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Tell The OC Below A Secret!

Posted 4 years, 10 days ago (Edited 1 year, 9 months ago) by Vapor

RULE UPDATE [8/3/2022]

Once again, pretty self-explanatory thread. Your character tells the next character a secret about themselves, they respond, and so the cycle continues with them.

RULES AND GUIDELINES:

Keep NSFW to a minimum -- suggestions, implications, and innuendos are generally fine, but keep in mind that minors have access to this thread.
- Romantic interactions are allowed, but only between adult characters.
- Sensitive or gory interactions are also allowed, but must be put under a spoiler or blacked out.
Remember to post IC! The IC button is on top of the field where you write your post, just switch it on and select the character you wish to use.
There is a five sentence minimum in your response to the character above!
- As a general suggestion, not quite a rule, however, please try to match half the post of the person you are responding to.
You may only post every three posts or three days after the last post, not three days after your own.
- Example: [You] [x] [x] [x] [You] or You [x] [x] [three days pass] [You]
You may post a "claim" to avoid getting sniped, but please do not take too long on it!
- You will be pinged here with a reminder after twelve hours of an unfinished claim. After twenty-four hours of an unfinished claim, you can be skipped by the next person.
You must prove that you have read the post that you have responded to. Your post must contain elements of the post above and/or the above character's information.
Be kind to your fellow players, but know that in-character views are not their own out-of-character. Just because their character's rude to yours doesn't mean they themselves feel that way!
- Do not skip over users who have you blocked or who you have blocked. Wait for someone else to respond to them before posting.
I supervise this thread as much as I can, but if you spot problems, please either DM or ping me.

Manslaughter Vapor

Manslaughter didn't care about the question of how or why this guy had a television for a head, but what she did care about were the possibilities of her, at long last, being able to play the games she actually wanted to play. No more stupid "girly" shit like Nintendogs. She assumed that, finally, she was free.

All she had to do now was pray to whatever god was out there that he would agree to let her do this.

"I want to borrow your head." She told him. A pretty weird way to phrase it, but... "I wanna play Skyrim on you. You got Skyrim? I can go and steal Skyrim or something from a WalMart. Need an Xbox, too, I think. Can go get that shit real fast, and then--" She paused for a moment to cough, hacking up her lungs. Glad she's finally dying. "Then... Yeah?"

Manslaughter grabbed the other party by the arm, not at all paying attention to the screaming behind her. At the speed of fucking light, she yanked them towards an alleyway with all the strength a shitty little ten-year-old could possibly manage. And, when they were alone, she took in a deep breath and looked anxiously towards the square, where a man paced helplessly.

She was safe now, surely. He didn't look like he could see either of them.

The girl held out her other hand to the stranger, muttering a small "look". Out popped half of a paper bill. It was twenty bucks. Obviously stolen.

Angelo Summers bulgariansumo

A tiny, grubby little hand dug its way into Angelo's arm and dragged him into an alleyway. His captor didn't seem to be bothered by his screaming, nor did anyone else. Still, he felt a little embarrassed upon hearing a child's voice come from behind her mask.

She thrust half of a $20 bill at him, demanding he look at it.

"Uh...? Do you want me to t-take this?" He didn't know what use anyone would have for half of a $20 bill, and almost asked if it was stolen, but arguing with a strange child in a bloody mask felt like a bad idea.

"Please don't t-tell anybody I know this, but I, uh, I maybe kind of know of a place where you can get someone to edit your birth certificate. It's not entirely legal though..." His last sentence trailed off into a whisper. "But it is a good price! If you ever need it, I-I could help you, at least, as long as you're not using it to do anything t-t-terrible." He then leaned his face into his hand, drifting off into thought. "Although, if someone threatened me, I don't really know if I could do much about it..."

A range of anxious expressions flicker across Angelo's face before finally settling on dread.

"Actually, please forget I ever told you this! I'm so s-s--I'm really sorry for bothering you!"

Roswell van Breek fizzelston

He smiled. Big, broad, and scheming. Roswell cleaned a bit closer, as if he wanted to catch every word poor Angelo muttered. His eye almost gleaming. "Well well, dat sounds dangerous!" He said with a fake gasp. "Very dangerous, yer can get in trouble for dis yer know? De Jakes han' you for less, " Roswell scooped a bit closer. "But yer can trust me, " he said. Showing his hand with a missing finger. The sign of a thief. "They dunt seem to loike me, " he lightly stated. "Oi can pay yer a good sum for address as long as we promise each other not to rat out de other by the Citywatch alroight? We don't want to han' out together, " he said with sharp unfriendly laughter.

Roswell carefully played with the coin that was shoved into his hands. He rubbed it with his thumb while clearly deep in thought. "Aye, ye, " he finally cracked. Money seemed to get that result out of him, one way or the other. "Oi can du magic. For a small price, " he stopped fidgeting with the coin. Frowned. "Not loike card tricks, or can do dat too but Oi dunt think yer here for dat. Oi mean curses," he paused. Eying you a bit warily. As he stated before, 'de citywatch would han' yer fur less'. "So whatcha need? Oi can enchant yer pocket watch to tick along with yer heartbeat, make yer sume lucky trinkets. Small curses, yer name it."

Small follow up lets go

"Oh, oi've 'eard of the other types of magic too, " Roswell said. Leaning back casually in his chair, as his only eye scanned the bar they sat in. He snorted. "De fancy stuff dats flowing around here, manipulating all kind of meterial loike flames and such," Roswell shook his head before leaning back. His eye almost glimmer with pride. "Oi'm talkin' about esotericism," he continued. "Rituals. Oi canny conquer up some ice with de snap of me finger, oi just knowh de roight..rituals," Roswell smiled. A hint of his not so pearly white teeth bearing. "Stuff like dat can take 'ours. Sometimes days! Yer need de roight materials, salt, herbs..offerings loike dead vermin, human hair and nails..blood," Roswell said casually. What a great father figure he was. He then showed his hand palm with his missing finger to the youth. His olived colored skin was full with small white scars. "It cost a proice yet know," de smile was gone and..maybe you could describe it as concerned, maybe, tone crept in his voice. "Just don't inexperience mess with it lad," he warned. "Gets yer fockt up," Roswell continued. As he softly pressed his finger against the side of his head. Then another shook with his head. All concerns were off the table when Fitzgerald mentioned wanting such trinkets. There was money to be made. "Dey do work! Oi wun't say yer find loike a miljon bucks just lyin' around while wearing de trinkets," he said. "Oi tried dat," Roswell continued. "But thin's go more smoothly for say." Roswell tapped his wolvenpelted coat for a few seconds before finding what he was looking for. A charm. It was the upper side of a beak, definitely a krō's beak, on a necklace. Almost minuscule carvings were carefully scribbled in the black beak. "It keeps yer witted," Roswell said. "Lucky," he said. Holding out the trinket in Fitzgerald's direction. "Yer can 'ave it," awh... "For 10 coins."

Fitzgerald (Human) kafkaesque

I'm so sorry for this long ass reply... gonna spoiler this to make this post easy to scroll past. u_u"

that asides. Fitzgerald has shitty taste in dad figures. yee fucking haw.

Fitzgerald, in short, had been taught to disdain magic, or consider it nonexistent. His parents and his boss all told him, "Be rational, lest your mind wanders, and you end up in trouble," and he had no reason to question them (especially when it came from the latter). So, he was quite mystified when Roswell taught him about those... Weird ass magic tricks of his, to put it in the youth's terms.

"Minor magic, huh?" he asked with a raised brow, "And... Curses?" Honestly, he almost wanted to laugh. Bullshit! Nobody asks for someone to get... Cursed! Hon, that wasn't how this service worked. "I've dealt with both normal people and magical beings ever since getting away from home, and... Honestly... I thought you were the former." He leaned against the wall with a huff, eyes continually drifting from place to place lest the aristocrat and professor's intern be caught mingling with a thief.

He shrugged and added, "Not that I'm complaining, of course. It seems admirable, actually. There's that balance when it comes to magic, because... Most of the magical fellows I've encountered tend to be pretty proud of their magic. I'm sure you are too; it's just-" Suddenly, he cut himself off with a hiss. Fitzgerald pinched his sinuses while muttering curses under his breath, something about not being able to word his thoughts correctly, or something along those lines.

Ouch.

"- It's just that you... You don't exactly use that magic in your everyday life now, huh?" he opined with a tilted head, "All the other times I've met you, you've become a successful thief and leader because of your own wits, your own dexterity and flexibility..." Stoking the Crow's ego was a dangerous game, Fitzgerald. Nevertheless, the youth gesticulated wildly, his eyes almost shining as he eyed the older man. "You didn't need outside influence to help you get where you are. You're a free spirit, and... I admire that, as stated before."

The aristocrat preened himself before sighing to himself. His feet started to shuffle from the slightest hint of impatience, and there was the feeling that maybe - maybe - he shouldn't be dragging this out, because he needed to get back to work, eventually, but... He did like Roswell's company, and the mention of magic did intrigue his interest ever so slightly - if only because it conflicted with everything he had ever known before. If his parents were pillars of rationality, then damn it, he was going to undermine them out of sheer spite.

It's what they deserve, after all.

Biting down on his lip, Fitzgerald stood himself up straight and finally told Roswell, "But yes, I did give that coin to you for a reason, though I can give you more if that's what you want. Just... Answer this one question for me...Do those trinkets that you make... Do they actually increase one's luck, as you seem to imply? Because..." He lowered his head, leaned in slightly. "I wouldn't mind getting a trinket from you, to be honest, if only as a souvenir."

Fitzgerald grunted as he held the eclair in his hand. Chocolate eclair, to be exact. The other party had given it to him as some sort of... Payment, because the youth had too much money. What he didn't have in abundance, however, was sweets, and... Saying this man had a sweet tooth was a bit of an understatement! That was why he accepted the offer with so much enthusiasm - at least at the time; now, as he looked down at the pastry, he was starting to question his decision.

Nonetheless, he had the feeling that - just to get this done with, just to get the other party out of his hair - he might as well do this confiding business.

Even if he didn't want to. Even if everyone he had ever known, especially himself, would tell him how stupid this was. He had only really revealed secrets to this dog, but two problems existed. The first problem was that the dog was currently not with him. The second was that the dog couldn't exactly reply to him, tell him that what he was thinking was okay... And he kind of needed it right now, at least in his mind. That, of course, he didn't want to voice out, as he remained silent for a solid two minutes.

With a sigh, he then finally said it: "I... I'm not fond of fire... Or smoke. Or ash." His hands wrung together, his throat started to run dry. It seemed that just the mention of it was enough to make him tense up. Fitzgerald glanced over at the other party before sighing, conflicted on whether he should be providing more context or not.

Likely not, he assured himself while biting down on his lip and narrowing his eyes, It's for the best, to keep it a private affair.

"It's just something silly," he added as an obvious fib. Hell, his hands were starting to get clammy at this very moment. "My parents... They were fond of fire, actually. I just stood out in that regard. I never liked the way that it looked, smelled, or felt. I guess... Even thinking about it, saying it..." His mind started to spin. "... Makes me feel woozy, I guess." With an acrid laugh, the youth stuffed the eclair into his bag before shaking his head at the other party.

"Smoke inhalation has that effect on you. It may seem interesting at first, but over time, it just... Becomes more and more unbearable, if I really want to be blunt in that regard..."

I'm... low-key living for that weird mother-son dynamic Zuri and Fitz are slowly forming with each other tbh....

time for a follow-up. >:)c

Perhaps awkwardly, Fitzgerald looked up at the older woman after finishing his little confession. He could feel his blood thicken into some sort of sludge, one that made him unusually reluctant to provide a snide comment to her as he gazed at her and her pockmarked, wrinkled face. Besides, just being here was a bit of a stretch, given how they interacted last time, but...

Would it be too much of a stretch to say that he actually liked learning how to make bread from her?

That'd at least explain why he was here again, rubbing the eclair with his hand and smudging some of the chocolate cream along the way. That was going to get licked off later, for sure. And yes, the eclair would be eaten later on too, which was a bit unusual considering the youth. He still stared at the elderly woman while she fiddled with the ring on her finger, words apparently defying both parties as the air became silent and almost suffocating.

It was when she spoke up - or broke the silence, given that her voice was barely above a mumble - that Fitzgerald sighed and leaned back against his seat.

"I... I suppose it's instinct," muttered the youth while starting to nibble at the pastry, "I remember being told that being fearful of fire is one of the most primal phobias that one can have, because... Like you said, it's hot. It hurts. And it's not exactly good to be around." His muscles tensed as soon as she asked him that question. Would that be my worst nightmare? He stopped chewing the eclair and froze. For once in his life, he looked genuinely perturbed, and he was ambivalent on answering the question as directly as he should.

Yes, was all he conjured up for now.

He instead redirected his attention over to the other party as she spoke once more, something about it being unfair to mock someone for what was essentially a phobia. Fitzgerald delivered a nod before taking another nibble out of the eclair, though he couldn't have really explained why even if he was asked. It was just... A soft underbelly of his, in that regard. Exposing it was always a sign of vulnerability, and he didn't know why he was doing it; if someone decided to attack him there, then... The youth tensed once more, leaned back into his chair, bit down onto his lip.

"No, I don't think I need an institution," he replied with a curt shake of his head, his voice unusually muted, "I've never been to one, but if they're anything like you say, then I'm not risking it. I..." A pause. "... I think I'll get over it, eventually. Or at least not be so... You know, jumpy around those types of things. It's one situation to be wary of fire, another to be petrified it to the point that just talking about it makes you woozy." And woozy was exactly what Fitzgerald felt right now, as he coughed into his sleeve and finally took a sizable bite out of that pastry.

Thank goodness the elderly woman was there to change the subject, as she asked him whether he liked the eclair.

With a nod, Fitzgerald answered, "Yes, miss. It's... Good. Great, even. I don't know if you cook pastries that often, but... It's actually quite tasty nevertheless." Awww.

Zuri Delgado Vapor

It wasn't terribly difficult to glean what the situation might be when it came to Fitzgerald, no matter how he tried to brush it off, and so her golden eye narrowed on him, focused on him, and then on the eclair she had gifted to him. It was really the only condolence she could provide to him. Something told her that if she attempted to reassure him in any other way, such would be in vain. And so, with a halfhearted sigh, she reclined in her chair and took her sweet time fiddling with a golden ring wrapped around her index finger. Her lip curled once she found the words to give.

"Whatever you say." she muttered, "It's smart of you to be afraid of fire, and not so much so for your parents to be so fond of it." Then, she scoffed. "It burns. It hurts. My oven is built at such a difficult angle for me to work with, just like every damn thing in this gods-forsaken house, and it took months before I got used to it. Even then, I still scorch myself on the flame. That would be your worst nightmare, wouldn't it?"

The woman paused to gaze steadily at Fitzgerald. There was a trace of resentment upon her face, though it wasn't directed at the young man. She continued to frown as she settled her arms back down atop the arms of her chair.

"I don't mean to tease, or to mock, it would be unfair for me to." Zuri rasped to him. She relaxed her posture as she observed the tension that took over him, and such discomfort lingered in the room's atmosphere as well. "There isn't much to do here, however, unless you want an institution to cure you of your... disdain, which... Frankly, that might be something you'd hate more. They're like prisons, as I've heard."

Again, her eyes fell to the eclair, and she asked Fitzgerald in a drone, "I hope you like that thing."

"I don't wish to speak ill of the dead... Some dead. Not this dead, not my husband." said Zuri, her voice dulled, "But, we wanted a child for so long, though this was when I joined his organization, and I suppose you could see how that would hinder everything... It doesn't give breaks to parents, after all, though that isn't the point here, really..."

The woman's eyebrows furrowed as she locked her fingers together and rested them atop her stomach. She looked over the other party's head, upon one of her cats sleeping on a bookcase.

"He was terrified." she stated, "Something scared him, or-- well, I know what it was that frightened him, really. He had a rough life. He didn't trust himself, he told me. He told me he was afraid of being a father, as for many years he deemed himself a danger. He hurt so many people. He was afraid of hurting us." With a slow blink, as though slipping in and out of thought, she took a deep breath and looked the person in the eyes.

"He never did anything, of course. He was as gentle as a lamb with me, and with our daughter, but we didn't keep her. He had a sister back in his homeland, and we gave the girl to her to pass off as her own... Not terribly difficult, given their background, but..." She didn't finish, waving her hand with a sigh. "He was a horrible man. But, he was wonderful partner. It's just easier to tell people we did it for the sake of our duty."

Noa hydrangeas

"Noa... would rather be placed somewhere warm than in a home of strife..." She murmured, somewhat weakly. Now that hurt to say. She seemed... genuinely distraught for a change to be forced to acknowledge anything about herself. She could actually speak with a hint of some experience... but she did not wish to. Noa laced her fingers and unlaced them again, and then again...

"Even if you kept that child... they would turn out just like Noa... um... really. And... no parent would want Noa as a child..." She glanced away. wondering how much would be considered... the bare minimum to get away from this. She knew well enough to not be cold to her, but.. she wished not to get into it. The end result was an obviously miserable-looking mortal vampire. "Noa... knows... what it is like to feel worthless. Noa has no children, no... family, in a... pedestrian use of the word... Noa does not know how to raise any children like a family..."

She kind of felt like she was a kid again, though. How awful. She wished that the woman would stop staring at her. Like she was a specimen. "Noa wishes to have a sister like that... Is it... uncouth to say that you are lucky to have one in this such situation? Noa doesn't know..."

She wondered if she was even speaking coherently, suddenly. Just another drop in the miserable bucket that was Noa. She... did not know how to express the sentiment of admiration. It was quite new. Though she was also conflicted about the whole fact that this was a stranger... She didn't know what she wanted to do with Noa. To call your own husband a horrible person... that had to say something about her. But... she seemed sad about it. Noa wasn't sure. She didn't understand how people could emote like this on a regular basis.

"Noa... is a worthless person. She cannot do anything on her own. This magic Noa has... does not even work without others. And yet... it is just Noa's dilemma." She spoke to the air- as if avoiding eye contact would make it any better. "The First Prince. Did you know he is like Noa? He works illusions. He would be quite useless... without others. But... he talks well. He fights well with a blade. He has overcome his weakness...

"Noa... thinks about him too often. Noa... wishes she had someone who cared like he cares for his wife. She is kind as well. But... is that what one calls envy? Noa... does not wish to hurt her. But... what could Noa do that would not?" She sighed deeply.

"Even if Noa had any chance... she is far too damaged. Noa is the opposite of him. Always bright, but not... obnoxious. It is natural that Noa should hurt even more for even thinking that it was within the realm of possibility. That is not what a knight should wish upon their wards..." She murmured.

"Perhaps Noa should write that confession in a letter. And pin it up so everyone can laugh."

Saurin Milkman

"Would you truly believe that they will laugh? And ridicule you for the rest of your life? It's never too late to confess your feelings to your beloved, as long as you are prepared to hear what they have to say... along the lines of how he cannot return those same feelings to you." Saurin, for a temporary time, understand that feeling quite well. His love for his Princess was there, but it felt impossible when there was other people much better than him. He eventually found someone; a knight who pledged his loyalty to the kingdom, and this mage's heart.

"Don't fret, little Noa. Because you eventually, like your Prince, will find someone else to love. You are a cute girl - surely someone else will care for you as much as you cared for the First Prince."

__________

"Did you know my kingdom reveres me as the Most Powerful Mage of the whole Kingdom? Spectacular, isn't it? Because of my family, I have spent my whole life learning magic. I knew all the books about magic as if it was the back of my hand. I cast more spells than the veteran mages of my land. I perform the strongest of spells in a matter of minutes, the ones that the normal mage fail to do." With a snap of his fingers, a golden flame lights up between his fingers, his red eyes now turning orange from the golden light emanating around them. "But the most powerful mages will die eventually. As for me, it is sooner than what others expect. Not from age, but the magic residing in me is too much for my human body. Too much to handle. I'm going to die soon."

The flames disappeared and the only thing that dimmed the dark room was the moonlight shining brightly through his windowsill.

"No one knows about it, except for myself. Of course, I should understand that my own mortal body has it limits. I won't do anything about it... but... I will just be hurting those close to me once they realize I don't have much time left. How pitiful is this man to dedicate his life perfecting his magic to its highest potential when he can't even use it to save himself? Don't ask me, because even I don't know."

Dynamo sinthcircle

Dynamo listened on, a contemptous smile forming on his face as the other continued. Magic, family, power, yadda yadda... He didn't have a response for it all.

Until the flames. They weren't exactly expected, & he jumped backwards with an audible yell at first. Clearly startled, but in a few seconds his surprise turned into excitement. This wasn't much of a new sight, but it wow'd him all the same!

"Oh, good, so that was all true, then. Almost worth it." Seriously? He didn't say any more, listening, smiling as the other continued.

...

And there it was! The catch!

"So, you decided to tell me?" His face lit up, a dangerous look in his eyes, ideas already forming - none of them good. "What an honor! Hah! Seriously though, what a bummer! An ironic one! A real shame, too." His voice was laced with sarcasm, getting clearer with each word.

----

"Hey! Lemme tell you something. Listening?" ...

No matter the answer, he continues. "Alright, good." Dynamo claps his hands & pulls some kind of item from his pocket. It's some kind of glass jar? The glass is so fogged, its practically opaque. "Magic jar. I stole this thing from some old house or something. Y'know, looting an old pal's place, no big deal! Just karma!"

He twists the lid open & shoves the jar into the other party's hand with a grin. "Anyway. Pull something out of it, it'll give you some tiny magic object. Enchanted or whatever. Taboo way to get these, I heard, but hey, it's real easy!"

Jan-Paul Jansen fizzelston

"Y..you stole it?" Jan-Paul questioned. His gaze was totally fixated on the jar and his ears moved like a cat'a would do if it was curious and yet definitely weary. "But that's illegal." Sharp observation. Jan-Paul had heard of magic before, in his world, it was a taboo and only the highest of the highest priests knew how to do it. This man, with his intriguing voice and sharp charms, claimed that his jar was magical and really? Jan-Paul didn't doubt it for a second. He inched a bit closer on his bar seat as he tried to peak inside with no avail. "I can..put my hand in that without losing it?" He asked carefully. "If I do..do lose my hand in going to sue you so you better not lying, " he added a bit too loud. He was trying to get a point across. Jan-Paul took a sharp breath, held it, and put his hand in the jar. It was cold. Cold? Like sticking your hand in an icebox, it made his hand numb and hard to move. The tips of his fingers found and object and with unease and a slightly pained expression, Jp fished out the object the jar had planned for him. A bean? "What is this?" He demanded Dynamo. "I don't like beans! I wished my hand dropped off, as I at least then had something I could sue you for!" He huffed.

"Wow, wait no, " the Easterling yilped. "Y..you can't go in there, it's a storage room. Just a storage room my servents uses, " Jan-Paul said. Before sliding in front of the door, blocking its frame with his beanstalk posture. "Just brooms and buckets, " he said with his ears dropping in his neck. Giving off the vibe of a cornered cat. "Ok..maybe no brooms, " he said moving slightly away from the doorframe and opening it oh so slightly for a peak inside. Paintings. The room was stocked with paintings, portraits and landscapes all..draw by an amateur. "I like to paint alright just, don't tell anyone. Painters are vagrant and thieves. I'm not jealous of their skills." He clearly was though.

Brown (Human) kafkaesque

I am back with the long responses.... yeehaw. :")))

here's a spoiler box since that'll make my post easier to scroll past- ~~it is "son bonds with a shitty mom figure" time my dudes.~~

With a sniff, Brown didn't wonder why Nathaniel entrusted her with... This guy. At least she wasn't sniffing out of contempt; rather, it was more out of a reserved curiosity, as she was more than aware of both his reputation and his connections. It wasn't like he was shy about either of them, and it took far, far too much restraint for her to not just interject and hiss into his ear about the fact that he was dealing with the Wolf, up close, in person.

And she did still have that dagger his uncle gave her!

Yet his hesitance surprised her as she took a step back, though her hands were neatly folded together just below her waist as she listened to him stutter about the room they just passed. She had asked him, just to test his nerves, whether she could come inside, and this was the reaction? The woman giggled before giving him a small smile.

"You know," hummed Brown with a twirl of her wrist, "If it bothers you so fucking much, you could have just steered me past the room, before I let out that question. It's not that hard. I do that all the time when making sure people do not enter the kitchen..." Um. "... Though to be fair, I prefer just telling them that it is improper to infringe upon someone when... Cooking." She grimaced slightly, though it wasn't like she hated cooking. It just sounded so lowly to be uttering in front of a rising aristocrat, and even authority-hating, all-too-independent Brown knew that.

At least she didn't tell him that he counted as "nouveau riche" in her standards. Maybe that was because Nathaniel would break her arm if she did so and he tattled, but alas.

Her smile came back moments later as his defense slowly collapsed - and all by itself. First he told her that there weren't any brooms, then he allowed her a peek inside. Brown stepped forward, just to see past the musty sunlight and properly peer at the room's contents. Inside were - indeed - the paintings done by an amateur, but they were nonetheless charming in the rustic way. Portraits, landscapes, still-lifes... She squinted, if only so she could test herself and try recognizing any of the forms he attempted to depict.

Then, with no apparent reaction, she stepped back and brushed some dust off her ruff, before gently closing the door. Wow.

"At least a painter has honesty in his strokes and craft," grunted the woman with a raised brow, "Back in my home, they're regarded fairly highly. Not as highly as aristocrats, of course-" She interrupted her explanation to titter into her knuckles. "- But in terms of servants, they are fairly valued. The most talented ones can easily charge thousands of dollars, if not tens of thousands, for a single commission, and the aristocrats can't do shit about it. The expectations are high for them, of course, but..." The woman gazed up at the Easterling as she continued to chuckle, all too casually. In all honesty, she was more than amused by his sputtering, and she was certain to take the whole painting tidbit into account the next time she was assigned to advise him.

Ouch.

"In other words, nothing like a shitty thief or vagrant. I bet they would be insulted if you compared them to genuinely lowly folk like... Say, a criminal. Painters are legal. Criminals aren't."

Ignoring the obvious hypocrisy in her previous words, Brown soon added afterwards, "But listen, there is no shame in having an interest you might consider taboo..." Her voice softened, and genuinely too, as she started to rub her arm. "... Or what society considers taboo, either. You have pride in yourself, don't you? Then use that to your advantage. Think of the scandal this might cause if you treat this so secretively, and someone besides me were to find out." She placed both hands on his shoulders before looking up at him with a somber frown.

"It would be better to show those assholes what is really worth regarding, than to have shame in what you do. Your uncle told me there are a lot of unscrupulous folk in the aristocracy, yes? Then spite their asses. It's what they deserve, after all, for almost treating you like a toy... Show them that you're someone worth regarding, no matter what the cost."

low-key cw for... murder ig?? it's nothing too graphic, nor is it the focus of the prompt, but Brown is Brown, and it's kind of inevitable that death gets thrown in there somewhere.

With a sharp inhale, Brown allowed one leg to casually cross over the other while she sat on her couch. The murmurs of the other attendees could be heard in the background, so it wasn't like this would be a real secret by any means. Still, the woman was tipsy enough from absinthe - as well as just naturally outspoken enough - that it didn't matter to her; for her, they just sounded like distant whispers, and the figures in question were all blurs with no consequence whatsoever.

Nice.

"You know," grunted the woman with a slightly slurred laugh, "I don't have a lot of secrets. That type of shit... That shit doesn't matter one bit. Eventually it will be exposed, and there will be nothing left to hide. I like it that way. Why hide something when you can show it? Hiding is for fucking cowards anyway." She took a sip before setting her glass off to the side, then folded her hands into a neat - but still slightly sloppy - steeple.

"The wolf legend for example. Everyone knows shit about that. They probably don't know the true story, but then again, they all think that I killed him, and I'm not going to say whether that's true or not, because it doesn't matter. They're convinced that I did so and escaped justice, but... Funnily enough... You... You have no idea that I am more than just a killer, huh?"

Brown leaned back against the plush couch before humming all too casually, "Like... I have a garden. One around my house, or in the back of it. The location doesn't fucking matter for shit. All you need to know is that I grow all sorts of plants in there... Like... I don't know... Roses." She paused. "Wait. That shit's too plain. I mean like... I breed them, or however that works. You know the type of stuff farmers do with cattle sometimes? I do that with plants, but specifically roses. If you saw them you'd realize how big their thorns are. I made them that way. I'm surprised I didn't use them as a weapon, you know." Her fingers danced on the nearby table as she was very much tempted to go for another sip of absinthe, but... Nah.

"But they're not the only things I grow there," Brown bragged in between titters, "I grow all sorts of plants one would consider dangerous. Like oleander, kudzu... Tobacco even... I think I bought some foxglove a while back, but I have yet to plant the seeds. I don't eat those fuckers, of course, and I don't even do anything with the tobacco. If I processed it and you used it, all you would get is just some basic taste. Nothing special, unfortunately."

She paused for a moment, then frowned.

"Though... Because of what I grow, I cannot just allow anyone into that garden. Too risky." Actually, she just didn't want to, but sure. "I can only allow those I trust inside, and... These assholes? I cannot trust them a single bit. They talk too much, and you know what they did to my reputation... I doubt you would be any different, but... Hey. I already told you this, so there's nothing to lose from here, huh?"

yeehaw. follow-up time. for once, a drunk Brown is a good Brown. also slight cw for a murder mention, but it literally happens once and isn't a focus of the response lol-

Thank fuck Brown was sloshed, because if she was sober, she'd pretty pissed at whom she was talking to.

Not that it was his fault, of course. But alcohol had its way of making her a little less indiscriminate of whom she bothered, and this included men - as well as young men who were much younger than her. Also people who seemed like they were far too energetic for their own good... Oh goodness, this was going to become a long and annoying list. Fast.

The woman's fingers curled around the glass of absinthe before slowly reeling it in, then taking another prolonged sip. She barely looked at the other party, but she supposed that she didn't need to. It was just her and this... Person, who was starting to become more and more blurry with each ounce of alcohol that went into her bloodstream. Brown raised a brow at that, and not the words that he said... Funnily enough. She could hear him just fine; it was just that, for whatever reason, she didn't really process any of them.

At least it was better than her trying to start a fight?

"I see," droned the aristocrat with what seemed like virtually no emotion whatsoever. For a few seconds, Brown continued to sip at her glass before realizing it was empty, and that was when she got really pissed.

"Shit!" she exclaimed before throwing it to the floor, causing it to shatter into a million pieces. Then, with virtually no mercy, she slammed her foot onto the broken glass and started jabbing at them with her heels, sputtering curses each time she missed and hissing each time she hit something. This lasted for a minute or two before she sighed and leaned back against her couch, as if nothing had happened. Okay then?

Knitting her fingers together, Brown now hummed calmly, "Listen, I don't know who this guy is, but I don't give a shit. He sounds boring, anyway. If he has a secret like me... That's not much fun..." She rolled her eyes before resting her palm against her cheek. "Imagine growing a fucking garden with the same plants as me! That's so... Fucking... Boring..." Her cadence started to become erratic as she tapped her fingers against her cheek.

"If he killed people, that'd be more interesting. But a garden? No way... Men think they're too good for gardening anyways. Like a bunch of fucking cowards."

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Vapor

spoilered for the same talk jic -- human experimentation

Flavio wasn't unfamiliar with human experimentation. Though he found no need to conduct such a thing for his own work, he also couldn't deny its usefulness when it came to volunteers, though such was quite rare to him. Even using unwilling participants was worthwhile if the situation called for it, as he so believed.

Though, keeping in mind who he was married to...

"It all depends on what field your father is in, really." He said to Leon, leaning back in his chair. He picked at the hangnails and callouses on his fingers, listening to the soft breeze blowing outside. He didn't want to admit it here, but to him, if a person was to be violent... They deserved the hit back, didn't they?

Not that he liked to think this way, as when he did, he also thought of his nephew, in all his glory. It made him sick. He just tried to be proud.

"The sciences are frowned upon here, anyhow, so perhaps my view of the situation is skewed." Flavio added with a sigh, and then grimaced as he peeled the dead skin from his thumb. He flicked it onto the floor. "Unethical experimentation is something I wouldn't agree with, personally. Alas, there is also the point of... whether or not such a thing will truly help mankind." He then glanced up at Leon. "We must do what we can in the pursuit of knowledge, but only when it benefits us all."

He turned his head when he heard footsteps down the corridor behind them, finishing with a quick: "And a select few is not all of us."

Flavio entered the kitchens, a crate tucked underneath his arm, the door behind him closing with a heavy whine. He halted when he recognized who was there, a feeling of panic very briefly rising to the top of his chest as he looked them over, the wind knocked out of him. But, at least they weren't her. He had gone through so much trouble already that he didn't want it to go to waste by bumping into his wife, though he assumed correctly that she would be slaving away in her study at the moment.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he approached the other party, shouldering them away and placing the crate onto a counter.

"You're not one of the servants. You shouldn't be here." He scolded lightly, though as he began opening the crate, it was soon clear that he had better things to do than to kick the other person out. He hoped, actually, that they would be able to help him on his mission. 'Mission' was an overdramatic term for it, really. When he peeled the top of the container open, the smell of ripe bananas filled the air.

After a pause, he began taking out the bananas one by one, thinking for a moment that there were too many. He was no cook, no baker, but certainly the recipe wouldn't require this many bananas, right?

"I did terribly by my wife." he commented to the other, "So, I wanted to surprise her... An apology, I suppose, though recent times have been hard on her regardless..."

He trailed off, looking back at them coldly. "Do keep in mind this is supposed to be a surprise. Don't even mention the bananas. Stay in here until I'm done, if it keeps your tongue from wagging."

Petrel malaquill

~~claiming because I’m having trouble resisting bringing up Slightly Judgy Petrel, who is a rare beast that manifests when people cook near him~~

“!” Petrel snapped to attention with a sharp breath, dropping the whisk he’d been holding in the process. He hadn’t done anything, and he was, as far as he knew, supposed to be there, and yet- he met the confrontation with a small “Understood. I’m sorry.” He hadn’t touched anything save for the one, tiny whisk.

He remained in his place as the stranger confessed to a wrongdoing, though quite what eluded him. A smaller, second “understood” and a nod accompanied the information; had he objections, he wouldn’t have voiced them, but no such issue was present. The other person was trying to make up for something, and that was, as far as Petrel was concerned, the “good” course of action.

With the contradictory not-quite orders of “You shouldn’t be here” and “Stay here”, he stayed put (he hoped that was what he was meant to do), and he almost looked judgmental. Not toward the secret he’d been told, but of the events unfolding in front of him right now. He didn’t dare voice or even internally acknowledge that he might have opposed to Flavio’s use of that many bananas, though his nature as a baker made it just that much harder to ignore. He wasn’t exactly sure what was being made. At that moment, though, his golden-eyed stare looked as if it might burn a hole into the counter; he watched like a hawk, though he dared not get too close.

“I left the army. I’m a traitor.”

It was such a simple secret, and one that wasn’t terribly hard to figure out a glance. Petrel still carried himself as if he were a soldier, however meek he was; every request was just another order. Still, he appeared troubled in every way one could by the confession while still maintaining dignity, if it could be called that. He sat at the kitchen table, looking dull and remorseful with his hands clasped in his lap, and his eyes unable to look into the other person’s. There was little weight to his fears; he’d not been a war hero or anything of the like, and it was unlikely any commander even remembered his name. Yet still-

“The villagers don’t know, I wasn’t in their army.” He added, sounding as if it were more important than his initial confession, emphasis on their- he hadn’t been in the army of the country he was now living in, and in fact, his own nation had actively been at war with it. “I- I don’t want to be found. I live here now. I’m...” He struggled with the right word. “I’m happy here.”

small followup!

"..." The mention of screams brought back memories from long before he'd joined the army, let alone left it. He tried to push them back into the depths of his mind, fingernails digging into the backs of his hands. He almost seemed to look away harder, if such a thing could be done. But there's more, he wanted to say, and to explain all of his crimes in great detail, because everything just being fine wasn't fine, and how much of an excuse is 'humans are flawed', really, and can he be allowed that, is he not still guilty, and he doesn't know the answer. It felt so, so much like he'd gotten away with something, and though he fought to keep the life he had now, there was still, always, always that creeping sensation that it was undeserved, that he was selfish.

But right then and there, he had made bread, and it was worthy of praise, and he looked surprised because maybe that too was undeserved, and maybe taking pride in something wasn't allowed either, and yet still- that, too, was happiness. He looked up.

"Thank you."

Kryptos Molly holohero

Kryptos takes a long, solemn sip of his green tea, eyes distant, and nods.

"I understand. I understand completely. The weapons, the smells, the sounds, the screams-" he cuts himself off and shakes his head, as if to clear it out.

"They're different, sure, but there's still a lot in common. I..." He picks his tea up, as if to take another sip, but then inspects it and puts it down. Quietly, he concludes, "I guess I'm a defector too. I don't tend to think of it like that, or at least I try not to. The people I was with," he pauses. "No, they were fine. Plenty of good folk, plenty of folk who deserved better. The higher-ups though, they were evil, there's no other way to frame it. They were fascists with an army for hire, and I was one of them. I found myself up against a lot of good, innocent people, including the people I live and love with now."

He blinks slowly. "I'm not proud of the things I've done, the people I've hurt. Hell, I'm sure you're not either. I might not know your whole story, but war is war, and I know what it's like to be a soldier. And for better or worse, we're human. Humans are... very clumsy," he laughs.

"In spite of our best efforts, we make mistakes. Sometimes, like with people like us, they're very big mistakes. And... I don't think that discounts us from being happy in life, just like anyone else. Just like any other human who makes mistakes. We deserve our 'happy endings', too," he speaks into his mug of tea.

"At least, that's what people say to me. I don't know how much stock I put into it, but they seem to care about me one heck of a lot more than I do, for some reason, so I try to have faith in it. Maybe it'll mean something to you, spoken by a self-appointed kindred soul."

At no point during any of this has he made eye contact, but he does so for just a heartbeat, changing subjects. "This bread is fantastic by the way. So fresh, and such a great, crackly crust. Thank you for sharing your gift with me." He smiles with a sad, heavy smile.

---

"Well, my legal bleeding name literally means secret, so let's see..." he mockingly counts on his fingers, eyes turned upward in thought. "Ah, here we go. I still blame myself for my sister's death, even though we were only kids, and it wasn't really anybody's fault," he says curtly, as if reciting lines he'd memorized years ago, gesturing with his hand before rescinding it by folding his arms.

"No, no, fuck it. I blame myself for all of their deaths. My sister, my men..." He looks at you desperately, pleadingly. "But you don't understand, I was there. I watched them die, I watched all of them die. I was there, I could have done something, should have done something. At least, I should have done something more than I did."

He stares directly at you, as if all of his life's answers are hidden in the rods and cones at the back of your eyes and he half-considered dissecting his way to them. He then frowns and furrows his brow. He knows what you're about to say: survivor's guilt. They all say that. I mean, hell, he just gave that speech, that old song and dance, to someone else however many minutes ago.

He just looks sad.

He just looks tired.

Wraith Stormheart SpiritdragonRyuu

Wraith didn't know why this stranger was telling him this, but yes he had to agree it sounded like survivors guilty. Giving a sigh, Wraith closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them and looking directly into Kryptos' eyes. "Regardless whether it was your fault or not, what good does it do feeling bad about it now?" He said his voice with it's usual coldness to it. "They aren't going to come back to life just because you emotionally punish yourself. If anything your hurting yourself for no reason." He said before resting his hands on the roof railing and looking out to the city he called his territory.

"I'm not going to stand here and coddle you, you're smarter than the regular folk around here, surely you realise that carrying the bodies of the dead for the rest of your life will only sabotage the path to redeem yourself, if that is what you want." As Wraith spoke his eyes caught a group of men up to no good, harassing several passers-by as they sauntered and angrily jeered their way through the streets. Wraith's eyes narrowed as he place a foot on the railing and locked his eyes onto a nearby roof. He gave another glance at Krypto.

"You can either carry on feeling sorry for yourself, or learn from your pain and do what ever you can to make sure history doesn't repeat itself." With that Wraith jumped over the railings, transforming into his panther form and running across the rooftops in pursuit of the men that he saw.

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

CW - Mentions of being drugged, murder and abuse.

Wraith looked up at the cracked ceiling above him, his mind foggy and his head heavy. He was doing his usual nightly patrol when he saw someone causing trouble in his territory, however little did he know that the person in question had set a trap for Wraith and had managed to inject him with....shit....he didn't know. All he knew that after the substance was in his bloodstream, his mind had become hazy and the culprit ran off into the night. Luckily someone had seen the whole thing and helped Wraith back to the abandoned building he called his home, or at least one of the only structurally sound rooms that he called home. It was cold, dark, no carpet or furniture, just a small pile of mats which Wraith slept on, and a barrel filled with rainwater. Despite the coldness of the room, Wraith felt uncomfortably hot, his brow was sweating furiously as he continued to stare up at the ceiling. The person who had helped him, was sitting nearby, or....at least he thinks they were.

"This world is a cruel and ironic place don't you think." He said, his mind not even realizing that he was even speaking right now. "People try to become something better than those around them, only to turn into the very thing they hate." He said with a low growl, his eyes began to become unfocused. "I mean...take me as an example....I killed my old man.....that bastard who took his anger out on me...took the sight from my eye.....allowed his friend to test on me how much damage molten metal can do to a person...I killed him as well......with his own molten metal....but yet.......here I am........an angry bastard who hates everything....everyone........I've become the monster I tried to kill that day....even more so.....I'm the very thing I hate."

Wraith gave a mix between a scoff and a laugh as he sat up and turned to the stranger. "I mean....how fucking ironic is that." He said his lips pulled back into a almost sadistic looking grin, before laughing hysterically, almost in a sorrowful way. As he looked around the room he could see his father, his fathers friend and the many others who Wraith took the life of. His hysterical laughter soon turned into a loud anguished scream as he held his head in his hands. He soon started sobbing uncontrollably into his hands, whatever he had been injected with, it was completely screwing up his emotions and his mind.

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

They are a very interesting character ^.=.^

Follow Up:

Wraith's head was jumbled up he didn't care that he had completely mentally broken down in front of a strange, his pride laid forgotten as the drug worked its way through his system. He could feel the stranger hold him as the panther shifter continued to sob into his hands, ordinarily he would have pushed the person away the second they got too close to him, He could faintly hear the stranger asking him if he was okay, but Wraith was to distraught to reply. His emotions were all over the place, the world around him looked distorted and blurry. There was a pounding pressure in his head which felt like it was about to explode, he softly pulled away from the stranger and laid back down on the pile of mats, shivering as he did so. His eyes became almost glazed over before they closed, his tears and breathing began to even out as he lost consciousness.

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