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— @meloraan cont from here!

A glisten of green aura flickered over Oscar’s tired body as he lowered himself to his knees, propping his weight up into ‘his’ cane. His sparring partner was…really capable. Really capable. So capable that even when he rested he could feel his chest heaving with breath, urging him to take more than one second of a break. That and the voice in his head, critiquing his less than perfect stance and jumping techniques.

Contrary to popular belief, Oscar was not a skilled backflipper up until two days ago. Oh! Also, he had never fought anyone up until a few weeks ago.

“Thank you…” he spoke, albeit breathlessly. The boy just as soon wiped his forehead of sweat, pushing back his bangs to--blegh, his hair felt so stringy! "Okay...okay, I'm ready." He lifted himself once more, before-- "Oomph-!" --before falling back to his knees, chest heaving with breath.

Activating your aura more consistently will aid in stamina preservation. He knew that. Doesn't Ozpin think he knew that??

"....I...." He huffed. "...need a second, sorry..."

OWED STARTER: @noisyneku

“Aight, so—most o’ the changes? They with the grub spots, ya feel? And the threads joints, too. Like—some still kickin’ it…uh…JOTM, Natural Puppy…Tigre Punks holdin’ it down…”

He waved a hand loosely as he walked, his tone way faster than his slow, relaxed pace. “You was ‘round when Wild Boar bit it, right? Wait—nah, nah, that was a li’l after you peaced out, huh.”

Shibuya had gone through some major changes since Neku last saw it in full swing—and it was only fair to give him a quick rundown of the scene.

He glanced over his shoulder with a crooked grin. “Yo, you keepin’ up, Phones?”

@solxr-flare asked: “why am i encouraging this? don’t do this.” (student Glynda and Ozpin trust)

"Oh, don't be so high-strung. When have I ever led you astray?"

Hands folded gently over the underclassman's cane, a disarming smile plastered onto his pale complexion. Since the day he’d stepped foot in this academy, his wild ideas had somehow, impossibly, worked. Every scheme, every reckless flash of brilliance—each had landed exactly where he meant it to. Probability was on his side in this one. Statistically.

"We are good students, Glynda. The professors expect as much from us." His gaze slipped to the rather large cage resting on his desk. "Bringing a grimm for our demonstration—so long as we ensure it’s secure—would do wonders for our presentation. It’s bold, yes, but isn’t boldness what this academy encourages? Forever Fall hasn’t proven a match for us before… not when we’ve stood together."

He then pushed his glasses up, and returned his gaze to his cautious cohort. "What do you say? I think it'll be a wonderful teaching moment!"

@solxr-flare asked: "This could be hell. This is very Sartre-esque.” (maka and soul cause i know you were thinking about them hehe)

"Could be."

Wall to wall with stained stone brick. Hallways that echoed every step. This feeling of tension that settled under the skin, causing Soul's fingers to twitch despite themselves. Madness, maybe? That could make sense. Besides...Soul was long past something being simply 'scary'. But hell, who was he to judge--Maka was usually better at this whole setting perception thing. And on the topic of perception...

"Do you see anything?" Soul's hands lurked in his pockets as they progressed through the hall. Kinda just looked like darkness to him. And if there were no souls perceived by his meister now, that meant more searching...and more searching meant more walking down these freaky fuckin' halls.

A long sigh escaped him. "I take it back. Hell's probably nicer than this." Just another mission, he guessed.

@mondesstille asked: [ GUIDE ] : sender puts a hand on he receiver's back to guide them somewhere. (For kaigaku)

The mere presence of Upper One hollowed out every bone in the newer demon’s body. His veins crawled with a restless itch, a maddening current beneath his skin that refused to quiet. Fingers convulsed involuntarily at his sides, trembling despite his strongest efforts to hold them still. And yet, Kaigaku knew he had improved—he had endured previous encounters with his senior and emerged, more or less, intact. He had learned to stand straighter, to mask the tremor in his voice, to pretend at composure. But there were limits to his progress. He still stiffened beneath a glare as though it were a blade at his throat; he still quaked at a touch as though it could unmake him entirely.

He hadn’t sensed the older demon approach. Only the sudden weight of a palm on his back told him he was no longer alone, and in an instant his body turned to lead. Each limb trembled with some deep, internal terror he could not name. The contact burned, not with heat but with humiliation—painful, mortifying, and endless, or so it seemed to Kaigaku.

He did not know where Kokushibo meant to take him, nor did he dare to ask. He only knew that if this man told him to leap from a cliff, he would do so without hesitation, not out of loyalty, but out of the cold certainty that Kokushibo’s blade was far crueler than the fall.

So he just shook, and he just walked.

@demcnsden asked: Ume groaned as she was assigned a mission with her fellow Hashira, Hakuji. “I swear if I break another nail on this mission I will scream.”

A nail? Hakuji barely regarded the other Hashira.

He respected the Master--truly, he did. He wanted to complete the missions given to him, and he wanted to do so efficiently. But missions like these were best carried out alone. Rarely did he get to work with others...sometimes with Douma, much to his dismay, but that was always a last resort; a worst-case scenario when the circumstances were dire and the threat too great for one Hashira to handle. And now, to his growing irritation, he found himself once again paired with someone.

Why couldn’t Ume have been assigned to her brother instead? The bond between them was obvious, their dynamic far smoother, their coordination more instinctive. There was a fluid understanding there, a rhythm that Hakuji and Ume had yet to find—and, frankly, one he had no desire to cultivate.

Upon her complaint, Hakuji turned to meet the other Hashira's eyes. "Stay home then." He rolled his shoulders back, the faint pop of cracking joints punctuating the silence as he flexed his fingers and slipped on his knuckle dusters. "I'll go do my job, you'll keep your nails from breaking, and the Master doesn't need to know."

OWED STARTER: @leoxcantus

“Mr. Minamimoto. There have been recent reports of taboo noise running rampant in the streets of Shibuya.”

Her eyes narrowed as she adjusted her glasses, her gaze sharpening—as it often did. “I trust that someone as keen-eyed as you noticed this already, yes? As the Game Master, you should have reported such to Mr. Kitaniji at the first sighting.”