A black creature ran into a dead end while running away from Johnson. Knowing that if he was weakened enough, the being inside would have been exposed. "Heh, so you're going to expose me, huh? Just because I won the battle against you?" Black Thing huffed, he then turn around facing Johnson. Standing up on two legs, he smugged.

"You know what? I have my defense too!" Black thing reached into his goop and pulled out somethin, showing it to Johnson "You know what it is? That's right! Money! And what I will do with this? Well...uh..." Black thing averted his supposively eyes, seem like he didn't think this through. "Well, you see, money can be used for a lot of thing...so I'm going to hire a lawyer!" He seem to be confident about his choice of action.

There was a reason why Salvador never went into the woods surrounding Drakenburg. The mud for one. Bears, wild poisonous plant life, small hiking tracks, other critters, and the untamed fast-flowing rivers we're on his list too. Talking monsters? He hadn't considered the possibility but wasn't far from being surprised. Salvador however was scared to death. "Wow wow, hey, b..back off!" He told the creature. His voice clearly shaking. "I.." Salvador looked around him. Grabbed the nearby stick from the ground and waved at the general direction of The Black thing. "I've got..mother nature on my side, " he said. Salvador didn't even know the type of stick he was holding, but yet here we are.

--

Salvador's eyes stunned with tears he so bitterly tried to blink away. "I got 5 coins and a rubber band, " the poor thief cried out. "I swear, I live in a soup kitchen, please take it, " Salvador searched his pockets. Oh, the irony of the situation. "B..but, not the rubber band, I like that rubber band, " he said with a sniff. 

He was not in a good place. Not physically--well yes, physically, but mostly mentally. Emotionally. Alright, all of the above.

He was not in a good place, stranded in this backwoods town, no money, nothing but the clothes on his back, and nowhere left to turn. His emotional state was crap, to put it lightly. Destroying his entire future and running away from home hadn't been easy. Nor was it great for his mental health.

So now here he was, flat against the wall in the alley behind the Chinese restaurant, mentally hyping himself up for what was about to happen. A man started past him--and Dejan grabbed him, tugging as hard as he could on the man's arm and using the element of surprise to his advantage. He held a knife in his other hand, pointy side towards the man. "Give... give me some money." He nearly tacked a "please" on the end out of habit, too. That wouldn't do. "Now! I mean it!" Dejan cried, jabbing the knife forward.

Crystal stood before the human. To him, it looked to be another of the masses; Humans that sprawled everywhere like a surging plague that must be eradicated... that's what he believes in. While many of the homo-sapians were all generally the same, this particular fellow was giving the dark lord, odd vibes. Something that was striking a nerve.

The deity exhaled and began a light stroll, enroaching on the small-ish human being with a cold emotionless stare locked on to the beaming white skin,

"You just look to be an eyesore to me. Standing out from the rest of the scum that rots within the four corners of the universe... so I'm going to just put you out of your misery."

A long grin drew across his face as he tucks his free hand underneath that long forboding coat of his, expecting his prized... 'tool' to follow out to make itself known to this fellow but to his surprise it was a long stick. He blinked in awe in what it is before giving it a shake. The rod blistered out an eye-catching violet hue as it burns the darkness around them with its majestic shimmer.

"This... this isn't my blade... what is the meaning of this?!" He spoke sharply.

This glowing rod was nothing of the kill-and-turn-his-victims into mindless slaves within his influence, it was a comical stick that could do less harm than a fly. Despite its purpose, he can still chuck it.

"Well, at least I can throw this thing very hard at you so you better run... all to make this fun for me to watch you wither in agony." He chuckled maniacally as he prepared for a incredibly powerful throw.

[generated weapon: chapter book]

Today was a special day. Megumi had bravely decided, y'know what! I'm gonna try and not fail my history final this time! After practice, I'll go to the library and study. She was perhaps too proud of doing the bare minimum. However, true to her word, as soon as she was done rehearsing her latest set, she headed straight for her college's library. As she was looking around for her class' books, she noticed someone strange through the cracks in the bookshelves. It was a man with purple hair who seemed to be... glowing? Just as she started to get a look at him, he walked to another aisle. Megumi decided to ignore it and continued searching through the shelves. However, when she noticed the man standing next to her she could in fact confirm he was glowing. He had some sort of ethereal energy and Megumi was not having it. She wasn't in the mood for weird shit. Picking up a hefty chapter book, she announced, "H-hey! Sir are you aware you're fucking glowing?!"

The man seemed to glare at her and continued looking for whatever it is he was looking for. "Seriously! This is kinda f-freaky! Could you please tell me who are you?" She waved around the book like some kind of sword but its weight kept her from fully swinging it around. He kept ignoring her but Megumi was getting pretty anxious. Just as she was gonna continue her interrogation, she noticed the librarian walking up to her. Goddamnit.

In virtually every other circumstance, Fitzgerald would've loved the idea of someone whose group was based around sweets, as naive as it sounded, thanks to his undying sweet tooth. For a sadly long time, the man thought that this other party was part of some confectionery company, and he was ready to barrage her with questions about how chocolate was made, what the best type of pastry was, and so forth... Only for him to find out that wasn't the case at all, and holy hell was he disappointed.

He was also pissed, and that was why he was here - ready to badger the poor girl with nothing but the meanest insults that he had up in his noggin. Disgusting, but not surprising.

"You know, I expected more from you," he told her sharply with an upturned nose, "Of course, I'm not giving you those expectations, but..." He pointed a finger at her direction as the man posited another hand on his waist. "... That's part of the element of surprise, hm? I reckon that at least once in your life, you had to deal with something like this! Even disappointment!" Pointing a finger at himself so hard that it even made his chest ache ever so slightly, he hissed with gritted teeth, "Just like the one that I felt when I found out that you didn't have experience with actual angel-devil cake mix."

Then, with a melodramatic sigh, the young man pulled out a doll from his pocket that looked like it could've come out of someone's nightmare. It wasn't grotesque by any means, but you know one of those weird baby dolls with the unusually realistic eyes? The ones that looked like they stared into one's soul? That was what he was holding right now, and the fact that he even had to grasp his hands around this... Thing made him want to shatter its stupid plastic shell on the floor and flee the scene. Unfortunately, his propensity for hubris overpowered his own self-consciousness, so Fitzgerald continued to show off the doll like his life depended on it.

He gave the doll a quick shake before continuing with his harsh voice from earlier, "However, I can absolve you of any resentment if you at least tell me how to bake such a cake... I heard that it's simply delectable, but... Alas..." A hand was freed from the doll so that he could pretend to wipe some sweat from his head. He wasn't even working. Fool. "... You don't even need to make it yourself. Just... Give me a recipe or something. Please?" The last word was - again - said with the utmost bitterness, the one sour note among a sea of saccharine.

"If not..." he snarled as his expression darkened, "I'll make sure this stupid fucking doll haunts you just by appearance alone. I won't use it against you, for I won't sink that low. But look into its damn eyes at least. They say that the eyes are windows into one's soul, right? Then do it... While giving me the cake recipe, of course..." Okay then. Amidst his barely stifled giggling, Fitzgerald really was trying to be menacing, but it just came off as kitsch. Hopefully his ass got kicked as a result.

I'M SCREAMING I LOVE THAT RESPONSE SM?? I sure hope ol' Fitzy gets destroyed by the clown rubber duck....   

here is thy follow-up.....

He didn't even look he could pose a threat to a kitten, Sophia thought. 'he looks like one of those grownups who tells you that violence isn't the answer' well, don't focus on that too much, Sophia, what's the closest object to you? this guy was threatening to kick you out of the building! She had some amazing options, a desk, lamp, and a pot of ferns. 'the ferns! that pot looks solid enough!' While people left and came to this bar, she snatched up the pot and held it overhead, "I'M NOT LEAVING, UNDERSTAND?" She felt powerful! Like she had control over something in her life for once! The only thing that could make this moment better is if she had a bomb to set off..

         While Sophia reveled in her newly found prowess, she failed to realize that the man upfront had already contacted security to rid off her. Maybe next time, you enthusiastic bean.

Why Skinner thought that threatening a child was remotely even a good idea escaped his reasoning at the moment; all he was aware of was that he thought the girl was holding a bomb, or some other form of improvised weapon, and that he needed to act fast. Adrenaline rushed through his blood and clouded his mind as he took several steps back. Each movement was a little tenser than the last, mostly because he was going to have to choose between dying and hurting a literal girl.

Neither option was desirable to him, but as his eyes drifted over to a kitchen cabinet, he knew for a fact that he was going to choose eventually... And guess which option he ended up going with?

The man took a deep breath as he carefully opened the door and pulled out a wine glass. It felt cold in his clammy hand, and he had to adjust his grip a few times just so the glass didn't fall to the ground and shatter. Now wouldn't that be terrifying? Skinner bit down on his lip just thinking about it. The way he saw it, he was going to smash the glass over the girl's head, not intending to hurt her seriously; it'd be more like a distraction, stun her a little bit as he rushed away to safety. That was what his wife had joked about before, except with more... Lethal intentions in her words. Her "advice" rang through his ears now:

"The best way to grip a glass is almost like holding it within a fist. Then, you just slam down upon your target like you mean it. Like you mean business! You have to shatter the glass, or else it will mean nothing. That way, you will get an impromptu weapon that affects in multiple ways..."

He was pretty sure that she was drunk at the time, though he was by no means inebriated now, so using that excuse was out of the question. The man lifted up the glass once more, but he just... Couldn't slam it. He saw his daughter in the girl, and just the idea of hurting his daughter - even slightly - was too repulsive for someone like himself.

"Listen, miss," Skinner told her as he retreated so much that he could now feel a mixture of hardwood and glass against his spine, "I don't want to do this, and honestly, I don't think you would either, but... Please, just... Empty your hands..." He gave her a grin before frantically waving the glass in the air. "But if you take one step closer, with that bomb of yours, I'll have to use this glass against you... I..." He trailed off, remembering how his wife mentioned the lethal aspect of it so casually. Did he really have to utter that just to get his point across? He sighed, let out a deep breath. "... I'll smash it over your head. And it'll hurt. A lot. I hope it's enough to... You know... Do that, but... It'd count as self-defense, and we both know it. If this gets legal, I know that it won't be in your favor, especially if you plan to escalate a robbery into murder..."

Skinner gets his ass kicked by a spoon. good for Clyde, not so good for Skinner.

here's a follow-up............

Clyde gazed around the table, blinking slowly as he stared at the surface. He pulled his mask over his mouth more, tilting his head to gaze over the side. His paw remained close to the bowl in front of him, tapping his fingers against the surface of the table.

"A human, hm. I must be crazy." After pausing silently, he felt something twirl around in his fingers. He turned around, staring blankly at his hand as he twirled the spoon around in his finger. His lips curled into a smile as he stared at it; his caked-on makeup stood out in the kooky reflection. Unbeknownst to him, he felt a presence behind him. Clyde briefly shuddered, for past experiences taught him that this was a bad omen. Clyde whipped his head around to glance behind him. The human was still there!

"E-eh, hey, dude. Back off. Or I'll... I'll..." Clyde couldn't muster up the courage to complete his sentence. Clyde was not a crass man, he could not bear the thought of hurting someone with his words. Clyde glanced down, noticing that he was still twirling the spoon around. Was this a habit? How long has he been doing this? What's so cool about a spoon twirling around in fingers? It was almost like his fingers were like gossamer, desperately attempting to grab hold of the spoon each time it weaved around in his fingers.

"Hey, can your long meat sticks do this kinda stuff? I bet you can't. If you don't get it first try, I'm beating you with this spoon... Just kidding. How about we bet, let's say, five bucks? Deal, buddy?" Clyde held the spoon out to the human in front of him. Clyde cannot tell if he was going crazy, or if he really was talking to these so-called extinct human.

For some reason, Snarl loomed over Clyde with a menacing look. He has his creepy smirk accompanied by that narrow, cunning eyes. His laughs didn't make things any better, if anything, it made things worse. The hound then spoken with those Halloweeny voice you would hear from jack-o-lantern head scarecrow. "Hello there~ I noticed you might be at lost...or something similiar to that...I might as well guide you through the swamp, it's MY swamp after all~" Snarl finished the sentence with a high pitch laughter.

The grim dog leads Clyde without caring if they wanted to or not. But he seem menacing enough to convince him that if he doesn't follow the hound, something bad might happen. But it's not like Snarl look trustworthy either, if anything he look like he's about to lead Clyde deeper into the swamp and terribly hurt him.
And that's exactly what it seem like just now. The grim dog suddenly turns around with that same grin he did before, just now it feel oddly tingling. "You know, from here you can just go with the traffic signs~" He paused "Which sign, you ask? You've never seen any traffic sign before hm? Well, one look like this!" Snarl pulled out a stop sign out of nowhere with his tail. For some reason it feel like he 's intended to wack Clyde with it. "So? Go on now, will ya? Or you know, I was pretty lonely as of late. How about we play some fun game with me~?" He hits the sign on his claws a few times, oh boy...

"Stop, shoo ! Yer scaring all the patrons !" He shouted, waving his arms at the grim dog to try and scare him out of the pub. Snarl however seemed to be more interested in frightening the odd bunch of aliens in the place and none to concerned with the exasperated owner.

Punchy grabbed the soap from next to the sink and held it out threateningly to Snarl. "I'll wash ya, thats what dogs hate right? Baths?" He shook his head as if to clear out any doubt and took another step towards the grim dog. "I mean it pup, I'll give ya the coldest bath ya could ever dream of ! And I'll get soap in yer eyes !"

"Hey!" Blayde strikes an entire power stance and points at Punchy, "You, Mr proprietor! One with the horns! You know who I am," (Punchy did, unfortunately. He may not have expected to see this idiot back for more after his very bodily removal from the premises only a few minutes prior) "Think you could just kick me and my whole posse outta this joint?" The star and his entourage hadn't been shambling through this desert wasteland for days only to get banned from the only bar for miles. Not on Blayde's watch.

Blayde slaps a thick slice of roast meat down on the bar.

"See this?" he growls, slamming his palm down on the chunk of roast and splattering bits of meat juice everywhere a couple of times for emphasis, as if he wasn't already making enough of a scene, "Yeah! I've got beef."

Hopefully the intimidating genius of this visual pun is enough, because it also represents the last of Blayde's group's dwindling protein rations. No way this can possibly end badly.

Oh shit, why is this guy getting into a fight?

Gregory, obviously, wasn't going to be very good in the whole threatening department, for there he stood, his trembling more apparent now that he was without his blanket, and now very, very frightened. "Enraged" could also be a good word to describe him in this moment, but he was mostly afraid, and for whatever reason was unknown, as he locked his eyes on Blayde.

"Go..." He breathed. The small man backed away, again, not very threatening. His obvious stench was scary, though. "I don't-- I don't-- I don't want to have to--" His voice continued to splutter for a full-on minute, as he shut his eyes tightly and shied away near an old armchair. He kicked his leg out to retrieve a small, blue tin from underneath said chair. "I don't want to have to... do anything..." What was he supposed to do? Attempting to harm Blayde or his funky clothes were out of the question, for Gregory was a little pathetic.

With tears forming in his eyes, Gregory slumped down behind the chair in an effort to hide himself, though his heavy breathing left him easy to be located. Also, he was just... there. Hiding behind the chair. It wasn't like he was trying to flee from the situation he found himself in. And, as he sobbed, he noisily opened the tin and rummaged inside of it. The sound stopped for just a moment, before he popped up from behind the furniture. He threw... something at Blayde, but it hit the ground before it reached the other man, and Gregory went straight back to staying low. Except this time, he decided to scuttle off.

The object rolled across the ground and towards Blayde's feet, hitting his boots with a silent tap. It was a spoon of green yarn. Nothing big or fancy.

i WILL write a follow-up post