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| The Big Cat Plot; Underdogs #2 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 4 2014, 04:44 PM (421 Views) | |
| Khepri | Dec 4 2014, 04:44 PM Post #1 |
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Owner of Khepri
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As drab as grey could be, wasn’t exactly white. It meant something that this one room was completely grey and filled to the brim with grey bits and pieces that obviously weren’t from Gesso. Sat at stone desk was the only bit of white to be found in the office; one of those unusual white humanoids that managed to avoid the harsh rays of the on Gesso. However, even this white almost-human was tainted with grey, in the form of an elaborate grey, powdered wig, and checkered (light grey and dark grey) long coat. “Gracie.” A darkened figured called from the dark of the doorframe.
“Higher ups are starting to think we’ve got a leak...” The figured continued, managing to stay obscured even as they walked into the light, “...That fiasco with the choreboy proved it in their eyes.” “That idiot was merely lucky. If there was a leak, truly, wouldn’t they want to leak to someone more inconspicuous to avoid getting caught and killed?” Graice took a sip of Earl Grey tea from his stoneware cup, “How troublesome.” He sullenly replied. “Yeah you’re right, but the boss is going to tear this place from the ground up and do whatever it takes to find this mole, whether they exist or not.” “Nuh… I thought you said was a leak, now it’s a mole.” The figure sighed a sigh that voiced frustration, “Hey… Don’t chide you for inconstient phrasing.” The darkened figure barked before storming off. Gracie sat there, calm, cool and collected until he was sure the darkened figure was a far enough distance away. The very second he felt like he was in the clear, Earl Grey shot from his mouth in a shocked spit take, ‘Zounds! If they find me, I’ll have to fake my death once again!’ Gracie shouted within the realms of his mind. The desk was promptly knocked over as Gracie hopped from his sitting position into a spindly and panicked run. If he had the ability to run the entire way, it would’ve taken all of a few seconds, but it took more than a few seconds as he had to switch to a chilled out, tea-sipping saunter whenever eyes were on him. Through the door and into the light of day, Gracie closed his eyes. The milky film that covered his eyes made directly sunlight more of a pain than it should’ve been. From tears of eye irration sprung the tears of emotion, ‘Luca! If your blood ends up on my hands… I… I...’ Tears continued to well in his eyes, and he was forced stifle them to prevent his makeup from running and getting ruined. Still he had reached his destination: The recycling bins. Gracie was right to assume that the Paint Criminals wouldn’t be into recycling, so they would’ve never even think to check those bins for moles or leaks. Usually when when paper bin was opened, Gracie indiscriminately dropped all sorts of papers into it; these papers of course held the invoices and all of the information that could unravel the illegal paint trade… if Gracie knew how to read them, but he didn’t. Luckily there was someone stuffed there, someone who actually knew what numbers meant. The second recycling bin fell forward and swung open to reveal the bound, gagged, stripped, and certainly more real Graham Gracie rolling around in some attempt to escape. He was noticeably angry, grunting and shouting garbled insults. The fake Gracie took a moment to glance at the squirming mess but then looked back into the paper bin, ”We’ve run aground into a crisis, my dearest of friends. A recent and unfortunate plot twist has brought forth some unforeseen obstacles that threaten to end your precious, irreplaceable life, and perhaps mine.” Fake Graice said in a voice that implied that he was Andrei Myshkin the entire time, which he was. Edited by Khepri, Dec 4 2014, 04:45 PM.
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Leens & Khepri by Neon Andrei Myshkin • Holy Paladin • Thief/Entertainer • Underdogs • Rank: Ensign • SD Earned: 285 • Beli: Some number • Location: Khepri Xanthippe • Sheepherder • Weapon Specialist/Chef • Odd Jobs • Threat: 0 • SD Earned: 40 • Beli: 500,000 • Location: Silent Hill Percival Aloysius Periwinkle • Legitmiate Businessman • Merchant/Marksman • No Crew • Bounty: 130,000,000,000 Extol • SD Earned: 148 • Beli: 21,000,000 • L: Alabasta Others
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| Shizuochan | Dec 4 2014, 06:25 PM Post #2 |
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a real naga
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When Luca Bartolomeo de Fiorentina was assigned to a deep-cover operation in regards to the up-and-coming Paint Mafia, he had expected something far more visceral. Perhaps he had expected to be the one to infiltrate the Leader’s inner circle, the one to witness the gruesome murder of a subordinate wrongfully accused of being a ‘mole’, and the one to nasally ingest unhealthy amounts of powdery drug simply to prove his loyalty. Besides the fact that this was a spiral of excessively specific expectations, it was also woefully off-point. And so:
So no, he was not exactly ‘under-cover’ in the way he had originally expected. He was, however, literally under the cover of a quaint recycle bin. Removed from the line of fire, and placed into circumstances of sub-optimal leg space. Of course, Myshkin – Gracie – was the one whose talents were better suited for subterfuge. On the other hand, Luca was an accountant by trade, a marine by sheer folly, and a combat-accountant by the strange creativity of some job-creator, and his birth talent was: “Gracie, when you give me those papers in such an indiscriminate fashion, I have to recompile them, which greatly reduces my efficiency. Not that it matters, I suppose, this is all sort of child’s play… but there’s no real way to substantiate anything.” … something something Crisis something something… “The concealment of illegal activity is – as you can probably logically deduce, obviously –.” Even from beneath the recycle bin lid, one could almost ‘hear’ his eyes rolling, “… most commonly done through the inflation of expenses, blah blah blah, blah blah blah. To substantiate any of this, I would need to reconcile reported values of inventory with their price on the market. Oh, why am I even explaining this to you?” … something something Unfortunate Plot Twist something something… “Furthermore, I’d need to be able to witness the actual operations that the Mafia uses as a front, and physically analyze relevant inventory, which begs the question of… when exactly will I be allowed out of this bin?” … something something End something something Your something something Precious… LIFE? “Ah, I’ve changed my mind.” Luca had initially felt an aura of ill-at-ease, having attained a brief solace in the papers Myshkin handed him. Sort of like a savant. The façade quickly faded, however. “G-Gracie, my life is not all that precious, nor irreplaceable, but a painful Mafia-related death is not an aspiration of mine. So, please, theatrics aside, what is going on?” |
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Okay, fine, I actually have characters.
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| Khepri | Dec 5 2014, 02:00 PM Post #3 |
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Owner of Khepri
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What had happened was important, in fact, what had happened and the need to explain just what had happened had been why Myshkin sprinted out to the recycling bins in the first place. The currently in peril Luca may have unintentionally prolonged said peril by making the suggestion that perhaps his life didn’t mean as much as Myshkin thought. Quickly, Myshkin’s panic turned into something more somber,”No…” Myshkin responded in a hushed, albeit passionate tone. The real Gracie continued his attempt to wiggle away to Myshkin and Luca’s demise, and he made it fairly far given his circumstances. Not taking his attention away from the pep-talk, Myshkin made the necessary strides to the clammy, white gangster, ”You and your life are as precious as all the tubes of paint on our blue sphere, and as irreplaceable as the stars of the firmament. My heart and mind would shatter at your passing, even more so knowing how senselessly brutal your passing would be.” He went on and on as he struggled with the squirming naked body of Graham Gracie. The lithe, white toothpick of a man was eventually overcome and folded back into the bin in the most uncomfortable of curves. The man thrashed and fought inside of the bin, and Myshkin responded by sitting himself atop the lid. He returned his gaze to Luca, ”I will do everything in my capacity to make sure that out the many aspirations you’ve failed to achieve, that this shall be another.” He assured, as the clock ticked and Luca’s life spiraled further and further into mortal jeopardy. It struck Myshkin, why he had strolled out in such a panic in the first place, ”Forgive me.” After having been asked to avoid theatrics, Myshkin had marched straight into theatrics, as always. He managed to keep hold of the tea cup and saucer throughout the entire scuffle and proceeded to take a sip, ”The recent shenanigans pulled by Amezoku and ‘special agent choreboy’ have led into concerns over a security breach, and subsequently the desire to find the cause of said breach in a timely fashion.” He explained, finally, after taking a moment to let out a relaxed tea-sipping sigh, ”A man with wonderfully subtle styled hair in a wastebasket filled to the brim with carefully organised invoices would seem exactly like said breach, and not to mentio--” His explanation was cut off by the sounds of violent thrashing inside of bin. Which was about all, really. It was a simple situation, but it was one of those simple situation that led to not-so-simple complications like torture, maiming, and evisceration. To counteract the simple problem, Myshkin had a simple solution, ”You can concern yourself with the disorder of these invoices as well as the inner workings of the factory on a later date.” The stern tone of a Marine superior came slipping through, ”The investigation shall be put on hold for the time being, priorities have changed; I must get to get you to safety, and I must get the real Gracie into a more secure location until times are less tempestuous.” Edited by Khepri, Dec 27 2014, 02:50 PM.
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Leens & Khepri by Neon Andrei Myshkin • Holy Paladin • Thief/Entertainer • Underdogs • Rank: Ensign • SD Earned: 285 • Beli: Some number • Location: Khepri Xanthippe • Sheepherder • Weapon Specialist/Chef • Odd Jobs • Threat: 0 • SD Earned: 40 • Beli: 500,000 • Location: Silent Hill Percival Aloysius Periwinkle • Legitmiate Businessman • Merchant/Marksman • No Crew • Bounty: 130,000,000,000 Extol • SD Earned: 148 • Beli: 21,000,000 • L: Alabasta Others
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| Shizuochan | Dec 5 2014, 05:53 PM Post #4 |
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a real naga
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In truth, Myshkin’s riveting description of the heartache he would feel if Luca were to pass gave the Accountant some emotions to deal with. While dramatic to a fault and highly overplayed (although he had been assured Ensign Andrei was a thespian of the highest caliber), it nonetheless carried some degree of resonation, and Luca could feel the plucky vibrato snapping away at his heartstrings. Oh yes, Luca was – above all else - insecure about everything besides his perception of his own inferiority, in which he was very secure. And so this declaration of significance Myshkin spouted gave Luca tremendous feeling in his loins. No, not his loins; his heart and mind. His heart-and-mind loins. Still, Luca would reject such questionable feelings, ignore the possibility for reciprocal happiness, and instead bestow nothing but indignation unto Fake-Gracie’s person. “Absolutely ridiculous, I tell you! Ridiculous! Must I remind you, Ensign Myshkin,” Luca bellowed from beneath the lid, relinquishing all pretenses of subtlety. “That it was you who put me into these less than satisficing living arrangements? And now, now that I am settled into my new temporary home and ready to perform my duties as an Accountant you wish to relocate me once more?” There was something missing, Luca noted, to his angered tirade. Quickly – as he was not a moron – Luca deduced what his tantrum lacked. The visual aspect, of course! Right now, Myshkin could only perceive the loud, one-dimensionally frustrated voice from within the bin – surely, the actor would have appreciated some gesticulation, some expressive eyes, and some even more expressive eyebrows! And so, without further ado, he slammed open the lid with a great flourish, allowing some of the invoices to scatter about like damning-evidence-in-confetti-form. “You see what you made me do, Ensign Andrei Myshkin? You made me scatter my own papers, thus further reducing my prospective performance! Maybe an actor like yourself wouldn’t understand but, this isn’t an act, and this isn’t a game, this is my life…?” The strange back-to-front combover Luca sported was shaped strangely like a leaf, and right now it was flapping up and down as if flowing in the wind. And in the Combat Accountant’s eyes were… tears. You see, the Recycle Bin Lifestyle had not been kind to him. “So no, I refuse.” He screamed, at the top of his lungs, “You are highly unethical, and these are absolutely shambolic work conditions. Which is why, and I know this makes no sense; I refuse to leave this bin, out of spite!” By this point, he was sobbing. “Also, I feel like I may have sustained some nerve damage from constantly being in some very uncomfortable and questionable positions. I feel like one of my legs might be dead.” |
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Okay, fine, I actually have characters.
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| Khepri | Dec 8 2014, 02:17 PM Post #5 |
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Owner of Khepri
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OOC There was that twist deep in the confines of his gut. He had put the mission before Luca; the mission was going well (until this sudden and unforeseen), but at the cost of Luca being adrift in the most dire of straits. Myshkin took it all in, this dramatic lashing, even the bits that were difficult to hear over the real Gracie’s unrelenting attempts at freedom. Myshkin fought hard against the tears that would run pale peach streaks down his whiteface. This was the ethic-free monster he feared he could be, he who would put personal gain above the neurological health of another. But once Luca began to shed his tears, the peach streaks ran down Myshkin’s face. From his coat pocket he procured the makeup kit, which somehow did not cause a conspicuous protrusion. With the teacup and saucer set aside, he began work on touching up his face, finding it necessary to continue his discussion with Luca, ”It is true. I have done you a grave disservice, one which will haunt me until the day the horrific endless, spiral of madness inflicted by the afterlife’s truly caseless eternity overpowers all of my earthly guilt.” He sullenly stated, as the white returned to his face. Looking in his little mirror, he started to touch up his eyes a bit more, making the discolouration more believable. Usually white went into shades of grey, but if he worked enough he could make a shade of white to be an effective analogue to the red and puffy eyeness that came to the non-Gessoan when they cried. He couldn’t cover up the fact that he was crying, so he had to work it into the act. Still, makeup aside there was the other hindrance to his act, which had more touch up work needed, ”I can only hope that you will one day find it in you to forgive me, I may not be able to live with myself until you do.” In truth, Myshkin uttered “I may not be able to live with myself” a bit too often, much to the chagrin of many a waitress who’ve ended up taking his order. This was all time, time that should’ve went towards getting Luca to safety before the likes of the paint mafia came knocking by to fill him full of holes that would make him less full of blood. He had to be moved, somewhere where he could didn’t have to be concerned with getting killed, which narrowed things down, ”I must say that you posses a powerful sense of spite, one that I must respect. You may stay in the bin, but as a compromise for the sake of the livelihood of your life, I will not waver from my position that it imperative that it move .” He suggested, less sullenly. He sighed deeply, ”But falter your concern; I am capable of much more than putting on a farce such as this. I shall deal with your ghastly wounds in due time, but now your safety is of the utmost pri--’ “Gracie! Where are you!?” Before Myshkin could finish giving Luca assurance that he may walk again, Myshkin assured that the young accountant was en-route for a few more injuries. As quickly and certainly as powerfully as he could, he attempted to slam the lid shut, regardless of if Luca was able to get out of the way in time or not. Luckily, Myshkin possessed the regenerative powers that came from being a deity tied up with a creation myth, so any brain damage was going to be short lived if Luca wasn’t. |
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Leens & Khepri by Neon Andrei Myshkin • Holy Paladin • Thief/Entertainer • Underdogs • Rank: Ensign • SD Earned: 285 • Beli: Some number • Location: Khepri Xanthippe • Sheepherder • Weapon Specialist/Chef • Odd Jobs • Threat: 0 • SD Earned: 40 • Beli: 500,000 • Location: Silent Hill Percival Aloysius Periwinkle • Legitmiate Businessman • Merchant/Marksman • No Crew • Bounty: 130,000,000,000 Extol • SD Earned: 148 • Beli: 21,000,000 • L: Alabasta Others
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| Shizuochan | Dec 14 2014, 11:40 AM Post #6 |
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a real naga
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Luca had perhaps sorely underestimated Myshkin’s capability for melodrama. It seemed that urgency of the mission had enraptured the Ensign for but a moment before he resumed his strange brand of concerned friendship. The Accountant actually found the act quite convincing; clearly the momentary relinquishing of his teacup might ‘serious business’, and the re-application of his make-up added a certain element to the act. The flamboyant thespian, attempting to remain strong in the face of love dying. Involuntarily, Luca felt a chill run down his spine. Said chill did not carry down into his left leg, which by now was most certainly rendered useless. Eventually, Myshkin had arrived at a roundabout way to more or less state, “Hey, I’m going to give you this carriage ride. Except your carriage is actually a recycle bin!” The Accountant had only seconds to briefly mull over the fact that – in his mind and with all circumstances considered – such a ride would actually be quite the luxury. His feelings of appeasement were quickly scorched and ruined by the sound of a third party, that third party’s indignant tone coursing forward like hell-fire. His feelings, in general, were then completely and utterly made null when Myshkin sent the lid of the recycling depository downwards with great force. There was a brief contest to see what would give way first; the frail, scarecrow-esque constitution of Luca’s body, or the plastic cover, wielded by Myshkin as if a great warrior’s Aegis knocking aside countless peons. It was very brief, as Luca quickly found his entire body bent and doubled with a folding chair’s abruptness. Luca was certain Myshkin had successfully damaged all of the nerves in his neck. The slam, of course, drew some undue attention from that intruding third party, whose steps could now be heard in even greater detail, the pitter-pattering of a singularly-focused man. “What’s that noise! Intruder?” His voice adopted the gruff timber of the hunter, “Stay where you are! It is I, Moe N. Liza!” The man, a beer-bellied and corpulent body attached to a strangely effeminate and actually rather attractive face (really, he wasn’t quite Rubenesque or anything, he was more a chimera of a ravaged fifty-year old alcoholic and a twenty-something bishounen), rounded the corner. “Oh… Gracie!” It was at this moment that the second recycle bin, the one that stored the true Graham Gracie, seemed to stir into life, internally tremoring with frantic force. |
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Okay, fine, I actually have characters.
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