ᵗʰᵉ Sᵃᵈ ᵐᵃᶰ

STARTER CALL.          i’m really feeling it mister krabs so here’s another rp ad. capping at three! these will range from one-liners to minis.

     ❦ At his sudden warning, Thanyx remains still as ever. However, her pal blue hues widen ever so slightly at the suddenness of the action, soon giving a mild hum of thought in response.

     ❝ … I am not here to comfort you nor call you out on your misgivings, ❞

     ❝ I simply say what I see or hear… That is all. ❞

     FOR A MOMENT, there was something reflecting in her cold and empty gaze, something he recognised... something alive. and yet, he thought of only himself, far too absorbed in his own torments to pay the inkling any mind.

     ❦ ❝ … Hmm… I do wonder at times, ❞ comes the woman’s answer, tone flat and even as per the norm. It seems that his threats, whether real or not, are unable to shake the monotone goddess’s core.

     ❝ … You do, however, sound tired. ❞

     IN THAT INSTANT, like a thread pulled taut, something snapped. a hiss whispering through his words, he spat at the stranger defensively.

          “ BACK OFF. if i needed a goddamn shrink, i’d ask. ” he built his walls high, forged of grief and hellfire, biting the hand that dare its flames.

Juuzou had come running at the sound of all the commotion. People sure were surprised by something, that was for sure. Juuzou had none of his weapons, had been given a wooden joke of a toy and had been told that was that, but he was, by nature, a curious thing. He was also, of course, capable of defending himself unarmed if necessary.

               (It wasn’t his preferred method of fighting.)

Hopefully it just wouldn’t come to that. He stood at the end of the street, easily dodging the trash can which flew right at him. His eyes were wide and he blinked once. Twice.

It hadn’t looked like this guy was throwing things at him specifically, so he was willing enough to let that one slide, but he was also just as reckless as he was impossibly curious.

So he ran toward the man. The sound he’d made had sounded angry, maybe even dangerous, from afar. As he approached, however, replaying it in his mind, he recognized it as grief.

                                                                            Oh. All right, then.

Juuzou had just learned to feel that emotion.

                    “Stop throwing things !! ”

     FREE OF THEIR WELL-MEANING CHORUSES, in his sorrows he was left to fester--- just like he always wanted. the troubled murmurs and screams mattered not to a wary conscience, tired from war and tribulation, their worriment falling upon deaf ears, comforted only by the darkness. as if in answer, a quickened approach intruded on his silence, banishing any semblance of peace he may have cultivated in those few moments.

                                           big fuckin’ mistake.

     a cutting voice drew his ire, and, whirling on the stranger, his shroud bristled alike an angry hellfire, beckoning flesh unto its reach. backed by an orchestra of rattling chains, a hissing, like something unearthly filled the air... before waning only when his eyes found that of a young man’s. rage be damned, he had no intent on spilling blood today--- not today. thus his cloak appeared to settle, but he would seethe his warning all the same.

          “ get the hell outta here, kid. ” 

She was well aware of someone being behind her, but being the type of being that she was, she wasn’t frightened. If the man behind attacked then…the man attacked. He wouldn’t really get the satisfaction of what he was probably looking for, but he would have stabbed her and she’d be totally fine with it. To feel anger, annoyance, irritation was not something that was common for this android. Standing at only 4′6 and maybe some change, there’s not much room she’s taking, but she does move without much thought. SHE just sees this shadowy thing zip right past her. Quick and huge too. 

She looks over her shoulder until she finally turns to fully face the figure. This guy whoever he is certainly towers over the perpetrator. Huh. She wonders if one day he’d let her climb him. He’s tall enough to be a tree after all. 

Watching the guy scurry back up to his feet and rush off, leaving knife behind is kind of satisfying to watch. 

“He wouldn’t have hurt me if he stabbed.” But she should still say thank you, “Thank you, Mr. Treeman.”

     BRINGING A FOOT DOWN UPON THE KNIFE, he then stooped to retrieve it, inspecting the blade as it winked in the failing light of the streetlamp overhead. after a moment, noting his reflection staining its surface, staring back through hell’s eyes, his grip tightened briefly--- before he tossed it aside. what need would he have for something so earthly, now that his body was a weapon? something they would never let him forget.

     meeting the stranger’s gaze with his own, burning a sickened green, he then narrowed them. he had no need nor want of her thanks, however he did quirk a brow at her odd naming of him. “ treeman ”--- he’d earned many names in his time as both human and a hellspawn, but few quite so... innocent, starved of malice or intent to offend. and so he pondered aloud, blinking slowly.

      ❦ ❝ … How curious it is of how you greet a familiar face, ❞

      ❝ And what should happen if I refuse to leave? Will you simply try to force me away like any other…? ❞

          “ YOU THINK I CARE? ” the hellspawn bristled, shroud flaring in tune with his mounting rage. he wasn’t some ‘ curiosity ’; some strange creature she could peer at through a microscope.

BOLDED  for  definitely  &  ITALICISED  for  partially.

JOHN KEATS. the lavender in sunsets, flowers in the rain, sunlight slipping through clouds, lazy summer afternoons, the heavy scent of musk, flickering candlelight reflecting off the gold titles of books, fireflies on a cool summer night, being wrapped in fresh bed sheets, the ache of wanting what you can never have, dripping sunlight like gold, loving someone so exquisite, soft lips and soft whispers, fingers through hair,  names of lovers carved in trees, broken glass, the insistence of being perpetually dreamy.

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD.  crisp winter skies with cold bright stars, mahogany wood, the solitude of an early autumn morning wrapped in fog, empty bottles on stacks and stacks of books haphazardly placed in a messy room, bruised arms reaching out into the darkness, cigarette smoke just barely hiding the scent of alcohol, a wall of books all poetry and old and weathered, the way tragedy strikes in your heart but ends up stopping your breathing for a moment, your favorite sweater, parties spilling into four a.m. with the stars above spinning and dancing, the contrast of blood against snow, a purple split lip oozing blood, black eyes fading to blue to pale skin, the butterflies of falling in love for the first time, the statues falling apart over time in cemeteries, the romanticization of self-destruction.

FRANZ KAFKA.  the weight of dread that sits heavily in your stomach when thinking about the future, decrepit houses cloaked in mystery from children telling stories of people who died there, the way not even light can escape a black hole, the rich smell of old books, delicate veins in the wrist, ghosts filling lungs, shattered bones, raindrops on the tongue, rusting metal, nostalgia that aches, the way hope feels like a plastic bag over your head.

H.P. LOVECRAFT.  the anxiety felt when staring into an unknown cave, pouring rain and mud, a child’s fear of the dark, thinking so many questions about your existence as you stare at the vast expanse of never-ending ocean, the silence of three a.m., ouija boards and urban legends.

JACK KEROUAC.  the brisk pine air of being on a mountain, travels without a destination, those nights where you’re missing three hours of memory, screaming to a lifeless desert about how you’re so alive, coffee shops late at night, car rides at night spent speeding and laughing in the dark, naps spent in the sun, novels highlighted and underlined with notes and epiphanies in the margins, the way uncertainty sits on the shoulders, ignoring flaws and loving life, wind through hair, depression as fog in the brain, impossible ideals, a quiet sunrise, walks alone, when you think about trying to discover all the secrets to the universe, dazzling people, open lands stretching out into infinity, falling in love with being alive.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.   the ocean’s horizon inseparable from fog, hollow bones, a preserved heart held in hands, twinkling stars above an old graveyard, the way everything turns to dust, silent black birds with eyes full of wisdom, self-inflicted flames, perfection depicted as a rotting corpse, death as bricks in the heart, lips barely brushing against each other, glassy glazed eyes, biting into a lemon, heart-shaped bruises, rotting flowers on a grave, dried blood and spilled liquor, the hush of dusk when it begins raining, the intimacy of a secret.

      ❦ ❝ … Think of it this way; would you not want someone to warn you of dangers you are unaware of? ❞

      ❦ ❝ … If they can be warned beforehand, then it is worth warning them… Even if they do not listen, ❞

   SEND ME ↕ + YOUR MUSE’S HEIGHT          ✝          NOT ACCEPTING.

                                     6′6″          —          6′11″          —          6′9″