dead guy walking

//WELL imma go

but no really, it’s sad to see this group closing down especially since it’s always had the warmest and safest environment i’ve ever seen in an rp group and that’s all thanks to the mods for doing a wonderful job ♥ it’s terrible what they had to go through which is why it’s understandable why they did what they had to do.

i dont do indies much (bc i dunno how that works) but if you still want to write with any of my muses (dabi, shinsou, & doppo), i’m still very active in isola and blackwood-rp so hmu there!

you can also follow me on twitter or add me on discord (cheshire#9612)!

❝Yeah, yeah, quit your yappin’. I’m just asking for some cash. You don’t have to give me everything in the cash register.❞ A tired sigh escapes his lips as his bright steel blue eyes watch the poor old man fumble and tremble in fear while looking for the key to the cash register. Dabi couldn’t blame the guy for his jitters, especially when he has his entire right arm engulfed in blue flames just for the sake of spooking him into giving him enough money to buy himself an energy bar or something just as cheap.

He plans on paying him back tomorrow morning anyway. He always does when robbing small businesses such as Forget-Me-Nots. But right now, he needs something to keep him alive for the night. 

⇪⇪⇪

Octavio had to agree about the dumb part, but his ideas were starting to run dry, given how limiting this city was. Still hadn’t perfected that jump pad design…the last one had fallen apart the moment he put any weight on it. As Dabi brushed the phone away, Octavio spun it on one finger before opening the camera app back up and flicking it to video.

❝ Yeah, alright, just make sure you record it, ❞ he agreed easily as he passed the phone back over. He picked up his left leg that was sitting next to him, having detached it to fix a loose part. Snapping it into place, he gave it a good wiggle to be sure it was on properly before jumping to his feet. ❝ Bet I can hotwire this baby and we can see what kind of speed it can get. ❞

Jumping off the truck bed, he made his away around to the passenger side window. He looked around, making sure there was no one watching as he pulled his goggles back down over his eyes. He lifted one leg, the hydraulics easily putting his foot through the glass.

The alarm sounded. A good sign, that meant the battery wasn’t dead. Chuckling to himself, he pulled his whole body through the window, ignoring the scrapes to his abdomen as he laid himself across the seats to get a good angle on the area under the steering wheel. Dexterous (but shaky) fingers pulled the wires out and started stripping them of their rubber coating. He twisted them together in a pattern until the engine ignited and the car rumbled with life.

❝ ¡Jaja! Either get in, or hang on. We’re in business! ❞

❝This better be good.❞ He dangles his cigarette between his lips as he sets the video to record. He hopes Octavio is going to execute something as stupid as setting himself on fire considering it wouldn’t be the first time the guy had put his own life on the line just for the thrill of it. He always comes off as a total idiot to the villain but Dabi isn’t ignorant enough to turn a blind eye to those brief moments where he’d seen him tinkering with things and successfully turning them from trash into treasure. Shigaraki would have wanted this dude on their team.

Dabi doesn’t follow him to the passenger seat but moves to the far back of the truck bed and records him from the back window there. He watches the other break into the vehicle which, frankly, sends a familiar stir of thrill in the pit of his stomach. As soon as the truck roars back into life, he lets out a low impressed whistle.

          Snapped out of tranquil reverie by the creak of an opening door, Masaki shot upright in his bed, placing a book he’d been reading face down atop his dresser. Several possible explanations for the noise swarmed into his thoughts, one was that he was being robbed by a not-so discrete thief and the other was that his partner in this absurd pairing study was finally manifesting themselves after all this time! Not to dwell on the negative, but Masaki firmly believed the first of his suspicions was most likely, either that or a particularly strong draft was billowing through his apartment today.

          Pushing himself off the mattress, he traversed the room’s modest expanse at rapid pace, arming himself with a pair of nail clippers he swiped from the same dresser before padding his way quietly up the hall. By the time he’d made it halfway, his name was being called from the lounge in familiar timbres, prompting him to lower the nail file still wedged in his grip as he cautiously peeked his head into the room.

❝Dabi?❞

          Sure enough, clear as day in his doorway, loitered the most recent addition to Who’s fanclub. 

❝Yeah, I’m here.❞ His voice warbled, not sure what to make of the other’s surprise appearance inside his home. With an awkward wave, Masaki trod the rest of his way across the lounge in a bid to greet his guest proper. 

❝Why…………Are you breaking into my apartment?❞ He gestured to the wide open door behind Dabi for emphasis.

❝There he is!❞ Dabi’s lips spread into a smile as he takes in the look of utter surprise adorning Masaki’s pretty, unblemished features— always such a nice sight to look at. Most people in this city can predict him all too well these days so to catch someone off-guard in his own terms does add fuel to his already flaming ego. 

He almost feels compelled to say a chirpy “I’m home!” to fit the last missing puzzle piece to the delightfully homey atmosphere the apartment is exuding but it seems like this feeling is merely reserved for him because all Masaki could apparently think about is his reason for 'breaking’ into his apartment.

❝Am I?❞ At the mention of such, Dabi casually kicks the door closed from behind him with a soft click! and he shrugs. ❝Doesn’t sound broken to me.❞ As though that’s enough justifiable reason for him to be inviting himself into someone else’s home, the pyromaniac walks further into Masaki’s living quarters and brushes past him to finally get an actual decent look of the place.

There doesn’t seem to be a roommate in sight.

@cremaxion​​ ♪

With a stack of flyers in her arms, Kaede was in the midst of advertising for one of her upcoming performances at the Jazzmine Societea. Finding work in an unknown city had been scary at first, but she was quickly able to find an opportunity to perform thanks to her past repertoire. On top of that, she had been itching to play ever since she’s arrived - maybe it was from all the stress built up over the past week or so.

However, the breeze had been much stronger than she expected, and soon enough, one of the papers flies right out of her hands. Oh, shoot! Before Kaede even has the time to react, the flyer swivels around and lands directly onto a stranger’s face, one that definitely looked like the type Kaede would regret to get on the wrong side of.

Grimacing internally, the pianist rushes over to peel the paper off him immediately. “Ack, I’m so sorry! Are you okay!?”

❝Rude.❞ is the first thing the destructive pyromaniac could offer as a response to having his aimless stroll interrupted. If he had still been starving like he was an hour ago, he would have burnt all those flyers in this chick’s arms to crisps. But luckily for her, he just had a nice hot meal which means he’s feeling nice enough to spare her his temper. 

Ignoring her question, he reaches out and plucks the paper away from her fingers to check what the hassle is about.

A pianist? He didn’t even know they’re still a thing.

Of course they didn’t look like tattoos. Izaya liked to think he had a bit more tact than to outright point out someone’s physical anomalies (he wasn’t Shinra, after all) yet he still found himself unable to resist broaching the subject regardless.

The man confirmed his suspicions rather easily, before proceeding to threaten him without so much as skipping a beat. Izaya had been subject to this sort of behavior far too often to be surprised or put out- although he was a bit disappointed by the predictability of the other’s response. Perhaps this man was just another case of a dull personality wrapped in a somewhat intriguing exterior.

Oh, well.

“Is that an offer?” Izaya huffed a laugh, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly as he sized the man up, “Unfortunately I’ll have to decline. Tattoos tend to carry some pretty risky implications in this day and age, right? It would be bad for business, I think.” His left hand drifted casually towards his coat pocket, finding the familiar bite of a cold, steel knife within it.

That smile hits a nerve.

The urge to scorch the smug grin off this asshole’s face creeps up his spine and he could feel his fingers twitching in anticipation. He knows he can do it easily. With just a flick of his wrist, he could send this guy flying across the room if he wants to. His eyes catch on the stranger’s hand moving ever so coolly towards a pocket— the act of nonchalance feeling more like a threat rather than an offhand gesture. 

But then the sound of laughter and chatter furnishing the atmosphere around them brings the villain back to reality and he looks around to remind himself that they’re not alone.

❝Man, this is dumb.❞

Either he’s getting old or this city is tiring him down but he never thought he’d spend his weekend looking at supposedly ‘funny’ selfie filters on Octavio’s phone. His life used to be a fucking thrill with slaughters and flames engulfing everything he decides to wreak havoc on. But now here he sits, on the bed of an old abandoned truck they found and going through every face-altering filter Octavio has downloaded on his phone.

Perhaps this is better than wandering around the streets by himself. Octavio’s boundless energy is annoying but not annoying enough for Dabi to deem him unbearable to be with. It’s sort of like hanging out of with Toga, but a lot less psychopathic and a lot more...dude-ish. Dabi isn’t known for his wide vocabulary, okay?

Admittedly, the selfie filters his companion swiped through were entertaining at first. But the second they start to feel a tad bit repetitive, Dabi has lost interest. He eventually brushes the phone away from his face and fishes out a pack of cigarettes he keeps in the pocket of his coat.

Dabi takes one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out against the door displayed before him, flecks of sparks and ashes fluttering out from the end of the stick and staining the once spotless door with a filthy rounded burn.

He had told himself he would only come here as a last resort— when he’s starving and doesn’t have the energy to terrorize anyone into handing over their cash. But today isn’t one of those days. He’s bored. The person residing in the apartment in front of him isn’t the most interesting guy Dabi has met in this city but he’s the only person worth being around with. Not once did the villain feel a trace of annoyance the last time they came across each other and he figures having a nice little chat with someone who isn’t always on edge when he’s around could do good for his sanity.

At least, for whatever fragments of sanity he still has left.

With a card, he easily picks the lock of the door and swings it open. He takes a gander of the archer’s apartment with a dull gaze, not really taking in the details but more focused on looking for the resident who will probably ask how he knows where he lives.

Ah shit. I should have seen that coming.

He has come to rely solely on his quirk alone that he forgot being stripped off of it could lead to his impending death when coming across the wrong crowd. Timing the limitations of his abilities is something he needs to work on. He shouldn’t have provoked those assholes the second they tried to rob him; maybe then they wouldn’t have given him a brutal beating even after realizing that he has nothing for them to rob. Every aching muscle in his body seizes up as he slides down the brick wall— everything about him now a bloody, bruised mess.

He lifts his left arm up to get a feel of his throbbing abdomen only to remember that he couldn’t move his left arm at all. That damn chick still has it immobilized which could be one of the most important factors as to why he was not able to put up a good fight. 

@cremaxion

Despite the recent commotion that seemed to permeate the city and its inhabitants, a one information broker was feeling particularly ecstatic.

While a roommate was not necessarily desirable, and this apartment barely held a candle to his own back in Shinjuku, Izaya could not deny the excitement he felt at the promise of a new location with new inhabitants to learn about. He considered himself an opportunist, after all, and until he was able to get to the root of what exactly this place was and its purpose, he intended on making the most of it.

He knew that those responsible would find themselves answering to him, eventually. All in due time.

For now, he would start small- just as all webs must disperse steadily from their center, so too would his, and he decided that the place where he was to reside would make an adequate origin.

Izaya sipped from a ceramic coffee mug as he sat at a table tucked in a corner of the complex’s spacious lobby, ignoring his own distaste- he had always preferred tea, honestly, but that was currently insignificant to him as he observed those coming and going and milling about around him. He drummed his fingers on the table as he considered his next move. Surely the staff would be the most efficient place to start…

After a good while of observing what Izaya surmised to be the typical locals of this city, a man entered through the front doors of the complex, his peculiar visage intriguing the informant near immediately.

“Excuse me,” he spoke up as the man passed his table, smiling pleasantly, “I don’t mean to be rude, but are those tattoos? They’re quite striking.”

Boring.

This city is absolutely boring. Dabi couldn’t even recall the activities he used to invest himself in before winding up in the League of Villains— he had spent so much of his time recruiting members for their then-small organization that he has completely forgotten what it was like to be untouched by the hero killer’s strong ideology.

Perhaps it’s time to retire for the day. His growling stomach desperately begs him to mug someone just so he can placate his hunger but he doesn’t feel like striking fear into anyone today. He has already used up all the koins and food he started with on his first day in the city and now he’s left with nothing but a frustrating limitation to his quirk and a craving for a hot meal (as if he doesn’t look starved enough).

But that’s nothing sleep can’t fix. 

Just as he enters the apartment tower and is about to head straight for his room, a voice gets in the way of his objective. With a pause on his steps and a turn of his head to the side, he finds a dark-haired stranger seemingly about his age with almost sickly-pale skin studying him from the table he has comfortably settled himself in. The suspiciously fascinated glint in his eyes reminds Dabi of how Ujiko looks at him which, frankly, isn’t good news. 

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping her from slumping into a boneless wreck against the wall. Something in the back of her head is screaming, this lizard brained thing that insists she do what is right and wrap her hands around the other’s neck and throttle him until he’s purple and no longer gasping. Without the ability to disintegrate things at her will, she returns to more primal means to survive. 

That’s not what she needs right now, though, and she has to consistently remind herself of that fact. Panic later, embrace the begging, nagging feeling that tells her to murder, and try to let it go somewhere else, somehow. She’ll figure that out later when she’s done having this terrible evening. 

The fire goes away, and it feels easier to gather up her composition and embrace the parts of her that aren’t so shrill. 

“I’ve been called worse, fortunately.” Her scowl is venomous, fingers itching to rot flesh from bone. He’ll spare her life? How pretentious. Fuck this guy. “And no. Absolutely not. If I have to sit here without my healing factor and deal with the shit you’ve wrought upon me, you can just deal with it until I feel good and ready to fix it.” 

❝...you can’t be serious.❞

He’ll stay like this until she feels like undoing her bullshit? His right fingers twitch at his side. The impulse to scorch the woman alive at this very moment claws him from the inside as frustration hits him hard. How long does he have to wait for her damn ‘healing factor’ to return just so he can get his arm back? And this is his good arm! 

❝Tch, shit...!❞ He turns away from her, lifting his right hand up to rub the back of his neck and not even realizing that he has let a genuine expression of uneasiness crack through the surface. What else can he do? Perhaps there’s someone out there in this hellhole of a city that could somehow bring his arm back to motion. He clearly isn’t the only one cursed with a quirk here considering the sudden turn of events this evening has snuck up on him with after all.

Right. He just needs to terrorize someone into putting his arm back to normal then he can set out and look for this chick so he can finally finish what he started. 

❝Fine.❞ He whirls back to face her again, his only free hand slipping into the pocket of his coat. ❝You better wish I don’t find someone who can fix this for me because once I’m done with them, I’m gonna make it a personal objective of mine to watch you cry and writhe in excruciating pain.❞ 

Having to introduce himself was sure getting old very quickly. Even before the arena, between his parents and his holo-channel, he’d amassed enough fame that at least the mask and goggles were recognizable to just about anyone. He jabbed his thumb at his chest, stating, ❝ Octane. Duh. ❞ 

If the guy still didn’t know who he was after that, either he officially lived under a rock, or this weird city was worse than Octavio had originally thought.  ❝ Anyway, do that fire th–Actually–! ❞ He patted down his his person, looking for the phone he was provided upon entry into this “social experiment.” At least it had a camera. He activated the recording feature and pointed it at the stranger.  ❝ Okay, okay. Now do it again! ❞

❝What—❞ Dabi stares at the phone that is now apparently recording him. How is it that every single person in the scene had taken off in genuine horror by his flames but this guy here literally walks straight to the source of the terror just so he could get a good video out of it? Toga would have loved this moron and for one rare moment, he actually wishes that crazy bitch is here just so she could get this guy out of his hair.

@cremaxion liked for a starter

Terrifying! Absolutely scary right down to the core! That’s what Elta thought when he looked at this man. He didn’t deal well with anything the least bit scary looking, terribly scared to a fault.

So when they stared at him, he couldn’t help but tremble in fear and become a stuttering mess. Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, the bard held onto the neck of his cello tightly. He wasn’t planning to attack, no not at all, rather just holding onto his instrument calmed his nerves.

“C-Can…Um, can I help you? D-Did you need something?”

Geez, this guy can’t even at least try to hide the look of horror on his face upon catching sight of him. Dabi likes his honesty though, he’ll give him that. It’s better than seeing someone looking anywhere but him as though one glance at him would turn them into stone. 

He sighs anyway and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat.