The Wren: Semi-lit All Species Assassin RP. Accepting

[blue_dun]

((Probably when Verdana gets back, I imagine. We'll have to wait a litle while.
And Hikaru, I used anime pics too so I think yes.))

[Verdana]

[Anime pictures are perfectly fine. Erica: Accepted. Rainbow.Freeze: When you're done I'm sure I will accept you. I am posting now. Feel free to post while I am. I'll catch up.]

*Edit: Erica, I'm afraid you have to try out for a head position. I'll put you under surveillance for now.]

[Noel]

(Thanks. I'll have one up in a second. Its a bit unfitting, but I don't have much downloaded on my computer.
Edit: Friend sent me a link of a decent one, I'll change it once I can use google images and such again.)

[Verdana]

It was a blustery morning on the streets around the Secret Sundaes ice-cream parlour. Autumn was arriving, carried on a chill breeze. People hurried to and fro, their shoulders hunched and their faces set. Most people hurried past the inviting doors of the colourful parlour, not sparing it a second glance. Others saw it as a much-desired refuge and staggered through the sliding doors to recover feeling in their fingers in the warmth of the brightly-lit building. Yes, the parlour thrummed with quiet conversation. Hot mugs of tea and coffee spun steam over the perching customers.

But the activity in the shop was nothing compared to the activity below it.

Many of the assassins of the Wren were only just returning from one night-time excursion or another. Bree was one of this number. Her young eyes looked prematurely aged with exhaustion, but they were lit from within with a spark of triumph, for Bree was in a rare Good Mood. The job that she had just completed had taken months of planning, recon and preparation. The last two days had been a flurry of finely-tuned activity, all of the separate elements coming together to form a perfect, beautiful act of vicious beauty. And it had been Bree's job. Her responsibility. She had led jobs before, but she'd always had help. Not this time. This time, the victory was all hers. She didn't have to share with anyone. The independence of this filled her slender body with adrenaline.

Bree was happy, which startled her, and this combined with her exultation at her own skill prevented her mind from rest. Humming under her breath and swishing her hips, she wandered the halls with the intention of hitting the gym. Her mother would have counseled rest and recuperation, but she wasn't interested in any of that. She was interested in keeping her buzz alive as long as possible, and that meant hours of exercise. She'd grabbed a hamburger or two from an all-night joint, and there was that unwholesome energy to burn too.

In short, Bree was a disaster waiting to happen.

Shaygrin was as much unlike her daughter as possible, in the sense that, while Bree prowled the corridors almost skipping with smugness, Shaygrin was behind her desk, dozing lightly over an accounts sheet. It was no easy job, keeping the Wren running. It was more practical than anyone could ever imagine. Shaygrin often remarked sourly that this was not the reason she had started the business, but the truth was, she was good at what she did. Still, she missed shooting people down, longed to dodge hails of bullets and elegantly-arching blades. She wished for some excitement!

At present, the only thrills she was getting were largely unpleasant. She'd had a supply crisis which would have rendered them without ammo without immediate fixing. She'd been up the entire night, on the phone to a man in Colorado who knew a man who knew a man... You get the picture. She'd fixed her problems, at the expense of her slumber. Not that she minded much. She didn't need much sleep anyway. Still, snatched at what she had. No doubt, in a matter of minutes, someone would be pounding on her door with some question or emergency. And as soon as footsteps sounded on the threshold, she'd snap into awareness, ready for everything and anything that hit her path.

But, for that brief moment, she dreamed of chocolate bunnies.

Ty was hungry. He had been for some time, but the sensation was only just becoming unbearable. He set down his blowtorch, the tip still smoking, and lifted his protective goggles, blinking and staring in bewilderment at his grumbling, protesting belly. How, he wondered in astonishment, did it do that? At what level did hunger become so consuming that the body itself began to tell the brain what was needed? He spent some time dwelling on this, so it was an hour or so before he actually thought to act on what his poor belly was telling him. In truth, this process was not a new one. In fact, it was repeated every time Ty got so hungry that his body almost gave up and left him to die. In any case, eventually it became unavoidable and, dusting his hands off on his apron, the gigantic man pushed open the door to his Little Room of Magic and Mystery (which he thought sounded quite enthralling) and, bare-chested and Hello-Kitty-slipper-clad, wandered in the general direction of where he thought he knew the kitchen was.

[incompleteicarus]

Rayven sat on the cold floor, focusing on her sword. The slim blade in her hand would save her life many times over, if she learnt how to control it properly. What was it her sensei had said, "Those with the control of a sword become the sword, those without it die." He was a crude man at best, but he'd taught her well. Well enough that she was in The Wren.
She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and looked back to the sword. It's silver blade was curves at the tip, it's handle was plain black leather. It wasn't a fancy sword, but it would do for her. The katana in her hands was only half of her sword collection. The other was a wakizashi, half the size and twice as deadly. At the base of the blades, on both swords, was a small symbol, jinsei. On the tip was another, shi. Life and death.
She stopped breathing and focused on calming her mind and body. The kantana, which she'd named 'Kamu', stilled with her breathing. She shut her eyes and took in a deep breath. She felt the sword's weight.
Perfection.

[blue_dun]

Kasper lounged on his bed, flipping a cellphone he had picked up off the street that morning. The screen flicked on and off as he played with the battery power inside, and with a little thought he was able to make it do weird things, like play a haunting tune, or black out in alternating diagonal stripes. The day had been uneventful for him. He was still a trainee, and therefore was rarely sent on missions, but his eyes thristed for the sight of blood again. Not innocent blood, though. That last kill had been one too many for him. The woman crying on the street. Her ex-husband had hired him to kill her, and in truth she didn't deserve to die. But Kasper, or Veridius Quo as his gang friends and 'bosses' called him, did it anyway. Nearly broke, he was hungry anf tired. He said he'd do anything for a little needed cash. And he had.
Sighing, he got up and pushed open his door. People bustled about, and the familiar smell of cigarette smoke tinged his nostrils. Joel must be having one again. He's been told over and over not to but he never listens. We'll all laugh when he dies of cancer before he even feels the pain of dying by bullet.

And yup, there the young sniper was, leaning against the doorframe to his room, blowing gray smoke into the already-misty hallway. A Marlboro was caught between two fingers, and gettting shorter by the moment. Some people here thought that smoking was a deadly sin and couldn't understand how Joel kept up his strength and maintained his trim body.
It was clear he was deep in thought. Probably because of a new mission he had been given. Kid was good at working out plans of attack and angles to snipe from. There had been times when people had worked something out- and after a few moments, Joel had said, "No. It's not that way. There's going to be this-- or that--- or something else in our way, wrong with that, better that that, or potentially hindering." And it had turned out that he was competely right. Maybe it was because of the tobacco. Who knows. But either way, he was well respected among the snipers and a prime candidate for head sniper. No doubt about it, Cicada was one of their top operatives. If only he wasn't so unruly...
"Hey Joel." As Kasper walked by he greeted him in a low tone.
As he usually did, Joel critically scanned his greeter before locking eyes with him, giving a careless two-finger wave, and going back to staring off into space. That was another thing about him. When he talked, people listened because he almost never did.

With a huff, Kasper headed off toward the training room. He needed to get in shape so he could someday get his feathers and become a full all-rounder. He was going to try to get to the top someday, how long it took him regardless.

[Mystic]

Chanae breathed into her icy cold hands, her cheeks bursting in colour from the blistering coldness of outside as she walked down the cracked path across from the brightly lit Ice-cream parlor. Her breath came out as white mist, making her purse her bright pink lips and narrow her icy blue eyes in annoyance.
She could handle the cold, yes, but it didn't mean she liked it. She had always hated cold things, the only exception was a cool breeze on a hot summer day. She didn't know the meaning of hot anymore, thanks to this unbearable weather.
She glared up at the twinkling night sky, licking her slightly cracked lips in agitation as she shoved a pair of wooly gloves onto her hands. Chanae clutched her jacket in desperation, the freezing night air driving her crazy as she jogged over to the sliding doors of the invitingly warm ice-cream parlor.
She hopped from the road onto the pathway and practically ran in, scrambling to shut the door behind her. She looked over her shoulder at the "Cashier" and smiled her usual friendly smile, walking up to the marble counter and nodding to the cashier, tapping on the counter as she waited.
After acouple of minutes she wrenched the wooly beany off her head, her nose scrunching in distaste.
The only good thing about you is that you keep my ears warm. She thought as she glared at the thing, dropping it on the counter infront of her as she shuffled aside, letting other people take their order.

[~Erica~]

alright how do I 'try out' for that position??))

Erica was sitting near the door of the Secret Sundays ice cream parlor. Yes it was cold, however Erica loved the cold, she loved the feeling of the icy wind on her cheeks, goosebumps, and cold fingers. Ya, she was just odd that way. She was dressed simply, and completely in a dark grey almost black color. No her clothes were not completely black, and there was a reason for that too. If you never noticed or perhaps had never taken the time to really look, you would never know that shadows are not truly black but merely a dark grey color. She also wore and odd looking, and might I add rather old fashioned cloak. That too had a very particle use that pertained to hiding in shadows. The cloak was a mixture of grey and dark browns that were splotched all over in a completely randomized pattern, the randomness of the colors broke up her image and made it much easier to bled with the shadows. Okay well if you don't get the point of all this yet, Erica was virtually impossible to spot when she didn't want to be seen. Very few people could see her when she moved through the shadows, although most assassins and some regualr peopele had a sort of sixth sense and could sense she was there even if they couldn't see her.

Erica lifted her spoon to her mouth, about to take a bite of the ice cream she had gotten, it was mint chocolate chip, her favorite. Well second favorite really, cookie dough was her favorite but they were out of that today, which was a bit of a drag to be honest, but as they say, that's the way the cookie crumbles. The door opened as someone came in, and sent a cold gust of wind blowing at her. Erica smiled, rather than shivered, yes she was weird. She placed the spoon in her mouth and then dipped it into the ice cream to get another bite. Her spoon tinkled on the glass, she'd just taken her last bite moments before. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. Darn.

Erica rose from her seat and picked up the ice cream glass, and handed it to the waitress, who then took it in to be washed. She still wasn't quite used to the way the parlour worked, and the way they would come get your bowl from you. Erica looked around seventeen years old but in reality she was about one hundred. Erica was no normal human being, she wasn't even human for that matter, she was an elf. Yes, an elf, pointy ears and all.

Erica slipped into a back room and made her way down to headquarters, she should really be practicing with her weapons rather than lounging around upstairs eating ice cream. Erica sighed and pulled out one of her bladed fans and played with it, spinning it around in body in intracate manuvers, catching it easily every time. When she came to a more crowded area though, she shut her fan, she didn't want to accidentally hit someone, not that that was likely though.

[Mystic]

Chanae waited untill most of the customers had taken their order, watching most of them stride away with a steamy cup of hot chocolate. She licked her lips in anticipation, practically purring at the idea of hot chocolate. She sighed in relief as the last customer hurried out, hopping infront of the cashier with excitement.
"Hey! Could I have one hot chocolate, please?" She grinned with pleasure, taking her polka-dot gloves off and rubbing her hands together.
She bit her lip as the smiling man behind the small marble counter nodded and went to go get her order, leaning into the counter as she patiently waited, looking around the ice-cream parlour. It wasn't a tiny little shop, pretty big compared to the others in Ireland. The warm haven had cute little chairs that sat behind polished red tables, the marble floor gleaming in the brightly lit shop.
She loved this parlour for its colours and its warmth, always happy to see it when she came back from her daily walk. It was like heaven to her, a colourful, warm, sweet heaven.
Chanaes eyes fell back to the doorway behind the counter as she heard the light thud of footsteps coming from the room behind it. She put on a warm, friendly grin for the man as he slid the hot, steamy beverage infront of her. She cupped it in her icy hands, a boiling hot sensation coming over them as the blistering hot cup met her bare skin. She quietly gasped, setting it back on the counter before diving her hand into her dark blue skinny jeans, skimming for cash in the tiny pocket of her jeans. She quietly let out a "Yess" in victory as she found a twenty dollar bill, handing it to the man before scooping the now warm cup into her hands, waiting for her change before heading towards a side door, pushing it open and looking back at the man.
"Thank you! Have a good day" She waved at him, passing through the doorway.

[incompleteicarus]

Rayven dropped her sword, it clattered to the floor. She stood up, her movements fluid and gentle. The words of her sensei echoed in her mind. "Those with the control of a sword become the sword, those without it die." She wouldn't have the control and mastery today then. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath.
Her stomach grumbled. She was hungry and tired. Her last mission had been short but it had required a lot of planning and time. She'd given up sleep and food to complete it. And it had been pulled off perfectly, she'd killed the mafia boss and her partner, who's name she didn't know, had taken out the rest of his family. Death was something that followed members of The Wren like flies to honey. She sighed and picked up Kamu and sheathed him. The weight on her shoulders comforted her.
"Let's go Kamu. I'll get Kiba." She said to her sword.
Kiba was the smaller sword that was left on her bed. She picked it up and slung it over her shoulder. She tightened the brown leather straps of her sheaths and walked out of the small bedroom.
She wandered in the direction of the kitchens while humming the haunting tune of Lilium. The smoke in the hallways shrouded her like a cloak. She smiled as she caught snatches of conversation from room mates and partners. She passed through the hallways unseen, or at least unnoticed. She put her hands in her pockets and felt the switchblade she'd taken from the mafia boss. She liked to keep souvenirs of her jobs.