Piper leaned back to fully take in the man that was nearly a foot taller than him, He ran a hand over his beard, mulling over his thoughts. He definitely didn't want to nitpick at this beast of a man, that could end badly if he said the wrong thing. The small man cleared his throat, shaking his head with a small frown, "I ah... Cold coffee, seriously? I get iced coffee, that is meant to be cold... But hot coffee that is left cold, eugh." He thinks for another moment, quietly, "On a serious note... Your dislike of non-humans. Think you got some personal stuff you need to address deep down son." Said Piper, despite being the younger man.
How this works: Post IC and state what the OC above is/does/has too much of. This can be based on looks, personality, behavior, etc.
Rules:
- Use the word "too" at least once. That is the point of the game.
- Please put effort into your responses. There's technically no sentence minimum, but please no two-word responses.
- Your response should not be NSFW, offensive, or hurtful to real people. Let's confine the emotional pain to our characters.
- Wait until three other people have posted before you post again, unless it's been 24 hours. In that case, only one other person must have posted.
You get the point, right? So let's start for real with Dr. Fire!
"Too perfect," NV whispered, hands in their pockets as one eye focused intensely on the man in front of him. "You're so diverse; such an exotic accent in such a unique land. You stand out and get everyone's attention. And their love. You're successful in every way: your job, your lover, your life. Even when everything was turned upside-down because of your father, you have a clear goal and strong support to keep you standing." Wraps moved around their feet. "I wish I could know what that was like, to have someone care for me even when it felt like everything was going wrong. To be cared for in general. Please, share with me your answer."
"Yes, yes you're right," NV breathed. It didn't take any digging into their inner being to understand the issue. They knew full well about their obsessions and desires, and how it could all go away with the simple mindset of "It's okay to be me". But that's the thing about problems, isn't it? You know the solution but the way to get to it is always the tough part. Sometimes even impossible, Envy would always tell them.
"But you, you have it figured out, don't you?" Their eye focused once more on Fitzgerald. "Yes, of course you do. You're always speaking so wise, so poetic. You know the answers. I can't get there on my own, but perhaps you can share your methods with me. Yes... Yes, surely you'll be my hero and share this with me."
Raising his brow at the wraps covering the other individual, Fitzgerald initially wanted to blurt out something related to their appearance. After all, if they were so shameful about this particular aspect about themselves, they wouldn't hesitate to cover themselves up to that extent. Right? The thought, which he played with in his mind like some sort of toy, made him chuckle as the young man shuffled his feet in a steady sense of contentment. This was going to be good, he pondered with the usual smug energy that he possessed; he knew it from the bottom of his heart. Or, um, brain. Hearts were something he found a bit soft anyways.
Eventually, though, he was somehow able to piece two and two together, and... Their name! Fitzgerald's eyes brightened considerably as he turned to face them with a grin. It had the countenance of pure enthusiasm at first glance, but knowing Fitzgerald, it was probably a thinly applied facade to hide the sheer malice that was about to come from his mouth.
"You're needy," he proclaimed bluntly, "Far too needy. You're never satisfied with where you are in life, and you feel the need to elevate yourself because of it. Even if it pushes other people down in the process. Even if you don't actually deserve it." Fitzgerald was clearly being a hypocrite, as he felt such a strong need to assume the moral high ground that he conveniently dismissed where he stood on that ladder (a very, very low position). "You know, upsetting the status quo like that will never make people happy. Sometimes, you just need to accept where you are and rest a bit. It'll do wonders to both yourself and everyone around you, trust me." Finished with his little declaration, he let his smile shrink into a more genuine, but still very much condescending sneer. So what if he was messing with a being that most likely wasn't completely human? He certainly didn't have enough insight to really comprehend or consider what he was doing.
"Let me guess," *began the pigeon king," "you're the kind of person who builds sandcastles and calls himself god."
August gave Fitzgerald a kind smirk. His hand met his shoulder like an old friend. His hair was like a snake maze, vibrant in chocolate hue; brows more flexible, monstrously flexible than poor August in his entirety. They sat on his face like powerful towers, defending whatever nooks sat empty behind his forehead. He roared about NV, which stirred a curious spot in the pigeon. And, by the looks of it, Fitzgerald certainly took care of himself, so much so that his lips could afford to race faster than his heart.
This was August's favorite kind of insecure.
"Would you like to have a spot of tea? We can build castles out of sugar packets."
Noel sneered at August. The younger man reminded him quite a bit of his older brother, who had passed so long ago. He was never fond of said brother. He was hedonistic, juvenile, more like a teenage boy than someone as important as he was meant to be. And so, Noel thought little of the pigeon king, and spoke bluntly, coldly,
"You're too childish." he said, "Immature, silly. You're twenty-nine years old, yes?"
The old man scoffed, and finished his words with a shake of his head. "Imagine being an adult and acting as you are now. I should've prayed that I'd never meet another person like that again, because here you are now. You disgust me."
Gee. Thanks.
Lukman chuckled, looking at Noel. The millionaire looked both amused and.... Disappointed? Disgusted? Hard to tell. "Well, my friend, you're way too serious, too dark... Do you even remember how it feels to have fun?"
He let out a light laugh.
"See, you should go out, grab a drink, meet some friends... Or do you just like sitting in a dark corner with that judgmental look on your handsome face?" He grinned, flashing his fangs with a despicable, smug look. "Anyway, have a nice day, my friend. Don't forget to smile for the camera, if you ever encounter one !!"
Xander shortly shook his head. He had seen many people going down this down-spiral path and he was sure Lukman wouldn't be an exception. He shook his head. "You live too much in the present with no respect for your past. Or for the future, " he said. "Your wealth gives your comfort now but, please don't lose sight of the future as well."
--
Xander had A very fragile 'please get me away from here, I'm smiling cause I'm polite', smile on his face. He'd listened to the ranting and sneering and once it was over, the corner of his mouth lifted a tiny bit. "Oh, well thank you, my good sir, for your concerns, and thank you for complimenting my voice, that means a lot too me especially commit g from a gent like you." The smile crept a tiny bit higher, "you should feel exhausted after... Spitting out so many words, sorry that was a bit rude of me to say but, do you have time? For some tea maybe? My daughter makes the most extraordinary tea, it's very delicious.. You should try it."
"Too emotional. Too soft," Johnson spat bitterly, immediately standing up to his feet and shooting the other man the most contemptuous glare he could produce, "We may both be men of culture, but listen to me when I say this: we couldn't be any more different. It's a harsh world out there, sir, and being as gentle as you are will surely lead to pain." A sneer formed on his face as he jeered, "Besides, I hate to bring up harsh memories, but wasn't this particular weakness what led to you being... Not exactly alive? Surely I thought you would've learned the first time, but... I guess not."
He shrugged while looking off to the side, muttering under his breath about how nice a shot of absinthe would be at the moment. Perhaps the green wonder could be shared- No. Johnson sighed in an exaggerated manner before starting to pace around.
Throwing out his hands, the middle-aged man started to ramble about feeling anything was dumb and the recipe for total disaster, how he managed to get himself oh-so high up without needing to give a single damn, yada yada blah blah blah... The most one could really draw from this tirade was that he really, really didn't like it when one was "soft" - which was basically anything but completely stoic and unfeeling in his eyes. How nice of him. Once he ran out of breath, Johnson kicked at the ground before spinning himself to look at the singer once more.
With much hesitance, he added, "Although as much as I can't stand the thought of feeling, I must admit that your voice is quite beautiful. Too beautiful, actually. It's so raw that it hits you right in the heart. Like a spear, but with words..." He folded his hands together and said with little to no flair, "No wonder people love you. They see themselves reflected in your melodies, and that's what keeps them coming. And coming. And coming..." Johnson sighed and gave the ground another kick.
"But I must ask, sir. Do they really love you, or just the music you make? Because there's a huge difference between the two, and if you're soft, then... One of those options is going to be just like those words of yours: absolutely painful."
"Too serious, too serious. Far too serious. :) There's no need to be so cold, there's no need to be so mean. :) You can get the results you want with a nice smile. :) Because smiles mean you're happy. And if you're happy, other people will be happy. :)" Smiley tried to emphasize it by tracing the smile drawn on his bag with his index fingers, as though it would spread to Johnson. "I've visited so many people that were like you. So serious. So, so serious. :) But then I showed them how happy I was, and they were smiling too by the time I left! :) It's a wonderful feeling. I think you should try it. :)"
With a disapproving cluck of her tongue, Daia leaned back against the nearest wall and shook her head at the masked killer before her. "Too unfashionable. Far too unfashionable. Where is your sense of style? Now," She looked Smiley up and down, "The mask is a good start. That's bold, even if masks are a little ho-hum, if you ask me. But by the gods, darling, learn to accessorize! You're more than just a face- dress like it. You can start, if you ask me, by getting rid of that blood-soaked rag of a shirt and finding something a little more...dangerous? Cheerful? To be honest, I'm not sure which you're going for. Either way- you want your little 'lessons' to haunt people's memories?" She takes a swig from the flask at her side, turning to sidle away. "...Give them more to remember."
There was a pause in which Maribelle tapped her chin. She chewed her lip.
"..You're not really a good woman. Not a person, but-- but a woman. Too zealous, too strange. Really, I don't think you are one... You remind me of a Qun lady..." She hissed out. She didn't seem too pleased about the whole idea, and honestly, she was glad she wouldn't be working alongside Daia. Which might even be a good thing for the older woman, too.
Maribelle was an annoying seventeen-year-old girl who didn't know how to talk normally.
Her expression fell as she continued on, speaking bitterly. "Then again, I'm not, either. Not a good one. I know that."
"Who's me bratty little bugger, " Roswell said while playfully rubbing through Maribelle's hair. He had a big grin locked on his face. "Yer a bit foul mouthy hu? A bit too much aye? Callin' me ol' And telling me oi 'ave a stick up me arse?" Roswell let out loud laughter. "Aye kid yer somethin' else!"