#gamblingluck

                  ind.sel.priv Ace Visconti || ind.sel.priv mumu feat. Barb Holland

Eyes narrow, an exhale through his nose as the grip on the knife tightens, "You're offering to die willingly?" A single eyebrow raises, perplexed by the proposition. William leans back, a slight tilt to his head, studying -- debating on if it would be worth taking the deal, "I'm not one to enjoy a willing victim, but. . ." His expression shifts, into a smirk, lifting the knife to press it against the underside of Ace's chin. Will leans in, his voice a low whisper in the survivor's ear, "Run. Run fast. Once you have your fun, I will have mine."

The Trial had begun smoothly, quickly getting a hit on one of the other survivors--a nervous little mess of a man--before gathering enough agony from their collective suffering. Oh he could give them quite a shock with changing forms. . . they always seem to forget he can quickly change to the horrifying animatronic at will. He will save that for later. He had just successfully placed that nervous leader on the hook before a flash of a familiar face appeared in his peripheral. . . The knife is bounced in his grip, flicking off bits of blood, "Another game, eh? What is the score now. . .?" One glance is given to the survivor struggling on the hook before he quickly pursues Ace. His obsession yet again for the match. It is as if this Entity enjoys the game of cat and mouse going on between them. . . how quant. William chuckles, breaking his pursuit, slipping through one of the broken walls, steps light and quick as he predicts the path. That old shack more than likely. He barely misses, metal bouncing against the wood of the pallet, barely avoiding it from slamming against him as it blocks his path. Eyes narrow, glaring the distance at the man who stands inside the old shack. William straightens his stance, twirling the blade in his hand. Silence for a few moments, just staring. . . 'Come and get it.' Once those words are spoken, the killer smirks, his words flowing in a sing song tone, "You'll regret those words, luv~" an emphasis on the last word before he slams his foot down on the pallet. Another stomp and the pallet breaks. "Run," he grins, hand raising as a small silvery glow appears in his palm--the gathered agony. Not another word is said before he crushes it in his hand, the power activating, "And run fast!" The world grows quiet, as if everything was silenced at once. In a second, William moves forward at a wicked speed, lunging at Ace with the knife ready to deliver multiple stabs.

★ William just sort of likes to have something to keep his fingers busy. Like, just running his hands over different materials or running his fingers over his nails level but it's best when he's fixing or tinkering with something. He is a very hands on person. ★ DbD verse - he does tend to just sort lay face down on tables within his part of the realm, be it human or animatronic. It's the easiest way to just ignore the surroundings when he doesn't feel like living in the moment or having a momentary existential crisis ★ William always let Elizabeth paint his nails, something that does stop after her death but does return later on ( especially in SB AU, Alex always has colorful nails ). In majority of the verses you can find him with his nails painted some color of purple

From that day on, Emma became a regular player, always eager for the next bonus or sweepstakes win. Her story was a testament to how luck, combined with smart play, could turn an ordinary evening into an extraordinary adventure.

     “ When all you have is the ships to watch, cannon fire in the distance, stories drifting about of fierce sailors bleeding out those Union fools, it gets you dreaming, ” The nights watching the fires upon the waters of ships sinking to the barrage of gunpowder and cannonballs. Fixated on the fires that would consume all it touched and the billowing black smoke. Perhaps that is what shaped him the most, “ Dreaming of life outside of a pathetic land with dust and decay, nothing keeping you there but being a boy, unable to venture out on his own. The stories of pirates drawing you to become one of them rather than siding with the Union like they wanted you to. Blood and fire was what I dreamed of. ”      That dream was only solidified when those two Grand Maritime Union fools had invaded his home years later and claimed he owed what his father had taken. A scholar turned to the cruelty of piracy because it was in his blood.

Home isn't exactly a concept Flameheart cares for. The place he was born never felt like home always torn by war and fights, he hated everything about it and was happy the day he could leave. Even his estate was only a residence, a place he would go to follow a relatively "normal" life teaching Junior or for small breaks from terrorizing the Sea. The closest place to home would be aboard the Burning Blade. His flagship had been his everything. A symbol of his power, the fear he could strike when people see those crimson sails, the respect it would draw from his followers. But even that felt like a fleeting definition of home. it was a vassal of war, a method to destroy those against him. Not a place he could feel at ease. The same could be said for his original Stronghold. And don't even try to say "but home could be a person" because that is even stupider of a concept to him. Flameheart depends on one person alone: himself. Even if he has the connections with Junior being his child, the Ashen Lords being his most trusted followers, those are still fleeting. He knows his Ashen Lords are loyal and would die for him, that Junior has achieved so much in an attempt to make his/their father happy or even proud. That's not what he would call home. Just vassals of his will.