#blckchariot

◆ hey ◆ hnadsome ◆ cant decide whats cuter ◆ u or ur kitties

○  ○  ○   L O A D I N G  !

they’re suppose to be enemies, given their factions, but absolem was always the odd one out. she became friends with the other, instantly melting at his smile as it brought a sense of calm to her. she hid her love for the other from her faction.

“he’s just some loser that can’t patch himself up.” “he’s cute, besides, i’d like to make him hurt myself.” “an eye for an eye. you’ll never know when someone comes in handy.” ”he’s just a tool, stop worrying”

were her generic excuses whenever she was confronted. 

ft. @blckchariot for e n l i g h t e n m e n t

he can’t remember how long he’s been on the run. 

minutes blur into hours as he follows the pull of his weapon, steadily moving north east. bishop thinks he’s on the right track, since the presence of the cylinder grows increasingly stronger, but he can’t be sure of it. he can’t be sure of anything anymore. he’s exhausted and angry and scared out of his damn mind—nothing out of the ordinary for a collective mission, to be honest.

but this one wears on him more than the others, even with all his superhuman enhancements. bishop feels the absence of his weapon like a physical ache. at least he managed to lose the mercs while weaving through the side streets, though not before nearly taking a few hits. one of the bullets did graze his cheek; the wound still throbs, dried blood stark against his skin. now that the dogged footsteps have faded into nothingness, he should feel relieved, but the tension refuses to leave his body. 

maybe because he knows it’s not over yet. far from it. 

he needs his swords. now. bishop won’t feel safe without them. thankfully, he can sense them nearby. coming to a stop, he bends over and rests his hands on his knees as he takes a few deep breaths. it’s hard to focus when the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up, every sense on high alert, but he thinks… he thinks he can sense his weapon. it’s not far now, maybe a—

gunshots pierce the air. oddly enough, the sound helps him pinpoint the location of his weapon. right, right in the thick of things, because this shit is never easy. the logical thing would be to turn tail and run, but bishop and logic don’t go hand in hand. not when his weapon is gone, and not when a fellow player is potentially in trouble. who else would be shot at in the middle of the day? 

so he doesn’t do the smart or logical thing and, instead, dives into fray—

@blckchariot

Something that Fang was beginning to realize as time went on, was that friendships in this kind of place were a little hard to come by.  Sure, you had your typical alliance acquaintances, but it seemed like most of them were trying to get her to do the things that she was upset with herself for doing.  Amaranth was full of people trying to get her to embrace her violent side, to give into the thing she denied that she liked.  She wanted something more than that, maybe some understanding.

When she first arrived, she was honestly afraid and felt alone, but soon, in the common areas, she met this guy that made her feel like maybe there was some hope.  He went by the name Chariot, she would see him around and talk to him, thinking he seemed to be somewhat kind to her, more than others had been.  She started to think of him as a friend, someone who she could talk to, someone to be normal with.

Something happened though and recently, it really felt like Chariot had been avoiding her. She didn’t know why or if maybe she had said something he didn’t like, but after a couple weeks of the silent routine, she spotted him and decided to just ask him.

://searching_subject — @blckchariot

often inspiration strikes at the most unexpected of times —in this case, a random tuesday evening. instincts, blue finds, are much harder to ignore than down right, good natured intellect. so he finds himself waiting in the hall with an all too eager canine in one hand, and a bag of assorted treats and toys in his other. it’s not until his hand is already curled into a fist, knocking at chariot’s door does blue realize this is not exactly one of his most well thought out ideas.

antagonism to blue was a rarity, being that he found much more comfort embracing his own amicability than seeking cold blood. he’s compelled, as any concerned parent would be, to pass this mindset along. turning suddenly to meet his pup in the eye, blue practices his stern voice, “you better behave around uncle chariot’s cats, okay? i don’t want you to make any enemies, berry. plus, cat scratches are super nasty.” 

ft. @blckchariot

been a while since bishop’s gone down to the pool for a swim. he usually prefers to train with other people; there’s only so much he can do alone, and working with others pushes him to do his best in turn. sparring at the training center, lifting weights, and parkour are all things he’s familiar with. enjoys them, as much as he can enjoy anything in his new life. the pool? not so much. he blames the cameras for some of it; the collective is always watching (and sure, it’s their right) but it gets a little… voyeuristic at times. the last thing he wants to do is get wet and wild with people watching.

but it’s hot as hell and he can feel lethargy settling into his bones. lying in front of the fan in his apartment doesn’t seem like a productive thing to do, nor does it make for good tv. on days like this, a nice and cool dip in the water sounds ideal, maybe even worth putting on a show for the collective for. a couple of laps around the pool, and then spend some time floating and… thinking about things. with everything going on—with a certain someone now a blcktmpl candidate—bishop has a lot on his mind.

with his swimsuit on underneath his sweatpants and a drab gray hoodie on, he jogs down to the olympic sized pool. his things are quickly shoved into the lockers before he heads to the water, stretching his arms over his head. his skin feels sticky with sweat already; bishop can’t wait to jump in and—

he stops a few steps away from the edge of the pool. someone else is already in there, finishing up their last few laps. bishop opens his mouth to call out a greeting, but his voice dies in his throat as he sees the familiar head of hair… familiar back… and it’s been a long time since he’s seen this view. so long that he doesn’t know what to do except stand and stare.

him. great.

@blckchariot

This place is always calm later in the day. Perhaps it’s a fear of bugs or just the dark in general, but the fields are always empty when he steps into them later at night. He couldn’t care less about obscured vision and buzzing insects so long as he has a moment to stand alone and enjoy the flowers. It’s a little odd, perhaps, to be picking flowers in the later evening, but when has Hangman ever been anything but odd in the first place? He sees no reason to throw up a veil of normalcy now, though perhaps it would be easy enough to accomplish. 

He adjusts the small bouquet he’s holding in one of his hands before barely adjusting his hair. It’s better that his hair stays in his face, as far as he’s concerned. Even if there’s no one around to stare at his now extremely unnatural eyes, he’s been trying to get used to having hair in his face for a while now... It’s not working out perfectly. 

He takes a slightly deeper breath- glancing down to see if there’s any more flowers he wants to pick. He’s not exactly sure when he started doing this, but he does enjoy collecting these soft plants. It never shows on his face, but these flowers give him some odd kind of happiness. It’s just a small buzz of a pleasant feeling, and it’s not enough to be noteworthy, but it’s there none the less. He turns his head to a flower a few steps away. He’ll probably grab that one and head home. He doesn’t want to stay out too late, after all...

A few steps over and he finds himself rather suddenly toppling to the ground though. His foot snagged on something and he barrels into the ground face first. Judging by the noise made by the thing his foot got caught against- he is hit with more than just the ground. He’s hit with a realization. The thing he just tripped against... Is a human. A guy, actually. Some guy he isn’t familiar with and Hangman has just made himself a total fool in front of him.

So he stays there- laying face first in the grass with his arms barely propping him up. He’s sure he should give an apology or something- anything, but instead his mind locks up as soon as he tries to come up with what the proper response to this situation should be. Internally he recognizes this, in the dumbest fashion, as a malfunction, similar to that a robot would have. It’s only fitting that he would have them sometimes too...