NV, true to their name, was envious of many. Someone's looks, their heights, their personalities. They had things NV hadn't, and it showed with how many people loved and praised them while ignoring them. So they'd take it. The looks, the heights, the personalities. They'd take it for themselves, make themselves loved for once. And in doing so, sometimes people would die. It was never NV's intention. They'd be so enamored with, for example, one's mouth that they'd take it, forgetting that now that person had no mouth.
Death followed them wherever they went.
And in this case, quite literally.
NV opened their eye, staring up at the ceiling. It was the first time they hadn't waken up to Envy's chattering. Slowly, they sat up. Their jacket wasn't on, but all that exposed were more wraps covering their body. The one eye moved to stare at the spirit that stared back at them. He was young, by the looks of it, though he wasn't anyone they had recognized. They would have remembered such vibrant fur and innocent eyes. Their eye flickered to the two being tightly held before looking back at the ghost. "Who are you?" they grunted.
As your character is walking down an alleyway, they began to notice that something was a bit off. In order to confirm whether they're being followed or not, they purposely take one step and hear a slight 'tap' behind them.
How would your OC react?
Post IC!
Kibala would be walking in the forest of his territory trying to make his way back to his cave up the mountain. Being blind he is unable to view any danger but with his ears he has incredible hearing. What he was hearing was something that sounded like it was following him. He couldn’t tell if it was flying or just light on it’s feet since it was far away from him so he continued. As time goes on he continues to get the feeling of being followed and could hear the person behind him. He stopped to turn around to listen to it closely, he didn’t know if this creature was friend or foe. He was never one for attacking first but he felt threatened by this presence. If it turned out to be friend he wouldn’t mind making new ones or allowing them to pass, however he couldn’t tell with the presence being too far away to determine their motive. He stayed on guard as he made his way back to his home and await for the stalker to make a move as he listened carefully to their movements.
Once he made it back to his cave, his home, he let out a roar, a signal he sends out every time he leaves and returns to not enter his home or that he was roaming for something to eat, either way, enemies were not welcomed, though if no ill intend comes from those that enter his home he will calm down and listen to their problems. He can not speak though he will try to help the best he could. He awaited the stalker at the entrance of his home to hear why they were following him.
Skinner was just a little bit foolish when it came to realizing things. One of those things just so happened to - well - being followed by someone.
He should've been more aware of his surroundings. He should've realized that feeling of having his back bored into wasn't just a typical symptom of being in a relatively crowded area, where glimpses in his direction were often, if not inevitable. He should've been aware that he was being watched.
Or maybe not! Skinner had heard of the god wreaking havoc upon others, being quite cruel and callous in the way she carried herself out. She might've seemed like a shrinking violet at first glance, but in reality, she was anything but that. Wielded with a knife and ready to attack without any apparent provocation, she was definitely one to be reckoned with. She, in other words, reminded Skinner of his wife - who had much of the same tendencies but was... More reserved. Ideally.
Oh, how much that'd age like milk in just a few years...
"Ah, so you're here," he merely stated once he saw the blonde seemingly materialize in the middle of the crowd, leaving a ring of emptiness - where people desperately wanted to avoid her, as if they didn't want to be spotted by her - in her wake. Skinner didn't seem too fazed by the fact that she, out of all people, was watching him, but that was definitely a bluff. His legs trembled all too clearly, and there was the sense that his skin was starting to feel just a bit clammy. "I didn't expect to see you here at this time. It's only the evening, after all." And with that, he pointed at the setting sun, his grin fading in favor of a more pensive frown.
He shuffled his foot before humming, "Is it because the sky is pink, as you so enjoy, or..." His eyes fixated on the knife she so happened to wield. It, in a visceral sense, made him wince and take a step back - if only he knew how prophetic that was of his eventual demise. Hindsight was a bitch. But for now, Skinner merely opined further, "... The decrease in visibility makes it easier for you to strike?" And, funnily enough, Skinner's vision wasn't its best, not at this age and time.
Perhaps she was well-aware of this potential weakness. Or not! Perhaps he was projecting a bit too much, though that didn't seem intentional unless hindsight was taken into account...
bless you pickle for that sweet necromancy. time for a follow-up.
It was no secret that Skinner liked his bugs. He was the type to hold them up in the air and proclaim how neat they were - regardless of whether his audience actually gave a shit about what he had to say or not.
The man also liked going to the park, though that was more of a secret than his obsession with bugs. At least bugs were pretty much part of his career! He basically had a free excuse to blab about them for hours on end! The same lenience couldn't be applied to his tendency to gravitate towards the park whenever he needed some time to himself. Maybe it was the juxtaposition of calm and casual that made him seek the place. Maybe he considered it the middle ground between the higher and lower classes, the best of both worlds... Perhaps a middle ground between the more natural parts of the world, and the more urban parts as well?
He wasn't one for philosophizing, really. Skinner was just out on a walk when he saw someone holding a camera. Nothing too unusual; people took pictures of the wildlife all the time. Even Skinner, who was supposed to go on a walk for exactly an hour and fifteen minutes before returning home, would've done the same if he had a camera.
Thank fuck Brown didn't give him one, just told him to "fuck off" before slamming the door on him. Oh.
But when he couldn't really see what the other party was taking pictures of, the middle-aged man knew that he had to investigate further. Ever so carefully, he started to approach, his steps surprisingly delicate against the concrete of the sidewalk. That was concerning when the person in question was a burly middle-aged man, but it was rendered slightly less so by the curious and cheeky grin on his face- Never mind. He just stood there after finding a suitable position - situated a few meters away from where the photo-shoot was taking place - and just... Standing there.
Gee.
At least Brown wasn't there to kick his ass and make him walk again.
"Ah!" exclaimed Skinner when he was caught, his eyes focused on the tank and hands raised. He gave the other party his widest grin, though - obviously - he was more ecstatic about the bug than anything else. (Ouch.) With a laugh, he immediately answered while pointing a finger at his chest, "Oh, me too! I love bugs!" Way to one-up someone there, asshole. "I love them so much that I work with them for a living! There are so many different types of bugs out there, and all of them are such joys to be around!" He grinned before hopping a single step closer, just to get a better view of that sweet bug.
Upon hearing the offer, Skinner nodded, before humming, "Oh, of course! It's always a pleasure seeing more bugs around. I wish they weren't so misunderstood, as you said. Where's your store? I'll probably visit it to look at the bugs sometime, if you don't mind." Oh god. Brown wasn't going to like this additional distraction one bit, if she ever found out...
Somewhere near the edge of the local park was a beetle-- A prionus, to be exact. It was a large, dark brown critter that could be mistaken for a common roach upon first glance, but a closer look would reveal spiky-looking antennas that set it apart from the rest. If that wasn't enough, then the small, light tan cowboy hat atop its head would.
Besides the beetle curiously poking at a stick was a camera aimed at it, its lens getting bigger or smaller depending on its user, who was very focused on getting just the right picture. Zack propped himself on the ground while searching out different angles, each one better than the last. Sometimes he'd accidentally trip without a second hand to keep him upright, but these were small bumps and scratches that were worth it. This beetle was gorgeous, and he would make sure the world appreciated this species more.
After about sixty pictures, Zack decided that it was finally enough. He packed up his camera then reached for the beetle, who started scurrying off in reaction. "Hey, stop it," he grunted. Thankfully the beetle was naturally slow, and he was able to catch it and put it safely back in its portable tank. It was as he was looking up that he spotted someone watching. Or was it...? Zack followed his gaze to the tank. "You a fan of beetles?" he asked the guy while getting up. "I like bugs. They're misunderstood. People that care about them, they can see the true power behind them. I got pictures of this guy so that people wouldn't be so scared or disgusted by bugs. I'm about to head back to its home at my pet store, if you want to look at more. They'd like having a visitor that wants to see them and not the puppies."
Who knew how he got there, this weird building with many.. furry, scale-y, feathery, creatures, all ranging in sizes. One moment he was minding his business and the next he was in this loud building. He’d browsed the many creatures, attempting to figure out just what they were. Through his confusion, Judas glanced around, noticing a pair of eyes already on him. He wasn’t too concerned about it, but it did leave him a bit on edge, “Err.. what are these caged creatures called? Are they edible?” He questioned, pointing towards one of the puppies
"Careful now... Just because you're not exactly human doesn't mean that these streets are friendly to you by any means."
Wait. How did he know that the Deception had been following him?
Smithson drew in a breath before folding his hands together and coolly remarking, "Listen. I may have given you that favor this one time... Giving you a ride on my shoulders, but it doesn't mean that I'll do it again by any means. If anything, I'll probably ask for an official to deal with you. You know this is a gated community, right?" Yet in spite of the rather thinly veiled threats in his voice, the middle-aged man almost seemed... Coy? Like he found the repeat encounter to be that genuinely intriguing? Or maybe it was his voice just being so quiet that it was difficult to read his tone. Who knows?
"I've heard about your attacks on some of the aristocrats here anyway. Pretty brutal, if you ask me," grunted the aristocrat with a frown, "You think that I'd come out here in the middle of the night without some form of protection? Or at least some awareness that someone might be watching." He waved a hand before carefully stepping off to the side - ever so slightly. "To be honest, I think 'someone' might be a bit of a misnomer for you. You're a beast, someone who doesn't understand restraint. You absolutely need to keep eating, even when your stomach begs you to stop, just because... You can. You like the power associated with it..."
"... Figuratively and literally, of course."
With a wry chuckle escaping from his lips, Smithson settled himself down on a nearby bench while musing aloud, "I'd normally condemn you for such recklessness - but when it's clearly helped you, I can't help but throw a compliment your way." And... "You sure know a lot about hunting people, huh? I just think that your methods are a bit old-fashioned. Ambushing people in the dark is effective, but have you considered something as brazen as attacking someone in broad daylight? You're not human, according to the files. No reasonable human would be so inclined to consume and consume. They can't stop you, not without those creatures of theirs... Wouldn't you agree?" Shut up, Smithson. You have creatures in your arsenal too.
Yet that didn't stop the aristocrat from taking out his planner and flicking through it, pondering with a hum, "I actually think it could be useful, if channeled towards productive pursuits... Like demolishing your enemies. Have you tried focusing on that? It could be useful, you know." Five free minutes left. Five minutes for a hopefully civilized conversation. Smithson bit down on his lip and peered over the pages to eye the other more cautiously. "I have a list, if you need guidance, but... It's up to you. You're a deviant, after all. I'd revile you, but as said before... When you're clearly successful, I see no reason for you to not bask in it."
follow-up time. kick his ass later on, Susanna. it's what he deserves.
Technically, he wasn't even doing this for himself. His wife had happened to have the most inconvenient soft spot for musicians, so… For her sake, he was going to do this for her; after all, he was considered the head!
Thus, after the music stopped, Smithson thought of it as a remotely intelligent decision to start walking after some of the band members.
You know - instead of asking them for acknowledgement, or maybe an autograph, like a normal person. Okay, old man. And you wonder why there’s a huge ass controversy surrounding your influence outside of your native region… For shame, Smithson, for shame.
Though shame certainly wasn’t what he had in mind while continuing to pursue the abbess and her fellow band members, at least until-
“You know, stalking me isn’t going to get you to meet the band.”
Smithson froze, now seeing eye-to-eye with… Her. Holy shit, was she pissed. She reminded him of his mother-in-law, in terms of that sharp glare and demeaning temperament… He frowned before crossing his arms and returning her glare.
“I wasn’t stalking you,” proclaimed the man who had been following her, “I was just curious.” That’s one way to fucking say that. Nevertheless, the middle-aged aristocrat remained unfazed even as she turned around and took a few steps towards him, pointing a finger in his direction in the meanwhile. “And I know,” he grunted with a scowl, “Don’t consider me stupid over something like that. Just know…”
He hesitated for a second, then added, “I was doing this for my wife. She’s just not here because she’s shy.” And that was - in spite of everything - the truth! How much time did he have left now, anyways? Smithson planned to reach for his planner before sniffing, “I can see why, though. You clearly are a repulsive old woman now, are you?” His eyes narrowed further while he continued to scan her and her visage.
“But if you say so,” he grunted in response to her demand… Not that she was in earshot for it. It didn’t matter to Smithson, who rolled his eyes and let out a scoff before walking the other way. Walker was going to be disappointed.
Kuraru was walking down the street from the café back to academy dorms. He might had forgotten the time since it's dark out now, let's hope the dorm door haven't closed yet. He sighed and walk through the cold breeze of the night, the quietness of the town, owl noises, it is pretty peaceful at this time of the day. Too bad the neighborhood isn't that well lit, but the good thing about it is that the sky are full of stars. Such a beautiful sight.
He continues to walk until he senses something...not right. His ears twitches and he turns around, no body was there, but someone totally has been following him. Still watching his back, he continued to walk ever so carefully. But a few moment later, he feel the presence of someone approaching closer. At this point he's ready to attack, but paused when he saw a woman standing in front of him after he turned.
It's not that he underestimate the others, it's just that she doesn't seem to have any weapon on her. Cautiously, he spoke up after inspecting her from afar distance. "What...who are you? And why are you following me...?" He asked, with no tone whatsoever in his voice. He lifted his ears by little as he watches her approaches, get ready to attack if she appear as a harm, but what he got from her was just an invitation.
"....Recruitment...?" Kuraru tilted his head, an offering for him to some kind of...cult? He believe? The teen looked at Susanna with less caution as his ears gone back to where it was, tightly conceals on his head. He stepped back by little and averts his eyes while talking "It does sound like a great deal but...I will have to let you down. I am sorry, thank you for offering, though.
^I kinda tried to leave it open but it can be interpreted as that Kuraru uses a wee bit of telepathy in this prompt because Ros is to.. drunk.. To listen to actual words right now. But if you want me to chance it (as his bio states he rarely uses it on people!) let me know! 🙏
Oh Roswell.. He was píss drunk. Sloogisch. Bezopen. Out of it. His throat felt like sandpaper and his world was spinning and turning. The old crook rubbed his eye. Wiped his feverish sweat that beaded form his forehead.
But there was this, itch.. This weird ache, in the back of his mind that he couldn’t shake. Roswell blamed the last pint he’d drink but he knew that wasn’t it.
It was something.. Messing with him. Something besides alcohol of course. Seeping his mind somehow...
His already, groggy, mind.
Maybe it was targeedt, done consciously or maybe Roswell's groggy mind was in such a state that he could pick up psy-auras. Either way works.
Roswell didn’t know what his brain was picking up and to be completely honest with you? He didn’t want to find out either. So he made haste. His steps drifted about over the cobble street stones. The few gas-light streetlamps that were lit flickered and sputtered. Making navigating back for the old man even harder.
Shite.
There it was again. A small ping in the back of his mind. Almost as if someone was calling out to him. The feeling you get when you brush shoulders with a stranger on the bus and they gave you an angry look. But there was no stranger to be seen.
Roswell folded his cowl up. He hid his face between the textile. “Not now mister psychic oi’m drunk,” Roswell spoke to himself. At least he was speaking the truth.
The thief made a turn. Walked into a back alley, when the ping happened again. This time forming a clear feeling, or at least his mind proceeded it as such. A word maybe. But Roswell’s drunken subconscious couldn’t get a grip on it.
Though even in his boozed up state, Roswell got the idea that whoever was sending him these ‘vibes’ wanted him to stop.
Stop?
Right here, in the middle of a back alley while you don’t know the difference between left and right anymore and even the street was spinning?
Sure.
So Roswell stopped. His hand dropping to his kram-dagger. But his fingers to shaky to even get a grip on its handle. Slowly Roswell turned around. Facing the... Thing, that had been ringing in his mind for, maybe hours? Maybe just 15 minutes. Void. Roswell didn’t know.
What he did know however was that he never had seen the boy that apparently had followed him before.
A wee lad. That’s how Roswell would described him in drunken state. A creepy wee lad at that. Something about the youth gave Roswell the shivers. Maybe those sunken purple eyes, maybe the unexpected cat ears.. Or maybe, the wallet he’d been holding.
“Oh oi, das moine,” he whispered. As he released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Were did yer get dat? Oi’ve must have dropped somewhere,” Roswell said. Then sheepishly laughed. “Well its not technically moine of caurse. Stole it from some poor sap. Had enough money to get good ol’ me in dis state. But oi’d appreciate it if yer give it back.”
--
This is my longest reply goodbye as I chucked it with (unnecessary) worldbuilding details. Enjoy my lore (tm):
Roswell felt happy. He actually did, as his hands rested on Brown’s hip and shoulder. Well their feet stepped in pace with each other. Her warmth, the feeling of her dress and the subtle smell of musk. He smiled from ear to ear. While leading Brown further and further in their dance. It was almost like the dance they’ve shared in his apartment weeks ago. When this plan was just a fragile as thread of silk.
But now it was kicking in its full gears. While he was twirling and whispering soft Starq words (you know! Like companions did!) his Krakers were spotting the place. Looking for that one precious box. A jewellery box, under lock and Johnson’s key. Their jackpot for this evening.
Roswell just leaned closer to Brown for a soft peck, when he saw a...Rather small... Servant. With blond hair that peeked from behind his gray (every butler and servant wore a simple gray mask to not distract from the furry rave that was going on) mask. Raised 3 fingers. Its save. Then nodded up, upstairs, before mending himself with the guests again. Slightly trembling as he did so. Poor Salva- I mean servant. Couldn’t stomach this many people.
“I’ll see you later this fine evening,” Roswell whispered to Brown. Giving her shoulder a soft squeeze before letting go. He smiled at her, before slipping into the crowed.
Roswell thought that he was being careful. But it was hard, even for him to manoeuvre through such a crowed place unnoticed. He’d almost made it to the dinner tables when a familiar voice stopped him. Roswell frowned. Before turning on his heels. Just in time to see the host approach him.
Oh. Oh shit.
He swallowed. Quick Roswell, he told himself, improvise.
Unlike Brown he wasn’t going to pretend he was someone else. The glimmer behind the scorpion mask told him enough. Beside, a mask couldn’t mask his heavy accent.
“Oh, Johnson. Fancy meetin’ yer ‘ere,” I mean. No otter-mask could make that intelligible. His eye darted away from the old man to the place he’d been standing the last time Roswell had seen him.
Jan-Paul was still there. This time talking with the mayor. Roswell grimaced. Duo was an intimidating figure, smaller than him ór Nathaniel. But those icy blue eyes that pierced through everything... Brr. The old thief didn't like the sight of those peakers.
Though bit of a side note in an already long reply, imagine being the mayor of this Void-forgotten place, old and feared (going to retire next year and everyone including Abigail’s new husband was fighting for your place) and ending up with little mr apple-chippie over here. Roswell’s eye glided back to Johnson. “Oh she got de prettiest smoile. It’s a shame she doesn’t ‘ave much to smile about these days.” Just say murder and she’s happy.
“Couldn’t help but slip in. Partyin’ with de Jakes is somethin’ oi’ve dreamed of,” he teased. Roswell leaned a bit on one feet. His eye scanning the crowd. Many, and I mean many, of the guest were dressed in either blue or red coats. Blue were the footman of the Citymen. The ones that gave you fees for passing the street without looking first. The red ones however. Indirectly Roswell clenched his hand with its four digits into a fist. Those were the once being praised right now.
For beating the half of Goorse’s population into a pulp.
Roswell kept quiet for a seemingly long time. Walking among this people with his heart finger (left index finger) missing was as dangerous as rolling himself into pig lard and dangling himself for starving wolves. Scrap that. Roswell rather had the wolves.
“Oh no, it ‘as been a pleasure. Seein’ old colleges, trying their best to keep their tailcoats buttons from snapping. Bein’ out on the sea for such a long period of toime sure makes yer beefy hu.”
Roswell indirectly looked at the mayor again and suppressed a shiver. “Oh yes, now dat yer mention it. He almost smiled when he tried the lamb rack. Never ‘ave i seen dat man this delighted before,” Roswell said. Deadpanned.
“Drunk? Oh no, Oi don’t wanna ‘ave a smelly breath when Oi’m dancin’ with Brown again. Oi know she doesn’t mind. But oi do.”
He smiled calmly when Johnson asked him why he was here. “De lamb rack. If it puts a smile on Duo’s face, i’d sure cheer ‘er up as well,” he said. Softly squinting his eye as the other party laid his hand on his shoulder. “Yer sure know yer fair bit of scrapin’ by hu Johnson?” he asked. His eye pinned on the other parties face now. “’ow it feels to skip meals. To sleep in de cold street. Scrub off yer own dirt with yer browned fingernails,” he continued. Not breaking eye contact while speaking. He allowed himself to get pulled closer. And when the other called his full name and told him about the Jakes, Roswell’s fingers snatched his keys. Not even brushing the man’s jacket while doing so. “It’s not de Jakes Oi’m worried about,” he replied. Pocketing the keys. “Oi know where their loyalties lies. Nathaniel on the other ‘and...”
mom said it's my turn to make another long response. I'm so sorry. party rockers (or party rock is) in the house tonight. here's a spoiler box to keep my post easy to scroll past!!
While Brown conversed with Nathaniel, Johnson was busy talking to Jan-Paul in another corner of the room, waving a hand while showing the youth how these types of parties were to be done. They were simple affairs with enough experience, of course; the only anomaly this time around was the huge number of attendees, because apparently kicking workers' asses was a popular sentiment with Drakenburg's aristocracy. That, or... Everyone was kind of forced into this shithole because the mayor was sponsoring the event, so... Better to be safe than sorry, right?
"Wait, give me a moment," he interjected into the Easterling's words for a moment before flicking a wrist at him, "I need to deal with something." And what was that something exactly? His eyes were locked on a glimpse in the crowd, and he swore for a moment that the gaze was returned... "Or someone, to be more exact," the older man added with a hiss. "Stand by. I can get you the apples later. No worries about the blueberries-"
Clearing his throat, Johnson walked a few meters away from Jan-Paul and heard footsteps, because... Of course. That was expected, given how many attendees the party had, but... The somewhat fleeting touch of each step against the floor... These footsteps weren't the usual movements of an aristocrat by any means; they were light like a Kraker's. Someone had infiltrated the guards! His eyes narrowed underneath the scorpion's mask, though they were quick to soften once he caught a glance of a familiar fellow in the crowd... Though he didn't exactly mention it yet.
"I saw you with Brown earlier," commented the middle-aged aristocrat with a chuckle, "You... Otter-faced fellow." Like his so-called ally, Johnson wasn't fooled by the otter's mask almost too carefully applied to the beanpole's face. A beanpole was a beanpole, and you want to know who was the main beanpole Johnson knew (besides himself)? "I've never seen her that sunny in public before. Surely you mustn't be trying to weasel your way into her money stocks now, are you?" Great. That's not funny, asshole.
He chuckled and took a few gingerly steps towards the supposed guest, humming, "It's good to see you, by the way... Otterface." Hoo boy, would Brown kick Johnson's ass into the ground if she heard that. "I hope the party hasn't been too miserable otherwise, though," Johnson huffed, "There's a lot of food for the taking if you want. Bread, steak parcels, lamb... So much funding went into this, you know? The mayor is quite proud of what happened in Goorse, if you ask me, not that it matters what anyone else thinks besides him."
Of. Fucking. Course.
"Champagne too!" chimed in Johnson with saccharine dripping in his voice. Hell, if it weren't for the slippery nature of both parties - nor the tension in the air - then it could've been two friends just... Talking. Even if one of them technically wasn't invited. Johnson knew that, but... "You can get drunk on that if you want to watch the party go by. Or absinthe... Though absinthe can be a real bitch sometimes." No whisky though? Unfortunate.
He clicked his tongue against his palate and continued, "But why just walk around like that, sir? You were dancing with her just, eh, a few minutes ago? You should be back on the dance floor. I bet she's utterly heartbroken right about now!" With a harsh laugh, Johnson slapped a hand onto the other's shoulder while giving him a wry grin. "Unless you're planning to get drinks or refreshments, of course. I know from experience that the quickest way to someone's brain is through food. We're all instinct-driven by heart. For food, for money, for power... If those primal urges are satisfied first, then one can stop focusing on avoiding arrest and scraping enough to get by, and start focusing on making oneself stand out from the woodwork."
Finally, after a period of silence from his part, Johnson leaned in towards the otter-masked "aristocrat" and hissed with a whisper, "It's okay, Roswell. You don't have to worry about the Jakes when I'm around. You know that... Right?"
Syra…. I will die for you…. I’m so sorry for you being stuck with Johnson….. here’s a follow-up, as a treat.
Funnily enough, Johnson hadn’t even been expecting to be following someone. He had been passing through the city for essentially the entire time, until…
One time, his pacing had stopped, and yet he continued to hear footsteps. It made him furrow his brows. The occasional legend concerning the ghosts of the Incident was considered for - what - a moment, and… Then he dismissed it right after, because it had no basis in reality. He had always proclaimed that such ghost stories were meant to prevent the denizens from wandering out at night, and he wasn’t going to turn himself into some hypocrite because he had heard footsteps that weren’t his.
Well, never mind the fact that he - with his wealth and status - shouldn’t even be wandering around this late in night.
“This better not be some rapscallion,” the middle-aged man spat to himself under his breath as an idea came into his head. “Give me a moment.” Johnson stopped for a moment, scanned his surroundings, then started to follow the source of the footsteps - which he remembered a bit vaguely as being from a northeastern direction… Towards the supposed “dragon’s breath,” the term used to describe the cold drafts that rolled through the city every so often. Unlike the ghosts, this was definitely a meteorological phenomenon that could be attributed to the Incident; no such drafts existed before the attempted Plasma takeover several centuries ago, in spite of the city’s northerly location and proximity to the Giant Chasm, after all.
Thus, Johnson accelerated his pacing to clear his throat and utter, “Careful there, miss. You wouldn’t want to freeze yourself there now, wouldn’t you?” Uhhh… So much for showing an ounce of generosity, given that it was exaggerated. It was true that right after the Incident, “dragon’s breath” was so frigid that it might as well freeze someone solid on the spot; however, after many centuries, it had since become tepid, enough to give one a slight chill but definitely not enough to freeze them. “Don’t be surprised, miss,” he reassured her while scanning her youthful features, “Hello there, by the way.”
His voice dripped with honey, if only because he could immediately tell she wasn’t Unovan. How could she? Johnson was going to kick his own ass if she did turn out to be a native, but… He was certain that she wasn’t.
Hubris was a bitch.
“Don’t be asking so many questions now, by the way,” he hissed to the lass with a frown, “if only because it’s not worth it. I doubt we’ll meet again after this, so why bother?” Okay, edgy old man. Johnson paused again, as she stepped forwards ever so slightly. She really was curious, huh? Heaving out a sigh, he added carefully, “Yes… Business stuff, mainly. Again, it’s not worth getting into. Especially for someone as… Alolan as yourself… Always so committed to ‘fun.’” Now you really do sound miserable. Thanks!
(I had a funny idea so like. she -throwd her at mach speeds-)
Opelucid City was weirdly quiet - well, at least in her perspective. It was in the middle of the night, after all, so she didn't expect to hear much activity, but still, she'd imagined the city to sound a little more active, & the difference was enough to be offputting.
Syra hummed to herself, but kept her voice low as she walked, no real destination in mind. She'd made her way to the city out of sheer curiosity - but hadn't thought about what exactly she was going to do there. A look around, maybe. That'd be good enough.
Not much notable - to her - sound was around besides the distant chatter, muffle of something, - she couldn't really discern what - and footsteps.
Footsteps. Hers and another's.
Her heart almost skipped a beat, immediately speeding up as she made the realization. Maybe... maybe someone else just happened to be walking around too? Maybe they hadn't even seen her? Or had. Whatever the answer was, immediate action wasn't necessary. She figured the answer would reveal itself.
Considering her options, the humanoid simply kept moving, pretending not to notice whoever that other party was. Yet she listened closely to the other steps, which seemed to be... following?
Ah. Great.
She kept walking for a few moments before stopping & suddenly turning around, facing where she thought she heard the other party - or, Johnson.
"Oh, uh, hi! Hello!" A casual greeting, if a little polite, "didn"t notice you there! Who are you? What's up? Didya need something?" Feigning unawareness, she gave a warm, friendly smile as she chattered on. In honesty, she did want to know who this was & why he was following her, but asked no such questions - at least not directly.
The girl took a few steady steps forward as she spoke, merely curious about the aristocrat, but carrying a hint of caution. "And, like, it's sorta late at night, what're you doing out? Business-y stuff? Out late?"
For someone who lived on the idyllic beachside community of Undella Town, Walker sure as hell wasn't prepared for the battering heat and sunlight that Alola provided. Though... To be fair, Undella Town's northerly location (as well as its proneness to "dragon's breath") at least mitigated some of the more inconvenient - or perhaps devastating, depending on whom you asked - effects of the constant blue skies and an overly domineering sun. Alola, on the other hand, was rather close to what was considered the "tropical" belt of the Confederation - and therefore, the sun beat down for longer and harder, and the most accurate word to describe the climate was "sweltering."
And it was that word that Walker mumbled her breath before she hissed in addition, "I should have also gotten some looser clothes for this trip..." Oh, who was she kidding, though? She already fucked herself over in that regard; it was going to take several hours' worth of travel just to get back to Unova, and she sure as hell wasn't going to buy Alolan-made clothes for any reason... Even if it involved not imploding from the catastrophic beach heat, apparently! "... I just need to keep that in mind for next time... Assuming that there is one." Nice!
Then she heard footsteps.
Walker swore that she was standing still, yet she could hear the shuffling of feet from... Behind her? Oh no. Oh fuck. She wasn't going to get robbed or mugged today - or assassinated! The poor aristocrat hadn't done enough research as to whether Team Skull was much of a menace around these parts, but it didn't stop her from reflexively taking out a Pokeball from her pocket and thumbing its button as she turned around to confront just who might be going after her right now-
"Sy... Syra?" she stammered out of sheer shock after a moment. Immediately, Walker lowered the Pokeball before raising a brow ever so slightly at the Volcanion humanoid. "I... I never expected to see you in person before, in all honesty. My husband tells me about you sometimes, and how you two get along rather well despite the opposite personalities..." After a moment of hesitance, the middle-aged woman offered Syra a smile before stepping forward; by then, the Pokeball was pretty much back in her pocket, so this was either going to turn out well...
Or absolutely terribly! Who knows!
"I doubt that he has mentioned me to you personally either," the older woman teased before holding a hand out for her to shake, "but at least you are awake, yes? How is... Everything doing, miss? I hope that the Alolan heat has not been too much of a hassle on you? You look like you might be a bit overwhelmed by this tropical heat - and I cannot blame you one bit for that, to be honest!"
follow-up time. Walker can die inside as a treat, because misunderstandings go brr.
So this was the fucker who had been menacing her husband for a while now.
Got it.
Sure, it was… Somewhat harsh, but Walker just couldn’t shake off the fact that the green-haired woman kept running into her husband, even if he obviously wasn’t intrigued. Her mind almost jumped to the thought of some floozy, pursuing a married man because she was apparently that desperate and had nothing better to do with her time… Or her life, for that matter.
Again, that was sort of a shitty thing to be thinking, but… At least it didn’t involve mommy issues (yet)!
“You now,” she hissed to the younger woman once she was close enough for Walker to feel comfortable speaking without having to increase her voice to an unbearably loud volume, “I do not care how I happen to confront you.” Maybe she should? Following someone through a whole ass crowded city just to confront them in the park was kind of an asshole move. “Besides, I am surprised that you have not confronted me, considering how many times you have run into my husband in the past. Speaking of which…”
And holy fuck, could the older woman barely resist rolling her eyes in such an unprofessional manner, as she continued, “You really have a habit of running into him now, do you? You desperate little-” Her marriage was secure, and yet… Walker drew her lip back before shaking her head.
“- And please, silence yourself. Let me speak instead of you prattling on about some assumption. I never even wanted you for the party, just to make that clear. Do not act all high and hoity-toity when there are so many more people who deserve such an attitude more than you. You are rather young, after all. Youth comes with arrogance, but do be considerate of that and come back down to earth a bit, now.”
Said an aristocrat? First-world problems much.
“And I know he is doing fine,” spat Walker as soon as the topic returned to her husband, “I just… Do not want you to see him anymore. Or pursue him, for that matter! He is a married man, for the skies’ sake. Are you that selfish?” She could hear her voice cracking for a second. Uh oh… Kicking a foot against the ground, the middle-aged woman huffed, “Besides… I bet if he were to go outside instead of me, he would have run into you, and he is much more confrontational than myself, so…” Bitch? You were the one going after her?
Walker took in a sharp breath and added, “... I do not want a discussion with you. Or anything to do with you, for that matter. Why do you not understand that? You only serve to cause hassle for yourself, me, and my husband - considering everything that has been going on… Yes?”