#heraldmade

[text] Im not hungry [text] museum man killed me. woke up in pain. curse, probably.

Yesol won't call himself a saint. He got not only himself but big list of people that'd be ready to punch someone to prove them correct. Even his only friend says would agree on it.

But there's got to be some kind of limit to the kind of nonsense you have to deal. Couldn't they sent Kwangsu Park instead of him?! Or did this have something to do with those letters bursting out of his postbox.

The lab equipment on the table comes down crashing, spreading all over the floor and on Yesol's palm.

" FUCK!!!! "

He might have swiped that all down but it's not on him they've locked him onto some kind of fucked up facility. He can afford to crash some glass. He marches onto the pile of kind of suspiciously not so clean looking paper towels and aggressively grabs a couple, to dab some of that blood off. That's when the door opens.

He swears nobody around here looks normal. Who tattoos their face?! Doesn't he have job to search for?! He hopes for the guy's sake it's not the real deal or that he's not looking into office work.

It reminds him of the kind of animals he sees in the forest. It also reminds him of some that he saw back home, too. The ones back home were very docile.

While Heaven reigns above, divinity is within him, and that is enough for the divine imperator to be content with his lot. Still, his senses beckon him to stop and investigate, and so a few moments later has the angel floating into the air until he reaches the second-story balcony of the building beside him.

Golden eyes skim left and right, ignoring the astonished murmurs of general passerby, before settling on a particular pointy-eared man somewhere to his right. He doesn't have the best track record with those, but this soul at least doesn't feel repungant.

"You must be new," he begins, polished leather shoes landing on the floor in front of the stranger. They're on equal grounds now, even if their heights are still at a disparity.

"I am Aurelius Vane-Tempest."

"Through some quirk of fate, you've attracted my attention."

Shall we see if it's worth keeping?

What they serve as, however, are punctuation. Bookends to the blanket of quiet that does, in fact permeate the waste.

There's no escape from it, here. The noise. People always everywhere. Even late into the night, when the sun has long gone to sleep and threatens to make its return appearance come morning, there's always the fucking noise.

It leaves every nerve in Grimmjow's body frayed. When sound and noise and proximity are baked into instinct honed to a blade's edge, being relentlessly surrounded leaves him on such high alert for so long that hairpin trigger doesn't even begin to describe it.

No matter where he seemingly goes, it's never that far off. Even now, relegated to lurking through alleys, well away from the hub of activity, it's there-- it looms, more of a shadow than even those belonging to where he's relegated himself. A god damn party it had been, hedonism in excess ( not that he had any qualms with that in particular ) and if one more person found their way into his space he'd very likely have yet more blood on his hands.

Not that that was anything to complain about, either. But he wasn't stupid- that ever-infuriating gap in what he was and what he had been forcefully quashed in to sat directly in front of him, an unavoidable elephant no matter what room or lack thereof Grimmjow finds himself in.

So feeling another presence where he'd at least found himself alone for one god damn second makes his hackles raise. A dulled blade still glints, held at the right angle, especially if one decides to get too close for just a bit too long.

"Keep walkin'" he growls lowly.

"Whatever you want from me, you're not gettin' it."

It looks like Moondust has spotted another familiar face! The way the creature trills at the sight of the other has Prometheus whipping his head in that direction. A robot is lying flat at his feet.

"Iloren!" Prometheus calls out, relieved to see that the inquisitor is safe (unharmed). He's approaching Iloren, concern written all over his face.

"These things...They're---," and just as he's about to tell Iloren just how hard it was to get one robot down, the damned thing is rising back on its feet.

Welcome to blooming Isola Radiale, Iloren!

You’ll be staying in APARTMENT 305.

You’ll retain use of the mark of the rift at 1/3 strength. You'll also be given a wooden axe.

Enjoy your stay!

So these were the Black Fens. It was difficult to imagine such a place existing not far from the neat borders of the city. Even if the mountain path had transitioned gradually from mundane foothills vegetation to black and twisted trees, it feels... artificial, somehow. Though Octavo knew it was no more than late morning, the sun had fallen nearly beneath the horizon. Someone had changed the gels on the stage lights.

He'd probably be feeling at home here, if it didn't come across to him like they'd wandered into an entirely different genre of adventure.