Hello. Sawagi, 20s, welcome to my rp blog.
I'm here to write things, but only with like four people. DNI (yet) if you aren't them.
My Carrd.

blake kathryn
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Jules of Nature
Peter Solarz

if i look back, i am lost
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Product Placement
Cosmic Funnies
d e v o n

titsay
One Nice Bug Per Day
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Acquired Stardust

Kaledo Art
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Keni
occasionally subtle
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

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@kanashisou
Hello. Sawagi, 20s, welcome to my rp blog.
I'm here to write things, but only with like four people. DNI (yet) if you aren't them.
My Carrd.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
his prescription hasn't been updated since 1705
meh. bleh.
There's only more guns in the car, but Nice doesn't need to know that, since they're all stashed away in the trunk. He'd had half a mind to bring Mark here, but the more rational side of his brain had shut that idea down immediately. In the worst case scenario, they might have ended up finding the car.
For his own pathetic dreams of bigger and better guns, Laz had been willing to die, and had figured no one would miss him much. Mark, however, was still a child. Even if he similarly had nobody who'd miss him, he had a good head on his shoulders and a life worth living, so bringing him was and still is completely out of the question.
But those morose thoughts have led him to silence in the face of a question. Composing himself, he releases a chuckle through his teeth, then replies with his usual sense of grandeur. "Keh-heh... I only have about twenty on my person, since I had to travel lightly."
That is, of course, taking into account the fact that most of the guns he hadn't chosen to bring were smaller handguns and pistols. Because of that, the difference in weight really isn't all that much, though Laz's walking isn't labored at all.
"It's only natural to carry so many with me. Even a perfect marksman would be foolish to only bring one gun, but I've always preferred quantity over quality." In other words, he's not the best shot in the world in a pinch, so firing blindly tends to be his first resort when he's in stressful situations. He glances back at Nice, almost as if making sure she hadn't caught his double meaning. "Normally I'd limit myself to around ten for stealth missions, but those guys have enough firepower that I've got a reason to be worried."
He returns to looking forward, squinting his eyes to catch an unnatural color through the trees. The black car is less obvious at night, but the moonlight still reflects off it enough that Laz can see it, even though he's sometimes struggled to see clearly ever since that incident in 1932. He motions in front of him with one hand.
"There. We're practically free, now. I don't think those guys are crazy enough to come after us all this way, if they even decide to follow us out at all."
Though she is by no means a gun expert – since the flagrant misuse of gunpowder for propelling tiny little bullets rather than launching glorious fireworks makes her sad – Nice is aware that twenty-odd guns (at minimum, apparently) must be a massive load to haul on one's person. Pound for pound, she compares the destructive power that Mr. Smith is carrying to the explosives she has tucked into her clothes. She can probably cause a lot more property damage, but sheer lethality is harder to estimate.
"That is part of what I admire about my bombs. In situations like this, I greatly value the quantity of indiscriminate destruction contained in each shell... though with the proper mixture, one doesn't need to sacrifice quality either." Circling the car, Nice brushes her fingers across the gleaming bonnet on her way past. She gives a rueful laugh as she hunts in the dark for the handle of the passenger door. "Maybe if I could become a perfect marksman like you say, I would feel differently. My aim is less than reliable."
She says that like she was ever less bomb-crazy even when her vision was excellent. Splash damage is simply her modus operandi.
Opening the door, she peers at Mr. Smith's indistinct figure through the glass of the driver's side window. A frown creases her brow; it occurs that neither of them is perhaps suited for the kind of stealth mission that this escapade must require. When by herself, she was hoping to cause loud, conspicuous distractions somewhere far from her point of entry – at least as far as she could run before the fuse of a cherry bomb burnt down. It wasn't what anyone could call a well-constructed plan.
Nice climbs into the car with as much prim aplomb as she can muster while looking so disheveled from their escape, heaving a sigh. "I admit it's a relief to be away safely, but I have learned just how unprepared I was to attack that facility. Also – I don't know about you, but I was angling to break in from below, and they will have ascertained as much by now. Who knows what fortifications they may add."
A wind rustles the woods, blurring a patchwork of moonlight and shadow across the windscreen. Distracted from her lament, Nice squints, trying to identify if there's even a track through the woods ahead.
There doesn't really seem to be. She gives Mr. Smith one more appraising glance. "I hope you know how to handle this vehicle."
The brief flash of light in their direction prompts an instinctive step back from the hitman. He's more than just wary---the very thought of being caught has sent him moving stiffly. Laz is, naturally, afraid. Without a plan, there's absolutely no chance the two of them would be able to handle getting caught a second time. They might both evidently be absolute masters of their field who've come here entirely suited for an armed assault on the building, but...
Neither bombs nor bullets are an infinite resource. I know exactly how many loaded guns I'm carrying, but I can't be sure about this lady's bombs.
He attempts to keep an imposing air about him as he continues their conversation. It's not exactly his best effort, considering the nerves that have been reignited in him, but he's not laying his cards bare either. After so much time, he's a master at very little other than keeping his facade intact. That and guns, but the guns are always a given with him.
"My name isn't important. But you can call me Gunmeister Smith. The rightful owner of the weaponry they're keeping stocked over there," he jerks his head towards the building, wearing a prideful smirk, then finally reaches out to accept her offer with a brief handshake, "or at least the only person in the world who knows how to properly appreciate it. I won't let ordinary men have that sort of machinery, let alone use it. My insanity could put it to much more fulfilling work."
He chuckles, then turns towards the dark he'd come from. His car, he knows, is waiting for him on the other side of the moderately wooded area, and he wonders if Nice had brought her own transportation or if she happened to live closer to the location than him.
"You got a getaway plan? I have a car with me."
It's old, but it runs better than most of the ones on the market. There are certain perks to being Graham Specter's idol---Laz had only mentioned his need for a car offhand, and Graham had provided in the usual way: very suddenly, without warning or explanation.
Nice! It's a bad idea to get in cars with strange men!
The worried little voice in her head always sounds a lot like Jacuzzi, which is why she has to push back a feeling of disobedient guilt when she completely ignores it. Catching a ride sounds like a better use of her time than trudging back to the tracks and waiting for a freight train she can hop, and it'll get her away from here faster. Besides, Nice doesn't mind a little bit of danger, or she wouldn't be here in the first place.
She does, however, draw the line at suicidal. Turning her back dismissively on the lights of the compound, she grins at her new ally. "Gunmeister, is it? I can understand that level of dedication. I'm not sure I would call it insanity, myself..." her voice trails off, as she once again tries to assess whether Mr. Smith means that sincerely. Then again, she knows people she would call clinically, categorically insane, but she'd still rob a bank with some of them.
Either way, Mr. Smith carries himself with a gravitas that she can't quite decipher, at least not in the dark. Though it's too late, she wonders if she should have been more careful about giving her real name. She has a habit of plunging into things without thinking beforehand; Jacuzzi is usually there to admonish her into sensible behavior before she goes too far, and he's always been the better judge of people.
Just as well he's not here, since Nice needs Mr. Smith's help to get those bombs, and she won't stop until they're in her hands, whether the man is a genuine lunatic or not. Shrugging off her own negligence, she waves an assenting hand. "If you have room for me, then I will gladly accept a ride."
As they begin to walk, she does decide to keep a cautious distance between them, ensuring he isn't on her blind side. She still can't see him well in the moonlight patches through which they pass, but she can hear a faint clanking noise that matches his steady stride – metal clashing against metal. It's coming from beneath the heavy bulk of his trench coat.
"Um. Mr. Smith... if you don't mind me asking, exactly how many guns do you have with you?"

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"Keh-heh... That won't be the last they're seeing of me, anyway."
It's meant to sound cool, but in the silence of the night and no dramatic cut-away, it just peters off, a line said just for the sake of it. In reality, Laz had probably been more terrified than this woman of the scene they'd both fled from in trying to infiltrate that place. That said, his will is generally pretty strong, so he likely would attempt to steal from them another time despite his general ineffectiveness as a person.
Not ineffective. I saved a life, after all. It's the opposite of what madmen are meant to do, but... I can't exactly scoff at that sort of thing, privately. I actually saved someone's life today, and not just by sparing them.
That fact is probably what had fueled his comment, which sounded a little more prideful than his usual one-liners, though that also isn't saying much. Those were also usually filled with pride, though it tended to be more misplaced than this specific instance.
"They have something extremely valuable to me. I don't intend to let it slip through my fingers. I'm not so much of a lunatic that I'd pass up on rare opportunities like this." He's talking, of course, about the array of military-grade firearms stockpiled by this particular company. Though he's heard tell of them storing other things here, he doesn't have any interest in anything but those guns. If he could get his hands on them (or, more specifically, the parts they're made of), he'd undoubtedly be able to improve them tenfold.
That's only if, though.
He squints, staring down at the facility. There are armed guards he can pinpoint even from this distance that stand out starkly against the white-lit ground, and there's no doubt who they're looking for. If they have any sense of rationality, they'll probably raise their security for the next several days until this all dies down. "Well, then. What exactly were you after from them? I don't intend to turn you in, but I'd like to know if we'll be competing for goods. No matter how long it takes for them to lower their guard again, it would be a shame not to make a second attempt. As long as we're not after the same thing, I see some merit in coordinating plans."
A warm feeling starts tickling Nice's fingers and toes – a fireworks feeling, sparks of excitement already running under her skin. This is usually how she feels before she sets something off. In one way, that's exactly what she's about to do.
Something about this man (specifically, the unspecified but impressive number of guns he's presumably holstered under that trench coat) indicates that he's probably not serving as competition for the object of Nice's second-strongest devotion. Though she supposes she could – begrudgingly – share if she had to. "My aim is the results of their tests on silver heptaphenolate and pentaerythritol nitrotoluene. Can you even imagine the detonation velocity that could generate? I don't often play with high explosives – I can't phlegmatize and cast them myself, I don't have the facilities, but –" catching her breath, Nice bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, too excited to keep still. "But they do."
Her enthusiasm flickers as the edge of a searchlight glances past, casting reflected light up against the man's indistinct face. He's right – it'll take some time to mount another assault, and the place will be even more guarded the second time around.
And yet, this wasn't a vain attempt after all. Nice has been through enough to know the volatile power that follows coincidence; she's not going to turn away a partner in crime who just about fell from the sky into her burglary. "I think, sir, that you may have a point. For tonight, we both have to withdraw, but... perhaps together we can devise a trick to get past those guards. Without being shot at."
Though maybe he likes being shot at. He does have a lot of guns. And he did call himself a lunatic, though she hesitates to take him seriously. Damn her miserable eyeball that can't read anything off another person's face.
Tucking away her lighter, since it isn't helping her see anyway, Nice holds out a slightly bloodstained hand. "Would you care to relocate somewhere more amenable and discuss it? My name is Nice Holystone. I'm, ah... an explosives technician. Of an illegitimate sort."
❛ you’re lucky you got away with only a scratch. ❜ gunmeister smith & nice holystone heist plot real
She's laughing, that high frantic laugh that rings in her ears. It's just one degree off hysterical.
It wasn't an explosion that caught her (more's the pity), since her shaped charge – placed strategically on the gate into the storm drain below – never had a chance to detonate. It was probably a bullet, nipping the inside of her wrist as it shot past into the darkness. She would have had far worse than a small graze if the aforementioned darkness hadn't unexpectedly produced, just as the armory guards caught sight of her, a man wielding what appeared to be about eight guns simultaneously.
He seemed pretty much as surprised by her as she was by him, but he didn't point any of his guns her way. Since her options were limited, Nice went with him, tossing a few cherry bombs to help hinder pursuit as they escaped up through the twilit woods. Now, by the glow of her lighter, she examines her companion.
The man's face is a shadowed, blurry oval even through her lens, but Nice can still see the darker shape splashed across its middle. If that's a permanent mark, she'll be able to recognize this man again. Though that depends if he's someone she wants to recognize.
"I believe you may be right." It feels more inappropriate than usual to speak so politely, with her hair twisted into a scruffy knot and her hands smeared with drying blood, but it's a habit she wears like a familiar coat. (Isn't it a little warm for him to be wearing a trench coat of that size?) "Thank you for providing covering fire. I didn't expect anyone else to, ah... have the same target I do?"
Her tone makes it a question, along with her wave toward the guarded building below them, at the bottom of the forested hill. The surrounding darkness makes the floodlights all the more blatant, pouring stark white light across its concrete courtyard. If one couldn't already guess, the tall wire fences and the armed men patrolling back and forth (still searching for her, Nice guesses) would suggest that it's not somewhere one can just saunter in.
Inside those walls, though, are so many explosives. That private armory holds rare weapons of all types, but she only cares about the bombs – made of chemicals she can't afford to source on her own.
Jacuzzi is going to kill her if he finds out she's here alone. Actually, he's going to cry a lot, which is probably worse. Wincing preemptively, Nice sighs. "I'm afraid I may have ruined your chances at breaking in for tonight. Please accept my apologies."
🐝 * ― 𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑺𝑻𝒀 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.
❛ are we actually doing the right thing? ❜ ❛ are you bleeding? ❜ ❛ are you even sorry? ❜ ❛ are you still mad at me? ❜ ❛ are you sure you’re gonna be okay on your own? ❜ ❛ can’t we just be friends again? ❜ ❛ can we pretend this never happened? ❜ ❛ can you help me with this? ❜ ❛ didn’t you listen to what i just said? ❜ ❛ did you ever even love me? ❜ ❛ don’t you believe me? ❜ ❛ do you trust me? ❜ ❛ do you understand what that means? ❜ ❛ do you want to talk about it? ❜ ❛ haven’t you heard the news? ❜ ❛ have you ever cared about anyone other than yourself? ❜ ❛ how did you do that? ❜ ❛ how will i ever be able to repay you? ❜ ❛ is it my fault? ❜ ❛ is there anything i can do for you? ❜ ❛ was all of this just a lie? ❜ ❛ we’re gonna survive this, right? ❜ ❛ what are you doing here? ❜ ❛ what do you want from me? ❜ ❛ what have you done to them? ❜ ❛ what makes you think i’m going to help you? ❜ ❛ when was the last time you ate something? ❜ ❛ when will it stop? ❜ ❛ when will you ever grow up? ❜ ❛ where were you last night? ❜ ❛ who did this to you? ❜ ❛ who the hell are you? ❜ ❛ why can’t you just let it go? ❜ ❛ why didn’t you tell me sooner? ❜ ❛ why did you leave me? ❜ ❛ why don’t you come home with me? ❜ ❛ why would you do something like that? ❜ ❛ will you call me when you got there safely? ❜ ❛ will you please tell me what happened? ❜ ❛ will you stop doing that? ❜
&. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.
( this is basically just a very self indulgent list of various fluff, angst, and suggestive themed dialogue sentence starters. )
❛ i could keep you safe. they’re all afraid of me. ❜
❛ i’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still. ❜
❛ your heart is beating so fast right now. ❜
❛ promise me you’ll still be here when i wake up. ❜
❛ you’re not as bad as everyone says you are. ❜
❛ i thought you’d like some company. ❜
❛ clean yourself up. you're getting blood all over the place. ❜
❛ here, give this a try and tell me what you think. ❜
❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜
❛ come back to bed. ❜
❛ you look good like this. ❜
❛ working together again, it’s just like old times. ❜
❛ how is it you always know what i need, huh? ❜
❛ you’re lucky you got away with only a scratch. ❜
❛ i can’t imagine losing someone like that. i’m sorry. ❜
❛ you know you can always talk to me. ❜
❛ the only one who gets to kill you, is me. ❜
❛ so, what do i owe this pleasure? ❜
❛ ah, so you aren’t heartless after all. ❜
❛ may i have this dance? ❜
❛ it’s okay, you can touch me. i won't break. ❜
❛ enemies make the best lovers, you know. ❜
❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜
❛ we can't keep doing this. ❜
❛ you look like you've got something to say. ❜
❛ just relax and let me take care of you. ❜
❛ thought you’d be lighter without all that blood. ❜
❛ i had it under control. you didn’t need to do that. ❜
❛ everything looks so beautiful from up here. ❜
❛ you treat all your ladies like this? ❜
❛ well? how do i look? ❜
❛ can’t sleep? ❜
❛ do you mind if i smoke? ❜
❛ i’m scared of ending up alone. ❜
❛ i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile. ❜
❛ how long has it been since you've slept? ❜
❛ you are losing my interest, and that’s very dangerous. ❜
❛ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ❜
❛ you look really pretty right now. ❜
❛ i’ve never cared for anyone the way i care for you. ❜
❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜
❛ just a few more stitches and you’ll be as good as new. ❜
❛ i’d say we make a pretty good team. ❜
❛ i want you to forget this ever happened. ❜
❛ i'm here for business — not pleasure. ❜
❛ if i didn't know any better, i'd say you were jealous. ❜
❛ you'd look better down on your knees. ❜
❛ fine, keep acting like you hate me. ❜
❛ kiss me again. ❜
❛ are you asking me out on a date? ❜
❛ just sit there and look pretty and let me handle this. ❜
❛ you okay? caught you staring off into space again. ❜
❛ well, i do feel better now that you're here. ❜
❛ i'm not drunk enough for this. ❜
❛ why is it whenever we see each other, you’re covered in blood? ❜
❛ i was wrong about you. ❜
❛ the first time i met you, i had no idea you'd mean this much. ❜
❛ you gonna be a good girl / boy for me? ❜
❛ i’m not afraid of you. ❜
❛ books mean more to me than people anyway. ❜
❛ i just wanted to say thank you for protecting me. ❜
❛ how about a kiss goodnight? ❜
❛ i don’t have time for distractions right now. ❜
❛ you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. ❜
❛ if i have to think about one more thing today, my head will explode. ❜
@eccedentesian
I needed a subject to make me draw and this is where my mind went. don't look too closely at it.

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EVEN IF HE WASN'T SURE of the connection between the young woman && huey, her answer comes as little surprise to elmer. he recognizes that expression, the stoic, unwavering narrowing of eyes. she looks so much like him, && elmer doesn't consider himself a sentimental man, but it's hard to not be flooded with memories when he looks at her now.
he's her father. this is huey's daughter.
if it were possible to do so, elmer's smile widens. he takes a few steps closer to her, even less afraid now. he saw that shift in expression, the way her eyes widened, && the straightforwardness with which she answered, even silently. it doesn't faze him that she apparently can't speak ; he's watching her face too closely to miss those words. && though there's not a smile there, elmer's keen eyes spot the fondness with which she speaks of huey.
"your father? that's incredible! just terrific, really fantastic!" beaming at the young woman, elmer looks her over. "i never really thought huey would actually want a family, not unless—" && then as if he's just remembered something important, elmer's smile slips a bit, expression wavering between something hopeful, && something sad. then he takes a half step back, && clears his throat. "sorry. here i am, chattering away, && i forgot to introduce myself. i'm elmer. elmer c. albatross. a long time ago, your father && i got up to all sorts of shenanigans. i have so many questions for you, truly i'm just thrilled! but i have to ask for your name first, i guess. i can't just call you huey junior, haha." he pats his pants pocket, withdrawing a small pad of paper, && from another pocket in his jacket, a pen. "oh, here. might be easier than trying to read your lips." he offers them to her with a smile far too casual for the chaos closing in around them.
Elmer C. Albatross. The cadence of that name is unknown – and yet so shockingly familiar that she hears it in Huey's soft tone, rather than the energetic voice of its owner. That doesn't mean she misses how luminously he smiles at her answer; when she passes her disciplined gaze over his face again, she even notices some indefinable difference in the quality of the smile. Since her practice in reading faces is instead tuned to minute flickers of violence in opponents' gazes or traces of weakness in the set of their lips, she has no idea what it means.
Which is annoying. Her guard is down too far already to be so ill-prepared for this man's next movements.
At least she catches that moment of hesitation when he mentions Huey's family. As far as Chané is aware, she makes up one hundred percent of that category. She supposes she has a mother (someone who's always existed as a vague biological necessity in the back of her mind, but nothing more). Huey has no need for anyone like that, even her. Unless... what?
Smiling his usual smile again, Elmer C. Albatross gives her a notepad. Relief makes her almost tear it from his hands since she's absolutely bursting with things to ask, to say, to tell him about Huey and hear about Huey and – a frown touches her brow – about him, about Elmer, as well. Curiosity is spilling through the gaps in her iron shell.
Chané Laforet, she writes, her first words careful and neat, blurring into rough cursive as her questions pick up speed. Every time she weakens enough to speak through writing, she seems to have difficulty stemming the rush of words, all bottled up inside for so long. How do you know him? When did you last see him? Is your body like his? (she's still not rash enough to mention immortality directly.) What do you know about the Lemures' plan? Could you –
A distant snap of noise stills her pen, creating a blot on the paper. Ears pricked, Chané glances up at Elmer, assessing the relaxed contour of his stance as he peers over the top of the notepad to look at her words upside-down. That gunshot wasn't close, but if they get attacked, she isn't sure she can defend them both. He doesn't look like a fighter, though appearances deceive, especially in immortals.
Making up her mind, she shoves her incomplete list of questions back into his hands and kicks in the door to the closest second-class compartment without trying the handle; it could be locked or hide enemy combatants. When she sees the empty space within, she lifts her chin to gesture Elmer inside.
@kanashisou / continued from here.
THE KNIFE POINTED AT HIM doesn't faze elmer ; it's not he first time he's been threatened && it won't be the last, though he's fairly certain that this woman isn't going to hurt him. not that she couldn't — she certainly seems just as dangerous as the other people he's met over his very long life — but for whatever reason, he's pretty sure he isn't her intended target.
the rambling words that fall from his mouth, stretched wide in a smile that doesn't fit the atmosphere, are more for his benefit than anything else ( though elmer's always found talking useful. most of the time, people just tune him out. sometimes, though, his words manage to get through to them. && maybe there's a part of him that thinks that might work here. )
"it's just," he goes on, willfully oblivious to the danger in front of him, "one single train with at least four different groups of people, i think i counted, who all presumably want different things? how am i supposed to make all of them smile at once? it's a real conundrum!"
as he chatters on, it almost seems as if he's oblivious to the resemblance the woman bears to his best friend. after all — if he has noticed, why hasn't he said anything?
&& then —
"but, see, this isn't the first time i've had to deal with conflicting interests. it's not easy, but i'm pretty good at navigating it, especially as a neutral party, you know? the tricky thing here is—" elmer smiles widely, "—i don't think i can be totally neutral, since your group works for huey. i don't really think what you guys are doing would make him smile, but it couldn't hurt, right? oh, no, i haven't been eavesdropping, not really. it's just — you look just like him. how closely are you two related?"
It's when the man keeps chattering on that Chané undergoes two drastic changes of perspective.
The smile doesn't fade (how is he keeping it like that? It's like an inverted reflection of her own stony blankness, a facade held deliberately in place), and his words keep tumbling brightly out. First – she was wrong about the man's ignorance, he clearly has some idea of the danger, but four groups on the train is a bit much. She's counted two at best, if one can even consider the white-suited maniacs a serious contender for relevance. They certainly do want something, but the few she's encountered haven't been strong enough to buy any time to explain themselves. Thus far, they seem more of an inconvenience than a threat.
Maybe that shouldn't be the part she focuses on. Almost against her will, she echoes the words, tongue curling into the semblance of an incredulous hiss – all of them smile at once?
(Is that supposed to include her?)
And then that doesn't matter anymore, because he puts Huey's name out into the cool air of the corridor – recognizes Huey in her – and it takes the span of one ragged breath, her eyes widening, for her to make the connection.
No, it must be an unimaginably slim chance that this man and the person her father mentioned... but he knows Huey. A Huey from before she was alive. And the man doesn't look that old.
The effort she expends to maintain her frozen glare, showing no hint of the turmoil roiling within her, is maybe what breaks down her other defenses. It should be impossible to pull information about Huey from her speechless lips; that is the central, fundamental point of her silence. In this case, though – this one question – she decides there can't be any threat in answering it, even to a man who might be another immortal. She, herself, cannot be used to harm Huey; he wouldn't care if she died this instant. As Chané brings an explanatory hand to her larynx, she mouths her answer as clearly as she can. My father. He's my father.
But who are you?
@kanashisou / starter call ( adrian chase ).
"---Listen, all I'm saying is, if you're gonna stumble in to somebody else's cool moment, you should really warn them before you do it. I was really excited for this! I ironed my outfit this morning and everything!"
Said outfit is blood-covered and in tatters now, but Vigilante doesn't show any outward reaction of pain; the blood isn't his, and he only took a couple of scratches. It's pretty much impossible to escape a fight entirely unscathed against that kind of mafia goon, but he's come pretty close.
Due in part to the intervention of a nearby pedestrian. Probably not a pedestrian, actually, judging by the knives and the way she'd jumped right into the actions when all the mafia goons assumed she was showing up to back him up and started going after her too.
If there weren't an extremely strangely designed mask covering his face, Vigilante's annoyance would have shown in more than just his words.
"Hey, just a tip, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to walk around with knives all the time unless you're a police officer. Actually, I don't think police officers carry knives with them either, but if they did then they probably wouldn't tell us. And I'm still annoyed with you for interrupting. I'm just being considerate since you also started killing those guys."
Sounds of violence are familiar enough to Chané that she almost doesn't bother to follow the clamor of shattering glass and snarling voices. The old her would have assumed no responsibility for anyone else's fights, and she gnaws her lip at the images that rise in her mind despite her efforts to force them away – images of her friends rushing to help, without regard for their own safety. Images of her friends being the ones attacked in the darkness of this narrow street, fighting desperately for their lives.
What with the thoughts of tattoos and burn scars drifting through her mind, she expects to see some vulnerable innocent caught helpless by a couple of thieves. She does not expect to see a guy in a weird mask easily fending off what looks like half the local thug population.
Whether or not he actually needs any help, Chané is begrudgingly forced to draw her knives when she sees the flash of a revolver turn her way. This is probably why, when they're the only ones left standing and his harassed voice snaps out through the strange mask, she considers running him through as well. She didn't ask to get involved, and here he is telling her she ruined his moment.
Sounds almost like something someone she knows would say.
Though she glares at the mask, wondering what might be behind it, the transparent tone of his voice sinks in – he's genuinely upset about her interruption. That's familiar as well, and Chané sighs internally. It's apparently her destiny to constantly encounter people who treat fighting for their lives like the world's most delightful sport.
She already turned her back to the masked man during the fight, offering plenty of opportunity if he cared to attack, so she feels safe enough now to trade her knives for her notepad, as long as she stays on guard. She is also not going to apologize for trying, however superfluously, to save his life. I'm not the police. I only came to help. I didn't realize you were (she pauses here, trying to choose the right words) in the middle of something important. Whatever that might have been.
❛ see, right now, i seriously have no idea what to do. ❜ because what if elmer and chané actually got to meet, either on the flying pussyfoot or back in new york. i think they deserve that.
After a moment, Chané lowers her knife. There are no signs that this man in the second-class corridor belongs to the white-suited faction of lunatics whose blood Chané is bound to spill. Dressed in ordinary clothes, the man looks like an ordinary man – or so one might think at first glance. The smile on his face didn't waver a degree when she leveled her blade at his throat, and it remains unchanged as she backs a step away.
There's something about him that reminds her of... something. Words of her father's. She always clings to them when they reach her ears, and yet she can't quite remember. Probably they meant nothing to her at the time – a story about a smiling man, a mention in passing, Huey's murmur to himself without caring if she overheard. Under the rhythm of the tracks, she can just barely recall the hum of his placid voice.
Thinking of her father reminds her of her duty. If Goose could see this encounter, he would be ordering her to march any loose passengers into the dining car, where they can be controlled. This ordinary man doesn't realize how lucky he is that Chané doesn't answer to Goose; his dumb smile remains glued to his lips, and she wonders if he even knows about the gunshots and bloodshed. If the knife pointed his way didn't clue him in that something is deeply wrong on this train, he may just be an idiot – and even though she was actively threatening him when he spoke, some part of Chané doubts whether his words were fully directed at her.
He is still here, though – not running to hide or striking out to fight. Though Chané is meant to be searching for Senator Beriam's daughter, she hesitates here, with the smiling man and the whispered words of her father. Almost instinctively, she cocks her head to one side, asking a question in the only way she can.
?
❛ i hate troublesome stuff. let's just be direct here. ❜ - sham to chane!
The boy has been staring at her all day – a typical scruffy teenage bootlegger she's seen a hundred times before, so completely nondescript that it's actually, in hindsight, kind of suspicious. Surely he's up to something, but Chané doesn't sense anything particularly dangerous about the boy, except that his gaze is strangely direct for his age. Nevertheless, with so many of the others in close quarters, she must ensure that this boy isn't a threat.
When she manages to corner the boy alone in the manor's kitchen, demanding an explanation with one sharp, threatening gesture, she expects some stuttering and blushing (also typical teenage behaviors). What she doesn't expect is those matter-of-fact words:
"I hate troublesome stuff. Let's just be direct here."
The boy's brusque tone sends her fingers itching toward her knives, but Chané bites back her first instinct – to control the situation with edged weapons – and draws out her notebook instead. There's something different about you.
Her first thought is – as it is so often – of her father. There's a kind of mismatch between the teen's appearance and his demeanor that she has only encountered before in immortals. Her gaze crisscrosses over him as if she could identify immortality by glaring hard enough, but all she gathers is that it just seems really unlikely that a scrappy kid like this would be immortal, or – if he somehow were – that he would bother wasting his time with this gang. Chané, lips tensing, adds an addendum to her words. What is it you want?

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❛ it's okay. don't you worry about a thing. i'm here. ❜ - from claire to chane ^^
Chané casts her fiancé a drowning look. It's shameful to show so much frustration – she shouldn't be reacting to this stupid mistake in the first place. What kind of machine of ice and steel can she be if she falls apart at the slightest provocation? Her father would – no, he wouldn't be disappointed in her. He would smile in his usual way, that thin smile of interest without warmth. In a way, it's because he expects so little that Chané needs to be so much.
With hands that betray the slightest trace of a disgraceful tremble, she puts the broken chain into his open palms. The pendant catches the light as it settles, spangling her vision. Claire gave that necklace to her months ago (she has given up trying to understand why), and she's barely ever worn it; jewelry impedes the full range of motion and gives enemies an easy hold to grip, without even tearing away like the thin fabric of her skirts. Today, he came over to take her to lunch, and something Nice said in passing made her clasp the fine chain over the scar at the hollow of her throat.
Then she broke it. Barely two minutes later.
There's no point in trying to hide the curses she's spitting in her head. Claire can read them off her face like they're written in her skin. Besides, he has no right to speak so softly to her when she feels like such a failure.
I'm sorry. The words don't come as easily to her as to some; her father had no need for apologies. Chané doesn't really believe them, but it's worth seeing if they'll bring back her usual self-control. It's just a necklace, after all – like any other in a jewelry store. The fact that it passed from his hands to hers means nothing.
𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐘, 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑 . ( a collection of sentence starters from baccano! volumes 6 & 7 — the slash . )
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈 .
❛ i may be a child, but... i'm not here to play around, you know. ❜
❛ do you really think an excuse like that will work? ❜
❛ if i told you to kill someone, could you kill them? ❜
❛ unfortunately, i am not kind. ❜
❛ you're like a fantastically, magnificently crazed angel. ❜
❛ that blade is your compañero — your partner. ❜
❛ as a favor to this wacky young guy who believed in my skills and asked me to, i came here to kill you! ❜
❛ i want to wait here a little longer, just a little longer. ❜
❛ calm down, please... are you all right? what on earth happened here? ❜
❛ i don't think i deserve that vengeful glare you're giving me. ❜
❛ here i went to all that trouble to save you, and you don't grateful at all. ❜
❛ that glare you're giving me is far, far more real than the earlier one. that's not just hate. that's real anger, mixed with the fear of losing something. ❜
❛ you lack concentration. you're neglecting your training; that's why these things happen. ❜
❛ i wonder.... if this is a sort of karma laid down for us immortals. ❜
❛ show a little gratitude, would you? ❜
❛ in other words, you're a failure. ❜
❛ you exist just to get exploited. ❜
❛ you wanted to know whether, just maybe, you would find joy in stealing and destroying what others had built up. ❜
❛ and? how was it? how did it feel to steal what they worked so hard to create? ❜
❛ is it even possible to get over the past or give up emotions by yourself? ❜
❛ people have the power to get rid of sorrow and pain by themselves. ❜
❛ no wonder he managed to steal my heart with such panache before i even noticed! ❜
❛ long story short... they're our sacrificial pawns. ❜
❛ do you believe in ties that can never be cut, no matter how badly people are wounded or how much pain they're in? ❜
❛ i want to believe there are things that will never, ever break, no matter how much pain someone takes, or how badly they're wounded. ❜
❛ someday, i'm sure somebody will hurt and break me too, you know? i'm prepared for that. ❜
❛ the folks behind me are my friends, and you can just ignore them. ❜
❛ i'll get right to the point — do you people want to become immortal? ❜
❛ i think this is probably going to hurt a lot, so i'll apologize now! i'm sorry! ❜
❛ why did ____ start saying complicated stuff all of a sudden? ❜
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈 .
❛ you never put your life on the line, so there's no way you could know how i feel! ❜
❛ i wanted to find a new friend in this new town. ❜
❛ those guys were planning to get rid of you fellas from the very beginning. ❜
❛ if i wasn't telling you this stuff, you'd have been on your way to the afterlife before you even knew what hit you. ❜
❛ she don't look like it, but she's a monster who's killed lots of people. ❜
❛ she's got nothing to do with this. ❜
❛ whatever happens to you, it's no skin of my nose. ❜
❛ we're a band of psychotic weirdos. ❜
❛ it's okay. don't you worry about a thing. i'm here. ❜
❛ i won't let 'em lay a finger on your friends. ❜
❛ i hate troublesome stuff. let's just be direct here. ❜
❛ no matter what you're planning, now that i'm here, there won't be any problems. ❜
❛ no matter what a snot-nosed kid like you tries to hide from me, i seriously doubt it could damage my life. ❜
❛ so if you want to use me, you just go right ahead. because i'm gonna use you right back. ❜
❛ long story short — i can do anything. ❜
❛ i don't really have to explain this situation, do i? ❜
❛ see, right now, i seriously have no idea what to do. ❜
❛ that twisted bastard loves watching people suffer. ❜
❛ the death of a good friend. in life, that sorrow is a wall everyone must overcome someday. you can't stay sad forever. ❜
❛ the state of your brain makes me sadder than anything. ❜
❛ what am i to you? ❜
❛ no matter how many friends i make after this, i seriously doubt i could make a better friend than you. ❜
❛ if i disobeyed ____, would you kill me? ❜
❛ in a way, ____ deserves respect for having raised you to be this twisted. ❜
❛ you're curious about that group, aren't you? ❜
❛ you're a 'friend' i can't manage to shake. ❜
❛ it's a little late to worry about the impression we're making on people, you know? ❜
❛ you're trying to finish this job up with a bang and boost your confidence. ❜
❛ although i don't get 'feelings', i do kinda understand 'emotions'. ❜
❛ didn't you ever think i might be tricking you? ❜
❛ right now, we'll cling to any power that will keep us alive. ❜
❛ as long as you're alive, you can make a comback. ❜
❛ i mean, compared with me, 99.99999 percent of the world is weak. ❜
❛ someday i'm going to cut you down, too. ❜
❛ i was just surprised. that's incredible. you can be proud of that. i'm almost never surprised. ❜
❛ if it were fine, they wouldn't have gotten kidnapped in the first place, right? ❜
❛ how do you want me to answer that? ❜
❛ i keep myself from knowing the future. ❜
❛ i told you i l'd learned all sorts of things about you, remember? i know everything about you. ❜
❛ tell me of the world you wish for, of all the malice you hold toward this world. ❜
❛ welcome to dreamland — but it's nightmares only. ❜
❛ i'll be your hostage. ❜
❛ i apologize for temping you. ❜
❛ even empty bravado is impressive when you take it that far. ❜
❛ i was the one who should have died, so... i'm paying for that. ❜
❛ looks like you underestimated us. ❜
❛ nature can be so whimsical. that's why i love it. ❜
❛ i bet you didn't think i was watching the scenery reflected in your eyes, did you? ❜
❛ god might actually love you. ❜
❛ there's no god anywhere in the world. the only one's inside me. ❜
❛ i get to retire from being a loser a lot faster than you losers. ❜
❛ i couldn't... think of any way to protect ____ other than killing. that's all it was. ❜
❛ you're a bigger scumbag than i thought you were. ❜
❛ i think the world's pretty small — but that does mean it's pretty deep, doesn't it? ❜
❛ i'm sorry. please take your anger out on me. ❜
❛ when i look at you, i think i can sense family ties, just a little... i'm going to use them, though... i'm sorry. ❜
❛ right now, i think i almost understand what you're feeling. ❜
❛ i've had folks say they'd curse me more than a hundred times. ❜
❛ it's up to you whether we're friends or lovers! ❜
❛ i didn't come here to listen to you whine. ❜
❛ you remembered my name. although i don't remember ever telling you what it was... ❜
❛ do you intend to bury my life in tedium? ❜
❛ if i were to sum up your existence in one word, it would be — cheater. ❜
❛ those words are true, but not the whole truth. isn't that right? ❜
❛ if we're discussing jails, i've been in one for several centuries already. ❜
❛ i wouldn't make too light of humans if i were you. ❜
❛ that information doesn't make me the least bit happy. ❜
❛ i'm someone neither god nor the government will forgive. ❜
❛ being nameless is good enough. ❜
❛ ...well, no matter. ❜