[Clockwork Meme from @ma1nmenu for Golem.]

[ 12AM ] a pier on the cold, misty waterfront as fireworks are let off. ------------

Los Angeles doesn't have a reputation for being cold. 'Sun, sand and surf' the brochures say, with strategic photos of Venice Beach and boards curving through blue waves. What they don't mention is the 'May Gray', when the moisture comes in from the ocean and turns into clouds and a chilly fog along the shore.

A blanket of it is gathering in the air as Thera (aka 'GodMode', she's still getting used to that) inhales cold and shuffles herself a little deeper into her coat. Burnout Beach, she'd suggested with a laugh, sounds the perfect place for the likes of us. Up a bit from Torrance, down a bit from Redondo, and quieter than both.

The monstrosity of a man’s response was to rest a large hand upon the pommel of his blade; A terribly heavy, terribly rusted Scimitar. The other was upon the single edged sword which hung from his other hip.

"My blades." Came his response. A slow grin spread across his lips, thankfully hidden by his helmet. "Very few people have wielded them. Fewer so have successfully killed a man with them. But me? I swing them around as if they were my first wooden sword. You’d think such blades would break under the stress of battle, being so rusted."

"Yet…" He trailed off, drawing the scimitar from his hip. The empty grey eyes of the Forrosian were fixed upon the blade. "They remain strong. Even if I were to bash them repetitively against a rock, I am almost certain they would fail to be sundered."

He slowly dragged his thumb over the edge of his sword, parts of it near blunt.