#apogexn

After another successful bout, Alex left the ring, cracking his neck as he hopped down. He still got it. It had been a while since he had been at a meet. There had been some issues at work he had to help deal with. Now that things had settled down, he had more free time again.

He crossed his arms, watching the two new fighters who took over the ring, a smile on his face. He never tired of this stuff. It was nice getting to watch everyone do their thing and it didn’t have to be a life or death situation here. Just fun.

Well he fit. After a fashion. They sure as dawn’s rise didn’t make these tubs for the Jötnar, but a slither of discreet manouvering and legs dangling over the bottom edge, eventually the old man manages to submerge most of what was weary for a little luxury. Their hotel floor drowned more than him --the water had to go somewhere. But he was no prig. This was pleasant. In life, very few things were pleasant.

Behind him the soft ching of Vas’ blade being sharpened as she guarded the door settles him more than the elder cared to admit, if only that her being there meant he chose it. That it might be her knife across his throat, and not a strangers.

To say the bar was crowded might have been an understatement. Patrons stood shoulder to shoulder and shouted over the music pulsing through the dim lighting. The wall of noise hit Famine as she stepped into the dimly lit space and it gave her pause, but eveny the need for alcohol out weighed her dislike of crowds. The horseman hunched her shoulders against the racket and pushed forward.

The lonlieness of travel was once again beginning to weigh on her. Even though if she was back at the cabin—she still felt a twinge in her heart when she remembered she’d reduced it to ash—she’d be among the creaking wood snd dark tress by herself, there was something far more lonely about moving along a crowd of people and knowing not a single person knew who you were. And sometimes, Famine really hated that.

So, alcohol. atleast there was always alcohol. It may not keep her company but it would numb her to the hollowness of her soul.

Famine ordered a beer and then navigated her way to a corner a little more out of the way. A couple pairs were back there in the shadows, lips tightly locked and both oblivious to their surroundings. The horseman ignored them and slid into a both next to another single person who’d apparently sought refuge in the dark.

@apogexn​ asked “I have an excellent sense of dramatic timing. And good hair.” (for Lilith)

Well, that was certainly not what she was expecting, at all. People were usually terrified when she explained who she was (if she needed to explain at all.) But this one didn’t seem to care. In fact, she didn’t seem to mind at all, and Lilith was just taken back by it. So now, having understood the chaos that this one adored so much, she was grinning. A Friend! It was... perhaps not a typical friendship, but she did not care. Having someone who understood her need for chaos was more than welcome. 

feat. @frostkingoftheapocalypse​ and @apogexn​

This town was a dusty place. A film of dirt and grime that settled into every nook and cranny available to it. Different from the smog of the eastern cities where smoke was the primary antagonist, this was nature trying to bury the town in a shallow grave. Unforgiving, like the sun that beat down on them, yet a place Loki was quite proud to call home. From his vantage point out the big bay window in his office he could watch the dusty people go about their dusty ways with a sort of grim satisfaction. People that had worries of their own, unique errands, choices and knowledge that differed from the next man. He wondered what horrors they had seen that were comparable to his own, what trials they had faced in life, if they knew death as intimately as he did.

Ah, but that was a morbid way of thinking and Loki, though a decadent personality, rarely allowed himself to employ morbidity unless in a humorous way. That was the brilliancy of personal thoughts: no one else could hear them.

“Sir.” From the office door, Keir’s head appeared, his hair neatly combed as ever and his suit pressed to perfection. It seemed dust never settled on the corvid regardless of where he went and what he did. Loki turned to acknowledge him, both brows raised in silent questioning. “Two people here about your flyer.”

“Ah, very good. Send them in.”

The flyer in question had been very particular about the character (or characters) it desired. Loki knew the law was of no use for him in these trying times because they were rarely ever of use in normal day to day occurrences. The idea of sending police after a mob was laughable and no doubt would be used against him the second the police were annihilated. No, no, Loki required a specific skill set that only outlaws utilized. He needed people who were adept with the blade, who understood the barrel of a gun, who did not shy from blood and gore, and who had an intimate relationship with death. And yet, he had to be careful. The wrong outlaw would sooner gut him for his money than do what he asked in turn for reward. He needed someone with a good head on their shoulders and a level of bravery to match.

He was, after all, offering an incredible amount of money in payment.

Loki turned fully from the window and braced a hand on the back of his chair in preparation for a greeting. He had, thus far, interviewed three other sets of people and had been left sorely disappointed in their wake. Either untrustworthy, unskilled, or terribly dull. Out in these western reaches of the U.S. it seemed like there was no end to the amount of outlaws running amok, and yet the second they were required they made themselves scarce.

Two people walked in and Loki was quick on his feet, directing them to the two chairs opposite his desk just as he reached the small side table where a decanter of alcohol rested. A man and a woman, that was all he committed to mind in those brief seconds, too focused on the task at hand to pause for the minute required to take these characters in.

“Sit, sit, sit, please. Scotch?” He poured three glasses without awaiting a response and set two of them on the surface of his desk. His own he held in hand, returning to his position just behind his chair. “Hello, hello, glad to meet you acquaintance. I’m Loki Iversen. You saw my flyer, yes? Good, good. Well, please, tell me a bit about your exploits, your talents--don’t worry about the police. I can hardly trust the fellas myself or they would’ve been involved in this. Bloody well can’t trust the law anymore than your own damn self, it seems. Anyway, hah, please, your names?”

Ivy sat on the rocks, watching as the sea ebbed and flowed, the moonlight gleaming off of it. It had been a while since she’d last let herself relax and enjoy the sight. Closing her eyes she began to tie her hair up as she turned her face to the moon, fingers stalling and pointed ears twitching as she heard a rock move behind her. As quick as she could she dropped her hair and stood, near slipping on the rocks as she turned to quickly face the redhead near her. 

The man’s personal mission aka crusade had taken him somewhere new. Washington state. But this was not like his other visits to new locations. Something was different. He sensed a unique presence, but didn’t know where it was.  

His mind refocused on why he was here, to eradicate any crime in the area until all that remained was peace. And the area was crime free and peaceful like his hometown always was. That was the endgame goal. 

Speaking of which, a group of thugs were attempting to kidnap a child. Which caused him to disappear and reappear before them, uppercutting one out cold and knocking out the other two by bashing their heads together. Allowing the child to run back to it’s parents.