#intro starter

Fili never got used to the gut-churning drop. The portal that would open and spit him out into the world, and then the skill would lock, cutting him off from use until it was good and ready to let him use it again.

He could be dropped anywhere. Didn't matter if he was going to be thrown from one shit-show to another one. Honestly, he was used to the chaos. It was the nausea, the pounding headache, the queasy gut and spinning vision that bothered him. If he was going to be punted into another world, it would be nice if it was a little less harsh on the molecular rearrangement process. Walking into a normal gate didn't do this.

The worlds bothered him the most when they were quiet. When people were just going about their day, like nothing was strange at all. He would rather be dropped in the middle of a gate break, if he was being honest. Violence was familiar. Mundanity? Decidedly less so.

But, here he was. Coming out of an alley, his head spinning, hair in a mess, looking like he'd been run through a blender, something dark and suspiciously sticky and wet clinging to the tight fishtail braid against his scalp. He wasn't sure if it was his blood or someone demon's. Last place had been a fucking mess. He hadn't even meant to turn on the skill. That's how bad it'd been. Dealing with a whole fucking demonic horde, no gate in sight to get to a normal fucking place with toilet paper--

He stared vaguely at the people milling in the street, and then his eyes searched for language. Earth. Looked like Earth, the time period he was used to. Was this Japan or South Korea? It was generally one of the two...

Ah. Didn't fucking' matter. There was going to be something to eat regardless. As long as the currency was the same, he had plenty of cash for both stuffed in his spatial earring.

With an angry groan, he rolled out his shoulder, checked to make sure the dogs were 'kenneled' (they were), and headed out. Everywhere had some fried chicken, and he really, really could use some fried chicken right now.

His confident stride didn't last long, though, before his head started spinning, and he promptly turned and slid into an alley, bending over to start vomiting up the bad, raw meat he'd been having to eat because there was fuck-all to make a fire, and there was a scuff behind him.

Great. Time to be the drunk Irish-looking-motherfucker, he thought to himself in annoyance, and flapped a hand at [your muse].

"I'm fine, or I'm fine," he rasped, first in Korean, then Japanese. "Gimme a sec, please."

The last line was delivered as best as he could in English, and then he turned to look at [your muse] with watery eyes and the scent of smoke and blood still clinging to his black trench coat, and gestured for them to say their piece.

Another explosion caused the earth to shudder beneath their feet. Gun shots rattled, its sound distorted by distance. Still a very healthy distance, too, he thought, and continued sipping his tea. The cafe owner looked toward the direction of the commotion then at the laid-back customer still reading his book and sipping his tea, back and forth, cold sweat beading on his pasty brow. 

“S-sir, I must close the shop now. This area in town is not safe!” he tried again, wringing his hands.

“Correction. This area is the safest part in town. Can’t say the same for the north and northeast, however,” he murmured, before taking another sip of tea.

If the cafe owner had eyes--eyes that wouldn’t be shrouded by their useless roles, that is--they would surely be bulging. “How?” he sputtered.

Oleander finally looked up from his passage, and the cafe owner froze, paling further, only now noticing the pair of eyes that had been hidden behind the customer’s bangs.

liked the starter call

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Slumped against a tree with his hood over his face and chin tucked into his scarf, letting the world pass him by in favour of actually having to do anything, Dusty is unaware of the human not too far away.