#walter01

@the21sacraments

        There were several types of evil in the world. Skeletor liked to believe he was on the side of being rather evil, with a little bit of fun to it. He enjoyed an evil cackle or watching Beast Man get floored by He-Man just as much as the next guy, so he couldn’t call himself bad to the bone. But then there’s some people in the world who were pure evil. A terrifying evil, with no fun side. No hilarious cackles, no funny insults, and no goofball henchmen running around. Skeletor believed he was looking a case of terrifying evil right in the eyes. Skeletor could sense it, he had a knack for that sort of thing.

The weight of tables and chairs never seemed so important when he had dogs to do his back-breaking dirty work. Distance was no problem when the ground was dirt and grass, rather than concrete and asphalt and man shoes would help with this. Citrine fooled himself into believing that he'd come out of this social experiment refreshed by the experience, but when half the experience involved pulling his own weight, he can't help but second guess himself.

How anyone got by like this was a concept that escaped him. Maybe there were people in the world that were better built for this sort of thing, but he hasn't met one he could easily rope into helping him, and, well... when you relied on magic as often as he did, anything physical seemed pretty damn pointless. Only now does he see the flaw in that.

But excuse him if he didn't take his kidnapping into account. He would've been so much more prepared if he did, but. Oops.

In case anyone's been wondering what he's been up to over the past few weeks, it's a lot less malicious or mysterious than it could have been, given the unique, if not eventful circumstances-- all he's been busy with is a lot of... redecorating! Of a sort! There's opportunity to be had when you've got such open access to the minds of many, especially when you're a cat that has experience with pulling the strings, but it's not like he couldn't do just that later on. Time and patience, while things he didn't usually have in excess, would make him able to manipulate how he pleased all over again-- the sentiment of being able to do it on an earlier, more personal level was tempting, as it would be for anyone as unscrupulous as he, but he's still only got his feet in the water. Considering both that and how he'll hardly be missing out, he'd rather put this break to more immediate purposes. Like this! Redecorating's a pretty serious thing, after all. His kind of redecorating, anyway. A witch is nothing without a place to work, and with a little bit of spit and polish, his apartment's boiler room would do just fine.

Junk yards and thrift stores were the only resources he'd need to tap into to get anything done, and Sector Two seemed to have at least the former in spades. Manual labor wasn't exactly his thing, but practitioners of the art in all forms had a knack for recycling, and Citrine knows his way around nails and hammers, if only roughly. Some tables were missing legs. Others just happened to take up space and couldn't be pawned off to neighbors or friends. Enough tender love and care could make them just the kind of work tops a witch like him needs!

... If it weren't for how heavy they are. And if he didn't live several sectors away. He's made a lot of progress regarding the renovations, but that only counts towards how long of a month it's been for him.

Right now, he's working on dragging along one of the last pieces he'll need-- a long, spruce wood table, which has a desperate need for just a cleaning, just a screw tightening, just a whole new leg-- but after moving it a good... ten, twenty feet out into the street and feeling ready to fill all nine of his graves, it dawns on him that this is probably a two person job. He takes a look around. One of the benefits of living in the city, he's come to find, is that when he can work his magic more intimately, he'll never run out of victims.

Lets see...

...

... That guy.

Yeah, that guy'll do just fine. He's kind of scrappy, and doesn't look like the friendliest person on the street, but chances are he doesn't have anything better to do with his time, either. He's no dog of his, but yeah, he'll get the job done.

Praise whatever damn spirits were around, he was out of Rieze Maxia. After what, twenty years? Bless his pure, kind heart, Alvin was almost ready to do a little jig out of happiness. Except, see, there was one little, tiny, itty-bitty problem. This... was not Elympios. Oh sure, it looked like it at first. The similarity was uncanny, especially when compared to the hick world he was trapped in before. Proper, working technology! Disgusting city air! His childhood was coming back to him, whatever use that was, but this was not in fact Elympios, and therefore all of his previous efforts had come to an amazing sum of zero. He had nothing here, no contacts, no information, not even some vague purpose to keep him going forward. He'd even appreciate the kids being here, or the old geezer, just for some sort of stability, but alas. After everything had started to finally look up, he wasn't appreciative of it all crashing down. He had considered this being some cruel dream, but then it persisted, and persisted... 

Alvin let out a frustrated yell and kicked a trash can nestled into the alley he had holed himself in. The metallic sound rang loud down the street, and coupled with the throbbing pain in his toe, he suddenly became extremely aware of his position.

This was him. A damned idiot, kicking a bin in some nowhere end of some nowhere place. The thought fueled his frustration more than anything, and he pulled out his replacement sword and swung it, toppling the can with a not-so-subtle crash and spilling whatever shit was inside. Luckily for him, one of the bags inside had ripped open, and the smell that wafted into the air was not on the pleasant side. He stepped back a bit, but otherwise didn't find himself caring. The lightness of the foreign thing in his hand was more bothersome, and he was tempted to chuck it, but forcibly sheathed it behind his back instead. It was stupid, but some relief filled him by the fact the wooden sword didn't break when he used it. It would've been a shame to lose his weapon so early.