Organ Harvest

@griefermutt

Lars swishes a swill of ale in his cheeks, savoring the delicate flavors of his drink. He lifts the cup slightly, signaling to his partner across the bar, and again to the barkeep wiping the bar down. He was clad in commoner’s clothing—rather than his usual extravagant attire. Drab browns and tans covered his elaborate glowing scales, and a scarf covered both his gills and scales.

He couldn’t resist a few golden rings on his fingers, though he figured they would serve as a suitable lure for the unsuspecting victims of his ambush. Just like an anglerfish, Lars allows the ruby jewel and golden band to glint against the sunlight shining from the window. He takes another swig.

His golden knife feels cool against his leg, placed delicately in a leather holster for easy access. He’d positioned himself in front of a mirror, both to easily scope the entrance and to admire the effort of his disguise. Scott sat at the end of the bar, perpendicular to himself to cover the windows. A few miscellaneous griefers pockmarked the seats, all of whom disguised as regular patrons. 

Siren

Lars is a siren lurking in the seedy underground of the Opalarian Empire. Always a fashion icon in his old life, Lars uses every ounce of his abilities disguising himself as a merman, hiding his natural anglerfish visage away behind scales of camouflage. His lure hides in his hair, knitted into the braid of his ponytail, causing the end to glow. He uses closed smirks to hide his toothy smile, as well as often hiding it beneath his Griefer mask. When he’s feeling flashy, he’ll accessorize the glowing spots along his side with sparkly, reflective, sequined clothing.

The Belt continues to function, and Lars has recruited quite a few sirens into his ranks. He’s convinced many of them to leave vital organs uneaten for the sake of using them for transplant. But other than that, he allows them to do what nature intended. The land dwellers have nicknamed their operation as the THC, after the Thermohaline circulation (after the great ocean conveyor belt).

“Just for my ass?” Came a smirk.

“Well, Mr. Van Allen, I’m not going to stop you. Actually, if this thing is a god, please do what you do best. I’ll be here trying to get into it’s…” (”…Brain? Head? Mind?”) “…Consciousness? And hopefully confuse it a bit.”

…

“I didn’t get a chance to say this the last time. So, in case this does end badly and I don’t see you again, I… don’t think I’d be the person I am right now without you.” … “…So, thank you for loving someone like me.”

“When you’re as much of a smart-ass as you, it’s pretty much your entire being.” Lars pushes gently back into Anda’s side. He laughs gently.

“I can’t do much, but that never stopped me before. You use your mind thing to fuck it up, alright? And if there’s some collateral damage, I’ll stay with you while you wake up. Like before.”

His laugh stops and he starts to think about the seriousness of this situation. They very well might die, and it might be for good this time. Kinda hard to wrap his head around—especially considering all the false alarms from before. But Boy Who Cried Wolf doesn’t really apply to death scares, does it?

Texts were definitely not getting responded to as he took ‘shelter’, a loose term, really, at the corner of a building. Trying to see what was happening was proving far more dangerous than just getting the fuck out of there, but the onslaught of cars and other debris was proving far more dangerous.

“Shit-” The curse was hardly out while he narrowly avoided a dumpster.

“…Fuck.”

TO: Scott FROM: Lars

[txt] what the FUCK are you doing still out there? [txt] anda and i are holed up here [txt] location sent

I lieu of a text… He got a playful nudge to his side.

“If I’m being honest? Absolutely not. Jesus Christ, no. I wasn’t ready at all.”

…

“But I’ll back you up like I said I would. And if e-everything does go…” (”Again…”) “I won’t forget you. Promise.”

“Better not.” Lars could’ve cut clean and run before, and went right back to his normal life of indiscriminate sex and partying. But where’s the fun in that?

TO: Anda FROM: Lars

[txt] you ready to face the end of the world? [txt] again?

“Trust me, if I could physically hide them better, I would. I just can’t.”

“It’s not that hard to do.”

“『I’m calling the police!』”

“Mmmh…” (”Yeah, that’s what I thought too…”)

They took a moment to lean on his shoulder.

“Well. The offer still stands, whether or not it happens. I’ll be there to support you or throw your mom out a window, whichever comes first.” (”Y’know, provided I don’t spontaneously lose the other leg.”)

“Mmm...” Lars leans into Anda’s chest and closes his eyes. This day—and every other day like it—has been exhausting. Fortunately the griefers know not to bother him today. Not that he’d get any tests; he left the phone off and next to Princess’s enclosure.

“…Yeah. It does.”

Something about Lars’ presence always made Anda feel more secure, too.

A stray piece of hair was brushed out of Lars’ face and tucked behind his ear.

“It… well. It beyond sucks. And if you ever run into her again, I’m breaking my pacifist contract and flinging her through a window.” (”Now that I know what Mom was like, I don’t really want to think about her either.”)

“Good. That’ll help.”

…

“…Um. I’m glad you decided to come over anyway.” (”It can’t be easy for him…”) “Did you want me to get you anything?”