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| Some Reason in Madness | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 4 2017, 10:22 PM (130 Views) | |
| Finnelesse | Jun 4 2017, 10:22 PM Post #1 |
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doomdoomdoomdoom
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Nietzsche enjoyed working on his own. Always more freedom that way. But desperate times call for desperate measures, they say; he was only one person and regardless of how godly he could make himself out to be, even Nietzsche himself could tell that he wasn't going to be able to fight this case off by his lonesome. See, money can't buy you happiness, but money certainly can make you happy. At this day and age, you buy things with it. You buy things that make you thank the devil because it grants you too much sweet joy; so much more than what God could have given. You get rotten black inside beneath your pearly skin that you take care with millions of Jenni worth of daily skincare, with squeaky clean reputations you maintain as you step on thousands of lives with your shined shoe sole. Plus, when you have so much of it, who can fight you when you can easily feed them a fraction of a fraction of your wealth? Everyone kowtows to money. It may be the root of all evil, but there are men who like to thrive on the sinful path. So Nietzsche must correct this. Right now. So here he was, sitting alone at a table for two in the far corner of a café in York Shin for that very reason. The black-haired priest had donned his usual black robes and covered his hands in what he called his 'business gloves,' but were basically white leather gloves he would wear on certain unique occasions. This one was one such occasion. He had been contacted by an agent in charge of posting up requests for Hunters to take since Nietzsche was the client in this case. There was an interested taker, he was told, one who didn't mind potential bloodshed when chasing a group of escapees who deliberately forgot to pay off their loans. Agents took up too much commission percentage, which was part of the reason why he liked working alone. But when this level of danger was involved, Nietzsche considered it a worthy investment. A small price to pay to fish out the bigger prey. He had given the agent some more detailed descriptions on where and how to find him on today's date, and it was only polite for him to be the first one to arrive at the venue. Nietzsche didn't like making someone wait for him, especially when it was he himself who required the assistance. The clock was nearing 10 in the morning. Almost the time they had agreed upon meeting. He took a sip of his lukewarm tea before gently placing it back down onto the cup plate, remaining calm with almost no sign of fidgeting to focus on his surroundings. All he needed now was to wait. Edited by Finnelesse, Sep 28 2017, 04:08 AM.
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| פֿGon.Pro.Hunter | Sep 29 2017, 12:08 PM Post #2 |
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I'm just here to RP
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“Does it burn? Or….” It was pointless to suggest an alternative sensation. The man’s face sagged and one eye popped out while foam gargled from the corner of his mouth. Dorn hummed in annoyance. She still needed to work on controlling the intensity of her “self”. The unrestrained Ren proved too much for the agent and he was dead in only three seconds at point blank range. On one hand Dorn felt that he died too slowly; if she was to successfully engage Pro Hunters and other fun types, she needed to kill much faster than that. However, the retard died too quickly to give her feedback. She wanted to know what her wrath felt like. How the suffering worked. Things like that. It was hard to say from his final gruesome appearance if it was pressure, or something else entirely. “10 am. Livy’s Café.” Dorn sighed in a sing song way. Might as well try again on whoever the fuck Mr. agent man was supposed to meet. Lately, it had become vital to improve and sharpen her artistry. Fuck weapons and tricks. She would simply go after people and crush them. Terrifying the rest. She would be feared and perhaps hunted. That would be glorious.. to wait for them to come, and to destroy them one by one. To become a living legend. To give the world something real for once. None of this social media shit. Actual horror everywhere. She would make it so. It sounded cool and fun. And satisfying. She was a little late, but Dorn guessed it would make finding the designated victim easier. They would probably look like they were waiting for someone. The café door jangled and shut behind her while the aroma of coffee and pastry greeted Dorn’s nose. Lazy shits. Their pastries were shipped in. She could totally tell. There was no smell of bakery in here..and that made all the difference. The darkly dressed man with white gloves seemed like a good choice. Plus he’d be amusing to talk to even if he wasn’t the one the agent was supposed to meet. Sitting down across from him, Dorn folded her hands nicely on the table top and cocked her head to the side. “Hello. Sorry I’m late.” Edited by Gon.Pro.Hunter, Sep 29 2017, 12:14 PM.
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1:20 AM Jul 11