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| Topic Started: Jul 29 2015, 11:58 PM (278 Views) | |
| 竜 Mazohyst | Jul 29 2015, 11:58 PM Post #1 |
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Stay the course.
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Artorius woke to the sound of literally a dozen cats mewling and meowing for attention. Not really, they just wanted food. Artorius groaned, wondering at what point in his life he had become a crazy cat man. He pushed himself out of his messy bed, shoving off two cats that were laying on top of him, digging their claws into his bare back, and then another two that were on his bed and in the way. Questioning his life choices, Artorius hobbled over towards the counter and pried open a few cans of food and poured it into a myriad of bowls. "You better stop whining, you assholes," Artorius chided the crowd of cats as he wandered towards the shower to freshen up after a night of drinking, only to brush his teeth and rinse his mouth with scotch not even minutes later. Throwing on pants, boots, and a jacket, Artorius set out to wander his home city. He strapped his sword to his back as well. He never left home without it. Truthfully, there wasn't much exploring or wandering here. His true goal was to buy cigarettes, having dimly remembered that he killed that pack the night before. It was all a haze though; something about a woman, fist-fighting here and there, and a particularly bad game of cards. What's important, though, is that he was out of cigarettes. He closed his door behind him, and subsequently locked the seven differing locking mechanisms that secured his apartment. The little kitty door wasn't so secure, but it was so small that not even a person could fit through. Granted, you could probably throw a stick of dynamite or a grenade inside, but people in Dandelion were smart enough not to kill people in their own homes. You did that sort of thing on the street. It's the polite thing to do, after all. Speaking of the streets, they were ordinary. At least, as ordinary as Dandelion gets. Peddlers and panhandlers were everywhere. So were the thieves and pickpockets, too. Artorius would know, he was one of them too. There was an undeniable warmth to the city given its relative proximity to Sanzibar, but the nearby coast made it remarkably muggy and humid. It didn't look like summer though, as the smog and smoke emanating from the gigantic smokestacks in the city's industrial sector largely blocked out the sun. It always looked like winter here -- foggy, dank, and depressing. Five minutes of walking through countless alleyways and shortcuts soon brought him to Dandelion's Orphan's Row, a slum named from the countless destitute and abandoned children left in this place. It smelled like complete shit. Literal shit, emanating both from filthy streets as well as the polluted river to the east that separated one half of the city from the other. Yet, it was home. His first home, where Artorius had grown up. Coincidentally, it was the only place that sold his preferred brand of smokes. |
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| 司 Mango | Jul 30 2015, 01:49 AM Post #2 |
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What's The Point
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Orphan's Row...hm. Not nearly enough flarp to the name. Something like...like Armadillo Noodles. Or...or Potato Salad. Yes, yes, perfect. Potato Salad Row. Just the right amount of flarp. But one might wonder (assuming one is of a more favorable mental state than the particular albino child whose current thoughts were illustrated in the previous paragraph, which is not a particularly difficult task by any stretch of the imagination), what exactly would this strange noun flarp mean? Well, the answer would be many times more complex than the question; comprehending the undecipherable muddle of emotions, memories, and ever-complicating thought processes that clogged Cynthia's consciousness like a traffic jam was an extraordinarily difficult task, one daunting enough to make all but the bravest (and maddest) of souls simply stop, turn 180 degrees, display their middle fingers, and walk far, far away amongst a chorus of 'nope nope nope nope nope nope'. Regardless of whether or not one would attempt the impossible task of bringing reason to madness, flarp would remain a colloquialism unique to Cynthia's infinitely confusing vocabulary, and life would progress as usual for the little girl. Though, her life could never be applied to any sort of adjective related to 'usual', as she never did have a particularly 'usual' day - not by normal standards, at least. But alas, off the topic of meaningless, nonexistent words - Cynthia was on a street. A bumpy, dirty, smog-covered, smelly, beggar-lined street, but a street nonetheless. Typically, the child appeared rather out-of-place and alien in every city she visited, but not this particular street. Indeed, she looked quite like she might have lived in this place her entire life; the crimson-eyed girl's dirty gown, hair, face, body, and doll made her look even more destitute than the poor young souls inhabiting this place, almost as if she could have been a feral child if not for her mannerisms and the fact that she spoke a language. Was Cynthia scared? Perhaps. The streets of Dandelion were not the place for a lone little girl, that was for certain. The rough, bumpy cement hurt the bare soles of even her rugged feet, the local populace shot her dirty looks, as if she were no more than a particularly annoying flea, the stench assaulted her senses (albeit, Cynthia herself admittedly did not smell much better than the surrounding area), and thick, muggy smoke rushed into her nostrils with every breath she took, burning the insides of her nostrils and throat and causing her to cough and sneeze rather uncontrollably on occasion. But little Cynthia didn't let this stop her; she continued shuffling along down the sidewalk on shaky legs, rather like a newborn bunny, eyeing and in turn being eyed by strangers, holding Bugsy tightly in her left hand. Edited by Mango, Jul 30 2015, 03:34 AM.
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| 竜 Mazohyst | Jul 30 2015, 04:34 PM Post #3 |
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Stay the course.
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Life is difficult for the abandoned children of the world. There weren't very many places where it was rougher than Dandelion Sector. Artorius knew this quite well both as a man who had seen the world with his own eyes, as well as a child of this virtually godforsaken city. He eyed the dirty, rag-wearing kids with matted hair with an expression that was equal parts curiosity as it was nostalgia. Artorius remembered what it was like to barely get enough to eat, to be so skinny that your ribs nearly stuck out through your too-small raggedy clothing. Most of these kids had looks of hopelessness in their eyes, but some had a defiant fire, both were types that were all too often exploited by those in power in this city. Artorius purchased his smokes without a hitch and without a word, leaving with a freshly packed carton. He pushed one of the sticks into his mouth and looked around the dreary city, suddenly finding a pack of men moving with purpose and hunger in their eyes. It wasn't uncommon to see people preying on the poor folk who lived her. Rarely did people notice children go missing down here, nor was it ever reported, and even fewer did the city guard bother to do anything about it. Their pockets and bellies were far too full to make an effort. Artorius watched quietly, observantly, as they moved, scanning around looking for kids to snatch. What they did with them was anyone's guess. If you were lucky, you would become an indentured servant, and if you weren't.. Let's not talk about that. Soon, they settled on a target -- a small, malnourished girl with pale, creamy white skin matched with equally pale hair. This sort of thing happened all the time, regrettably. Artorius tried to remind himself that it wasn't his business, to look away, and that he wasn't a hero. He was a murderer and a thief, after all, a criminal-for-hire. What would he gain from interfering? But, as they stepped closer, Artorius felt a lump in his throat and a matching one in the pit of his stomach. Was it plain guilt, or honorable compulsion? Artorius swallowed it down and moved forward, walking towards the girl and putting himself between her and the group of three snatchers. "Come with me if you want to live," he told her. |
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| 司 Mango | Jul 30 2015, 05:49 PM Post #4 |
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What's The Point
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Tip, tap, pitter, patter. The white-haired girl stumbled along the streets, absent-mindedly kicking up dust that went right into her nose and mouth, causing her to cough and sneeze it up only seconds later. "Myah. Bugsy, I don't like this place. It's all hot n' stuffy n' stuff." These words were not spoken to any human, but rather, the child held her stuffed bunny up in front of her, looking into its dirty face, with its torn nose and single missing button eye. Bugsy simply flopped in her arms like the ragdoll it was; alas, this doll was not animated nor sentient, despite Cynthia's acting as if it was. "If you don' like it here, why don'cha just kill yourself now n' get it over with, you scrawny, pathetic little whore-rat?"' Came a jeer from the crowd, drawing some hoots and bursts of laughter from the sea of people. "Oi, mate, look at 'er, how's she not dead already? Kid's a right shrimp, ain't she?" More laughter and snickering came from the vile humans as they strolled right past the orphan, one casually driving a foot into the albino girl's gut as they walked past, causing her to cry out and fall over onto her side on the edge of the sidewalk, clutching her fragile stomach, her little bunny doll falling down beside her. Another one of the males kicked Bugsy into Cynthia's face before smirking and walking off with his friends. This was standard fare in Dandelion. Behind the blurry stars and bunnies dancing around her vision, the crimson-eyed girl vaguely recognized the sound of a single coin and a tiny, odd-looking tube clattering to the ground in front of her, the little tube rolling across the ground before bumping into her nose and stopping there. Cynthia blinked away the aforementioned dancing bunnies (as much as she appreciated their dancing), coughing up a spot of crimson before woozily stumbling to her feet, a nauseous feeling now having taken root in her gut from the blow, collecting her dirty, furry little friend and hastily stuffing the coin in her gown's single pocket, before picking up the little stick thing in two fingers. What...was this? The child examined this odd thing, rolling it in between her thumb and forefinger, before her attention span was swiftly snatched by the sound of a man's voice in front of her. Cynthia looked up rather hastily to see a hooded male standing in front of her, towering over her frail, pale figure and...ordering her? "Um, y-y-yes sir!" The little girl managed to blurt out, giving a rather comically sloppy salute and keeping the strange stick thing in her hand. She would follow this man to wherever he decided to take her (it was a miracle she had not been successfully abducted yet). |
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| 竜 Mazohyst | Aug 1 2015, 08:50 PM Post #5 |
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Stay the course.
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Abductors, kidnappers, and snatchers were about as common as the rats in this city. Even those from outside the kingdom would travel to Dandelion in order to profit off of the fact that there were countless people who could be stolen with little repercussion. It was all courtesy of a rather frivolous and useless group of men and women that were Dandelion's City Guard, as well as the fact that it was a port city. Everywhere around the world, rowdy sailors and conniving merchants enjoy few things more than indulging in their vices once they make port at a city. Artorius didn't like it one bit. He was a criminal himself, but he had standards at least, standards high enough to permit him to drag a young girl to safety. He knew crime was rampant, that there was little he could do about it, but he felt he would only lose whatever bits of humanity he had left if he resigned himself to doing nothing. "This way," Artorius said to her, leading her through the criss-cross of alleyways that existed in this section of the city. The alleys were something of a mess, full of grime and dirt on every surface, with danger rife in almost every one. Almost, of course, Artorius knew which ones to avoid. This was his city, after all. Some of these cities had markings, little knife and chisel etchings which pointed out safety and danger alike to anyone savvy to know how to read them. Leading the way, the areas they came across became increasingly more dilapidated, until eventually they came across a series of dusty planks of plywood and rusted prefabricated steel which formed a series of huts, together acting as a small shanty village. There were children everywhere, kicking balls, patched up with tape of course, eating scraps and cleaning clothes. Few adults were ever permitted this far, as the kids in this village were always quick to defend themselves. In fact, there were countless older kids watching from the rafters, eying Artorius' every move. But, they wouldn't do anything. They knew better, and most of them owed Artorius a debt anyway. Plus, they knew that he was one of them, and still was. Artorius Sidonis was a name that was almost hallowed in this part of Dandelion, the name of a boy who grew up to become the extraordinary criminal that he was now. "You're safe here, for now. But first, I have some questions for you," Artorius said to her as he lit a fresh cigarette. Not much point in caring about second-hand smoke in Dandelion. The whole city was second-hand smoke, really. "You're not from here, are you?" |
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| 司 Mango | Nov 25 2015, 08:08 PM Post #6 |
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What's The Point
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The small child's weak little legs struggled to keep up with Artorius' brisk pace as they moved through the annals of the city; this was only exacerbated by the bumpy and precarious terrain that would likely cause the casual stroller to trip several times over the course of the journey. So, Cynthia was relegated to practically being dragged along like a half-ragdoll, barely able to hold onto Bugsy and the little stick-thingy in her other hand. This didn't really seem to stop the crimson-eyed orphan from initiating a rather strange one-sided conversation with herself on the way there, or rather the rabbit in her other hand. "You think this place has cookies, Bugsy? Huuuh? Don't be silly, who'd do that to a cookie? That's just mean. Red velvet? Ooh, yes. Oh, you will!? Thanks, Buggie-Buggie, I can always count on you! Hm...say, where does red velvet come from anyways? Victoria told me it comes from this weird water-thingy called "blud" or something. I think she's just trying to scare me, though. Blud doesn't taste that good anyways. Hmm...maybe they just add a ton of sugar or something to make it taste all nice and stuff? Nahhhhh, I wouldn't fall for that. Right, Bugsy?" By the time this infinitely confusing conversation had been resolved (or simply given up, seeing as Cynthia would more than likely have gone on endlessly had she the time and interest to do so), the orphan looked back up to realize they had slowed down and reached an area filled with children. Albeit, Orphan's Row was also filled with children, but the albino girl hadn't been paying any attention to that. It was only after Artorius spoke to her that Cynthia's attention returned to him; it was as if she had entirely forgotten he had been present the entire time. Their pace had slowed to a comfortable walk by this point - something the child was relieved about. "From...here? Whaddya mean by that, Mister? I'm here, so doesn't th-" The white-haired girl cut herself off with a fit of coughing and sputtering lasting a number of seconds. "Blarf." Was all she said at the end, apparently having not bothered (or quite forgotten) to finish her sentence. |
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