Mods Please Delete

[Iilyda]

{Alright, here goes. Not as long as the others, but.... DX I'll do my other characters later.}

Laqueta Myra Stillman

~Servatis a periculum~
::Fallen angels at my feet
Whispered voices at my ear
Death before my eyes
Lying next to me I fear::

The lonesome dark. That was what Laqueta’s abuela used to call this sort of existence. When you were distanced from everything and everybody. Out on your own and there was nobody to care if you were happy or sad. If you lived or died.

Laqueta hung back in the lonesome dark now, crouched on the balls of her feet, her fists grounded in front of her. It was a feral stance that Laqueta took up, wary, and prepared to jump into alertness at the slightest disturbance. But there was none, here, in the midst of the Tombs. An apt title, Laqueta had always thought, for a section of the city that was as deserted and forsaken as a graveyard. It suited her perfectly. Those who roamed the empty lots and abandoned traffic circles of the Tombs, squatting in abandoned factory buildings and old brownstones or the like, lived out lives as desolate and silent as hers. They had no more wish for human contact than she. No need to be in the company of others. But that was not quite true, was it? There was always some presence or another that lurked just behind Laqueta’s shoulder.

As if to attest to that, the hairs on the back of Laqueta’s neck prickled, the tips of cold fingers trailing down her spine. She knew the touch of those words. Her shoulders tensed, the traceries of whispers curling close to her ears. Laqueta mouthed the name to which they belonged, but no noise came forth.

“So tense,” a soft voice breathed. A hand traced over her shoulders and across the back of her neck, fingernails clawing against her skin. “What are we so afraid of?”

Laqueta shrugged off the hand, pushing off from the slab of concrete she had been squatting one and whirling around to face the raven-haired little girl that looked up at her flippantly, a smirk fixed on her face. She was young, not any older than ten, but her irises were so deep and dark that Laqueta did not doubt the demoness when she told her that they stretched down into the pits of the earth. She mouthed her response, and no sound emerged but a slight leaking noise, as if gas were escaping from a broken pipe. Without a voice, the dark little girl still managed to understand her.

“I’m not going away,” Whisper trilled, skipping over so that she stood between Laqueta and the view of the Tombs beyond. She cocked her head to one side, observing Laqueta, and her grin revealed pointed teeth. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Laqueta scowled.

::She beckons me
Shall I give in
Upon my end shall I begin
Forsaking all I've fallen for
I rise to meet the end::
~Servatis a maleficum~

{Laqueta is in the same small city, btw. And is it alright that I've named the section of it that she's inhabiting the Tombs?}

[Peaches]

[[y'all started already? Cool, I'll think up an idea to start mine, currently got none -_-; I'm at school so probably post after that. Is it okay if mal is in that city too? ]]

[Clavicle]

((The city sure is getting popular~
And thank you, Ylva Rane. I'm glad to know that I am not a complete failure. X3; Aand I'm ending my OOC spam here.))

[Iilyda]

{Alright, here goes again. The Ironside orphans are at the base in the Rocky Mountains, btw, if I don't make that clear.}

Fizza "Widget" Ironside

~Hooked into machine~
I count all my blessings
I have friends in high places

Sparks flew through the air, rebounding off of the smooth metal surface of Fizza's welding mask, concealing the face underneath. It was a common thing, to find her looking thus apparelled. Bent over her worktable and welding torch in hand, Widget had chosen that moment to disregard her safety gloves, choosing instead to work with her bare, calloused and oil-smeared hands. Grease had long since worked its way permanently into her fingernails and the pores of her skin, forevermore granting her a rather singed appearance. Not that Fizza would ever notice. It was hard to notice much of anything, with your nose stuck behind a welding mask.

The project which Widget worked on now was truly a mechanical marvel. If Fizza was ever feeling overtired, she herself could forget its purpose, for all the intricacy that she had worked into it. It was what looked to be a simple automaton upon first sight. It was laying belly-up on her worktable just then, its wings spread wide. An eagle, forged from bronze and copper, screwed together with iron bolts. Or perhaps it was a falcon. Widget had never been much of a sculptor, but she could admit to being proud of this. Her eagle's wingspan stretched well over four feet, each feather a sheet of glinting metal that attached itself with much complexity to an inner structure that was obscured by its outer mechanisms. The detail, if Fizza did say so herself, with which the eagle had been created was positively stunning. And it was so close to running. But there was yet one more thing it needed.

"Which automaton is that?" a young voice asked over her shoulder. Widget shut her welding torch off, lifting the metal mask from her face to reveal a goofy grin.

"The bird," she replied, sweeping aside the section of auburn bangs that was forever falling into her eyes to get a proper look at her younger brother. Joshua looked too old to be just twelve. Maybe it was his eyes, Fizza decided. The way in which they regarded the world with an understanding that was beyond his years. It made her quite sad. But there were bound to be a few small tragedies in the line of work they ran. The one not referring to mechanical parts.

"The big one," Widget added usefully, leaning back in her chair and glancing at her work while she put her feet up onto the worktable. She had her thick pair of boots on, laden down with hand-customed gadgetry that hung from the buckles and straps, producing a noisy clunk as they landed. It was necessary to dress warmly down here. The bunker might have been insulated, but the hideout was still underground. It did make for a very chilled climate in some parts of the tunnels. Not that Widget or Joshua were complaining. The Demon Hunter base was far warmer than many of the places they had squatted in.

"Hum," Joshua murmured, walking around Fizza's workbench to get a better view of the partly opened contraption. Bits and pieces of gears and springs stuck out from the bird's belly, rendering the scene with a surgical outlook. "That's awfully descriptive."

That earned him a bigger grin, and a hearty laugh, as Widget regarded her automaton thoughtfully from where she sat lounging. "Terribly so. But I haven't decided yet what sort of bird it should be. It'll likely make up its own mind at some point." That was something their mother might have been prone to say. Hestia Ironside. It was queer, how her eldest daughter had acquired her eccentric nature and not her youngest son. Though, perhaps that had to do with Joshua's limited time with her.

"If you say so," Joshua returned, sharing the smile with his sister before his brows furrowed and his forehead creased with concentration. "But why another automaton, Fizzy? And why another bird for that matter? You've already designed loads." As he said it, Joshua fingered the tiny mechanical chickadee that straddled the arm of Widget's overhead lamp, turning the key in its back absentmindedly. The metal bird did a short little flap of its wings, rising an inch or so into the air, before plummeting back down into Joshua's open palm. His sister had crafted it for him when he was just a boy, and yet, he never lost interest in it.

Joshua looked at Fizza quizzically, taking in the way his sister's face seem to screw up for a moment before settling back into a playful grin. Another habit picked up from their mother. You could always tell when the Ironside girls were holding their tongues when they pulled that face. "I'm not sure," Widget answered, sounding perfectly honest. "Maybe I've just acquired an affinity to them." Fizza glanced considerately at the mechanic bird in her brother's hand, watching him turn its key for a second time. Or maybe she'd only acquired an affinity to how her brother always seemed to enjoy them. But that wasn't correct, not correct at all. Fizza had a specific idea in mind for this design. And if her mother's notes were to be believed, that idea promised to be something quite special.

And I'm upgraded daily
All my wires without traces~Hooked into machine~

[Fatal Star Syndrome]

((Don't say that, Preposterous. I happen to like reading what you write.

And I am entertaining the idea that demon's have different, individual ways of learning things, including language... if that's all right with Sora. I will post later. It will take a while for me to actually come up with something good.))

(( It's alright with Sora.

So. We've started. -Was not aware- x3;;
I will post soon then~ ))

[Fatal Star Syndrome]

(( Obelisk is in the city >:3
Will post for Emery later. ))

σ вєℓιѕк

From ashes to ashes,
Look at the burning masses;
beautifully disastrous

A flash of lightening burned the image of the dead into the dark, shadowed by a mass of a thirsty beast. A child's body, no older than six pressed between its talons, a pair of lungs already on its tongue. Too small a creature to be a meal, it was only a game; one should not be out alone after dark. Hissing swept down the street, steam rising as rain pelted the hairless back of the demon, scattering drops to mix with the blood pooling around its feet. Eyes bore into the creature; a mother too taken by fear to return to her lifeless daughters body. A beautiful sight.


Unshaken by the howling of the mournful, the demon brought its clawed feet from the watered street, scattering flesh as the massive being moved. A toothy grin hidden behind the bone plating of its face spread thinly, rows of pointed teeth stained with the innocent. "Why do you wail so sadly?" The demon sang, whistling its darkened voice to the mother, unsatisfied it called. Another howl was the answer, fixed with unmasked fear. A promising cry that the demon could not resist. Lifting its claws again, Obelisk pawed across the streets, dragging long markings into the cement behind it. Its back arched half the size of a house, tail spiking past the roofs. "Come out, come out..." It cooed, dropping its chin to the flooding road to stare around the corner of the building. There a woman hid, drenched from her hair to her socks in the rain, trying to take shelter under the street lamps. Fire burned around Obelisk's feet, swallowing the drops of water with a hiss.

Mercy meant nothing to Obelisk, it was nothing more than a sign of weakness... and this woman asked for the mercy in death. She stared helplessly towards the sky, catching no look at the demons form for it had moved on inside the shadows, leaving her to pour her heart out in her tears. Her death would bring sweet silence, to leave her alive meant to create a hole inside the human that would grow, and that would give life to more of the demon kind.

"Where do you hide..." The demon whispered, slipping in between the streets, letting its form pass through buildings so they would not crumble against its skin. A hunter is what it searched for, something to fight against. Only then would it be satisfied.

From ashes of sin I rise

(( Bleh, not impressed with myself.
I will be able to write more with my human x 3x
And when it's not three in the morning. |D ))

[Solanum]

Watch it count down to the end of the day
The clock ticks life away

Hands in his pockets, shifty eyes ever watching, Thomas made his way down the dark streets he called home. His nose twitched at an unusual scent coming from his right, hesitating for a moment he decided to ignore it. There were always unusual scents, sounds, sights round this area of the city. Almost no body lived there, those that did were usually up to something, or completely mad. His feet fell almost silent as he stepped around puddles of who knows what... A small sigh of relief escaped his lips as his hand closed round the handle of a small silver blade he always kept in his top pocket, he told everyone it was for security, but he had a habit of lying. Scarlet liquid dripped off the end as he pulled it out. After wiping it with an already stained handkerchief, he dropped his hands back to his sides, the blade catching the light of every dim street light it could.
Cursing silently, due to the fact that he had no voice, he slid the blade into his sleeve, trying to conceal himself in the shadows. That was what he was best at... Hiding himself from the rest of the world. He had learnt it from his parents after all, and they were masters of it. Ordinary people, but with a big secret... Him.
Their choice had ruined his life. He became afraid of doctors after bad encounters, grew to hate people after his encounters with the other children of the neighbourhood. Just because they didn't want to be assosciated with the sickly child. The cowards... But now everyone knows my name... Murderer, silent, fast, master of disguise, cunning, clever... He wasn't really all that. He never received an education, he learned what he could on his own. Reading played a large role in his childhood... When you're trapped inside your own house, there isn't much else you can do... But he didn't mind. He rather enjoyed being someone, or something else for a change, seeing through anyother's mind. Seeing what they did, how they behaved... How sometimes people can change for the better or for the worse. He relished the thought that he too could change, so he did.

I'm a completely changed man... I murder, steal... Whatever I want. I have quite a reputation going actually... Yet the best part is yet to come... I made a pact with a demon. I don't know his name, but he says that he comes from the other world... He tore his way into our world through tears in the fabric of reality. Imagine that. He told me that he'd take me there, one day... But only when I'm ready, first I have to do a few things for him... He tells me it is wonderful over there, no one to tell you what is right and what is wrong. Just you and the world. The fires burn brightly, lighting up the world, the ground glittering with blood... Crimson and slippery beneath the feet... One could get lost in so much paradise, so he is getting me ready... In his own time... I could have been there already if he wasn't so slow.

What he didn't know was that Muerte, his demon, was lying to him. Perhaps not about the landscape of the other world, but deffinately about his promises. He wasn't planning on taking him anywhere... He just wanted someone on earth to kill for him, feed him, allow him to grow stronger... He was the whispers in the darkness, the little voice at the back of Thomas' head urging him on... He was there when everyone else was dead, lapping up the blood and devouring the flesh of the fallen. Growing stronger and stronger inside of Thomas until there was nothing left of the scared little boy he once was...

<More Thomas... I need more... I'm so hungry, you don't want me to go back on our little pact do you? You don't want me to leave you back where you started, as who you were... All the power, the freedom I've given you... Do you really want me to take it away?>
His voice was soft and gentle, as it usually was, but with a mocking tone. He smiled a toothy grin, his forked tongue rolling over his fangs to clean them of the last of his previous meal... It had only been a few hours, he was getting more and more demanding as the time went by... His thirst was much stronger than it was at first, when he first selected poor little Thomas...

Thomas could feel the hunger gnawing at his own belly as Muerte transferred it to him. Now he could feel what it was like to have that kind of hunger and to be kept waiting... It was so painful, but he had toughened himself up. He would act fast and get Muerte his next meal... Before it became too much to cope with. He was only mortal after all, for the moment anyway.
Bloodshot eyes scanning the alleyways, he searched for Muerte's next meal... There were no signs of life, at first, but as he moved on they came into view.

The lights of the ground floor of an office building were still on, the sounds of hovering echoing through its walls. The smell of fresh blood drove Thomas crazy... Why had Muerte given that to him too? Had he wanted this lack of concentration? Yes he did... It was all a part of the plan to slowly infiltrate Thomas' mind until every scrap of humanity was gone. First his former self, then his new self then finally everything. Thomas had to experience the cravings, the hunger, the pleasure it comes with killing... Only then would he understand...
Creeping closer, shoes silent on the newly cleaned patio of the building, he pryed open the doors and stepped inside. It was a large room, the reception. It was silver in colour, the floor shiny enough to see his face in. It only held a desk and some potted plants, so Thomas moved on quickly. The pulse of the cleaner was recogniseable now... He was calm, minding his own business... What a surprise this would be. Sliding the knife from his sleeve, he took out the lights at the switchbox, a small, sickening smile creeping across his face as the man's pulse sped up. Only a few steps separated the ignorant man and Thomas... Only a few more steps separated Muerte from his prey... But this was for Thomas to do... On his own. More or less.
The gap between them soon shortened as the man walked over to the switchbox to see what had gone wrong... Thomas slashed the knife at the man, catching his shoulder and cutting it right to the bone in a single stroke. The man spun round to face him, just at the moment that Thomas stabbed the blade into his chest, twisting it slowly to get the maximum effect. The light faded from the man's eyes as Thomas stared into them, only hatred and pleasure expressed in his own. The man's body hung in place until Thomas retracted the blade from his chest, his body hit the ground with a thud and was consumed by shadow as Muerte began to gorge himself.

A great weight was taken from him as Muerte removed his hunger, his feelings from Thomas' mind, or at least most of them. Parts of him remained. Small parts of his thirst and his hunger stayed within Thomas, making him subconsciously want to go out and kill for food. He found his new craving for death unusual, but tossed the doubt aside after a few words from Muerte.

<You're almost there. Every time you kill, I get stronger. When I am back to my full strength I will take you to the other world. It won't be long now... I can already feel it coming back to me... You do want to go don't you?>

I kept everything inside and even though I tried, it all fell apart
What it meant to me will eventually be a memory of a time when I tried so hard

(( I've started him in the city as well. Wasn't creative enough to think of something creative xD
Fail post is fail :3))

[Ylva Rane]

‘I haven’t forgotten. My reason is still here.’

The locket was still against her pale skin, cold and lifeless, but filled with those souls she endeavored for. Yukino’s fingers lightly brushed the elegant pattern engraved into the gold, breathing in slow, meditative rhythms. She felt she had to remind herself every once in a while, remind her heart of the shattered memories, the broken remains of the past. Accept it all over again.

…But that was bad, wasn’t it? It worried her sometimes.

‘That trinket is completely worthless. I’ll be glad when you finally lose it.’

Trinket. How dare he refer to her precious possession in that manner! It was essential. It must always be with her, or her life would hold no meaning. It would become empty. Emptiness…the worse pain. How could she continue living if that ever happened? As if she would lose it. Yukino’s, or rather his, eyes glanced at the shadow curled around her left shoulder, around her neck, resting. That’s right, he was just a demon, and lacked a certain degree of emotion, and a rather large quantity at that. How could he comprehend the locket’s worth to a weak, mere human such as herself? He couldn’t. He was incapable of understanding.

Gaenor the demon, the apparition, the ghost invisible to all mortals except Yukino. Possibly the one thing she feared. He gave her power, leverage, a path to follow when all others slammed doors in her face. For that, she supposed gratitude was in order. However, the price was aggravating, and challenged her every waking moment: the war for her soul. Just because they held a contract, it did not mean she was completely sold her soul. Just because he let her act with her own justice, Gaenor did not have control over her being.

For now, Yukino was her own entity, a person who could think, decide, and act as every other normal being. Only…she really wasn’t. Her eyes, forever closed to hide that there were none, and the tattoo that once decorated her left eye now embraced her left socket, scarlet as it was in the beginning, were proof of her abnormality. She was never able to hide what she had done, who she was, or who accompanied her. No one would approach, or everyone would attack her. It was a little of both, actually, but more of the first. Yukino has had limited interactions with demon hunters due to her efforts trying to avoid them, and normal people in general. She didn’t want to risk killing them. Her targets, after all, were only criminals, and a few people who made it their business to prevent her from killing those pests. It was an obstruction of justice. That was against the law, after all.

Cities were very…populated places. Yukino didn’t do well in crowds. The outskirts were better, bordering the heart of the forest while its limbs scattered within and around the man-made buildings. No one would actually try to bother her out here. Seclusion was the most probable. She brushed aside the bangs falling into her face and stared down at the bottle in her hand, lightly touching her tattoo with the other. Perhaps with this cover-up, she could hide the obvious proof of her identity, and go unnoticed easier.

[Iilyda]

{Gosh, everyone keeps selling themselves short. XD Is anyone posting for a Demon Hunter yet? Or have someone free in the city that would like to RP with Laqueta?}

Laqueta Myra Stillman

~Servatis a periculum~
::Fallen angels at my feet
Whispered voices at my ear
Death before my eyes
Lying next to me I fear::

"Come come," Whisper tsked as Laqueta turned away, folding her arms protectively over her chest. "Don't be so pouty. We can make this fun. Loads and loads of fun. Don't you agree?"

No, Laqueta thought, but the demoness wasn't actually asking for her opinion. She was regarding Laqueta with an expecting look, hands placed on her hips. If Laqueta hadn't known better, she might have taken Whisper to be a rather monochromatic school girl. But then again, Laqueta did know better.

She nodded her head compliantly, teasing an amused smile out of the demoness. "Oh, quit your lying," Whisper chided with a laugh, waving a hand as if to shoo Laqueta's dishonesty away. "I already know the truth behind those pretty eyes. You're planning your escape." Whisper had gone serious now, a shadow settling across her child-like face. Laqueta shook her head, turning back around to face the view of the Tombs, but it was no use. Whisper was hopelessly paranoid. Always conjuring up fabrications of reasons to persuade Laqueta when killing needed to be done. That this person knew who she was. That the man over there had seen her speaking with Whisper. That the police officer walking down Quintie Lane had spotted the both of them, and now was going back to his squad car to call them in. It was always the same old stories, but Laqueta couldn't afford to take chances. Better to ask for forgiveness than for permission. That was what Whisper told her. Better to let others die for her.

But Laqueta didn't buy into that, not even now. She wasn't convinced her life was worth anything much when placed into comparison with the people she saw throughout the city. The pedestrians. The bag ladies. The businessmen. They all had a higher calling in life than she, and she wasn't about to screw that up for her sake. No. But Whisper knew that too. So if Laqueta refused to do the job herself, the demoness always threatened to finish it for her. It went unsaid, but Laqueta was perfectly aware of what Whisper was capable of getting up to. She didn't always assume a form so innocent as the little girl she pretended to be now.

"Don't lie," Whisper was going on, her hard voice echoing from behind Laqueta's shoulder. Still paranoid. "You've been like this ever since that little slip up in Chicago City. Don't think I don't know your looking for a way out of your pact."

"I'm not," Laqueta mouthed back, though of course no sound emerged. It wouldn't have mattered if Whisper had seen her lips move in any case, or even if the demoness knew that Laqueta had given up that notion of freedom long ago. When the demoness was in the grip of paranoia, it was best just to let it run its course.

::She beckons me
Shall I give in
Upon my end shall I begin
Forsaking all I've fallen for
I rise to meet the end::
~Servatis a maleficum~

[Shiko Hayashi]

This skin
It strangles me
Leaving me an empty shell
Struggling to breathe
And hang on
To a life
I never knew

Black sighed, shifting his weight against the wall. He was in a crowded city, having left the barren streets of the border's neighborhoods. He studied the people, letting the rain wash over his face. His white hair hung limply in front of his ever green eyes and he sighed, juggling the small black orb in his palm inside his pockets.
He had narrowly avoided a few Demon hunters, preferring the silence of loneliness, but the Seekers kept chasing after him, and he felt a sharp tug of irritation in his gut. If one more person approached him talking of things he knew about, he was going to shoot them. Speaking of shooting, he watched as a mugger swiftly pick pocketed a man's watch. He shook his head, narrowing his eyes at the human. Such pettiness was.... Well. Pathetic. They could move on to a better life if they just took the first step forward, instead of remaining the same. A dull headache throbbed at the base of his head, a hidden memory lurking beyond his reaches.
He clenched the black orb and suddenly, it flared white hot in his hands. He looked down and it was glowing a bright blue. He swiftly pocketed the orb and turned to see the pick pocket passing him. It juggled the watch, then shoved it into a passing building, ignoring the clatter it made as it hit the floor. Curiosity and knowing tugged at Black and he followed the pick pocket, keeping his wide brimmed hat over his eyes. The pick pocket turned into an alley and began to run.
Black's heart leaped and he began to move, his speed increasing until he was in a full out, human sprint. but the thing running was not human. It was a minor demon. But it was fast. He felt that roweling black energy in the pit of his stomach, and called a bit of it forth. He dug into the ground, and he shot forward, faster than a bullet, gaining quickly upon the demon. His eyes flashed an eerie pale blue, before returning to that deep evergreen, as his hand closed upon the demon's arm.
The demon yelped with surprise, that quickly turned into a snarl. Black didn't wait for it. He smashed his elbow into it's face and he dug his knee into it's gut. The breath whooshed out of the demon and Black, faster than the human eye could grasp, withdrew something that glinted silver and flung it in a wide arc. He stepped back and gazed coolly at the demon, his evergreen eyes suddenly a pale, ice blue. The demon looked into his eyes, then down at his chest. His head lurched forward and suddenly, his body was no longer part of his head.
The last thing the demon saw was the cold pale ice blue eyes and the burned mark of a demon in his tongue.
Black sighed and wiped his knife on the dead demon's clothing before his body began to slowly dissolve, until the only thing left was a small glint of silver. He picked it up, turning it around in his fingers. It was a gleaming silver pocket watch, the number in roman numerals. Their were three hands, two black, and the longest one a blood red. He watched as the hand turned and a bead of blood rolled down the numbers, trapped inside the glass. Black cocked his eyebrow and pocketed the small token.
He turned and walked out of the alley, waking through small puddles to wipe the traces of blood from his boots without leaving prints. He turned back to the black orb in his pocket, and it was ebony, once more. He sighed and looked at the pocket watch, checking the time. It read, 6:47pm. He sighed once again and continued walking, merging among the humans, willing himself to become unseen. It was a handy trick that most Demon Hunters could use. The humans would look at him, and although they saw him, their mind didn't register him. Not unless they already knew what he was.
A handy trick indeed.