#pressoneforhell

8.   name any three things about the rpc that bother you.     hmm multimuses with a lot of muses and they’re all white  ( or there’s like 1 token poc ).   drama over useless shit.   and also just people not supporting their rp partners.   i know we can’t give equal attention to everyone,  i know i play favorites more often than not,  but i mean simple stuff like just making an effort to interact with them,  liking a headcanon post,  etc.   those things take about 2 seconds and i see people going out of their way not to do it,  like going into the source to reblog one of those number/headcanon memes so you don’t have to send one in,  and i’m just like why???   why did you follow this person if you can’t take 5 seconds out of your day to send them a number or a symbol?   why did you follow them if you’re not interested in their muse?   i just think we should all encourage and support each other more.

she’s not there for the music but the satyr, who ... also happens to be the lead singer— goat-like in his twisted stature; black-eyed and wailing. he rips off his shirt and wrings it out over the enraptured crowd like he’s gifting ambrosia to his most loyal adherents, stumpy horns sprouting from his head as the band shits out its poorest mimicry. no one else seems to notice but she does, and that’s enough. splat. someone bumps her elbow and she drops her steak fry into a watery puddle of ketchup, spattering droplets across her white tank and the forearm of the guy to her right. the crowd seems into it despite his loudly offered disparagement, but that was no surprise. they might’ve lacked taste but they were also ensorcelled. dune rises to her feet; 6’2, jewelry clinking. she’s deduced that aiden is neither ordinary nor a personal threat, so she decides to inform him of her intent. “i’m gonna kill that fucking thing.”

The Witcher- or former witcher, doesn't seem to notice a damn thing.

He's long since hung up his medallion and honestly, if he was asked, he probably doesn't even know where it is anymore. And why would he? Touring has brought him more money than monster hunting every did, and unlike the others of his kind, he's come to realize that monsters are a dying breed.

Here he is, trying to attempt to branch out to other unknown artists, and now everything is really going to shit.

This is precisely why he believes metal is dying. His eyes are shiny and reflective in the passing light, and lucky for her there's already so much chaos in that pit that no one might notice someone running up.

He seems confused for a moment, turning around on his heels, unsure of what's going on. Instead, he just watches whoever the fuck this is that yelled in his ear make her way forward.