐͒̓̆̾͒͝͝Ḏ̸̢̤̺̣̭́̾̇̌́͝ê̸̯̰͖̣͕̹̞̓̇̑̍̈́̋a̷̯̼͊̽̇͑̇̓͘t̸̝̝͛̑͒̉h̵̬͙̑̈́̏̓͐́̆͝.̵̦̰̞͒̑̒͑͠ ̶̰̏̃̒͊̓̒̆̋͌ ̶̟̋́͂͗̅̉I̴̢̞͍̒̄̀͗̈́͗ͅt̷̛̹͖̹̦̦͎̞̍͑̅'̶̺̦̐̂͌̇̉̂s̴̮̮̩̈́̎̐͐ ̵̮̗͔͐̀̔̉͊͒̒͘m̷͈̘͕̥͍͈͔̣͒̀̃͆̈́̒̌͘̚ė̸̱̭̮͉̜ͅͅ!̵̬̦̪͕͖͌̄͌̈̏ͅͅ ̴̘̦̘̏̏̈́̈́͐͘ ̷͉̯̗̰̻̅̈́Ṯ̴̹̮̈́h̸̲̋́̌̎̈̐͘͝ȩ̵̨̲̩͚̜̙͙̃̔͊͗̈͘͝r̶̮͕̭̰̦͔̩̰̹̀̄̎e̸̩͇̙̞͒̈́͂ ̷̖̻͙͙̱̖̘̆̽̐͂́̊̈̀i̷̛̥̖͈̜͓̞̳̟̾̒̑̏̽̋͘ŝ̴̞̩̬̅̓̓̈̚ ̷̯̺͓̭͚̟̻͂̓͘ǫ̵̱̞̻̖̳͍̺̈͂n̵̝͈̖̼̐̓̂l̶̡̯͍̭̜͇̯̪̆̿̚͜ý̸̨̘̑̕ͅ ̵̯͒D̸̳̿̂͌̽̂ē̴̖̔̓̕͠a̴̡̠̣͉͖̠̦͙̼͐̔́t̴͖̜̬͎͑̓́h̸̛̙̻̞̗͎͓̗̀͑́̽͆̑͐ͅ.̷̼̠̼̼̎͒́̿̈́̈̿ ̴̡͈̰̹͙̝̅̋͛̿ ̸͙͓̥͉̙͈̩͋̿ͅT̴̢̢͕̲̪̘̿̃͐̇̅̍̀͘͝ḩ̶̤͉̺̳̘͈̓́̂̀͜͝ȩ̶̘̭̘̼͎̼̮̳͋̿̎̐́r̴͉͍͖̹̜͌̆͑͗ë̶̞̮̲̝̻͎́̇̓̔̓̊͠ ̷̹͆ī̷͈̟͗̓͂͐̌͠s̴͇͕͊ ̸̧̥̪̤̻̭̓ỏ̷͍̰̔͊͊̌n̴̹̹̝̤̰̝͈͂̑͌̀̕l̶̳͖̻̀͑͜ͅȳ̵̤͉͐̕̚ ̸̢̹͕̯̺̙͉̓͂̓̀͊̋̚͘͠D̸̪̻́́̚ę̴̪̪̝̜̮̺͓̈ả̸̦̹̜͑̓̌t̴̨̥̜͍̣̤̐̆͒́͑͛̈̚ͅh̷͉͒̂͐͌͗́̏̋ͅ.̸̯̻̘̮̳̉͒̃̍̉̾̏͛ ̵̨̮͔̱͖́̾͌̽̀̇͋͝ ̷̨̧̯͖̖͂̎͆̑́̕ͅT̵̢̰̦̰͎̼̆ḩ̶̳̥̍̔̓̅̍̔e̴̩̲̘͎̻̾̾͘ȓ̷͈̩̄̾́͑ę̵͔̹̜̤̭̣̪͛̀͊̌̔̾̒͐ͅ ̴̢̭͕̖̞̿͘͜į̵͎̙̭̻̳̰̇̂͌̓s̴̫͇͖̖̊̎̀͋́̒ ̸̧̭̠͔̲͚̉̔͛̋͛́̉̌̕ơ̷̡͕̟̿̇͋̆̀̉͛͗ǹ̵̟̭̼̈́͊̍̄͝ļ̷̤̪̞̩̬̅͂̒͐̃͊̀ẏ̴̲͍̙̣͍̓̎̓̔̀̐ ̶̖̅̽̉̐̈́̑̈́̅͝m̶͖̲̪̓͝ͅe̷̢̹̤̾̓̓̐̀̈̈́͊.̸̨̫͚̦̜͌̆ ̸̧̛̑̍͛̂͑ ̷̢͉̥̲̙͔̀̀͆͘Ǐ̸̺̺̠̦̘t̴͍̟̠͕̗̱̩̱͐̐'̸̡͍̫̻͎̲̒̈́͠s̷̪͇͚͍̮͍̥͓̏͐̈͋̎̔ ̷̎̓͗̿͊̀͋͜m̸͖̄́͋̅̊̑̑͘è̷̙̮͒̋͘!̴̡̢͕̘͚͕͆̾͊̊ ̵̨̨͖̙̦͚͖͛̈́͌̒̅̐ ̴̛̥̱̗̘̖̔͂̊̉͆̾̅́͜I̸͎̼̤͎̲̲͑̈́̈́͋͗̔͗̅ẗ̵̡͓͇̜͎̯́͒̈̈'̵̡̡̦̫̞̜͋̔͝ş̸̦͙̜͕̜͓̞͠ ̵̧̙̦̠̟̑̔̆́m̸̘̲͕̿͐͛̎͜ę̷̨̼͈̫̜͔̏ͅ!̷̥͇̤͔̰̙̜̀
|Skills=
|Gallery=<center><gallery>

</gallery></center>
|MusicEmbed=See [[Theme_Music]] for help with this section.
|Logs={{Template:Logs}}

|}}
[[Category:Active]]

Fazbear and Friends

2019-11-09T08:03:24Z

TheSmileDog:

{{2019Profile-4char|
|Image=Fazbear_-_Celebrate.jpg
|Name={{PAGENAME}}
|Pronunciation=
|Alias=FNAF
|Occupation=
|Series=Five Nights At Freddy's
|Threat=Street Sweeper
|Alignment=Various
|Gender=Various
|Species=Audio-animatronic Robots
|Short=These four audio-animatronics are tall compared to the average person and are in the likenesses of various animals: bear, fox, rabbit, and chicken. High quality craftsmanship, these four are often decked out in accessories for taking center stage in playing music and singing. Colorful, friendly, and adventurous they seek l̵̩͒ǫ̸͌v̸͈̏ė̴̖ and admiration in whichever adventure they wind u̸̳͛p̶̨̓ in.

Ḭ̷̧̛̟͙͖͚̥̭͎̺͔̳̯̊̉̌̇̄͂̏̒̈̌̀̉̌̃̓̕͘͜͠͝͠ͅͅţ̶̨̧̢̢̨̘̫͍̼̝̱͎̮̝̗̜͇̹̳͚̮͉̪͉̮̭̹̰͙͍͉̻̬͙̠͈͍̰̞͋̂͝ͅͅ'̵̨̨̨̡̧̨̢̛͓̜̞̠͇͇͉̯̳̲̻͍̱̖̹̜̥̮̭͉̳̺̻̱̼̗̹̮͂̀̽̐̾̇̈́̈́̓͆̏̍̂̂́̌̐̓̉̔͘͘͝͠͠s̷̢̧̨̠̺̟͇͚̳͎̝̤̦̝̭͉͖̀̑̽͒̆̒̓͒̆̊̒͂̀̍̓̆̍͗̉̀̓͛͐͛̐̇̈́͂͂͐͌̌͐͐͘͝͠͠͠ ̸̡̧̯̳̣̮̟̰̤̲̹̜̝͇͔̼̠̹͕̦̹̳͕̺̈́̐̈́̏͜͠͝ả̸̯͚̖̮̩͉̝̖͍̝̞͚͒̐͊̌̄̾́̚l̵̢̧̡̛̛̬̳͓̺̺͈̦̥̗͉̗͇̘͚͓̳͓͈̿́̊̒̋̅̀̏͛̎͗͂̀͛̈́̏̀̈̋͂͛́̎̊̓̕̕͜͜͝ľ̶̢̟̘͕̞͚̲̹͎͉̐̅̏͛̾̽͌͗̅̽̋̀̄̇́͂̿͐̊̂̇͘͘̕͜͜͝ ̶̧̢̣̭̞͕̳̦̲͔͎̮̺͇͈̖̻̦͖͖̪̫͉̖̱͙̩͙̟̫̱̲͈̼̤̮̺͓̥̪̙͆̈͑̀̆̂͋̓͒̌̿̊̔́͒̅̅͛̌́͋̇̾̚͝͝͝͝ą̸̧̧̧̛̘̫̯̩͕̭̫̥̮̖̼͕̳̙̪̩̫̜̣̀̂̇̿͊̿̂̓̈͐̏̌̉̌̓̇́̍̓̽̈́̑̏̈́̽̓̈́͐͒̈́͘̚͘̕͝͝͠ͅ ̸̞̺̮̩̓̾́̈́̉̌̀̃͛́̽̌̊̇̇͠ͅļ̶̧̢̛̟̳͇͎̭̞͉̰̤̘̻̖͚͇͔͔̤̳̺̮̱̬̠̦̹̟̭͔͇̠̣̘͔̞̻̯̥̥̣̠̈́̅͐̀̉̄̓̎̎̀̌͂̇̿̔̎̎͐͂͊̕̚͜͝͝ͅͅͅi̷̡̛̻̝̲̮̻̼̭̝̞̥̝̥̪̣̗͔̰̺̪̲͖̼̹̼̥̘͖͔̫͉͚̼̓͊̃͌́̎͌̈́̈́̾̓͂̋̑͑͆͆́̆͑̽͌̐̈̇̂̊̋̿̿̕̚͜ę̸̡̛̗̘̝̻̱̥̫͍͒͊̐͌͊͛̓͌̔̍͑̈́́̅̽̉̆̕͝͠͝.̸̡̛͈̼̺͇̯̝͍͕͕͕͔͉̜̩̣̗̣̤̖̮̻͔͖̳̯̦͇̂̎̔̀͌̋̀̚̕ͅͅ

|Extra1=

|Name1=Foxy the Pirate Fox
|Image1=Foxy_Icon.jpg
|Age1=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate1=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height1=6'6"
|Weight1=~23 Stone
|Desc1=At full height, standing around 6'6" tall, is an anthropomorphic red-furred fox. His pelt appears quite fuzzy, plush, and soft even if it does not cover him completely. The fur is a high-quality synthetic that possess the same delicate and lush properties that one finds in fox fur, although thicker and much shorter, but it does not shed. The majority of the pelt is a dark red-orange which has lost its vibrancy and appears aged. The upper-half of his muzzle, chest, and belly are a cream tan color instead. His numerous sharp teeth are mostly white, although he has a few gold t̷̤͝e̵̜͋e̴͉̊t̷͓̅h̸̦̓ placed among the number. An eyepatch may or may not cover his right eye; the accessory can be swiveled upward to reveal both eyes whose irises glow red.

The mechanical nature of the fox is painfully obvious. His pelt fails to cover his left hand and both feet and what covering there remains is speckled with small holes. A particularly large rip across the fox's chest, as well as a smaller rip along the lower right side and abs, reveals the pneumatically powered mechanical skeleton inside. The points of articulation overall, however, are too many to number and the expresses of face can be very uncanny due to this. Fast on his feet despite being undeniably heavy, his internal machinations make hardly any noise, but his metal feet create footsteps on most all surfaces. An internal speaker allows him the illusion of speaking from a mouth which has movements that mimic actual speech patterns and expressions

All appearance details considered, the seemingly-forgotten and unused audio-animatronic was once a great adaptation of the Fazbear and Friends cartoon character it represents due to its high-quality craftsmanship but now appears l̷͔̎e̴̮͘s̸̞̈́s̵̨͗ than suitable for any child-friendly presentation
|Extra2a='''Nightmare Foxy''' 

|Name2=Bonnie the Bunny
|Image2=Bonnie_Icon.jpg
|Age2=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate2=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height2=7'6"
|Weight2=~25 Stone
|Desc2=At full posture, standing around 7'6" tall (including the ears), is an anthropomorphic purple-furred rabbit. He appears to be quite fuzzy, plush, and soft. The fur is a high-quality synthetic that possesses the same delicate and lush properties that one finds in rabbit fur, although thicker overall, but it does not shed. The majority of the pelt is an eminence purple while the insides of the ears, the top part of his muzzle, underside of the fluffy bunny tail, and his chest and belly are a light orchid purple. He has bucktooth incisors among his white teeth, his big bunny nose is all black and a large red bow tie is affixed to his upper chest. His large expressive eyes are lined with twilight lavender to really help those expressions pop. As if to match his bow tie, his eyes' irises glow red.

Only certain joints, when moved in certain ways, fully b̸e̴t̴r̵a̴y̷ the nature of the rabbit by revealing mechanical parts, but the plush pelt that covers such internal workings is good at its job and has few failings. Thus, the creation remains a great adaptation of the Fazbear and Friends cartoon character it represents: he is large yet huggably soft and has far too many points of articulation to count. He is soft on his feet, but is undeniably heavy, while the machinations within provide almost no sound. An internal speaker allows him the illusion of speaking from a mouth which has movements that mimic actual speech patterns and expressions.

All appearance details considered, the high-quality craftsmanship put into such an expensive audio-animatronic provides a cordial presence and child-friendly presentation.
|Extra2b='''Nightmare Bonnie:''' 
This monster of a mechanical creation standing around 8 feet tall (not counting the ears) bears the resemblance of an anthropomorphic purple-furred rabbit. While what fur present appears to be fuzzy, plush, and soft -- the pelt certainly possesses qualities of real fur, as if the pelt worn was crudely s̸͉͒k̵̩̣̀i̴̲͑ṉ̵̹̄̊n̵͖̂ȩ̷͝d̸͙̖̅ from some such animal -- it does not cover the entirety of the nightmarish beast. Holes, almost seemingly formed by burning, are small and dot the pelt exposing internals. Most of the skin and fur that would otherwise cover the front of the abdomen is entirely absent. The internals are all purely mechanical, but seem to be far too broken, incomplete, and simple in design to allow the creature to function as it does. Furthermore, wires and cables for power and pneumatics sag low and in view, red in color and shiny, and may bring to mind a comparison to slick greasy intestines.

Other bits of that plush pelt covering are missing from other places, such as on one of the hands and one of the feet exposing sturdy robotic digits with deadly-looking sharp claws. The rabbit's teeth are anything but subtle and cute: they are over-sized, asymmetric, jagged pointy pillars lining the entirety of the upper and lower jaws. A large slick wet organic tongue rests beyond that toothy display. The pupils and irises of the eyes glow a s̷i̴n̴i̵s̷t̵e̶r̷ magenta. Multiple holes on the front of the top of the muzzle, where whiskers would otherwise be, glow with a supernatural light blue; in fact, that same eerie glow can be seen from other holes dotting the cheeks and from the neck where the robotics disappear underneath the covering for the head. Strangely, that glow is not seen coming from within the creature's mouth. The mouth and t̸̩͌h̵͍͘r̸͎̅ơ̸̼ą̷̍t̷͙̿ all look disturbingly organic.

While a big red bow tie is present upon the bunny's fluffy scruffy chest, it does little to detract from the hellscape so visually constructed. If anything, it adds to it. While not a physical observation, the mechanical nightmare does possess a near tangible aura of F̸̥̙̼͉̂Ě̴̠̣̞̖͔̝̈́̏̊͗̕A̴̛̫̲͔̘͍̳̬̬̓̔̃̀R̵̛͓͍̅̑̉̏͛̄̕͜ and unease...even when unseen yet nearby.

|Name3=Chica the Chicken
|Image3=Chica_Icon.jpg
|Age3=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate3=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height3=6'10"
|Weight3=~24 Stone
|Desc3=Chica the Chicken is more aloof than the boys and tends to have a more practical, if cynical, take on the people and situations she encounters. She can be wonderfully friendly, but her perceived bubbliness is usually temporary. While entertaining others, Chica enjoys being the lively party gal. However, when not under the stage lights or before an audience, she often becomes more quiet, sometimes even sullen, as she pursues her personal interests. A philosophical thinker, she explores her existence with a fascination for baking. While pizza creation is a given, she also enjoys learning how to make other sweeter things. Much like a steadfast older sister to the bunch, she won't back down from bullies and will gladly step in when she sees others being bullied.
|Extra2c='''Nightmare Chica:''' 

|Name4=Freddy Fazbear
|Image4=Freddy_Icon.jpg
|Age4=Young Adult(?)
|Birthdate4=Manufacture Date Unknown
|Height4=7'3"
|Weight4=~26 Stone
|Desc4=At full stature, standing around 7'3" tall (not including the top hat), is an anthropomorphic brown-furred bear. He appears to be quite fuzzy and plush with a bit of extra padding to make him very huggably ṣ̶̒ó̸͖f̵̨̍ţ̸͆. The fur is a high-quality synthetic that possesses the same thick and scruffy attributes that one might imagine in bear fur, although it is thicker overall and does not shed free. The majority of the pelt is a standard brown color while the upper half of his muzzle and the whole of his chest and belly are a dark cream. While not the tallest, he's certainly the largest, and wears a snazzy black bow tie affixed to his upper chest in addition to wearing, atop his head, his signature top hat. He also often has a microphone on hand. While his eyes can be the center of expression for such a strangely charismatic being, the irises tend to glow ṙ̴͎̙͉̚e̶̡̠̬̻̾̓͋̇ͅd̸̤͚̜͙̮̜̠̃́̾̚.

Only certain joints, moved in certain ways, fully betray the nature of the bear as something other than a large suit to be worn by revealing mechanical parts, yet the rich pelt that covers those hidden machinations is remarkably able to hide these internals and has few failings. Thus, the result remains a faithful adaptation of the titular Fazbear and Friends leader and franchise figurehead. He is large, yet soft, and has a seemingly impossible number of points of articulation in which to move and express. Nearly silent on his feet despite his weight, this aspect of stealthiness is increased by the fact his internals are also just as quiet. An internal speaker allows him the i̶l̵l̶u̸s̷i̴o̴n̸ of speaking from a mouth which has movements that mimic actual speech patterns and expressions.

All appearance details considered, the high-quality craftsmanship put into such an expensive audio-animatronic provides a cordial presence and child-friendly presentation of masterful quality.

Hey, kids: His nose hides a playful secret when touched!

[!]Under no circumstances should one ever touch the hat.[!]

.̶̭̊͒̅͝.̴̰̮̻̮̜̀̚.̵̰̙̬̟̓t̸͚̎ȯ̵̞̣̙̉͘ừ̵͕̰̞͙c̷̬͇͐́͝h̶̖͚̹͓̀̿̒̿ ̶̥̾̓̑̓̅ỉ̴͍̠͊t̶͙͍̂.̷̼̙̪͓̑̋̇͝.̶̨̪͎̣̞͂.̸̣̪͓̬̣̀̃

|Extra2d='''Nightmare Freddy:''' 
Just when you thought you were ready for Freddy...

|Background=Fazbear and Friends is an animated children's cartoon from the mid-1980's depicting a group of anthropomorphic animals: a bear, a bunny, a chicken, and a fox. Together they form the titular band wherein Freddy sings lead vocals, Bonnie plays lead guitar, Chica is on the keyboard, and Foxy plays bass guitar. Their adventures are episodic and contain cartoon violence, cheap gags, and occasional mild adult humor. They tend to get caught up in the plots and plans of others as they tour the world and, through teamwork and disguises, somehow manage to save the day so they can entertain the crowds with song as a closing note.

Freddy Fazbear's Pizza is a pizzeria chain that was established due to the success of the cartoon which offers audio-animatronic entertainment. The four main characters from the show grace the stages and preprogrammed movements sync with played audio to produce a realistic experience for those willing to suspend disbelief. With genius engineering designs, the points of articulation on the large creations help to simulate lifelike organic movements through pneumatics while the overly fuzzy and soft shell hides the internal workings and provides pleasing appearances similar to those of large plush animals. The covering is soft, padded, and flexible as to not restrict mechanical movement while resisting tearing. Overall, the illusion of realism is uncanny.

But then: five kids were murdered. Young Gabriel, Fritz, Suzie, Jeremy, and Cassidy were brutally killed by a man named William Afton as part of a complex overarching plot against his former friend, Henry, as a bid to discredit the Fazbear name through bad publicity, and as part of his secret experiments to power mechanical devices with extracted souls in the hope of learning how to transfer consciousness and memories. Inadvertently, four of the five children's souls took to clinging to the robotic audio-animatronics that were present: Gabriel to Freddy, Fritz to Foxy, Suzie to Chica, and Jeremy to Bonnie. In so bonding, the robotic characters were given life. They were given sentience. And more importantly, they were given sapience.

While the memories of those children linger, they do so as echoes and not as projections. The children died, as did their senses of self -- their identities -- and the chance for them to 'live again', much like tales of reincarnation, is as something altogether new and different. They Are Not Children; they know as they have been programmed and as they witness in the cartoons of their adventures, and know that their popularity is real for they have stages to perform upon and merchandise that people buy. They may possess naivety, but they are able to learn. They may be electromechanical, but they are powered by a non-living force. They may not be malicious, but they can be very very dangerous. They may not remember much of their previous lives, but they remember the face of their deaths. Injustice is not tolerated.

Freddy Fazbear is the leader, the Boss Bear, and the band is named after him. He tends to be more serious than the rest and has the biggest temper. He works as coordinator for their shows and other plans and tends to take on the role of father figure for those he looks after. He sees most other humans as children, no matter their age, and tends to treat them as if they are such with all that it entails. He prefers to think of himself as the most popular of the four and can be jealous of his band mates' own popularity and attention. Whatever you do, do NOT touch his top hat.

Bonnie the Bunny is the most genuinely caring of the four and has a friendly nurturing personality. He displays great empathy and seeks to console those who are in emotional or physical pain. He enjoys playing music and singing as a way to cheer people up and actively seeks to be as helpful as possible. He also desires to understand more about the world around him and how things work. His kindness is genuine, but his peers sometimes take advantage of it. He has an artistic mind and enjoys writing songs and poetry and his creativity often helps the others in times of such need. Also, he just loves watching retro cartoons.

Chica the Chicken is more aloof than the boys and tends to have a more practical, if cynical, take on the people and situations she encounters. She can be wonderfully friendly, but her perceived bubbliness is usually temporary. While entertaining others, Chica enjoys being the lively party gal. However, when not under the stage lights or before an audience, she often becomes more quiet, sometimes even sullen, as she pursues her personal interests. A philosophical thinker, she explores her existence with a fascination for baking. While pizza creation is a given, she also enjoys learning how to make other sweeter things. Much like a steadfast older sister to the bunch, she won't back down from bullies and will gladly step in when she sees others being bullied.

Foxy the Pirate Fox is the odd one out in so many ways. No amount of restoration or repair ever manages to fix his overall appearance. Parts of his outer covering are ripped or missing thus exposing his internals, his mechanical lower legs, feet, and left hand. His right hand is actually a metal hook and doesn't look safe for interaction with children (or anybody) but he is remarkably careful with it. It is this articulation that allows him to pluck bass guitar strings perfectly. He is a risk-taker and his mischievousness can lead to perceived antagonism. Always ready for adventure, his story-telling reflects this, but his stubbornness can often lead the team astray and into trouble. While not necessarily mean-spirited, his pranks combined with his dominance can sometimes seem a little sadistic.

Each of the four have drastically changed demeanors during Nightmare transformation, however.

T̴̘̙̭̏̒̈́͘h̴̪̙̾̔̏̈́̊͌̚ȇ̸̡̨͈̝̰̲̂̍͗̃̚͜͝r̴̰̒̑̄́̉̊̐̈́́ͅễ̵̲̯̝̲͜ ̶̛͉̣̜̮̦͍̎͐̄̇̍̚i̷̤̼̥̔s̷̨̪̈́̏̽̓̋̚ ̶̢̡̣̮̹͍͔̹̫̀͒̚o̵̢̧̮̥̤̥͖̞͍̊͂͌͆̑̆͛ņ̶̨̫̥̥͍̙̾͌̕͜͝l̵̯̩̲̳͕͋̄̕ý̶̯̝̱͓̘̫̲̳̗͗̚ ̸̢̭̯͗̿F̷̢̹͙̞͇̪̻͕̩̓̾̑̒̈́͛̏͌r̷̩͖̘̺̝̪͚̼͌̓͂̈̎̔͛ě̴̬̥̟͔͖̼̲͓͕d̷̢̦̟̗̫̾̉̓̋͒̚b̷̬̫̌̑́͑̿͛̍̕͘͜ȅ̶͖̣̫͎̗̮̹͕͑̽̋a̵̳̱̭̳͑͊́̄̊̌͘͘͝r̵͕͇͍̅̃͂̍̿́̇͝.̷̯̺͕̩̺̲̾̈́̚͝͝͝ ̷̡̲̝̜̲͂̽̆̀͛̅̿ͅͅ ̷̧̬͇̦͕͚̘̹̈́͐͘͝ͅŤ̷̨̨̰͕̞͓̠h̷͇̑͊̒̾͗̓͠͝ȩ̷̩̠̟͈͔͖̰̇̚r̵͓̓̽͋͝e̵̙̱̭̙̽̀́͗̆̈̄̅̎ͅ ̴̬́̇̎̈́̆͗̓̈̈́i̸͓̙̦͙͗̊͠s̸͍̗̤͙̝͓̲̘͜͝ ̶̥̩̩͔͉̣͙͖͝ô̵̘̻̱͇͑̀̓͝n̸̮͈͍̪̏̐̅̄̿̌̾̃l̵͉͕͇̙͙̩̘͙͂̒̊̋̕͜͝y̷̖͔̪̙̖͒͂̑̎̕ͅ ̵̧͓̾̒̓̎̚͘F̴̼͍̟̠̲̦͎̎͗͐̓͘r̵̪͈͖̺͖̩͛͌̚̚e̴͚͇̰̺̥̲̻͑̍̀̇͑͗͒̚d̸̛͍̞̂̊̅͂̔͝͠ͅb̴̢͖̙̯̥̖̏̂̓̄̇́̽̔̿͜e̸̢̛͉̭̩͉̺̼͜͜a̷͔̞̪̲̦͐̽͒͒r̴̢͕͍̙̖̊͗̍͛͗͝͝.̸̥̯̼̄̔́̽͘ ̸̢̹̠͖̱̈́̈́̀̊̎͠ ̸̨̛̲̩̔̎͊̓͐̂̚͘ͅṪ̸̛̘̞̒̍̍̾̚͜ḧ̸̗̦͇̫̠́̐̈́͛̾̈ê̸̙͔̜̽̀͐̊̕͜r̶͓͛̿͋̀̆͑̚͝e̴̢̹̣̓̅̀̒͐̊ ̸̱̾̉̈i̶̲̝͎̙͓̫͍͉͕̔̋̓̀̑͌̾s̴̢̛̛̹͓̩̮̯̒̇̾̏͒̇ ̵̠͈͖́o̴͈͎̖̲͎̗̦͍̎̐̒́̽͆͠n̵͈͔̘̻͑͊l̷̼͔̬̙̝̝̲̻̓̈́͆ý̶͖͎̖̹́͛́͊̉̀͝ ̵̦͙̇͂̏̀̂͒F̷̲̖̟̰̠͊͆̃͂͋̈́̋͋ͅr̴̰͇̯̹̼̻͔̱͋̈́͑̎̆͗͜ė̴̢̙̖̬͎̮̪̅d̴̨̧̝͚̲̳̓b̵̢̡͍̦͖̜̥̘̦̈̃̀͐̐̍͝e̴̢̛͎̮̮̋̒͠å̴͚̠͒̔͑̓͠ṟ̷̡̧͍͆͐̒.̵̬̱̩̒̚ ̷̦̘͔̫̈́̒ ̸̧͇̳͓͂͗́Į̴̨͖̝͙̺̤̅͊t̴̰͚̳̻̟̃͗̔̓ͅ'̴̨̢͇̗̪̘̖̣́͛͋̒͋͐̇ş̶̩̹̙̯͚͙̅̑̅͐̆͘͘͝ ̴͈̼̲̙̮̊̔́̓͜͝͝m̸̢̖͎̤̟̹̐͐́̂e̶͖̐͌͒̀̀!̴͇̀ ̵̥̀̃̅͐̄͠͝͝͝ ̵̛̬̖͗͠T̸͍̻̯̳̰͔̫͚̃́̔̀́̄h̴̡̹͎̘̖͔͉̜͚͘e̸͉̰̫̘̾̉̓̔͗͊͂̅̚ͅͅr̵̖͖̫̯͓̭̦̥͚͑̓̇̿̃̈́ë̴̢̧̯͈̮̭̗́̇̚ ̵̡̘̝͓̤̱͆͑̽ȋ̶̛͖͈̭̳̋̑̀͋s̴͉͔͈̀̑̋̋̇̌̎̆ ̷̘̳͇͓́̇͒̀o̵̟͓͔͓̊̈́͗͗͛̕ņ̷̬͕̹̟̥͇̥̳̏̀͒̄͑l̸̬͈̭̝̀̎̔̓̈ͅy̴̡͕̱͝ ̵̛̙͇̤͈̘̹̒̈́̒̽͑̿͗̀F̸͍͖͐͗͑́̄̋͜r̶̺̳̫̹͚̀̒̒͐͝é̴̯̯͓̻̩̈̀͝ḑ̸͕̟̭̺͇͖̺̓̇̅̌́̊͝͠ͅb̶̢͕̼̐͝e̵̞͚͌̉̃͝å̷̢̱͈͍̺̳̘͚̭͊̅r̶̗̩̰̼̼͇̙̈́̀̄.̵̧̡̳͈̈́̋͊̿̍͜ ̷̱̝̓͐̾ ̷̛͍̮͕̟͗̈̋̋̕T̶̡͚̩̃͑̒h̶̢̛͖̬̙͎̙̽̔͋͂̉͛͂͜ẽ̷̮̜͓̲̟̬̰̺̃͘͠r̸̤̮̻̙͓̐̂̎͆͜ē̶̩̥͂̈́̍͐̉ͅ ̷̢̧̥͙̱̥͛͐́̚͜ì̷̡̱̬̞̠̳̺̦̒s̶͓̽͗͋̐ ̷̯̭̩̯̯̽͊͒̏o̴̗̤̞͛̓n̷̫͈̯̬̑̆̍̃̓͂̐̚͝l̴̢̛̻͈̺̯͎͙͙̟̅̽́̅͊y̵̡̧̯̟̼͉͙̆͑̐̀͗͋̚͘͝ ̵̟̩̘̲̠͉͔̗͓͌́̽͗́͌̉͊͘F̴̯̣̦̽͊̚r̶̡̝̱̍̓͋͒̆͊̈e̷̘̪̠̦̋̐̈́̾͌͘ͅd̸̨̲̝̝̯͖̝͗̋͋̆̇͑̍b̵̩̯̝̝͑̓͌͆͘͠͝ẽ̸̤̲̬̦̲̣͚̠̪̀̔͗́͋̚á̸̝̱̋͠ṛ̸̢̜̤̙̥̘̠̊̕͘.̵̛̰̤͇͈̠̍̀͐̈̓̈́́̽ ̶̡͈͔̪̥̠̣͂͋͑̉̋ ̴̡̤̜͎̇T̴̨̧̰̦̣̖͎́͒͗̓ȟ̴̛̦̦͎̭̤̼̈́̆̈̌͌͘̕e̵̛͕̼̥̓̋͂̀̅̽̚͜r̴̢͉̱̲̥̃̅̒e̶̢̫̪̲͈͙̜͊̂͜͜ ̸̡̯̳̪̝͇̀i̷̧̧̤̰̜̮̳̜̊͗̾̓̚̕ͅş̶̡̣̖̜̥͇̤̯̾͐̿̒́͝ ̵̞͂̔ö̴̳͓́̆̿̀n̶̟̏̈́̒̔͜l̸̦̰̻͝ÿ̴̧̦͇̰̮̗̤̝́̓̈́͒̍̑̿̒ ̸̂̿͋͜F̷̧̰̹͇̮̝̥̯̀̈́̑̒̈̀͑r̸̻̕e̴͈̼̭͉̱̻͎̔́͌̃̉̒̎ḍ̵̯͇̥́̄̉̈́̎̃̾b̵̝͈̘͈͍̟̹̥̲̏̏̀́̿͂͠͝ę̸̻͖̦͙̘̳̪͛́̿́̃͆͝ͅa̵͈̙̹̘͉͚͖̗̒̚ͅṛ̵̳̘̝̬̓̈́̍̔̚.̴̧̱͎͛̎̔̀̆̑͊̋͝ ̶̜̩̲͈͓̮̀̐͛̌ ̸̧͍̲̬̱̹̲̏̑̅͆̍̎I̴̛̫̬͖̦̽̃̿t̸̼̤̬͖̟̥̩͖̔̃͛́͒̋'̷̡̙͚̘́̃͗͊s̵̪̺͓̄ ̷̢͎͖͎́̾̒̾m̷̗̘̳͒͒̓̾́͋͋͝͝e̴͔̒͘!̸̧̼̜͓̱͕̮̏̀̈̀̆͘͘͘͝ ̶͙͊͋̌̏͗͠ ̶̢̛̟̘̮͈̆͊̇́T̶̯͈͆́̆͛̚͜ḩ̷̧̥̩͍͉̝̈́́͋̇͛͘e̴̢͖̬̰̹̩̞͖͋͒͛̎́͗͘r̸̛̳͕̙͑̈́͂̅̍̚e̴͔͉̠̗̳̿̾̎͘͜͠͝ ̶̠͙̙̫̻́̎͌͆̍̃́̀̆ï̷̧̛̦͙͍̼̦̩͖̳̍͛͒̑̕͠ş̴̻̘̤̫̬̟̳̓̾͘ ̶͕̂́͌͆͐̈́o̴̗̲̤̭͗̀́͛̽̿n̶̢̦̻̅̈́̈́̀l̷̢͖̯̼̝̲̪̣̱͊́̾̄y̷͍͈̬̟̬̖̼̖̑̀̌ ̴͓͖̂́͝F̷͚̭̝̳͖̩͙̂́̐̔̅͛͋̕͜r̵̠̟̈́͂̅̉̈́͐͜e̸̢̢̘͈̥͌̎̍̓̈́͘͜͝ḑ̴͇̦͙͕̿̾̽̀̈́̀͠b̷̨̲̮̯̬̰͚̀̋͝e̷̖͕̐̽́̈́̉͠a̴͉̺̰͓͓̍́r̸͍̲̓͛̍̈́̏͐͋̚.̸̥̀̄͛̆͂̄͐ ̴̼̏̄̏͂̊̑́͘̕͜ ̴̠͛Ṫ̸̛̳̮͊h̷̲̜̦͊̇͌͆͘͝ȩ̴̯̲̥̲̦̘͙̄ṛ̵̳̮̝̝̻̓̏͋̽͐̎́e̶͔͌͂̀͑̀̑̂ ̸̛͔̱̩̘͎͐͗͗̅̐͘i̶͓̞͈̹̅́̓͛̏̊s̷̘͖̘͉͛͆̽͐͝ ̵̘͙͖͎͔̞̲̓̈́o̸̧̢̯͉̼̿̎̽̓̒͜n̶̗̙̈́̈́̊̏̓͑̕l̶̢͙̱̒͊̄̕y̵̮̫̰̺̥͎̹̫͛͒̈́̈͑ ̶͔̥͉͔̘͛̓̈́̑̔͠D̶̨̳͔͈͖̤̱̽̀͆̋ę̵̧̛̼̠̦̯̞̱͒̔̍̌͛̚a̶̧͕̤̝̒̑̉̽̑͘͠t̴̛̛͈͙̪̣̱̱̪͖̽ͅh̸̪̲̣̗̓̏͜ͅ.̷̜̬̽̾̂̈́̿ ̶̧͙͇͕̻̘͍̲͖̃̌̂̾̇͝ ̵͎̀̏̆̈́͋̕T̴̠͑̓͊̐̉̓̓̎̈́ḥ̷̨̨̬̝̙̯̫̮̌̿́͑́͘̚e̸̢̛̹̩̰̋̿̆̽̔̈́̉̕r̶̬̟̈́͋̿͑̊ȩ̸̦̭͉̹̳̅ ̵̤̳̲̳̜̺͇̌î̵̞̙̊͆̒͐̌͝s̶̡̧̺͚̟̭̰͙̈́̈́̌͆̾̀͜͝͠ ̷̧̢̛̝̯̤̗̾̀͊͛͂͐̀o̶̢̦͓̰͙̮̥͛͘n̷̰̈́̑̓̽̓́͠ḽ̶̫̖̜̥̟̫̪́̀̽͊̈̇̄͠y̵̢̹͍̻̆̐̔̂͘̕ ̴̞̮̱͐͐͒̓̆̾͒͝͝Ḏ̸̢̤̺̣̭́̾̇̌́͝ê̸̯̰͖̣͕̹̞̓̇̑̍̈́̋a̷̯̼͊̽̇͑̇̓͘t̸̝̝͛̑͒̉h̵̬͙̑̈́̏̓͐́̆͝.̵̦̰̞͒̑̒͑͠ ̶̰̏̃̒͊̓̒̆̋͌ ̶̟̋́͂͗̅̉I̴̢̞͍̒̄̀͗̈́͗ͅt̷̛̹͖̹̦̦͎̞̍͑̅'̶̺̦̐̂͌̇̉̂s̴̮̮̩̈́̎̐͐ ̵̮̗͔͐̀̔̉͊͒̒͘m̷͈̘͕̥͍͈͔̣͒̀̃͆̈́̒̌͘̚ė̸̱̭̮͉̜ͅͅ!̵̬̦̪͕͖͌̄͌̈̏ͅͅ ̴̘̦̘̏̏̈́̈́͐͘ ̷͉̯̗̰̻̅̈́Ṯ̴̹̮̈́h̸̲̋́̌̎̈̐͘͝ȩ̵̨̲̩͚̜̙͙̃̔͊͗̈͘͝r̶̮͕̭̰̦͔̩̰̹̀̄̎e̸̩͇̙̞͒̈́͂ ̷̖̻͙͙̱̖̘̆̽̐͂́̊̈̀i̷̛̥̖͈̜͓̞̳̟̾̒̑̏̽̋͘ŝ̴̞̩̬̅̓̓̈̚ ̷̯̺͓̭͚̟̻͂̓͘ǫ̵̱̞̻̖̳͍̺̈͂n̵̝͈̖̼̐̓̂l̶̡̯͍̭̜͇̯̪̆̿̚͜ý̸̨̘̑̕ͅ ̵̯͒D̸̳̿̂͌̽̂ē̴̖̔̓̕͠a̴̡̠̣͉͖̠̦͙̼͐̔́t̴͖̜̬͎͑̓́h̸̛̙̻̞̗͎͓̗̀͑́̽͆̑͐ͅ.̷̼̠̼̼̎͒́̿̈́̈̿ ̴̡͈̰̹͙̝̅̋͛̿ ̸͙͓̥͉̙͈̩͋̿ͅT̴̢̢͕̲̪̘̿̃͐̇̅̍̀͘͝ḩ̶̤͉̺̳̘͈̓́̂̀͜͝ȩ̶̘̭̘̼͎̼̮̳͋̿̎̐́r̴͉͍͖̹̜͌̆͑͗ë̶̞̮̲̝̻͎́̇̓̔̓̊͠ ̷̹͆ī̷͈̟͗̓͂͐̌͠s̴͇͕͊ ̸̧̥̪̤̻̭̓ỏ̷͍̰̔͊͊̌n̴̹̹̝̤̰̝͈͂̑͌̀̕l̶̳͖̻̀͑͜ͅȳ̵̤͉͐̕̚ ̸̢̹͕̯̺̙͉̓͂̓̀͊̋̚͘͠D̸̪̻́́̚ę̴̪̪̝̜̮̺͓̈ả̸̦̹̜͑̓̌t̴̨̥̜͍̣̤̐̆͒́͑͛̈̚ͅh̷͉͒̂͐͌͗́̏̋ͅ.̸̯̻̘̮̳̉͒̃̍̉̾̏͛ ̵̨̮͔̱͖́̾͌̽̀̇͋͝ ̷̨̧̯͖̖͂̎͆̑́̕ͅT̵̢̰̦̰͎̼̆ḩ̶̳̥̍̔̓̅̍̔e̴̩̲̘͎̻̾̾͘ȓ̷͈̩̄̾́͑ę̵͔̹̜̤̭̣̪͛̀͊̌̔̾̒͐ͅ ̴̢̭͕̖̞̿͘͜į̵͎̙̭̻̳̰̇̂͌̓s̴̫͇͖̖̊̎̀͋́̒ ̸̧̭̠͔̲͚̉̔͛̋͛́̉̌̕ơ̷̡͕̟̿̇͋̆̀̉͛͗ǹ̵̟̭̼̈́͊̍̄͝ļ̷̤̪̞̩̬̅͂̒͐̃͊̀ẏ̴̲͍̙̣͍̓̎̓̔̀̐ ̶̖̅̽̉̐̈́̑̈́̅͝m̶͖̲̪̓͝ͅe̷̢̹̤̾̓̓̐̀̈̈́͊.̸̨̫͚̦̜͌̆ ̸̧̛̑̍͛̂͑ ̷̢͉̥̲̙͔̀̀͆͘Ǐ̸̺̺̠̦̘t̴͍̟̠͕̗̱̩̱͐̐'̸̡͍̫̻͎̲̒̈́͠s̷̪͇͚͍̮͍̥͓̏͐̈͋̎̔ ̷̎̓͗̿͊̀͋͜m̸͖̄́͋̅̊̑̑͘è̷̙̮͒̋͘!̴̡̢͕̘͚͕͆̾͊̊ ̵̨̨͖̙̦͚͖͛̈́͌̒̅̐ ̴̛̥̱̗̘̖̔͂̊̉͆̾̅́͜I̸͎̼̤͎̲̲͑̈́̈́͋͗̔͗̅ẗ̵̡͓͇̜͎̯́͒̈̈'̵̡̡̦̫̞̜͋̔͝ş̸̦͙̜͕̜͓̞͠ ̵̧̙̦̠̟̑̔̆́m̸̘̲͕̿͐͛̎͜ę̷̨̼͈̫̜͔̏ͅ!̷̥͇̤͔̰̙̜̀
|Skills=
|Gallery=<center><gallery>

</gallery></center>
|MusicEmbed=See [[Theme_Music]] for help with this section.
|Logs={{Template:Logs}}

|}}
[[Category:Active]]

Fazbear and Friends

2019-11-09T06:53:35Z

TheSmileDog:

Fazbear and Friends

2019-11-09T05:25:06Z

TheSmileDog:

File:Bonnie Icon.jpg

2019-11-09T05:17:55Z

TheSmileDog:

File:Foxy Icon.jpg

2019-11-09T05:16:56Z

TheSmileDog:

File:Chica Icon.jpg

2019-11-09T05:16:12Z

TheSmileDog:

File:Freddy Icon.jpg

2019-11-09T05:14:06Z

TheSmileDog:

File:Classic Chica.jpg

2019-11-09T04:25:53Z

TheSmileDog:

File:Fazbear - Celebrate.jpg

2019-11-08T18:12:10Z

TheSmileDog: