What Would Your OC Give the OC Above You?

Salvador took a deep breath. He stood in Château Vieillemont. You know, in the hallway with the many stuffed animals and the mounted animal heads. You'd expect Salvador to be at least a bit used too the sight of those dead animals, but he was not. Far from. Still, his desire for art (uho) won from his common sense. "My pah told me that you drew his camel, and it looked really really good, he hanged the portrait in his home," Salvador said in óne breath. His voice accelerated by his nerves. Turns out Roswell's influence, somehow, actually, worked. Who would have guessed!?
"I've seen it," Salvador said. "The drawing I mean," he added quick. "And..." he paused, the word hanging in between them like a thick blanket of awkwardness for the longest time, "it's really good so," Salvador swallowed. Then pressed the noses of his shoes in the mansion's stone-floor. "I... Grabbed my savings and," Salvador held up his small wallet, with an even smaller smile on his face. "And.. Well I wondered, if you wanted to draw my pet as well.." He said. "I..I can pay you! I got 25 duiten, and a handfull of kronen. I'm not sure how much that's worth here but," Salvador said. Still as hastily as before. By the nearest table Salvador turned the moneybag upside down. Emptying his year worth of savings right then and there. 25 duiten, as he'd promised and 10 kronen. Too put it in perspective, 5 duiten was enough for a trainticket back too Drakenburg. You could buy nice polished ice-skates for 10. A mustache comb, clean and hygiene set (including lard) for another 10.
Imagine all the fun Salvador was missing out on buying this commission with his last savings!

Salvador took a step back. Allowing Lacie to obsereve his meager pile of coins. "I, uh.. Its a goat. My pet, I.. Took her with me, she's.. In the courtyard actually," Salvador said. Smiling blundly. "Oh I tied her to a pole, so she can't eat your garden.. I promise," Salvador said. A frown crept on the smaller thief's face. He hád tied her down..Right?
"Your beautiful garden.Geit, as she's called, would have a field day if I hadn't tied her down. Eating all those rare plants," Salvador said. Before forcing himself to shut up. "But she's definitely tied down. And not eating any plants. As we speak... Want to go outside and meet her?" Salvador asked. As he put his hands deep into his pockets.
"She's very sweet, and probably the best model you had.. Beside Gustav of course. He's a born modeling-talent." 

--

Fuck yeah Salvador finally got SOAP

Old Chapel, huh, doesn't sound like a economic zone nor wealthy living place. Nor friendly, that's a gut feeling. 

Let's guess, it's old, and is a chapel, very least of people going around, chapel is a private place for worship, right? With crisis management experiences having through those insane days, Kowalski starting to know what kind of private that they're having there,

and, Kowalski was told that the man he about to meet is a thief. God, that loving man sure wild, he go waltzing around and make friend with a criminal? like playing with a two-slices knife. To think of it, doesn't that man always found interesting in the somewhat chasing game, give the wolf a taste and then leave them hungry, whether the wolf is him or not. Oh, is it he, small with blonde and mustache, just get out the chapel and are moving in the lawn. The black figure finished his wait, sliced down from the chapel roof, smoothly. "Are you" He stopped and take a glance at the note paper, "Sir Wapenburg?"

He is. Kowalski make a nibby squint, as he standing face-tó-face with the sun, Michael once told the men to came here to handed him the soaps he asked. Unfortunately, or not, Kowalski isn't in the soaps delivery squad on that day. "My men's chief, the one with soaps if you remember," He continued, "They told me to send you some herbs, soap with herbs make a herbal bath." That's sounds just exactly what Michael would say, Kowalski is a speaker, repeat the words. 

Kowalski pull out small canvas bag with a red tie at the top, more like buying from some shops than a handmade one. Some classic herbs bath: a little of Himalaya red salt soak for main and some for aromatherapy include peppermint, dried orange and grapefruit peels, oat tops and ylang ylang. Already smells good, guess that this thief man will smells like a walking perfumé in at least two day after he takes one bath with this. 

"Here, it can be mixed in both hot and cool water, but don't use in too cold water," The man in black placed the herbs bag into Salvador's hand, very least touch was made, "They sometimes give us one as antiseptic, so I know how to use it, probably."

Oh, a thief with noticeable scent. Is it that the men's chief purposes or are they just playing around? Probably both.

"Mm, you must have your job," Look at the watch, "My task here is done, so I guess it no necessary to waste your time more. Hope you will enjoy your day and bath, mister." Kowalski slightly dipped his head as he bowed, lightsome hopped back to the way he came by, disappear behind the rôof.

Spot gurgled and chirped on her shoulder while Rochester - finally - got to put down the wrench and makeshift toolbox she had been holding up for at least several hours, all in some lame attempt to look at least somewhat competent to the handyman. It wasn't that she gave that much shits about his craft, but she was just... A bit competitive. Seeing someone who happened to best her in something riled the usually relaxed elder in one way or another, but even that simmering resentment was quick to fizzle out once the tools were placed back on the ground.

"That asides," she concluded with a huff, "I have to thank you for what you did to the sink. Fixing it, I mean. I heard that this is only one of your jobs, but..." She trailed off to gently stroke her slug's antennae. "Damn, you young folks have it a bit rough these days. I heard that you have to work so much to even scrape enough money to get by, and such jobs always tend to be rather low in earnings..." Rochester clicked her tongue and shook her head. If she wasn't the type to abhor proverbs or other cliché phrases, she'd be the old woman who liked to quip, "Back in my day..."

Which wasn't necessarily out-of-character for her (that tidbit asides), but she kept her lips pursed while she plucked an apple from her pocket and started to peel it with her nail. Gross!

As she nonchalantly flicked bits of apple skin and flesh into a nearby trash can (thank god), the older woman continued, "Now, I do not have anything particularly hearty to reward you for your efforts, besides the money. Don't worry about me paying you. I have a decent amount, given that I have social security while my wife still works as a journalist." She shrugged, as if this was no big deal to her. Hell, even as she shuffled her feet, the artificial toes of her prosthetic subtly revealed themselves, but Rochester didn't care...

If they weren't brought up as the most conspicuous thing in the world, she'd be fine. Of course Rochester would.

"But give me a moment," grunted the elder with a raised hand, as she finally took a bite out of the mostly peeled apple, then held it to Spot for him to take a bite too. Aww? Hygiene issues aside? She chuckled wryly before walking with the utmost confidence to... What the? Was that... Was that the nearest fruit platter? Oh no. After reaching over the counter ever so slightly, Rochester filed through the good before plucking out a kiwi, unpeeled and still hairy was fuck. Thanks.

Holding it out to him, she commented with a conniving smile, "Now that it conveniently popped up, I'd like to say that I still remember you for that one time you watched a movie with me and gave me some fruits. This kiwi isn't as intricately shaped as whatever you brought me, but I liked the idea nonetheless. Maybe you can make something out of this, you know?" She laughed somewhat brightly before bringing that hairy fruit forward once more. "Trust me! I like the creative spirits. Do take it, even if it is not the most extravagant gift out there. I do have the money, though, if you want that too. Or just that. I don't give a shit. I like kiwis, but I think you might like it more." Emphasis on "might." She was going to eat it if he refused.

"the holiday season says not-mom rights. fuck it. platonic boomers go brr." - me, 2020

that asides. follow-up time. these two.... make me go 🥺🥺🥺........

A possible spoiler for length! I was planning to do this for Christmas, but I ended up like... Sleeping through most of it, so the day after works, I suppose!

Zinnia fluttered her eyelashes, gripping Black's hand while she traversed around the snow. She walked along with the elder party, maintaining her smile while she hummed and glanced around. After she smacked her lips, Zinnia returned her gaze to Black. She could feel his fingers quavering. Assuming that he was cold, Zinnia began to glance around, searching around for any nearby buildings. When returned her gaze to Black again, Zinnia furrowed her eyebrows before inquiring,

"Ehm, hey—hey, Mr. Hall? Are you okay?"

While she examined Black's expression, Zinnia squeezed his hand before letting go. She continued to watch him, tilting her head as she did so. After she paused to glance at the floor and briefly wring around her fingers, Zinnia extended her arms and gave Black a hug, tightening her arms around him as hard as she could. Eventually, she let go, clapping her hands before clasping them back together.

"Ooh, ooh, wanna know what we should do? We should get something hot to drink. My house is a few blocks away—race you there?"

Marcus grunted and looks down at the vibrant youth. A gift? To who? Her? The kiddie blonde girl looking up at him? A teenager to be percise. But in Marcus's eyes, a fragile defenseless child, toddler even. He can't tell the difference and cares not to investigate further. What does children like these days anyways? He started to put logic to his reasoning. She's a girl. Pink? Kittens? But gave up. Who's he kidding. He doesn't like kids. The sooner she's away from him the better. 

"Here you go kid. Knock yourself out." As he takes out a loaded military issued handgun and sloppily slaps a pink girly kitten sticker it on it. "Learn how to use it so you could defend yourself." Then hands it over to her, while still drinking a can of beer with his other hand.

He scuffs. Then leans in close to her. A little too close. Marcus doesn't know personal space either... He begins to slowly rub his beard. The taste of heavy liquor present in his breath. "Arm wrestle a woman?" Marcus knew he'd lose. He knew he could not out brute a monster or whatever it is she is. A sea creature of some sorts. The man was clearly drunk, but not enough to accept such a challenge. He knows he'll make a fool out of himself. "I don't challenge girls to physical activities. It just wouldn't be fair now would it?" As he leans back again and winks at her. He takes the drink Levi had ordered for him and gulps it down; eyes still fixed on her.

tbh I'm not sure how annoying my response is in terms of length, but I'm going to spoiler this nonetheless because there's a decent amount of Brown joking about death and gore/graphic violence (+ a mention of cannibalism)!! as implied in the previous sentence, nothing edgy actually happens, but just in case........ :")))

   - my brain is tiny and I forgot to make an OOC response rfvregvegvrfrwfrf- I do apologize for that!! anyways.

obviously I can't write a follow-up here because Brown is Dead at this point, but she'd appreciate the fossil and flower nonetheless. u_u

"I don't know if you want to hear such things, especially after what happened between you, me, and my wife, but..."

Smithson cut himself off as soon as he was far enough for the room to make his presence virtually impossible to miss. Uh oh, sisters. With his six-foot-tall stature and rather imposing demeanor, it was - then again - sort of difficult to deny that there was an air of melancholy that surrounded the aristocrat on a seemingly chronic level. Uh oh again. If Johnson found out, perhaps he'd be pissed about it; he absolutely couldn't stand melancholy, after all, and he did try to "fix" people who fell under the description. Speaking of which...

The older man cleared his throat before grunting, "... Before you leave, I do have to bring some good over to you. No, it's not a custom, or anything like that. You'd be spoiled if that were the case, and even then..." No use trying to bullshit why he essentially had a platter covered with a cloche in one hand, almost like a servant! By the skies, did he look like a fool. A servant. A melancholic servant. His stomach turned as he set down the platter on a nearby table, but he carefully obstructed her from lifting the cloche prematurely by moving a hand in between her and the object. Rude?

"... I don't think it's something that you're looking for, at least not anymore," he sniffed with a slight upturn of his nose. Well then. However, it didn't take Smithson to start explaining more clearly...

"You see - I've been reading through some of the records and archives. As a politician, I'm sort of obligated to do so, especially when building an argument. And I just happened to stumble on some documents involving my father one day. You know how he was - one of the most respected figures of his time... I wish I could, well, say differently, but that's how he's gone down in history. I don't expect him to be perceived differently through some revolutionary revisionism anytime soon; such approaches are considered backwards and seditious now, and history is a field that's growing more and more stagnant by the years. It almost reminds me of the fact that you involved yourself in a war that you didn't need to step into. You altered history when you didn't want to, and that's just unfortunate now - isn't it?"

He paused carefully before finally moving his obstructing arm off to the side, but only so he could open the cloche and reveal what was underneath it the entire time... A whole ass stack of letters. How anticlimactic. It was almost insulting, too, considering their current dynamic. Uh oh...

With a halfhearted shrug, the middle-aged man drawled with a furrowed brow, "But that asides... I remember reading that my father wanted to give you these papers, but I suppose that he never got to do so before he passed." And it wasn't wrong, because the parchment that the words were written on kind of smelled of decay. Eugh. "A lot of these seem fragmented and incomplete, but I think they suggest a letter of... Apology, of sorts? I can't read it though." Because hubris was a bitch. "I think it's best for you to pick it up and read it yourself. His pen strokes seem rather rushed, so his handwriting is a bit sloppier than usual. It's almost as if someone forced him to be writing what seems like a question of mercy or redemption, but... Well... Didn't you read a lot before? I think it could be of use to someone like yourself, at the very least."

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

Goddamn. How long did it take to walk a jellyfish?

Maribelle gently pushed the jellyfish through the door leading into the man's office, ignoring its gurgling as she did. It was probably restless, because she did, in fact, sit in a bathroom with it and do nothing for an hour and a half. Hopefully Smithson was so absorbed in his documents that he didn't notice how much time had passed, but either way, the girl and his weird dog were back.

"I took some fruit from the kitchen." She said monotonously, giving the jellicent one last shove towards Smithson. She kept at a distance from the man himself, calmer but more resigned than before. "I'm sure you don't care, though, as long as this thing is returned to you. It's fine, by the way. I gave it fruit, too."

She watched the creature float around for a moment, falling silent again. Her hands fidgeted as if she wanted to reach out and pet it, but refrained from doing so.

"I'm going home, I think." Maribelle told him, "I feel like I'm going to be sick. I probably shouldn't have even eaten anything." Pleeeaaase for the love of God don't give him fruity puke as a gift. The pissed-off jellyfish is enough trouble... Not that he would have to deal with the former. He had servants to clean it for him. "I also shouldn't have been gone for this long. I have... a book back home that I need to read. It's for my studies. Also, I have to sleep, or I'm not going to be able to do anything."

She paused again, taking in a deep breath in another attempt to re-steady her nerves as she felt them prickle through her arms, a pit in her chest digging into her stomach.

"You should forget about what I said earlier." The girl took a step back, a frown briefly breaking her stony expression before she, once again, had to suck in an inhale. "Absolutely forgotten. Your wife shouldn't know about it. None of the servants should know about it. Not even your jellyfish should know about it." Too late? "Like I said, it was a stupid question."

"So..." She tugged on her cloak, taking a step back towards the opened door again, nervously glancing over her shoulder into the corridor. "I'll probably come back some other time, when I'm not sick. I don't -- I need to just go away. I'll bring lunch for you next time."

maribelle collects another dad.

The golden blade the king had sparred with was given to Maribelle to hold, but the minute his fingers left it, it distorted into a new form. Brilliant gold rusted, and the sharp edges dulled and chipped. It was nothing more than a used, old training blade rather than a legend. En seemed to smile at the transformation. "I told you," he said. In a flash of light, the sword disappeared from her hand and reappeared in his, gleaming once again. "Lan-Ran only works for my bloodline. Not just power-wise, but the sword itself. It'll rust and get heavier in the wrong hands. Still, that's not to say a rusty weapon can't be deadly in the right hands, but that's not something I think suits you best."
As the king sheathed his sword, a guard wandered over to hand him something long, wrapped in cloth. Nodding his thanks, En turned back to Maribelle and held it out for her. Underneath was a silver sword. In the hilt were small bug designs. "Your sparring is good! Still needs some polishing, but it's very advanced for your age. A skilled fighter like you ought to upgrade to a weapon capable of keeping up! Want to try it out now or call it a day?"

You can reply to him, his younger self, or his evil (also younger) self!

  For someone who was generally a bit wary of people older than her, she sure took quickly to En, least of all because...
  "Mister, mister? Did'ja see you kinda look like me? Oh! When I grow up, can I be as big and cool as you and Uncle? I wanna look that cool! I'm gonna be a lord like Uncle someday, you know?" 

  She began smiling ear to ear at the thought, and began rocking back and forth on her heels. And yet, as quick as she was to act in elation, she stopped, and puffed her cheeks up at him. There was something, something that just wasn't right. She ruffled through the small bag strapped to her, until she produced a small length of birch wood, laminated, and bordered in gold. It was... clearly something of value, especially from her home. 

  "Uncle says it's... it's... unbecoming to have that hair on your cheeks and chin. He cuts it off every day! And Uncle is the coolest lord I know, right? I brought this from his rooms!" And as she spoke, she fidgeted with it, until the concealed blade snapped out. She yelped, but miraculously managed not to drop it, or to cut herself on the gleaming sharp edge. And, she held the straight razor up to En, her eyes once again full of pride. She was, however, still just an impressionable little seven year old...

---

if you dont like kids, you can check out her adamance (older) tab!

He scratches his head awkwardly. What kind of shitty parent leaves their kid roaming the Tokio streets by themselves? This wasn't the countryside. It gets shady here at night. If I just leave her here, then I'll feel like crap if I see that she's gone missing on the telly... he thinks. But the thing is-- he was never too good with kids. They're either brats, too honest, or see right through him. And sometimes, all three. On the one day she can't walk to school with me! he groans inwardly.

No, he can't lose his cool with some little girl. He rummages through his bag for the snacks he meant to save for the others after school. "Hey--" he starts, and realises that he's speaking a bit too roughly, so he tries to soften it as much as he can. Like he's talking to a kitten, or something, or his girlfriend. Yeah, that'd work. "Hey, kid." He manages a small smile. "Watcha doing out here by yourself? Where's your mom? Are you lost?"

"Listen, I go to a school really close by. See that big building up that hill? ...Uh, you might be a bit uncomfortable with just a big brother but if you come with me there'll be a lot of big sisters who can take better care of you until we can find your mom."

Please don't see me as some kidnapper, please I swear to the gods--

He hands her several snacks. Strawberry jam-filled marshmallows. Soy grilled squid flavoured chips, cheese rings-- the classics. As long as it makes the girl stick around and not just run off on him, it's fine. Sure, his friends might complain that he didn't buy them snacks even though it was his turn, but at least he could brag about saving some little girl.

"Personally, I'm the type of person to give a shit about paleontology more than anything else," Brown chuffed while holding up a potted plant for the teenager to see. If the tone of her voice indicated anything, the middle-aged aristocrat was honestly convinced that she was speaking to - say - a college student instead of a minor, which- Actually! That wasn't a good thing now, was it? Brown, of course, revealed nothing conniving at first glance, as she lifted her hand to her lips and let out a (sly) chuckle.

"But I will be the first person to admit that I do garden, at least sometimes," the aristocrat hummed while setting the pot down, then gently nudging it towards the other party with a smooth smile, "I never opt for the dumb shit like gardenias and daisies though. I always opt for the more interesting plants. Like..." She paused to rub her chin and flutter her lashes. "... Foxglove, or maybe even Venus flytraps? I know that one of my associates gives me the latter every so often; perhaps that might interest you - whether it be the plants or the potential gossip..."

She pursed her lips together into a thin smile while placing her hands down onto the soil and patting it down. At the moment, her attention seemed directed on the student, as she scrutinized his expression for any change in it. Is he going to give a shit about those plants? Or is he more of a zoologist? Brown's palms compressed the dirt even more, with flecks of topsoil starting to creep onto the backs of her hands in the process.

The cool feeling of the dirt, alas, did little to faze the aristocrat as she remarked with a slightly affectionate coo, "Besides, you little bumpkin, you look like you could use a plant. Plants can really lighten up one's life, mm?" With a wry chuckle, Brown took up the trowel and started to chip away at the dirt. Who cared if it was a bit too tightly packed, really? Her nose scrunched while she chipped away at it - occasionally shooting glances at the other, then at the flowerpot. "I don't know if you would opt for a flower, or something a bit more unconventional- Shit!"

Brown paused as she felt a stray chunk of dirt hit her face. Ouch! The middle-aged woman quickly shook her head before looking back over at her unfortunate witness, who also seemed like the intended recipient of whatever she had in mind. Resentment, curry... Plants? The aristocrat fluttered her lashes before coughing into her sleeve and leaning back by an inch or so.

"But I can give you one either way," she barked with a grin, "One that would really blow your mind. It might admittedly not be as dynamic as those mammals or birds that you care so much about, but... Plants are not static by any means, mm?" The older woman broke off with a giggle before reaching out to grab the flowerpot and the plant rooted in it. "Not this one, though," Brown specified while holding it with one hand and shaking a finger at it with the other, "I have plenty more where that one came from, and... Besides..." Her eyes trailed off to the impression she had made in the ground with both her hands and trowel.

"... I need to get this shit planted before the sun goes down, or something corny like that. Then maybe after you help me out, you can see my bird. She's rather feisty though; it's best to be careful with her..."

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

I'll also try my best to do a follow-up for NP or ELSE.