Send “What happened?” for a random outcome

#5: Solly Pocket

     Arms stretched over his head toward the vast moon illuminated blood red and bile orange by the setting of the light, the cloaked man resembles more an acolyte of some forgotten god than a hunter of beasts. A soft sound escapes him. Promise? Prayer?

     No. Just a yawn.

     Accented with a satisfying ass scratch as he lets his limbs relax. The hunt is on tonight. He needs to be in tip-top shape. Can’t hear ringing bells whilst in a stupor, after all.

     Solaire turns from the glaring moon and discovers he has company. The smile on his face, while just as sunny as the painting on his chest, isn’t genuine. Confusion shows clear in his eyes, cogs turning in his brain.

     “I thought you’d never ask.”

Send ✗ for surprise kisses

     He doesn’t.

Send ☭ for a vs. battle quote

Battle intro: There is a line and the newcomer has crossed it. Too many times has he insinuated things about his size, about his accent, about his weapons and his garb and his life. There is a hierarchy among hunters and this bitch needs to be put in his place.

And the blood in his veins, the sweet, fresh blood…oh, it sings to him.

Victory: Drink it. Drink it before it can hit the ground. It’s hot and new and the only thing real in this forsaken, cursed city. There are no memories of the past, no thought toward the future, only the present and the thick red blood oozing from the stump that was once the hunter’s neck.

The beast formerly known as Gascoigne latches onto him, fangs tearing through flesh, claws cracking open bone, and partakes in communion.

Defeat: He hits the ground hard, breath squeezed out of him in a great thump. He can feel the dark creeping into him, swimming in his split-open veins. His blood is pooling on the dirt and shadows are replacing it.

The new hunter. He’s done this before.

He can’t feel his legs. As cold overtakes him, he prays the quick whiff of scent he picks up isn’t what he thinks it is. Any god will do, even ones from a land far from Yharnam. As he succumbs to death, tiny white hands spiriting him away from the world, he hopes Viola will be strong and run as fast as she can.

Assist: “Be prepared, boy. It’s close.”

No sooner has he said that then a huge beast leaps down from Cathedral Ward. Gascoigne feels its bulk reverberate in his feet. His nostrils flare. Beneath the sickening stench of atrocity is something familiar. This was once a cleric, but now it is no more than a mindless monster.

And because the new hunter has to learn, Gascoigne plants a foot on his ass and kicks him toward it. Brightens his mood a little.

Taunt: “What makes you think you can face me down, lad? Keep to your petticoats and corsets and let real men hunt the scourge.”

Reacting to Taunt: The moment Gascoigne discovers the coldblood buds braided into his hair, he finds the new hunter and socks him in the face.

Only his children can do that, damn it.

Tie: Despite the blood that turns his face into a ghoulish mask and the ache that threatens to liquefy his legs, Gascoigne laughs. Coated in the new hunter’s blood, he cannot smell the stink of his leather. It’s a grand feeling, and he’s high on the chemicals coursing through him.

“There’s more bite to you than I imagined.”

Perfect Victory: He catches his breath leaning against a tombstone, axe resting beside him. Huh. Look at that. His exhale lingers in the air like a cloud. Colder out here than he thought, though he feels warm. He feels rather sporting actually. Fourteen years younger and full of pep.

Send these

     Djura gives Susan the most innocent look he can. The back of his dress is snagged on his stake driver and hoisted high, giving him an picture perfect view of what lies beneath.

Send “ovo” for a relationship forecast

(( why would he do that when lauty has yet to taste his horse cock

at this point I’m tempted to play it straight

lautrec summons gascoigne who explains what’s going on, they kill cleric beast, gaz goes bonkers and they fight each other and gaz dies :c

buuuuuut if that doesn’t happen, if we set this before bloodborne, then gascoigne would tell lautrec to stop being so caustic, getting progressively less and less polite as he continues to be a fuckboy, until finally lautrec gets a blunderbuss to the jaw