[IC] You and the oc above must work together to...

Once again, Johnson was convinced that his wolfish friend had thrown him out into the unusually cold "Miami" in order to teach him a lesson, but... What exactly? Was he a bitch to her? Was she just needing a break so that she could go off and flirt with her leidsman lover? The answer to both questions, by the way, was a resounding "no." Johnson failed to notice the real reason why she had thrown him into this lion's pit in the first place: she was just bored and felt like throwing two men she didn't exactly like together just to see what the hell would happen.

So... Maybe it was a good thing he was implying that she was smart? Perhaps? He didn't like it, but hey; acknowledgement was acknowledgement regardless of how reluctantly it was presented. Brown would've been proud.

But making her proud wasn't at all what he intended as he turned to face the other and hiss, "Seriously? You expect me to help you after that fiasco of last time?" Oh, please... Johnson had attempted to conspire with him against Brown, but somehow... The news managed to leak out, and she gave her so-called friend a rather severe beating! Johnson, in fact, rubbed the arm where she had kicked before adding acridly, "I mean, I would for the sake of that little alliance going on between us, but... That depends on whether you will repay me after I save you from freezing to death." Whatever the fuck that meant.

Besides, it wasn't like Johnson was particularly keen about the cold either, as he shuffled around the room they were both in and spat curses under his breath. Why, oh why, did Brown have to send him here? Sure, he was a northerner at heart and therefore could theoretically stand the cold, but... His brows furrowed while he tossed aside a haphazardly placed blanket; the way it crumpled up so easily made him realize that it was far too thin and loose to provide adequate warmth, so...

Time to find a new blanket. Not that it was completely possible, given that they were in a motel room Brown had allocated for them, and the blankets all seemed to be identical-

"How about this?" Johnson finally asked when he lifted up a thin mottled brown blanket for the other to see. It wasn't tacky by any means, just... Kind of fucking useless. It looked more like a rag than anything else; perhaps a previous visitor had left it behind, and the motel's staff had never claimed it? Either way, it was Johnson's turn to use it to be an asshole, as he grunted, "It's not the best, but I think it'll do. They say up north that hypothermia should be approached gradually. Warming up the body too soon can be fatal." With a huff, he thus stepped towards the other and presented the blanket to him, almost as if it were an offering.

"Now..." he started before furrowing his brow and asking, "Can... Can you stop smiling like that? It's a bit odd." Sure. That's one way to say it. It was just more likely that the thin-lipped sneer reminded him of Brown, who'd often give him the same look- And as Johnson glanced around the room, he was sure that there was a camera installed somewhere by her, just so she could watch the shit unfold... All he needed to do was find and deactivate it, but he might need the other's gun for that. He just might...

follow-up time. Maribelle, you deserve a better not-father than Johnson. cw for mentions of graphic violence/gore, especially like. an implication of a person getting eaten alive by animals??? it's not a fun time for the journalist.

gonna toss this under a spoiler for kidnapping + violence / brief description of wounds [bruises] . here you go johnson hope you don't regret it .

maribelle needs your oc's help......... with sparring/swordfighting practice. your oc can beat up the local teenage edgelord. how fulfilling!

"Ah, swordfighting, I haven't done that in millenniums." Satsu went to his shrine, taking a katana with black silk wrapping on its handle that was setting on the stand. He then turns around to the other, wielding his sword in such preparing stance. "But that does not mean I'll have my skills down, of course. I only feel as if it was yesterday, although without practice, I would still be less tactical." The masked kitsune marked, then points the sword at Maribelle "So, let us begin, shall we?"

Satsu might be, say, rusty. But he never forgot how to wield his trusty sword, as well as some tactic that his overseer Tataku has taught him, although he wouldn't use his addition powers against the youth. But even without that, he sure is fast and keen. Even though this is just a spare, the deity in a fox mask was not going easy on her. He is determined to bring her down, really determined as if she was an actual enemy. Maybe he is trying too hard..? Either way, maybe a little unfortunate for Maribelle to have Satsuba as sparing partner.

Golly, this place is awful! Where is Tataku when Satsu needs him? Oh well, that's unfortunate...the festival is coming soon, and the shrine has not yet ready for it. Help Satsu set up the shrine festival!

"Oh wow, so this is a shrine!" Ennette gasped, fists curled up in excitement as she took in her surroundings. Her father had always told her about how great shrines were, and how peaceful they were. Looking at this one, she could definitely understand what he meant! This one was even bigger than she'd imagined, and the way the leaves fell off the trees made her think of some kind of magical rain. She'd heard this shrine was dedicated to one of the kitsunes that had helped protect everyone during a big war. How incredible it was to love someone so much you had a shrine dedicated to yourself!
Ennette was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed the shrine maiden nearby, jumping when she heard her grumble about someone not being here. "Oh, hello!" the princess gaped. "I'm sorry! I know there's a festival later, but I wanted to see the shrine while it was still bright out, I hope you don't mind!" She paused while listening to her. "Well, while I'm here, I wouldn't mind helping you clean up and get ready? It'd be my pleasure!"
Ennette took up a broom and cleaned the leaves off the stone walkways, reminded of the stories her father told her of the many times he helped take care of a shrine. Like father, like daughter. The thought made her smile. The maiden was also very kind, and very informative. She knew all kinds of things about this shrine and who it was dedicated to, even about the sword resting in one of the inner sanctums! The longer the princess stayed here, the more respect she had for the place. How beautiful would it be by the time of the festival, she wondered.

Ennette must become tough! She wants to become stricter and harsher, and to be able to make people fall to their knees out of fear because she was told that's what a real leader does! So Ennette needs help becoming ruthless and mean!

"You have come to the right person to do this job!" Sneaky laughed almost hysterically as he hops on what ever furniture was there to be in the same eye level with Ennette. The evil worm finally managed to climb up not long after, then looks at her in the eyes in a dead serious manner "Listen closely now, will ya? To make people listen to you and bow down to you, you will have to force your power on them! Here, let me elaborate." Sneaky gestered his tail like he was calling someone over, Seafoam was then appeared behind him, greeting the other worm casually. 

"Alright, watch this. Seafoam! Get me some food. If you don't...I'll kill you!" Seafoam, however, wasn't really looked intemidiated. Still, he brought Sneaky a pack of skittles, perhaps that's just because they are friends rather than someone under authority. "See? It's that easy! Now try it on your people, it will work 100%" Probably not, don't take Sneaky's advice, really.

---

Sneaky wanted to do something different today. Maybe give him a hand on...baking a pie for worm party! Yeah, he totally has people to invite over and not planing on eating all of that himself.

Upon hearing the offer, Fitzgerald wanted to scoff, if only because… Didn’t this worm cower under his presence a while back, in spite of his supposedly intimidating façade? If that was the case, then… Uh oh, because Fitzgerald was the type of person to remember bullshit from several years back - just so he could bring them up at the worst times so that he could gain asshole points. Today was no exception as he let out the aforementioned scoff and placed his hands on his hips.

“What type of fucking pie are you talking about?” he asked the other with a raised brow, “A small pie, like-” He squeezed his fingers together… Sort of. One could just barely see the slightest gap in between them, so said fingers weren’t exactly touching… Yet? It was difficult to tell, for his hand quivered so much that the tips probably did actually touch at certain points. Nonetheless, Fitzgerald inquired, “Like this? Or a much bigger one, since you plan to invite some guests over-”

Breaking off from the last set of questions, the young man huffed, “How many guests are you even inviting anyhow? You don’t seem like the type of person to have that many friends.” Said the bitch who didn’t have that many friends either (just a bunch of shady not-dads). “If that’s the case,” he grunted with a shrug, “it’s probably going to be a small pie still.” Fitzgerald paused before his lip drew back in an almost disappointed frown. Oh?

Damn… I was going to try fucking eating that shit for myself… It’s been so long since I’ve actually eaten pie…

Another grunt escaped from his lips while Fitzgerald sighed, “Well… I can at least buy you the ingredients, but… What do you even want?” He was tempted to hold his foot out just so he could nudge the worm ever so slightly, because… Assholery, apparently. “Mulberry pie? Blackberry? Cherry? Blueberry?” His nose turned up before the youth rolled his eyes. Did… Did this fucker just relay a list of his least favorite berry flavors to be an asshole? “Or maybe apple. Apple is always good as a pie flavor now, yes?” Okay, never mind.

That plan was definitely still undergoing, huh. How… Devious of Fitzgerald. Sweet perfect angel baby Fitzgerald… Goodness, if his face accurately represented his mindset, he’d be the smuggest bitch on the planet.

But alas, from an outsider perspective, Fitzgerald appeared perfectly serene as he hummed, “So, keep that in mind when I help you shop, okay? I’m helping - and therefore I get some say in how this pie will be made. Got that? I won’t say it again - lest I kick your miserable worm ass into the sun.” Way to put a foot in the door before stealing the pie for yourself, asshole.

Fitzgerald dies inside over a boomer in a follow-up.

Ever since Satsu took over the shrine activities, Tataku haven't been doing any much of writing since. been like what, a couple of thousands of years? Let's just say he is as rusty at writing as Satsu is rusty at swordfighting. Had not been done for a very long time, but still get a grip on it. The only different is that this lazy ass of an overseer just can't help but slack off once in a while, no wonder he always got scolded by his own apprentice.

Anyways, the note, Tataku actually already know every lives around here, being that he had been exist fir millenniums. But of course, like his scholar always said, listing properly as ones desired is more appropriate, especially for someone else. Wouldn't like anyone to spend their entire night searching for an information they wanted without knowing where it is now, would we? The deity followed Fitzgerald right behind him, trying to write what he was told. But alas, his hand writings are...say, untidy. More accurately look like someone who haven't been using hand. But at least it is a teeny bit readable...right? Oh, if Satsu sees this, he's going to have another lecture from his own student. And so, Tataku just kept quiet and nodding to what the other party told him to write, not even telling him that he can't really write to begin with.

It's Christmas soon, you know what time it is...shopping time! But Tataku is a boomer and doesn't quite know how the malls works. Help Tataku buy some Christmas resources! (I.e. Christmas treats, decoration, etc)

Salvador pressed his face against the shop window. His forehead left spots on the otherwise greasy glass.
"We don't celebrate Christmas," he said. As he pressed his gloved hands against the window as well. "But Avent, it's similar." Almost as if the 'author' wanted Christmas in their fantasy setting. He kept silent. Then cleared his throat, before beckoning the Ancient one to come closer.
"Take a look at this," he said. Before pointing at a small miniature train track that snakes itself around an even smaller winter-themed village. Snowman included. "Quite the display don't you think?" He asked Tataku.
"I would buy that set if I were you, it's very. Advent." He made a vague hand gesture. "Or Christmasy. Whatever." Salvador leaned back from the window. The fat-based soap had left its mark on Salvador as well. Leaving a strain on his forehead.
"Bet they have more stuff inside though. It's a small shop." Salvador gestured at the building. One made of wood and slightly sagged. "But it got a lot. Trains and such. Miniatures are winter-themed," he said. Knowing that they were not.

Salvador's smile grew as soon as he set foot inside the shop. The room was lit with small candles that gave off a pleasant warmth. One that melted the snow out of the smaller thief's hair. While his fingers tingled as they regained their heat, Salvador explored the store. There were trains everywhere. All made of tin and metal, some working on electricity but most of them ran on clockwork. Trains, trains. More trains.
In the far back of the shop, however, Salvador found something that could be used for Christmas/Advent decorations. Candles. Small wee rushlights that were linked together with a cable. They were actual candles with fuses. You know: a cute form of a fire hazard.
"How about this?" Salvador said. Lifting up the cord. "My mum and pah hang these in our home, around Advent," Salvador recalled. "Above the fireplace and on the wooden supporting beams." Sounds dangerous but okay. "They were quite cozy. But warm though."
He gently placed the cords in the overseer's hands..Paws? Mittens. Smiling proudly as he did so.
Well at least Tataku found something Christmasy.

"We don't have trees in our house like you described," Salvador confessed. Confused. Who puts a tree in their house anyway? Salvador wondered. Trees are flammable.
"So I can't help you with that," another pause. "But I can teach you one of our habits. Winter tradition. It's not decoration, or a treat but maybe you'd like it anyway." He shrugged. "We make ginger porridge in the Old-winter. And sometimes parents or loved ones drop a coin in the pan." A cute form of a choking hazard. Sounds dangerous, yet again. "The first one who finds it can keep it. The coin I mean. And use it to make a wish," Salvador said. He rubbed his chin. "By throwing it in a big body of water, or a well. As long as it involves water," another pause. "Maybe placing it on a shrine, like you described, would work as well." Salvador said. Giving the other a quick toothy smile, before holding out a small coin. "Maybe you should try it," he told the ancient deity. "Though." His smile flathered. "I have to admit that I didn't find this Kroon in ginger porridge. But in someone's wallet. That I stole." That's against the Christmas-spirit Sal!

---
Geit tbh

Beatrice without a hat was perhaps one of the greatest written travesties ever, as she placed her hat off to the side and ran her fingers through the hair. It was, admittedly, for the best given that the ingredients in front of her and her demon "friend" (only in air quotes because Beatrice sort of had no idea how the fuck friendship worked) were rather messy in nature. Flour, powdered sugar, egg yolks, tempered chocolate... Oh, and fruit. Of course Beatrice brought fruit over from her house, if only because Rochester liked it so much. Desserts just weren't complete without fruit, huh.

She tapped her foot against the floor before turning to the other and sniffing, "Well... That's one way to buy a bunch of stuff, mm? I do have to confess, though... I'm not the best at baking. My wife is the cook, I think. If she were here, she'd help make these tarts and pastries in a heartbeat. I just hope your guests like fruit, mm?" Her stoic façade broke, if only for a brief moment, so she could chuckle and reveal a small smile on her face.

"I'm sorry," the older woman quickly apologized soon after, "Let me just... Actually help. Like the time I carried you on my shoulders, but-" With another laugh, she quickly stepped off towards the flour and sugar so that she could start mixing the dry ingredients in a bowl. "- That asides! I shouldn't be demeaning you anyways. I should be repaying you for the incense sticks you gave me and my wife anyways... They smell lovely. What do you use to make them?"

So much for being a bit on the reserved side of things, huh.

"Maybe, in exchange," Beatrice offered with a chuckle, "I can offer you some ways my wife makes tarts. I think it'd be useful for the church - not because i don't want to be here, but I'm rather busy. Technically, I'm supposed to be interviewing someone, but-" Her lip drew back as she cut herself off... Though that was definitely because of the flour-sugar mixture getting in her face... Right? Hopefully?

After a pause, the older woman muttered, "- That... That can be pushed back. My superior trusts me too much to get rid of me... I think." Suuuuure.

Still, just the warm, reassuring scents of chocolate and sugar were enough to make Beatrice feel somewhat at ease - kind of like the demon's incense sticks - as she hummed, "Even if they don't, it doesn't matter too much. I'm sure they'd appreciate an extra tart now, mm?" She chuckled while getting back to stirring, even letting out the slightest hum in the process. "... Just don't stick any incense in there," Beatrice teased, "and we'll be just fine. Wouldn't you agree?"

for once, Beatrice is taking a break from her interviews! wow! however, she now expects your character to help her prepare some steak tartare!! there's no cooking involved, so nothing can go wrong with that... right?

perhaps NP will get a follow-up if I have the time....

(SORRY THIS SUCKS I'M HELA BAD AT COOKING WRITING

Valnier had to do a double-take. Squinting his eyes and lifting his wide-brimmed hat far enough to SURE he read the ingredients right. Handing the card back to Beatrice, he scoffed slightly at the idea. "RAW?" he asked incredulously. He was now taking his hat off entirely to let out his thinning grey hair, much the contrast to his beard, setting his hat down near the stove that would be neglected. 

He grabbed a hunting knife he kept on his belt with a breath outwards. He was a bit nervous; his body wasn't exactly the most resilient to sickness. So the mere thought of eating something raw put the fear of Sigmar in him. No matter, he was asked to help. Who was he to deny Beatrice help? But he looked down at the meat she had pulled out; a sick feeling welled up in his throat as he looked at it. "You do that- I'll do the veggies," Valnier stated quietly. He didn't even want to touch the main ingredient. The idea of eating it raw turned him off from the meat. 

Grabbing a few lengths of green onions he quickly set himself to his task. Get the unpleasant thoughts out of his mind. Setting them into a single bunch of three he began chopping rhythmically. Taking about 45 seconds to finish he scraped the onion slices off the cutting board and into a bowl "Onions are ready, basil next?" He asked 

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

NP: Help Valnier Translate some texts, it can be language...preferably a fictional one. It's his weak point in his job so he often needs help

(prudence trashes on an old man. also idk if this counts as "working together" but she's trying)

Prudence had no idea what she's looking at. 

Valnier's desk is a cluttered mess of old books and papers, all of them scrawled with some ancient language that is chicken-scratch to the young girl. Her poppet sits neatly atop a lofty stack, its role demoted to nothing more than a paperweight for the witch hunter's work. Valnier had found her poppet at some point earlier, seeing it as nothing more than the wretchedness of a witch's handiwork; and so it was there that Prudence lingers, bitterly watching as someone she so despised carries about his work. However, maybe there's a silver lining to be found -- and that silver lining was watching Valnier struggle with translating texts. It was funny to watch a witch hunter flounder at something for once; to Prudence, perhaps it was from some sense of revenge that she finds so much humor in it. Whatever it is, it's enough to make her keep watching. And of course, as any terrible annoying child should, she fully intended on making it worse for him under the guise of help.

She materializes quietly, peering over his shoulder on her tippy-toes -- but even with him sitting it was nearly impossible to fully analyze the texts. She didn't actually know much, to be honest, and seeing the texts only confirmed that; but stubbornly, she keeps pretending to read.

"Are there pictures?" She asks aloud, breaking the silence of the room and scaring Valnier. Seeing him jump at her sudden presence, she could barely hide the grin that twists on her face. "How do you know what it's saying if there are no pictures?" Leaning closer, she squints at some of the words. "I don't know what any of this says... Maybe it's talking about... um, about witch hunter things -- like how terrible they are! Ha!" 

Prudence's face twists up in a grin at that comment. Her finger pokes at a paper, landing on one of the words. It's a paper that Valnier had tossed to the side of his desk, left to gather dust. "That one looks like the word... s-seeg...mar. Seeg-mar. Sigmar? I haven't a clue what that is." 

Huh. Maybe she is helping. She wouldn't know it, though -- she still proudly thinks she's giving him a headache. 

NP: prudence always gets stuck in one place with her poppet since her soul is tethered to it. maybe help her get somewhere new!

"The train car will be arriving at it's destination shortly!"

eGor almost wishes that her chest cavity could serve as a proper shelter for the poppet. If she were to place the doll beyond that heart-shaped hatch, the poor thing might get electrocuted, or be pumped with noble gases, or come out colored in glitter, or- something else. Her creator always warned against letting people too close into that fragile, fragile place- she wasn't sure exactly what would happen, but she knew it couldn't be good for her structural stability, nor anyone else's. Still- this way, eGor could hold the poppet up to the window, showing Prudence the new landscape, as colors and clouds and buildings whirled past at the speed of the train. It was nice to have something to hold in her hands, something to carry with her.

"This experience is new to my local databanks! Have you ever been on a train before? Records indicate the first train was invented in 1804, which may overlap with your post-mortem existence. I am finding I need to disable my GPS calibrations- otherwise, I am too aware of how fast we are moving. The alerts are a little bit like hiccups! Do you worry we're moving too fast?" -Oh, the doll fell over. She reaches over and straightens it, makes sure Prudence's vessel looks comfortable. Maybe they can get off at a place with a nice toy store? Would that help the poor ghost girl? Would that give her something to smile about?

"It must be strange to be old and young at the same time," She kicks her feet back and forth, sensors wandering out the sunlit window. "I sometimes wonder if I am the same? I awoke, pre-loaded with the knowledge of trains. Did you know that the hydraulic systems of a rail-tilt has to operate at temperatures ranging from -40oC to +100oC? But, butbut, this is still the first one I have actually stepped foot in. Does this mean trains are new to me? For people like us, for forever children, do we get older when we experience new things? Or is it the other way around? Do we get older with goodbyes, when we lose something? When the timeline moves forward, and we can no longer return to something that once was?"

Her screen tilts downwards, into the train car. Is this helping? Is any of this helping? She would hate to think she's just talking over the ghost girl. Perhaps she should go back to reciting goat trivia from her databanks, that seemed to get a laugh. "...I am sorry that I am technology. I understand if it does not help you, or if it is distant, or unfamiliar, or hard to understand. I do not think it is your fault if it is any of those things. I once knew someone who's grief was incendiary- which made them distant, and unfamiliar, and hard to understand. I don't think I helped them as much as I could have. But... I hope I can still manage to be something kind to you?"

The train pulls in to the station, and eGor gets out, poppet in hand.

The OC below must help expand eGor's databanks by explaining something to her! Maybe it's a highly specific craft that your OC is an expert in, maybe your OC is relaying highschool relationship gossip, or maybe your OC just needs to talk through something that's bothering them. Anything that might help a budding robot consciousness!

Coco turns her dark-haired, round face to the colorful TV head. She decides to fill the being’s databanks with knowledge of her profession.

“So, uhhhmmm. Lemme explain what it’s like being a PI. I get hired by many clients throughout my city, but the police department provides most of my income. So I have to be super careful not to bite the hand that feeds me. I may work any case of any magnitude from an appeal for a parking ticket to a large  incident with hundreds of casualties. I wake up at 7:30 each morning and put on my tight ballistic jumpsuit. I’ve dealt with case files that would put any novel to shame in length. And I often get into combat, and that’s how I lost my hand!”

———————

Coco and your oc must work together to navigate Coco’s home city of Wisteria, which there is a map and info on her profile.