(IC) Berate the OC above!

I'll start! Would you like me to do one for you too? Or do you just want me to start off?

Not a claim, ignore me!

You don't need to! You get a free response! •^•

For perhaps the longest few seconds on the entire planet, Fitzgerald stood there blinking… Silently. His mouth hung open by just an inch or two before he shut it with a click of his teeth, an infinitely more jarring sound than having to hear the youth blab on and on about a trivial subject that, frankly, didn’t matter to anyone involved… Except him, apparently. Speaking of which-

“What the hell were those puppy eyes?” the youth snapped before positing his hands on his hips, “I mean… It was pretty fucking smart of you to opt for that route, since I like dogs, but-” He paused for a second, before dramatically spinning on his heels in an almost 360-degree priouette. Ugh. Of course Fitzgerald did… And (thankfully) regretted moments later as he found himself just the slightest bit dizzy and disoriented, prompting him to lean against a nearby post and regard the other party with narrowed eyes. Hey! You did this to yourself, Fitzgerald! Don’t be an asshole!

“- It doesn’t mean you can win me over like that just because you happen to remind me of a puppy,” he sniffed with a pout, “Actually…” Fitzgerald paused to gesticulate with his hands for a few seconds, all in an attempt to make himself seem more articulate while he straightened his posture. Alas, five feet and five inches was still relatively diminutive compared to, well, six feet and two inches. His demeanor didn’t help either, if only because his bitchy personality just made him seem all the more punchable.

And yes, before you ask, punching Fitzgerald was probably satisfying. Just expect him to whine like a little bitch as a result, which may offset the satisfaction by up to ninety percent, or even completely if one possessed a low tolerance for annoying rich brats. (And honestly, who could blame them?)

With a shake of his head, Fitzgerald puffed himself out like a cockerel and proclaimed, “... Dogs are still cuter, though. You’re not going to rip off a fucking dog without my approval, you know!” Uuuuuugh. He batted his eyes, as if to mockingly imitate the other’s puppy-eyed look, while puffing himself out just a biiiiit more. “And more importantly,” he hissed while wagging a finger at the other party, “you’re not going to fucking take any of my chocolate chip cookies without my permission! I bought this shit with my own money! Yes, my! Own! Money!” He held his arms out, almost as if to T-pose…

“I’m not going to just give you shit just because you look at me like that,” he scolded, “so forget it! Buy that shit with your own money! I need to save my money for more important shit anyhow!” However the fuck that worked. Ah, first-world problems… Fitzgerald rolled his eyes before clasping his arms to his sides, then turning himself away from the other party just for the sake of being an asshole.

Unfortunately, the young man kept his heels planted in the ground while he grunted, “You can find chocolate chip cookies in pretty much any store anyhow. My cookies are my cookies. You do have money, right?” The last question absolutely fucking dripped with saccharine while Fitzgerald rocked back and forth on his feet. “I cooooould offer you some,” the youth proposed with a nonchalant wave of his hand, “but I’m not giving you some cookies. Just some money.” Whatever the fuck that meant, in all honesty. In fact… The youth’s hand reached for his pocket, where his coin bag was… All so he could flex his wealth, as well as be a stingy bitch and take exactly one coin- Hey! It was made of pure gold! It could be worth more than a dollar… For better or for worse.

   - dw about the length!! I'd die for Roland!! and I sincerely hope he deserves better than Fitzgerald because being associated with the rich brat is almost an insult on its own- 😔

Beatrice, with metaphorically ruffled feathers, was quick to start parading around the other party and hissing, "Oh, for goodness's sake, you have to be more careful! You could've hurt myself, or Spot, or Rochester-" She sucked in a breath, her lip twitching just a bit before she clenched her hands into fists and just... Sighed. She could feel a vein throbbing in her forehead, but she was able to get the pressure back down before it got too uncomfortable for the older woman.

It was for the best... Maybe. Besides, it sure would've been one hell of an awkward moment if she literally popped a vessel, and a (somewhat) motherly scolding escalated into a medical emergency in an instant!

"- So, please just..." she started before focusing her gaze on the cause of her sudden switch in temperament in the first place: a broken bowl previously full of fruits. Now, pieces of ceramic, as well as bruised fruits, scattered the floor while the journalist carefully stepped past an orange before picking up said orange. As she examined the skin, Beatrice grumbled, "... Just be more careful. I know it's a bit cramped around here, but do be aware of how you carry yourself next time. I don't think Rochester would be particularly happy about this anyhow..."

Not that Beatrice was herself either! The older woman privately estimated that it was going to take at least an hour of nonstop cleaning to get the place back to normal, and she was pretty sure that Rochester would be home by then, so... She shot a glance at the other party, almost as if she expected his quivering form to be of use to her and start sweeping up pieces of broken fruit bowl on the spot. Don't be an asshole, Beatrice.

After placing the orange back onto the countertop, she then sniffed, "But that asides, let's just get this done with. I don't want her to find out something happened here. She did ask you to come here for your music, if I remember correctly, so..." She coughed for a second. "... You better not disappoint her," Beatrice grunted dryly to the other, "Okay?" However the fuck that worked. Whatever motherly stance Beatrice had adopted earlier seemed to have disappeared in favor of a stricter approach, but at the same time... While she would've made threats of violence or forceful removal if matched up with pretty much anyone else, Beatrice remained... Oddly calm about this the entire time.

Huh. Maybe she was getting old and sentimental, as Rochester would tease her for every so often...

And I'm supposed to be more reserved than her, thought the journalist with a roll of her eyes as she droned, "So, as said before, let's just get this done with." Such a statement was partially directed at herself, as she started to really whisk up the pieces of bowl into a dustpan, but at the same time... Her motions were slow, almost stagnant at some points. The elder let out a grunt before tightening her grip on the dustpan. Maybe, if we get this done with... "My wife told me she was going to bring some wine when she gets home, probably as a gift for you. I just hope you don't break the bottle too, sir..." Hopefully that wasn't a passive-aggressive comment? Beatrice's monotonous voice didn't help her one bit here.

NP might get a follow-up if I have the time!!

Fielding sat upon his desk, back facing towards Beatrice on his smooth, leather, swivel chair; turning over the pages of some measly volume (clearly crafted in such an aristocratic nature, it puts the thought to mind, truly, if a mind as dull as his was actually reading such a thing?), he nonchalantly placed the moleskin down; swinging round to face the woman. Smiling in such a bastardly nature.
"You are very intriguing, Beatrice. However, your knack on journalism, quite frankly -- is getting on my nerves." Fielding bit his lip. "Are you sure you.. fact check what is sent to you? Your writings are really placing a bad influence on my reputation, though, I am aware there is no such thing as a good influence, I suppose. All influence is immoral, from a scientific view, of course." The politician laughed.
The hearty grin on his face, though, swiftly turning into a bitter, sour grimace as he further drummed his long, decrepit fingers on the edge of his mahogany armrest.
"You may take a seat." The sneer rang through his putrid voice.
"I am quite understanding, that -- you do do investigative journalism, so, it might be a small bit out of your league to indulge in the political side of things, however, it's harming me. These 'rumors' you spill into your writings are nothing more than sprinkled in dogshit that the magazine tabloids spread falsely about me. I am aware it is your job, but be mindful."

The result of Chase's flakey ego crumbling really wasn't an exciting sight, honestly, he yawned, small, feathered wings slightly spreading against his torso, strangely (spreading) eluding the gentle scent of lilac throughout the rest of the office. It is true, his ego is nothing but a cracked vase, ready to crumble at any moment, these 'rumors,' though, mostly and sadly true, are not helping his pathetic case.

"Do you really think you can treat people like you do and get away with it?" Octo snaps, one of the many victims of Fielding Chase's harsh and cold words. "Those like you are exactly the reason I ran away and refused to save the world! You egotistical, cold-hearted oafs!" He anger makes his palms start to glow a light blue but he takes a deep breath to try and calm himself, exhaling shakily. 

"You better get your act together. Just because you're a mayor, and you have people under you, doesn't mean you get to walk all over them!" He growls. "Sure, they are part of a system, but so are you. It's your job to guide them." Octo scoffs, "You can't even do 1 job?"

With a cutesy, over-exaggerated yawn, Opal rubs her eyes and peers at the young man in front of her. She's definitely heard of Octo and his escapades, but now that she's face-to-face with him, she finds herself incredibly bored.
"Maaaan," she lilts, leaning forward with her hands on her hips, "you mean to tell me this little wuss is my most recent competition? YAAAAWN."

Satisfied with her performance, she turns away from Octo and pulls a knife from an obscured location, starting to twirl and toss it idly.
"Here I was, considering offering you an invite into my exclusive organization, but you turn out to be a little sissy bitch. Could you be any more annoying?"

Opal spares a look over her shoulder at the young man, her eyes narrowing with sinister glee and a sharp, toothy grin plastering her face.
"That look on your ugly face tells me you don't even remember what you did. But I know! The underworld knows! And if you don't start taking ownership now, someone - maybe me, maybe not - is gonna put your sorry ass's lights out, for good."
The scathing warning rests in the air as Opal walks off, her hood now pulled up over her head, and humming to herself.

~

(@ NP: opal isnt a good person like at ALL, so it shouldnt be hard to berate her! just know that no matter what you say, it really won't bother her. in fact she'll definitely laugh at you :'D
to give you an idea though: she's a serial killer. she kills both people she finds extremely annoying (mostly long-term connections) and cute girls. she also does a lot of organized crime, including shoplifting/scams, and pays off the local police.
she also has like. a Lot of different disguises and Looks. she does photography too and runs a horror blog. oh and she has a scrapbook for "inspiration" that's full of her cute female victims, including before and after pictures of their murders.
she's fairly good at putting up a cutesy outside demeanor and acting innocent but she's also known to be EXTREMELY passive aggressive and downright MEAN to people. very good at slyly cutting into you with her words.
her weapon of choice is a knife, but she murders other ways too.

thats all, go nuts! (sorry if its long, i just havent written her profile yet ajfhej)

Bianca blinked slowly, furrowing her eyebrows at the younger party. While she maintained her glowering expression, Bianca stroked the back of her daughter's head.

"Go inside, sweetie. I'm going to have a little chat with this young lady," Bianca stated, patting her child's back before watching to make sure that she entered the building. As soon as Bianca turned back around, her motherly demeanor vanished, replaced with the most menacing glare she could muster.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" the woman hissed at the younger party, gripping her fist as she stormed up to Opal. She furrowed her eyebrows lower, digging the ball of her heel in the ground as she attempted to compose herself.

"You don't get to fuckin' threaten my daughter like that! She's fuckin' fourteen! I don't appreciate those advances you were making towards her." Upon completing her sentence, Bianca craned her head upwards, pursing her lips into a pout.

"The next time I see you remotely near my daughter, authorities will be called. No one likes people like you. Hurting a literal child is absolutely not okay. Unbelievable!" Bianca hissed one last time, turning around and making her way down to the building. She swung the door open, then entered her office, followed up with a slam of the door.

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

Characterization notes are underneath the spoiler!

“I’m not going to fucking call you out for saying shit like ‘ass’ and ‘damn’ all the time, even if it’s tempting,” Brown growled to the middle-aged woman while sipping a shot of absinthe. Great. How many shots was it going to take before she got absolutely fucking sloshed and unhinged? Who knows. She chewed on her lip idly and continued, “Besides… I did express my condolences to you earlier. Children are a pain in the ass to bear in general. Sometimes it’s just awkward and hurts you for a bit, but other times…” Not this again… Brown’s lip curled back as she set the glass back down.

“... Other times, the consequences are a bit more dire. The ‘near-death experience’ kind of dire.” Well then!

The aristocrat actually had to take a break and just breathe in and out - in and out - because the memories were catching up to her again. Gasping for air, begging for the pain to stop… Brown’s previously frigid gaze actually softened quite visibly while she glanced off to the side, where the absinthe bottle was posited, before she grabbed it and poured herself another glass. She thought she needed it anyhow, but if she wanted to get to the point she was working towards…

So, the shot glass remained in her hand and nowhere close to her lips as she snarled, “But that asides, just because I can sympathize with you doesn’t mean that I’m not going to call out bullshit when I see it, and let me make one thing clear…” Brown clenched her jaw shut, her teeth clicking against each other, before she craned her neck to properly examine the other party and make her statement:

“You’re a fucking floozie,” the aristocrat growled, “There’s no use denying that. But if you’re going to treat your daughter like shit for something that was frankly your fault, then that is a whole new level of despicable.” Yea… Brown better make that clarification… A menacing glint appeared in her eyes, one that couldn’t be dulled by the influence of alcohol even as she slowly took a sip from it, while the aristocrat kept her gaze on the other. In a way, she expected the photographer to lash out; she knew that she’d react in a similar manner if in the other party’s shoes- Wait a moment.

Maybe she was just calling herself out for shit that she wished she could’ve done before. Poor Walker, but also not really… At least according to Brown.

“I get it,” she huffed, “It is tempting to project your insecurities onto other people simply because you don’t know better. I don’t blame you one bit. What I do blame you for is why you have to condemn your older daughter for existing when she was, in fact, a product of your irresponsibility. Maybe you see that, but at the same time…” Brown lifted the glass to her lips once more. Bubbles of absinthe formed while she spoke in between sips, “... I might as well fucking take the kid away from you if all you are going to do is make googly eyes at your youngest daughter. It’s almost like the older one doesn’t exist. Sure, it could be a favor to you, but I don’t care. I may have killed my husband, but I’m willing to bet that I would be a much, much better parental figure for her than for you.” Brown gulped down the last bit of absinthe, partially to disguise the crack that had started to appear in her voice. “Trust me. Really.”

@ NP: Brown is meant to be human, so check out her Human tab if considering her appearance!! I'm just posting as her urban legend tab in case it inspires your response!! 

I'll also try my best to do a follow-up for NP if I have the time!!

The Frenchman stressed at the mess that lay before him at first he felt sad, then he looked at brown and only anger flooded, the spy turned red " you! You made ze worst mess of my living room!! Ze room i worked so hard to keep well and clean!" 

books were on the floor, water spills, dirty footprints coated the rug and much more " zis is ze worst day!! How could you?" sigh " just go "

Andrea growled at the spy, rumbling the floor with their hooves, she was angry. "Why did you do that? You know I'm feisty!" The hybrid snapped at Vladimir, who offended her species. "Well, I won't hurt you this time, I don't want to face charges you know." Andrea said with a slightly tired face. Just as Andrea spoke, Vladimir fired back about how she treats others. "Grrrrrr.." She took one hoof out and threatened the Frenchman, who was looking at them with fear. "LAST TIME! I HAD IT!" Andrea growled, but she calmed down, because she was... petted?

For NP: Andrea can deny at first but will get very angry if you use that over and over.

just as a small note, but I'm doing double duty for both @Owlite and @LuluToro since I think the former ended up getting skipped?? if this isn't okay, please lmk so that I can edit my response!!

With a scowl, Walker placed her hands on her hips and hissed to both parties, "Both of you... Both of you need to get yourselves together and learn to act more..." She trailed off as she lifted up a hand and waved it. Such motions meant nothing, however, compared to the irritation flashing in her eyes. "... How should I say it..." the aristocrat eventually resumed, though in a much more strained fashion than before, "... Civilized? Is that a fair word for me to be saying?" She paused and peered over at the king.

"After all, as someone who possessed a title at some point in his life, maybe you should be helping me around here. Or are you too busy lingering in your set of grandiose delusions to be much of a use? I mean..." Walker trailed off and shifted her gaze over to the caprine canine. "... When it comes to sapience, you are definitely superior. But when it comes to befitting your rank... You could do much, much better."

In other words, Walker thought that all of this was a mess. And it was! Not only did she have to deal with a (former) king who looked like he was going to drown in his self-importance in any moment, but she also had to calm down an animal that could cause thousands of dollars' worth of damage if she were allowed to wreak havoc. Where are these servants when I need them!? she silently griped to herself before whipping her head over her shoulder just to see if anybody was there- Oh. She deflated for a second, before tensing them back up again when she realized what sort of situation she was in at the moment.

"Besides, at least she-" the aristocrat hissed to the king while pointing a finger at the creature, "- Acts like how she is expected to be. An animal is an animal no matter how you put it. But you... You have no respect for anyone, and it shows. I am surprised that you managed to maintain power for as long as you did, given that all you focus on is hedonism. Your own self-pleasure. Why not help me out and get yourself, as well as this creature, out of here before something terrible happens?" Whatever that meant.

But alas, Walker then had to shift her attention over to the canine... And that was all that needed to be said, really. Just the fact that the beast smelled faintly of wolf - a stench that was all too familiar to her thanks to her "unique" girlhood - was enough to make her shrink back slightly... Which was probably a mistake considering the other human that she was sharing a room with, but it didn't matter too much.

Now she remembered why she had to take both of them out, and not just the king. With any other animal, Walker would've had more lenience, but...

"As for you," Walker sniffed while stepping towards the helk and trying to lift her up, "you can get some tea, but not until after you go outside with that king fellow now... All right? Both of you are hereby forbidden to enter these premises until you learn how to behave. I do not know when that will be, but..." She trailed off to peer over at the (ex-)monarch with a frown. "... I hope that is sooner rather than later, for everyone considered... Yes?" Sure.

oh worm. a follow-up after 4568739201573489201 years. Walker fucking loses her mind.

“There’s always sumethin’ funny about tryin’ to escape yer parent’s shadow, is der not?” Roswell asked. He pressed his cigar between his teeth. The leidsman made himself more comfortable in Smithson’s chair. In Smithson’s office. He crossed his legs, held the whisky-glass lightly between his fingers.
“Yer can’t. Dat’s de problem,” Roswell said. The flames of the fireplace reflected on his face, the constant shifting of the fire made him look even older. Saggy mouth corners, crow-feet. The gray in his hair almost looked white.
“We can keep tellin’ us ourselves dat we outgrew dem. Dat we came out stronger, more important den dem,” Roswell said. As he took a swing of his whisky. “But we did not outgrew dem.”
Roswell set up straight. He put down his whisky glass. “Yer mum left a huge shadow over de city,” Roswell said. “Such a huge shadow, for such a small frame,” Roswell laughed. Showed a hint of his teeth as finally got out of the chair. The leidsman placed his arms behind his back, as he started to pace. His mudsoaken camel-ridersboots left prints on the expensive carpet. Strains he rubbed out with the point of his shoe.

“We always tell ourself dat we are better,” Roswell said. He plucked the cigar from between his teeth and used the lit fireplace to light it up. “And look at us now. Derailed. Obsessed with provin’ de world wrong. While following our parents directly in our footsteps.”
The thief placed the tobacco back. “Because, tell me Walker. Yer don’t believe yer a good parent, roi?” Roswell couldn’t help but laugh. “Cause well.. We are not.”