Ozymandius Jones

[COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=1]A trunk and three boxes and Charles shared the backseat of Quan's car. It was a nice car; silver and elegant and streamlined, though Charles hadn't had the time - or the interest - to see what make, model or brand it was. And - like everything else about the man - it was infuriatingly neat, tidy and polished. Charles crossed his arms. He felt more like a [i]child[/i] around this Quan guy than he ever had as an [i]actual[/i] child. Who did he think he was, controlling things like this? He stared at his hand, and the asbestos-lined bandages wrapped around his palm. He'd cut himself cleaning the glass from the frames...he'd contemplated burning the house down around Quan's ears, but something had held him back. Told him just to bandage it and let things [i]go[/i] for now. So he was going. He had no clue where. Or why. All he really knew was how: Quan, in some mutated version of a carpool. He had the knife in his jacket pocket, in its sheath. He'd managed to clean the blood off his jacket, though there was still a gaping hole in the shoulder. His pants had been cleaned in much the same way, though there were still scorch marks, testament to how hot his blood had been that day. Normally, the fabric resisted such things. it would have had [i]some[/i]thing to do with Dani. He was sure. His lip curled in an ugly sneer when he thought about Dani, fingers twitching. He was going to pay for shooting him. Somehow. That thought made the sneer grow, until it looked like he was grinning like a shark. Something caught his eye - Quan's glare in the rear-view mirror. "I assume you're wondering what I'm doing." Charles returned the glower, but nodded sullenly. "Somewhat. Just maybe." Quan shrugged one shoulder, pulling the car over to the side of the road, near a cafe that looked nothing like the one where all the trouble had started, what felt like so long ago. It was dingy, darker, the windows covered with dust and grime, though the sign on the door said open. He parked the car, climbed out, and jerked Charles' door open. "Get out." Charles unfolded, sneering. Quan just met his sneer with a quiet smile and a nod of his head, deflecting the punk's annoyance with his calm. As usual. He turned on his heel, headed for the cafe, leaving Charles no alternative but to follow. "What are we doing here, Quan?" Charles asked, once the waitress - a red haired woman with a tired face - had seated them in a booth, off in a corner. The seat choices were between a chair - with the back to the entire cafe - or the bench, with its back to the wall. He took the bench, making a face at the fact that it was a corner. "Huh? Why'd you drag me clear across town to come to some dumpy little cafe?" Quan spread his hands, smiling. "No real reason. I have a meeting, and you need a place to stay. There's one on this side of town, so I'm killing two birds with one stone, as it were." He looked at his watch. "Any minute now..." Charles started to stand, growling. "Look. I'm just leavin'. I ain't staying in no 'ouse [i]you[/i] picked out, an' I'm sick of your 'ospitality. I ain't some...some.." He just snarled, thoughts dissolving between his mind and his mouth. "Whatever you're doin', I don't want any part of it." He turned, preparing to stalk out of the cafe when he walked right into someone's chest. He shoved them away, sidestepped - and hands closed on his shoulders, shoving him back into the bench, metal clinching shut on his wrist. He jerked away instinctively, even before he was able to focus... On [i]him[/i]. His mind just went numb as Quan snapped the other cuff around the leg of the table, staring at Quan's meeting. [i]Him[/i]. The tall, wiry man he'd walked into was someone he'd never ever wanted to see again. He was a part of the past he'd tried [i]so hard[/i] to forget. This was, apparently, just another sign that he wasn't [i]allowed[/i] to forget. "Ah. Charles. I see you know my aquaintence, George..." George gave a mocking bow before sliding onto the bench, smirking when Charles scrambled further away. His ice blue eyes gleamed. "Oh, he knows me. He knows me [i]far[/i] too well, don't ya, Charlie-boy?" Oh yes. Charles did. But by another name. The one man he'd ever feared: [i]The Ripper[/i]. Abruptly, Quan seemed like the most reasonable human on the face of the earth. [center]***[/center] Charles stood on the porch of the ancient looking house, boxes around his feet as he tried to shake the haze in his head. The last hour had left him dazed, confused and - for the first time in a while - [i]scared[/i]. Not the odd, off feeling from when Dani had broken his mind's wall, but actual bone-deep [i]fear[/i]. Quan's demands had been simple. [i]"You will stay where I tell you to, or I shall arrange for you to, well...disappear. This city won't miss one little punk, and I assure you George will know exactly what [/i]he[i] wants you to do.[/i]" In terms like that...there hadn't much for Charles to decide. Other than see [i]just[/i] how fast he could agree with Quan. Quan had laughed; he and George had dumped him and his boxes off at the end of the block just a few moments before. And now he stood on the porch, trying to decide whether he wanted to knock on the door at all, or just risk camping there for a while...[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkRed]The demon - [i]Adofo[/i], Charles reminded himself - turned his back. Charles didn't wait to see why, charging after, lashing out with the blade, trying to catch the demon's arm again before dodging out of grabbing range. His head was buzzing. The tree had brushed his temple: scraped enough to hurt, but not enough to make him bleed. [B]"Can't bury me if y'can't catch me, man,"[/B] he sneered. Alien shoulders tensed, and Charles readied himself for another charge - that never came. Instead, about half of the tree the thing had just punched apart came flying through the air. Charles may have been fast, but even he couldn't avoid all of the tree; dodging frantically only made it so the tree hit his shoulder instead of his head. He stumbled, but braced his feet, not wanting to let Adofo see how the last blow had shaken him. [B]"Ah, but patience can wear down speed. I will bury you, eventually."[/B] Adofo grinned. It wasn't a friendly grin at all. [B]"You're just causing yourself more pain."[/B][/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkOrange][quote name='Tekkaman][b][color=dimgray][/b] [/color][font=Palatino Linotype][size=2][color=darkorchid]White, I love you to death, bud, but Ninja pwn Pirates any day of the week. Though the thread is definitely Nifty, women like Keira Knightly and Orlando Bloom weren't our main sources of defense in terms of great sea-dwellers. [b]*Throws White a raspberry*[/b] =P[/color][/size'][/font][/quote] No. It's not pirates [i]or[/i] ninjas. It's Robot Cowboys. DUH.[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[COLOR=DarkOrange][SIZE=1][quote name='Aaryanna_Mom']It?s a job I would not want, as my idea of tasteful is outdated compared to today?s standards.[/quote] And I adore you for it, ma'am. :) That being said. I would like to address the topic of "gratuitous." To my mind, the ratings are there in [I]case[/I]. As a guideline. I mean...I try to avoid anything gratuitous. I dun' swear, my posts aren't gorey, and the closest thing I've ever had in any RP to a sex scene was in a flashback. The incident in question was important to the character - it explained mindset and behavior - but it was also non-con. I handled it with implications and a fade-to-black, as anything else would be too much, instead of character development it would be there for shock value. Was there anything graphic? No. Could it have passed in a PG rating? I don't see many PG movies allowing implications of rape. I know the rating guidelines list PG as this: [quote name='Adventure Square Rules][B]"PG" - Parental Guidance[/B'] - A thread rated "PG" is made to include members that are 13 years old, or older. These may contain mild violence, suggestive themes (Ie: alluding to sex, while not actually showing it) and some adult language. These threads may contain some material that members, and their parents may find inapparopriate.[/quote] Clearly, my style of RPing would fit withing the PG guidelines. However, when it comes down to it, most people see the PG rating and think this: [CENTER][IMG]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v257/OzymandiusJones/djimon_hounsou1.jpg[/IMG][/CENTER] [spoiler]and my apologies to the Eragon fans out there, it's the only comparison that sprang to mind instantly.[/spoiler] So...yeah, that's my $0.02.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkOrange][url=http://we-love-anime.com/Gallery/Anime_Images/index.php?spgmGal=C-D/Death%20Note]Here.[/url]. :3 And yay! Glad you like it.[/COLOR]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkOrange]Heya, Zeke, will this work? [IMG]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v257/OzymandiusJones/mello.jpg[/IMG] [IMG]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v257/OzymandiusJones/melloavi.jpg[/IMG][/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkOrange][QUOTE=Tekkaman][font=Palatino Linotype][size=2][color=gray]What... in the name of our forefathers... happened to your room, Ozy? Seriously? Did a controlled tornado manifest in your room and f* your shite up?[/color][/size][/font] [font=Palatino Linotype][size=2][color=gray]Wow... All I can say is: Impressive. =D[/color][/size][/font][/quote] Actually, it was Hurricane Ozy, also known as "Ok, um, I'll set this here and put it away in just a sec-ooooh, shiny! *wanders off* *forgets*." [QUOTE=Tekkaman] [font=Palatino Linotype][size=2][color=#808080]EDIT: Oh, and please pick up your [color=navy]navy blue bra[/color] from the ground (assuming that is a bra, by the way) by your jeans, lol.[/color][/size][/font][/QUOTE] That's my sister's salad bar apron from her work uniform. =P[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkOrange]I'm with Sakura - I'm not much for these, but it's an interesting thread so here goes. [B]1) What day is your birthday?[/B] September 17, 1986 [B]2) What is your zodiac sign?[/B] Virgo [B]3) How does your zodiac sign describe your personality?[/B] [I][U]Positive Traits:[/U] modest, shy, meticulous, tidy, reliable, practical, diligent, analytical and intelligent[/I] [I][U]Negative Traits: [/U]fussy, hypercritical, harsh, conservative, overly-fastidious, overly-conventional, finicky, a perfectionist and a worrier[/I] [B]4) Does the description of your zodiac actually describe you? Why?[/B] To a degree. I've been yelled at for not being able to take compliments - I always go for the "...it was nothing, really," approach. But other than that - Shy? Meticulous? TIDY? Who is this - this is not me. [url=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v257/OzymandiusJones/room.jpg]This is REALLY not me.[/url]. Other sources include "nuturing", which fits, and also "hyperchrondiac," which also fits, but other than that the only acurate thing in the negatives is being a worrier. [B]5) How does your zodiac sign PWN over the rest?[/B] It doesn't. We prefer the background. Didn't you read that? Gawsh. But then, without the background, everything else falls apart. :3 Also: Capricorns rock by default of being goats. And leos! Leos are nifty, if only because Leo's one of my favorite constellations. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkOrange][B]What is it? [/B] Boo [B]Why is it nifty?[/B] Because it's a Boo! No, really, Boo is one of the silliest, happiest people I have ever met on the Interwebs. He's really fun to talk to online, and he collaborated with me on a Discworld RP which - while it died rather rapidly - was fun to create. [B]What is it? [/B] Vicky [B]Why is it nifty?[/B] Because Vicky is creative, and a great person to bounce ideas off of. She has wonderful writing talent, and very good ideas for both original projects and adding original twists to old RPG standards. Plus she likes Billy Idol. (+10 Cool Points) [B]What is it? [/B] Dragon Warrior [B]Why is it nifty?[/B] He's silly, friendly and crazy, has great taste in hats, great taste in music and great ideas. [B]What is it? [/B] The Pack [B]Why is it nifty?[/B] Where my pack at? It's nifty because they've lifted me from single-handedly defending the Square/Inn from the ravages of bad grammar to being able to do things other than check the Inn every forty minutes to shut things down. (Now I check the Inn every forty minutes for new signups. Vast improvement, I think.) So yeah! Blayze, Zeke, Sandy - Nifty is you and nifty is us. Bring on the next years' n00bs! [B]What is it? [/B] The OtaKuties [B]Why is it nifty?[/B] Because it's a different kind of contest, one I haven't seen here before. It's more accessible than the planning and tough work necessary for the latest contests that have been going on, most likely because it's just for fun, but I like the looks of it a lot and can't wait for it to start. :) [B]What is it? [/B] The Graphic Worm [B]Why is it nifty?[/B] I would like to quote Katana, and add that it is the best looking collaboration I have seen between so many people. [B]What is it? [/B] [game] Draw my character! [B]Why is it nifty?[/B] Who doesn't like getting their characters drawn in different styles? Who doesn't like drawing already created characters? I know [i]I[/i] like it, and - by golly - when it comes down to it that's really all that matters. *thumps hand against desk* Seriously, though. It's a great idea, one that both gives you something to do and something to look forward to. [B]What is it? [/B] [url=http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?t=52603&page=1&pp=15]Threads[/url] like [url=http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?p=741364]these[/url] [Or, as a blanket, the fun-loving-members-in-general] [B]Why is it nifty?[/B] Because they show OB members at their best - being obnoxious and silly without really being mean. =D[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkOrange][QUOTE=Darren]My only concern is biased votes. Obviously the voters will vote for people who they think is actually cute. Also, they'll vote for the more popular members on OB or the members with more influence such as mods... Seeing that there are over 10 mods, it doesn't seem very fair. So my question, Dragon Warrior, is there some sort of system that you've set up besides simply voting? Does your personal vote count for more or something? I'm just curious...[/QUOTE] [quote name='Dragon Warrior']I also mentioned questions. Yes, you will be interviewed each round like some kind of Miss America pagaent. We want to get to know you a little more and sometimes, looks aren't everything. People can be attractive because their personality is great. How else do you think I get women.[/quote] Just being an influencial person like a mod, or being "cute" does not automatically give you a winning, friendly and loveable personality. If we're being judged on a mix of the two, I would imagine it wouldn't turn out to just be "LOL HE'S CUTE OMZ SHE'S UGLY". :) [QUOTE=John][img]http://img214.imageshack.us/img214/8349/beastjw6.jpg[/img] [B]Name:[/B] John[/quote] John, your sideburns are a thing of beauty. May I have your autograph?[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=1][B]"Stop moping already."[/B] Charles glared at Quan, who stood framed in the doorway of the room he'd been in the last few days. Since Christmas. Over Christmas. Watching cheesy kids specials on a TV that didn't match the finished, expensive feel of the rest of the room. Or, rather, the expensive feel the rest of the room had had before he'd moved in. Now parts of the walls were scourched, the picture frames were all broken, and glass littered the floor. The drugs and syringes lay where he'd thrown them, still, powder dusting the wall and carpet. Quan didn't say a word about it, though. [B]"You'd think you'd killed your best friend, not some little pain-in-the-neck teenager..."[/B] He sighed. [B]"You're not much use to me like this."[/B] [B] "Who said I wanted to be of use to you?" [/B]Charles hadn't spoke in four days, his voice came out a growl. [B]"I [i]had[/i] been trying to clean up, yanno...get out of this. Stop killin' people an' breakin' things; s'why I moved..."[/B] [B]"Do I look like I care? It's too late for you to get out of anything. It's in your blood." [/B]Quan stretched, stepped out the door. [B]"And clean this up, already, before I kick you out and see how well a guy with fire for blood does in ice and cold rain."[/B] [B]"What are you,"[/B] Charles snarled back, ignoring the threat. [B]"My mother?"[/B] [B]"Nah." [/B]Quan smirked, closing the door behind him.[B] "I'm not easy enough to be your mother." [/B]The door clicked shut just in time to block the blade Charles had flung; it sank almost hilt-deep with a thud and stayed there, quivering. He sat there for a while before he finally sighed, and moved to start straightening and repacking, working carefully to not strain his shoulder. The sooner he could be out of there, the better. [/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=1][B][I]?Is this better? Why don?t you tell me your name, so I can put it on your grave before I bury you alive in this ugly rock you call home??[/I][/B] The arm around his throat made it hard - no, almost [i]impossible[/i] - to breath, but Charles tried anyways. Rasping, coughing against the arm and its rock-hard muscles. He did the only thing he could think of, snapping his teeth down on the demon's arm, hard. And the reaction was not what he was expecting. At all. He just heard chuckles, like the thing was amused. He stopped chomping down, heard him growl. [B] "What's the matter, I didn't scream and let go? Is that what the problem is?" [/B]The arm just tightened. Charles choked in a breath before wrenching his arm around and driving the knife into the other's wrist, spilling more of the black-blood, just visible in his peripheral vision, which was beginning to go black. The arm loosened abruptly, and he was shoved away, where he staggered to keep his feet.[B] "I asked you your name, human." [/B]Charles shook his head, sucking in air. [B]"'s Charles, an' tha's all y'need to know, freak."[/B] Again the chuckling. [B]"You think names will hurt me? Think again."[/B] He began circling, Charles turned to keep him in his sight, shrugging one shoulder. [B]"I dunno, can't hurt, really..." [/B]His voice was rough, his throat still burned. The demon grinned like a shark. [B]"You're right, it [i]can't[/i] hurt. But I can hurt you..." [/B]He stalked forward - Charles jumped back, growling. [b]"You can try!"[/b] He smirked - until he jumped against yet another stupid tree, branches poking at his ribs. [b]"...oh, crap."[/b][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=RoyalBlue][B]Name:[/B] Angus Heatherford [B]Nickname:[/B] Gus, Heather, Ford, MacGyver, Mac, Doc [B]Age:[/B] 21 [B]Personality:[/B] Lost, scatterbrained and friendly, if somewhat clueless. He's easily distracted, and easily approachable, not hostile or shy. He rarely gets angry, rarely even gets annoyed. He never remembers where he's lost something, and has a tendancy to zone out of conversations, so you can never be quite sure if he's listening to you or not. He's quick to invite people, so Kid is no problem, though he is somewhat self concious about his apartment, as it is currently very cheap. He likes books, a lot, and tends to spend his money on those and new sharpies for Kid instead of things like rent. [B] Appearance:[/B] If not for body modification, Gus would look like [url=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v257/OzymandiusJones/Angus.jpg]this[/url]. As it is, he has six rings in each ear, a stud in each eyebrow and one through his tongue. His hair is that long, but dyed electric blue with black tips - beard, eyebrows and all. He wears round John Lennonesque glasses with orange lenses. He has a tattoo on his right arm that spreads from his fingertips, up his full arm and across his shoulder and neck to end right under his ear. He dresses in plaid pants, torn leather jackets, leather gloves and red chucks that seem to have Kid's names scribbled on them multiple times. [B]Habits: [/B]Losing things, not thinking before he talks, getting lost himself. Buying random people things at times, buying things he doesn't really need, and gambling. Like...a lot of gambling. He'll bet money on almost anything. He also likes to make things out of things you wouldn't generally think of as parts. Like missle launchers out of pipes and hairspray, and robots out of old digital clocks. [B] History:[/B] Born to a banker's family in Liverpool, Angus Winston Heatherford never really needed or wanted anything as he was growing up. He had a normal - if subdued and boring - childhood that seemed in danger of continuing as boring right up until he was 14 and his family moved to London. Taken from his friends and the area he knew, Gus - as he'd begun calling himself - began to wander, making new friends and skipping school and the suchlike. His parents weren't thrilled, but figured that since he was such a well-behaved kid, that if they told him to go back to school, he would. And he did - for a week, and then he began to lie about schooling, going maybe one day a week, bribing his younger sister to fib about his playing hooky. In this time he met Kid Chaos, and the two became friends. Good enough friends that it was rare to see Gus hanging around places where Kid wasn't. Or Spike, the strange girl-with-a-boy' name who tended to steal his food and mooch money off of him. Since the time he graduated at 18, his life has been nothing but...abnormally normal. He runs around with his friends, causing havoc, and works at a bookstore for just enough to rent a place, considering his parents kicked him out of the house at the age of 19, after they finally realized he wasn't really planning on doing more than running around having fun the rest of his life. The strange egyptian-and-japanese-ish tattoo he came hope with didn't help matters much, either. Or the stud through his eyebrow. His oh-so-proper mother pitched a fit, and his equally proper father all but pitched him out the door. He's taken up gambling as a hobby, but unfortunatly his fondness for dice, cards and lotto tickets would leave him broke if he didn't make sure to hide a portion of his money for a later date. Granted, this means he's got small stashes of money that he can't remember where it is all over his apartment. He also doesn't lock his doors. He claims it's because he trusts people - the truth of the matter is he's lost his keys. The first wall you see when you open his door is used as a giant noteboard - there's words scribbled all over it, mostly notes reminding him to do things. The recent death of his grandfather has sent his life spiraling into the depths of insanity, a fact he might find interesting - if he could only figure out what was going on.[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[COLOR=RoyalBlue][SIZE=1][CENTER][B]Illuminati X[/B] [IMG]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v257/OzymandiusJones/illuminatix.png[/IMG] I.[/CENTER] [i]Secret societies have always existed, from the very beginning of time. There has always been groups of people with the idea that their ideas are above the masses, and ? as such ? must be protected from them. Societies such as this are generally passed down from generation to generation, father to son, parent to child?grandparent to grandchild? The most famed of these societies is the Illuminati. Spoken about for years, suspected in everything, most of the world does not believe it?s real ? or if they believe, they don?t know what it?s for, other than the rumors of New World Orders. The Illuminati is very real; and it has its shadowy hold on many, many things ? some things, even, that one might think immune from shadows. They have many secrets of all kinds, protected from an uncomprehending world? But even the Illuminati cannot cheat death. Even the Illuminati cannot surpass tradition. Grandfather to oldest grandchild, or so legend and tradition have it. Have had it, for many a year. Over time, the society has learned to?groom. To prune. If the oldest looks no good, [b]make[/b] it good. If it can?t be made good? It must be destroyed? But even the Illuminati makes mistakes.[/i] [CENTER] II. [/CENTER] It was a normal day, a day just like any other. Or so it seemed to Angus Heatherford, age 21, late of London. He was sprawled over the battered couch in his apartment, glasses propped on his forehead, legs over the back of the couch, TV on ? blaring ? but ignored as he scribbled frantically on a notepad. He was playing with his tongue stud, clacking it against his teeth, much to the discomfort of the prim-and-proper man sitting at-attention at his table. The prim-and-proper man cleared his throat, shuffling his hands on his leather briefcase. ?Ahem!? And Gus just blinked up at him, grey eyes bewildered. ?Wot, yer still ?ere?? The prim man sighed, pushing his own glasses back up on his nose. ?Sadly, sir, I am. You see, there?s been a little?incident with your grandfather?? [CENTER]III.[/CENTER] ?Sir, Jeffery has died.? The shadows were blocked by the smoke of cigars, but eyes glinted there all the same. ?Good, good, about time the old hound passed away?.gave someone else a chance at the reigns?? ?But?sir?that chance?? The eyes in the shadows hardened, narrowed. ?Spit it out, man, what are you saying?? ?Your son wasn?t the oldest grandchild.? ??? ?There?s another, goes by the name of?? There was the sound of papers being rattled. ??Gus.? ??Gus?? ?Yessir.? [i]Gus[/i]. The man in the shadows glowered. This wouldn?t do at all? [CENTER] *[/CENTER] This RP is the story of a young punk who just wants to have fun ? and what happens when he inherits the mantle of [i]the[/i] secret society, the Illuminati, and his encounters with those who don?t think he?s got the qualifications for the job. It will be mostly fun, with some adventure thrown in, done in a free-style chapter system. [b]I will be judging signups for quality[/b], not all signups will get in. I?m looking for originality, and a good grasp on the nature of both written and spoken English. You, my happy little RPers shall be playing the part of Angus?s friends ? or Illuminati members who are against Gus being the newest Head. (As a note: Illuminati members will be looked at more closely, and I only need two at the most.) Special thanks to Vicky for the idea. So lets see those signups. [B][CENTER]Signup Sheet[/CENTER] [/B] [B]Name: [/B] Normal names, for the most part [B]Nickname:[/B] Mostly for punks, [B]Age:[/B] 15 - 25 for punks, 20+ for Illuminati [B]Personality:[/B] Self explanitory [B]Appearance:[/B] Self explanitory [B]Habits:[/B] Any odd/bad ones. [b]History:[/B] Self explanitory [B][CENTER]The New World Order Awaits[/CENTER][/B][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=DarkRed]The staring was annoying. Slightly unhinging. And then, again with the lunging. Whoever - whatever - this thing was, it didn't want to talk. Apparently. Charles danced out of the way again, whipping the knife off his belt. "Alright, so y'don't want to talk. Why don't y'jus-" He had spun to follow the demon's lunge - and now he had turned as well, and a huge fist slammed into his jaw. Stars filled his eyes and he stumbled back, trying not to bite his tongue. "Ok, ow...tha' hurt..." He swung the knife around, aiming for his assailant's shoulder. "What's the big idea, huh? Jus' wanted to see-" A second fist connected with his nose; and he did bite down on his tongue this time. He glared, backing off as his knifeblade danced across the other's shoulder, cutting through fabric before he jumped back, hopefully out of arm's reach. [i]...right.[/i] Somehow this didn't seem right. He brushed his hand under his lip - his tongue wasn't bleeding, good. He smirked a little, flicking his fingers at the other guy. "C'mon, slowpoke." He managed a slight grin. "Bring it on."[/COLOR]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkRed]If Charles's thought process could be translated into something readable, the closest thing would look like this: [i]asfaqejkqgtiuweft![/i] Yes, gibberish. There was some [i]thing[/i] with massive horns - massive everything, truth be told - lunging for him like a crazed animal. This. Was not normal - not even for what he was used to. But still, at the same time, all the same. The thing - guy, person, whatever was huge. Huge - but easy to avoid. So Charles did, scrambling to the side frantically. He almost lost his balance, slamming his hand into another tree - and he winced when the rough bark aggrevated the already torn skin. "Hey!" First law of the street rat: Fighting? It's a last resort. Talk your way out of things, unless there's, yanno, more of you then there are of them. "What gives? I didn't do nothin'." He blew on his palm, gently - he didn't want flame to erupt, not right now. "Just want out of this freakin' place, ok?" He started backing away, hand inching towards his knife. [i]He attacks again 'e's goin' down.[/i] [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkRed]Charles jumped at the thud. Despite his yelling, he hadn't been expecting any kind of response, much less something that sounded loud enough to shake the ground. He took another step forward, closer to the burning wreckage. "I heard that, yanno." [i]Maybe I was supposed to.[/i] That thought did not sit well. Silence. It was starting to get to him. As was the cloud of smoke...he finally caught a glimpse of something moving, further away, and set out for the movement, sliding the knife out of its sheath and tucking it in his belt, where it'd be easier to get to. Easier, and faster. His hand was starting to itch; he winced, rubbing it on his pantleg and cursing when he had to slap out fresh flames. Hopefully he hadn't got anything in the cut...he hadn't had an infected wound since the powers had developed, and he was not in a hurry to get one. He called out, mostly to take him mind off his hand. "You're not very quiet." Every instinct was telling him to run, but he ignored instinct for once, slogging through the strange mud. "Anyone ever tell you that?"[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=1]Charles's jog slowed to a walk, and then stopped altogether when he reached the clearing, jaw dropping despite himself. Heat was rolling from the source of the smoke, heat so hot even [i]he[/i] could feel it, and that was rare these days. There was something there, something massive and metal, melting into what looked like mud, but probably wasn't made with water, given that the surroundings were bone-dry. He took one step out of the trees, feeling strangely like a character in a horror movie. There was something...odd, going on here. "Hey! Anyone out there?" His voice echoed off the trees on the other side of the clearing. "Who started the freakin' fire, huh? Come on, answer!" No reply that he could here. He took another step forward, shaking his head. "Hello?" One hand went to his knife, his eyes stayed on the smoke.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkRed][I][Note: This is a closed sparr between Vicky and myself, OzymandiusJones. Do not post herein, but feel free to watch][/I] Charles de Fontaine was a wanted man. He had been, most of his life, ever since growing up on the streets. But now, he was in even more trouble - on foot in an unfamiliar country, without so much as a single clue how he'd got there. He was surrounded by wilderness. He was not [i]used[/i] to wilderness. The wiry blond man shook his head, lighting a fresh cigarette off the deep scratch on his palm, using the same scratch to set the tree that had done the scratching on fire. He watched the dry tree go up in flame before he scrambled down a rocky slope, grimacing. He did not like this. Not one bit. The trees surrounded him, and the mountains, and it was all so unfamiliar. He had a backpack - a knife, a water bottle, a box of matches and a thermal blanket - and no clue how he'd [i]got[/i] the backpack, and that worried him as well. Up ahead, beneath him on the slope, smoke was rising from what looked like a small clearing. He didn't know what was causing the smoke, but odds are it would be someone else - fires didn't generally start by themselves. So he set his course by that smoke, following it to what he hoped would be his way out of this.[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkRed][I][B]"It's Christmas, you know."[/B][/I] Charles sat on the edge of the couch, running a pale hand through his hair, staring at the piles of junk that surrounded him. It hadn't been there when he'd fallen asleep, he remembered that much. He thought back over the conversation that had awakened him. [B] [I]"Or Christmas[/I]time,[I] anyways."[/I][/B] He'd only been half awake when Quan'd said that, the burning in his shoulder faded to a dull ache that matched the rest of his body now that he wasn't numb from the cold. Now the only part of him that was numb was his mind...and he couldn't make that go away. [I][B]"I'd say I got you gifts, but that really isn't what they are. Consider them an alternate payment to the one originally offered."[/B][/I] That had jolted him awake, sitting up with a glare. [I][B]"Alternate payment?"[/B][/I] Quan had nodded, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. [I] [B]"You messed up. You had to use someone else, and - as I'm sure you recall - you got yourself shot in the process."[/B][/I] Quan sighed, looking at his hands. [I][B]"But sloppy or not the job got done. I'm merely...withholding full payment. And, perhaps, changing a few things."[/B][/I] He'd set two boxes down with a clatter, gave a mock bow, and turned for the door. [I][B]"You just worry about healing. Or somesuch."[/B][/I] And then he was gone, leaving a confused, angry Charles in his wake. Charles shook his head. That had been two hours ago; he'd fallen back into a troubled sleep, and only just woken again. But the boxes were there, as if to prove their conversation hadn't been a dream. But the boxes were accompanied by a couple larger boxes, and a beaten, battered trunk that looked awfully familiar. He reached out for the envelope on top of the boxes, tearing it open and dropping the letter inside down on the couch quickly, before it could scorch. [I] [B][center]~Charles: I took the liberty of informing your landlady that you will no longer require your apartment. I have made different arrangements for you in the upcoming weeks. Consider the lack of effort on your part my last form of payment, even if you do not, [/i]I [i]will. This is not negotiatable, and I am not precisely pleased. Clean up the junk all over that room now - you really should be more organized. ~Quan[/center][/B][/I] So that's why the trunk looked familiar. He felt a flash of anger: he was being manipulated - maybe they all were - and he didn't know why. But the anger vanished, devoured by that odd numbness. [I][B]You'd never killed a kid before...[/B][/I] He shook his head angrily, snatching up one of the two boxes and tearing it open. And stared at what was inside. Packets of white powder. Shiny sharp needles. A silver spoon, and rubber tubing... [i][b]He's taunting me.[/b][/i] The paraphanalia might as well be plastic and sugar, for all the good it'd do him. As soon as it hit his bloodstream, it would be gone. Dissappating before it could do its beautiful, sinister job. His fingers twitched. He'd been a junkie. The cold turkey - [i]forced[/i] cold turkey - had been torture, almost as bad as...as...there was only one thing he could compare that to, but even now, with those memories being dragged back to the surface, he didn't touch that thought. Couldn't. He threw the box at the wall, hard. Vials exploded in a shower of glass, as did the picture frame they'd hit. [B][i]Making messes...sloppy...[/i] [/B]He couldn't help but smirk at that thought.[B][i]You're going to wish you'd never taken me in.[/i] [/B] The second box was better; what was in it threw him off, slightly. A knife - long bladed, stationary; like a hunting knife, as opposed to his stilletos and switchblades; the handle ridged, gripped, and made of some strange material. Thirty seconds of direct contact - and it didn't melt. Didn't scourch - didn't even heat up. The blade itsself was long, viscously sharp with serated edges and it was black, flames worked in red metal along the edges. The thing looked [i]old[/i]. Old, and odd, and deadly. It would work. Charles set that aside, and began sorting through the boxes he recognized - all his belongings, sorting through... Two piles. One to keep, one to discard. There wasn't much in either - his apartment fire had destoryed everything but what had been in the battered footlocker; and it didn't take long. The pile of stuff to get rid of was mostly magazines, discarded papers and the suchlike. He threw most of it in the dingy fireplace in the corner, lighting it. It filled the room with foul-smelling smoke, but he didn't really care. Maybe it'd mess up Quan's house. The keep pile was mostly clothes and knives; he shoved that into the mostly empty locker, burying more papers, more important letters. And - [I][B]wait.[/B] [/I]He dug through, back down to the bottom, unburying an old, curled photograph. Five or six guys - [B][i]man, I looked so young...[/i] [/B] - grinning and posing, jokingly threatening whomever was behind the camera. Four of the six had died that night. He'd lived. And the sixth...hadn't been there. had been somewhere else...he couldn't remember now, but there'd been a big hubbub - had he known? Or was there something else? Charles quickly slid the photo into his jacket pocket - trying to ignore the blood-crusted hole in the one shoulder, the burns and scorches - before he slammed the trunk closed. [B][i]Yet another fun Christmas this is gonna be.[/i][/B] He had only ever had one fun Christmas...and that had been six, seven years ago now. Too long. And this one was going to be like the rest. He could tell.[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=1]Charles didn't know how long he huddled there, next to the wall, but before [i]too[/i] long he was numb - except for his shoulder. His shoulder was [i]burning[/i] worse than fire ever had. And, to top it off, it was drizzling. Again. The cold mist hissed when it hit his skin. It was so cold [i]it[/i] almost burned. And Charles couldn't make himself mind. Footsteps sounded; feet splashing through a puddle. Charles didn't look up, staring at his own boots in sullen silence, staring at the blood that had dripped clear down to his knee and was now eating its way through his pants. [B]"Look at you."[/B] The voice was derisive. Charles lifted his head to look at Quan, standing there, suit and hair as neat and clean as ever. [b]"Bleeding all over the street like some two bit punk..."[/b] He kicked Charles' boot, Charles drew his foot back, glowering with all the ferocity he could muster. [B] "'s your fault..."[/B] [B] "My fault?" [/B]Quan looked shocked. [B]"How is this my fault? You're the one who got shot...and that was sloppy."[/B] [B] "...sloppy?" "With the girl. Next time pick something less...melodramatic and messy." [i]Next time...[/i][/B] Charles wasn't sure there was [i]going[/i] to be a next time, but he didn't say that. He just shrugged, biting back a whimper when his shoulder moved. Quan continued talking as if nothing had happened. [B] "And now you're getting blood all over the place." [/B]Fingers prodded a dry spot on his shoulder. [B]"Hmm. Looks like the bullet melted..."[/B] [B]"Tha' bad?" [/B]Strong hands latched onto his arm, hauled him upright with ease. [B] "No, that's good, it means we can patch you up without having to ambush a doctor or something equally silly."[/B] Quan led Charles off, deeper into the city, scolding and insulting the whole way. Charles just followed in a daze, to some small apartment. Quan hurried to unlock the door, pulling Charles inside before he could take a look at the neighborhood; likewise, the lights in the apartment were low: he couldn't see a thing. Quan steered him to a couch, throwing a strange, metallic looking blanket over the cloth surface. [B] "Fire resistant. Hopefully that'll keep you from burning down my house..."[/B] Charles didn't answer, eyes drifting closed.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkOrange][CENTER][IMG]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v257/OzymandiusJones/Calico2.jpg[/IMG] [B]Name:[/B] Sarah. [/CENTER][/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkOrange][QUOTE=Darren]Well I have a question followed by an idea... First, I thought Ozy was going to post Cat's death??? I know Revelation just wrote a post that already had Cat dead, so I'm guessing we'll just back up in time again? (Time travel's neat! :animesmil ) [/quote] [quote name='only1specialed][FONT=Impact][COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=4][FONT=Georgia]Make it so that she falls into my chest and i hold her that way its a for sure thing since the spikes come out of my chest and arms (so theres no escape know what i mean) god i feel so.....evil and dirty talking about killing off a character...[/FONT][/SIZE][/COLOR'][/FONT][/quote] I did the most of it, now Only1 needs to elaborate on the situation. Somethings are fine to use another's character for, others...like, say, a reaction to just being used to murder a girl, well. Those the player should post themselves. =D And as for the fire - hey. It's left Charles' body now. I've got no control over it - it'll burn until outside forces (up to including just plain time) put it out. >=D In other news, that post was horribly fun to write. I'm a bad bad child. >> *whistles and skips away* [b]ALSO:[/b] Veritas - that was absolutely [i]perfect[/i], you may load bases for me anytime. Lemme know how I can return the favor. =D [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkRed]Pain. Loud, garish, bloody-awful [i]pain[/i]. It tore through his shoulder like a hundred knife-blades, propelling him backwards and for a long, heart-stopping second he was falling, too dazed and stunned to even try to reach for the balcony rail. His feet tangled, and impact hurt almost as bad as the original shot, as he landed facedown on the floor, blood leaking from his shoulder to pool on the polished linoleum. After the echo of the gunshot, all he could hear was his own heartbeat as dead silence fell in his mind. He groaned, amazed he could still move...he pushed himself up, slightly, head pounding and the room swaying in front of his eyes. [B][i]He...shot me. That goth freak actually effin' SHOT ME.[/i] [/B]That thought wouldn't stop running through his head, dazed as he was. He hadn't thought he'd had the guts to do it. He'd apparently thought wrong. He managed to make it to his knees, shaking his head, trying to clear the haze. Every part of his body hurt... He was now in the room beneath the balcony. One shaking, bloody hand reached to clamp on to the nearest display, trying to use it to pull himself to his feet. It hurt, and the wood began to darken where his blood touched it, scorching slightly, but he managed to stagger upright, free hand clamped over his shoulder to try and stem the blood flow. His feet skidded in the puddle, and he winced again. Even the linoleum was starting to scorch... He managed to lift his head, blinking his eyes to clear the smoke that was rising from the puddle; just able to see the girl from the jail and that Eddie guy - also from the jail, what was this some kinda reunion...? - coming towards him. He stayed still, trying to ignore the shaking in his knees, and the sick, throbbing pain in his shoulder. He managed to look over their shoulders at Quan. Quan raised his eyebrows, ever so slightly, and nodded at the girl, subtly, slightly...barely noticeable. Charles growled, looking back at Eddie. [B]"What do [i]you[/i] want? Huh?"[/B] Eddie gestured at his feet, and the tiny flames starting to spread. [B]"We were comin' to check on that, and maybe on you, but if that's your attitude..." [/B]The girl just tilted her head, almost quivering, like she was about to launch into a myriad of question, but Eddie held her back. Charles just growled. She was just a [i]kid[/i]. He was supposed to kill [i]her[/i]? He took a step forward, shaking his head. The pain was making him think strange, that was it... His foot slid again; this time he hit the floor, but managed to stay on one knee. [B] "I don't need your help."[/B] He swore, under his breath. [B]"Just..."[/B] He blinked as he couldn't seem to stand back up. [B]"...nevermind."[/B] His hand shot out, clamped down on Eddie's arm and he levered himself to his feet - just in time to feel something drive through his hand, something sharp and cold that definately hadn't been there only moments before. Both men swore, Eddie from the blood that hit him when his ice-spike-whatevers pierced Charles' hand, Charles from the spikes themselves. [B] [i]...I just can't win today....[/i] [/B]He clenched his fist, chest rising and falling erratically, breathing ragged. [B]"Y'know wha'?"[/B] Words were slurring, blurring like the corners of his vision. [B]"I don' care no more, al'ight? I'm...I'm jus' gonna go...can't..."[/B] He turned on his heel, beginning to limp towards the door. [B][i]Sick of Quan, sick of Dani, sick of all this crap...[/i] [/B] [B]"Hey, Mister, wait!" [/B]The voice was young, and the hand that closed around his wrist was small. [B][i]That girl...[/i] "You're hurt, don't you think you should go to a hospital or something? Huh? Come on, they'll get the bullet out and take care of you and..." [/B] Charles' shoulders tensed, hands still clenched. The girl was still talking, but he couldn't hear over the roaring in his ears. [B][i]You think it's that easy, do you, kid?[/i] [/B]The pain was edged with anger now. [B][i]You think a freak like me can just walk into some hospital and not wind up a freakin' bloody expiriment...[/i] "...Cat, don't..." [/B] And Charles snapped, spinning and shoving the girl back into Eddie's chest - [i]hard[/i]. Eddie's arms seemed to close, reflexively, for just a second...but that was, really, all it took. Charles didn't wait around to see the end result, stumbling for the door, trying to figure out whether he was happy about the sounds behind him, or scared. He staggered down the nearest alley, collapsing next to a dumpster and a fire escape, and burying his face in his hands. [B] [i]This better be worth it...[/i][/B][/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkOrange][quote name='Vicky][SIZE=1']I'm not sure if we can get this done for Wednesday as I was late for posting. I went to see Cradle of Filth (by the way, the lead singer is DANI Filth, also the dude I used for the image of my character and based off him... except mine's eviler... and he SPAT on me by accident and apologised!!!!!111!!!!!11!) at a concert and the Deathstars, so I was knackered after that. Monday I slept as well, for I was ill. Tuesday I... posted =D[/SIZE][/quote] Charles: I hate you Dani, really I do. >( And as a headsup, Cat dies in my next post, which is halfway written - anyone who wants their character there has until tomorrow night to get them there. >=p[/COLOR][/SIZE]