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Break out of...
[{ Normally, Iâd start off with a cheesy joke, but I feel this post is âtoo seriousâ for me to jest. I mean, Iâve always considered this means of approach effective in establishing a more light-hearted tone for OOC posts (AUs included). Then again, I can never be 200% serious all the time, so I suppose my words have been rendered partly obsolete, haha.
  Anyhow, now would be a good time to throw the bomb, but I decided to be more subtle this time and ease you into it. If Iâm being honest, Iâve spent the last week or so thinking how Iâd word all this out, but even now I find myself improvising.Â
  Iâve felt creatively stale for some time. Itâs not to say Iâve not experienced this in the past, certainly I have. However, the brain cauldron is still being stirred and Iâm cooking up lots of stuff. Brandon is included.
  I love Brandon Lee. Iâm not the lad whoâll go all out and scream, âI love my precious baby!â or whatever, but I really do, or rather have enjoyed writing and developing both him and his small neighborhood. He has a very special place in my heart.
  Like many of you, Iâm sure, he was my outlet at one point. I was done with my previous muse -a Skinverse for Warlord Shen- and had grown tired of the angsty nature that surrounded his character and mannerisms. I wanted to break out of the norm and write something positive, something Iâd have fun with and not be as creatively bound as I was with Shen.
  I started out simple. I had a distinct URL, a vague idea of what I wanted to write and a handful of writing experience from the past. Nobody knew me. Those that did had moved onto greater things. Over time I built a small reputation as that one lad thatâd jump from inbox to inbox and leave questions, or the lad thatâd go on liking sprees. At the same time, people begun to get interested in Brandon Lee.
  I grew at a steady rate. My foundation proved to be good after all. Iâd surpassed my expectations. I was content with myself.
  I was happy.
  My inner Alan Moore fanboy views Brandon Lee as something more than a blind boxer, like the URL says, and itâs because Iâve never written this man as anything besides optimistic and dead-set on personal satisfaction. Brandon Lee has many fantastical elements, akin to those of a superhero; he trains and wins and relishes in the glory. The people love him and he loves them, and though heâs outspoken and audacious, he is a genuinely good guy.
  When an obstacle holds him at a standstill, he wonât go around it, but rather work to smash right through it.
  Brandon Lee has been my beacon of positive energy for almost 3 years. Iâd look at my writing for him and be amazed at how dense his outlook on life was. No matter the hardships or the competition, heâd win, and heâd smile. Iâll admit that heâs helped shape my own perspective. Because of him, I can view things in a more positive light. I can look at my work and convince myself that the mistakes are stepping stones for me to work harder and dish out the best possible result.
  There are ten years worth of story for Brandon Lee:
His journey to Piltover on that small passenger ship and his encounter with the old sailor, Mr. Salt.
His first training session with Michael Goostave and how he impressed the stumpy man by syncing his movements to the vocals. âOne! One! One, two!â Goostave would shout and Bradâs fists would swing until the sun set.
Bradâs first match, his spike in attitude and how it got him in prison.
His friendships with Jianni, Miss Mary, Nepomutheno Salvatore and the OâNeil twins.
The aftermaths of some of the roughest matches heâs went through and his treatment in Vasily Steinfieldâs clinic.
Some of the roughest punches heâs thrown and the one opponent whom he inflicted severe mental damage to, Frederick Shropp.
  And Iâm just scraping the topmost parts of the Saint Street barrel. I could talk world-building and about Lady Forte, -also known as Saint Rena- the ex-pirate-turned-convict that established train schedules and a reliable delivery network, or Maxwell Rhogh, -Saint Maxwell, the Man of the Storm- whose tenacious eyesight and handling of makeshift boats saved countless from drowning. (or worse)
  There is so much. So, so much I havenât shared with Tumblr about Brandon Lee and Saint Street.
  Itâs been 2,5 years and Iâve scraped merely the tip of this iceberg.
  Iâve ranted on and on and I still havenât gotten remotely close to the end, I feel. Thatâs insane, haha, and I think itâs so because I have such fond memories of this place and my thrill with this blog. Have I had downs? Yes. Has the community had downs? Yes. Has my opinion changed? Well, yes, but not in what I consider to be a bad light about anything in specific.
  I suppose the best way I can write this down is that I want to move on. As a Saint Street Saying says, âIâve had my share of bread loaves.â which roughly translates to âIâve lived my life.â I had my experiences, my laughs, my good times with many of you fine people. Well, itâs time to move on as a creative writer.
  Brandon Lee and Saint Street take time to fully flesh out, and itâs something that I probably wonât have much of it in the coming years.
  Haha, thereâs so many words and sentences and paragraphs and it still appears incomplete, doesnât it?
  Itâs been a good run. Itâs been a great run. A thrilling marathon.
  I consider it proper to apologize to some folks (and theyâll know who they are) for letting go of ideas and other matters on such short notice. I trust you will understand my point of view, despite the vagueness of it all, haha.
  Itâs been a fun time. I read and read post after post and fell in love with so many League characters Iâd never thought Iâd like, ever. Because of that, Iâve liked approximately 88.509 posts. Shitposts, aesthetics, promos, headcanon, world-building, threads, you name it.
  And I read all of it.
  Iâve been Nik Nak, or, well, Nikitas, and this is my final salute to you all.
  And you, whoâs currently reading this? Keep coming up with ideas. Write them down. Go for it. Youâre doing great. If you doubt yourself, -trust me on this- keep at it. Read, read, read, and never stop drawing in inspiration and exerting enthusiasm for what you do.
  Most, importantly, youâre awesome. }]
Shonen Battle Manga?
 Hey there. This is where Iâd insert a winky face emoji. Whatâs shaking, bacon? Whatchu say you and I go on a trip down this anime protagonistâs memory lane? Weâre Weeb Nation friendly, mind you, so I shall tolerate no shaming.
Warm as Ice
âI think Iâve seen enough,â she giggled. Kolkai continued to smile as he departed. She too went her own way, stepping aside to ask another worker where she might find her dressing room. It was a meager accommodation, but more than sufficient for her needs. After all, she had done much more with much less before. Some venues didnât even have separate rooms to change in, or were so impromptu that she simply didnât require a change in outfit.
Until the start of the performance, she remained in the tiny chamber, preparing herself for the performance. Ode to Poros was a favorite amongst families. If nothing else, the spectators could retrieve their own ice flowers as a temporary souvenir. Â It was particularly popular amongst children and couples who could gift them to each other. From the sound of it, tonight was going to be a full house, so she would have to ensure her icy âgardenâ was blooming enough. As curtain time drew near, she reviewed some of the trickier steps, just to make sure. All the while, the words of that bearded man still drifted about in her head. Had she really promised to go on a date? He would certainly have to impress her if she was to hold up that end of the bargain.
Finally, it was ten minutes to curtain time. She departed the dressing room in her silvery blue leotard of Demacian make. She had touched up her makeup and hair and meditated to better prepare her frozen core. It was time to offer these good people a show. Frost was already lining the edges of her clothes, dazzling like diamonds in the interior lighting. She appeared just inside the door of the auditorium, her shimmering vividly even in the dim lighting.
  The sun had set and the evening air was nice and cool. Fresh out of a shower and coated in lemon-flavored cologne, Brad entered the auditorium, with certain steps to carve his route. He journeyed from one spot of seats to another and greeted familiar voices that called to him as he went. McKenzie, the OâNeil Twins, the Stark Brothers, even miss Haley and her fancy lad Rourke Warren had shown up. Brad shook hands, patted shoulders and shared small talk till he had found the one lad that mattered most amidst the sea of Saint Street folk.
  âTook you long enough. A blind man couldâve spotted me, Lee, come on.â Jianniâs tone rung playfully in Bradâs ears, his tongue dishing out the words as if smooth talking was his profession. An all too familiar, repetitive cackle followed.
  Brad's lips stretched to a grin from ear to ear. He made himself comfortable in the seat beside Jianni, then removed his cap and let it hang behind him, atop the chairâs rail. âFigured Iâd stop anâ greet, lad. Five minutes till the curtainâs time aplenty.â
  âYouâre a free man, singer slinger, but my obligationâs to ink some checks here. Payâs pay, no?â
  âCoinâs a coin,â Brad repeated the motto with his own take on it, âAnâ you love it more than most, Rat Man.â
  âIâm your open book to read,â Jianni let out a short-lived cackle. âRight, right. Itâs all in the details. You followed the schematics right?â
  âEyes fourteen throughout,â Brad nodded and sat back, finally able to loosen some tension thatâd built up on his shoulders. The few cracking noises that came from it made the action all the more satisfying. âSpaceâs a half circle. Thâ backâs lengthâs about five lined anâ lyinâ men oâ the same height. Whitaker said âe measured it tight.â
  âDiameterâs an eight and thirty five meters,â Jianni muttered while the tip of his pen scribbled some paper. âRadius is an estimated four and eighteen. Yes sir, itâs precise. Iâll take your word for it, at least. Iâm not too keen on trusting negros.â
  "Lexington whispered âfore the lass got demands. Whoâd Neppy go anâ fetch us now?â
  âThat Terriha broad? Donât know much about her myself,â he sniffed and his whiskers swayed. âSheâs from Central, but sheâs not fancy alright. She does dancing, from what I heard. Apparently sheâs a big-shot too.â
  âDancing?â Brad mused and put one leg over the other. Kolkaiâs challenge rushed to the front of his thoughts. Sheâd mentioned witnessing it, but sheâd certainly gotten the idea, what with her tinkering with his blindfold.
  Seldom did Brad wonder, but when the time came, it usually involved a lass or two. This was was no exception. It was an odd set of requirements heâd need to check if he were to show her a night sheâd never forget. Then again, when did that ever stop this fine example of a man?
  Brad moved his legs again, now planting both boots firmly on the ground. He reached for his blindfold, unbuckled it from the back of his head and placed it inside the pocket of his vest. He then leaned his torso forward, balanced his elbows on his thighs and covered his mouth with one hand, while the other hung loosely. From the start of this performance, all the way to its conclusion, he wonât comment on it, he wonât allow his ears to pick up other peopleâs voices, he wonât even turn his blind gaze away.
  The worker manâs food tasted the finest.
Warm as Ice
âAaahâ Kolkai cooed alluringly. âYouâre receptive to the subtle intricacies of behaviors⌠blindness is no crutch on you is it Brandon?â She chuckled, replacing his blindfold and withdrawing her finger. This interesting fellow had certainly proved to be just that. He was excessively confident, practically oozing with character. There was no doubt in Kolkaiâs mind that this gentleman could play the town like a fiddle, taking his pick of friends and lovers alike. Through their brief conversations, she was now well acquainted with his business.
Again she smiled, her eyelids lowering to a more suggestive expression. âThe warmth from my mouth? My, perhaps you have me confused with one of your other evening ladies.â With puckered lips she blew a cool breath over his neck, much more deliberately than before. She placed her hand on his chest, making no resistance against the grip he now had on her arm.
âWell I must say, I feel as though I have misjudged you.â She crossed her legs again as she remained beside him. âFor there is no doubt that you are a sharp and sensual gentleman with the same natural poise of any mighty warrior.â
The boxer would feel her breath become excessively frigid. Frost and flurries now whisked over his skin. The flesh of her hand became icy cold. His limbs felt stiff as the cold penetrated his muscles. âBut you see Mr. Lee, the mighty are not always alike⌠entitlement is a curse to many.â Ice burst from his grip on her arm, forcing his hand away and coating it in frost and icy spindles. Though not painful, it certainly wasnât comfortable. Once free of his possessive grasp, she slowly rose to her feet, brushing some of the snowflakes from her arm as she chuckled at him.
âYouâve quite the charm about you Brandon, but perhaps not the charm I can appreciateâŚâ Despite her rebellion, she was still in warm spirits, grinning with satisfaction. Her accented tone was punctual but forgiving. For a moment, it seemed as though she were about to leave. She stopped however, and slowly turned back to him. âBut then, if you wish to gain my appreciation⌠maybe you should first witness my performance. I want you to feel it, hear it, absorb it. When I have finished I will ask you what you witnessed. If I feel a new spirit in you⌠perhaps then I will offer my company. For the evening.â
 His honesty had proved successful, Brad figured, initially giving way to more intimate contact from the lassâ side. Just when he thought heâd won her over, however, Kolkai unveiled a twist heâd never have seen coming. Her breath caused his body to shudder against his will, as if the winter wind had caught him with his pants down. His hand experienced the after-effect shortly after. It felt heavier and his fingers were coated in a thin layer of frost.
 An ordinary man would question this turn of events, but Brad had a humanoid rat for a best friend, so it evened out.
 This lass certainly was one crafty bag of surprises, but for a man as thick-headed as he, it only succeeded in strengthening his resolve. She spoke of her request and the terms that came with it and Brad listened intently. All the while, her features flashed before him, a reminder to what was at stake; her lean figure, with just enough muscle to add that extra skip to her step, that playful and simultaneously flirtatious attitude of hers, and sweet Man Above her delicate touch.
 âYâknow, lass,â Brad said and rose from his chair, his smile unwavering. He swiped his frozen hand with the back of his spare palm and the ice cracked to bits under his knuckle. âWe got a sayinâ here in Saint Street anâ it says: âThe worker manâs food tastes the finest.â Now, Iâd done told Neppy âfore you showed up that Iâd beat the clock. âBout time I put it to good use, ay?â
 He grabbed hold of one chair and placed it atop the other, then swept them off their feet and balanced them on his shoulder. âLifetime specialâs how I ought âa remember it, lass. Got a good feelinâ âbout it already, not a doubt in sight.â Their conversation had reinvigorated Brad, making him move with fleet of foot, yet still operate with good precision. That, and also Kolkai had cooled him off beforehand.
 ââD be a treat if you stuck around. Figured youâd want to test the stage. âSides, you do good to the ladsâ morale, what with that mighty fine first impression you left on âem.

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Warm as Ice
Kolkai feigned a gasp when he finally revealed his occupation, holding her hand to her mouth with her eyebrows raised, though she seemingly ignored the metaphorical steaks and juices. âA boxer! How adventurous! The artistry of choreographed combat in the ringâŚ. How you must feel during the match, poised against your enemy, anticipating his strikes, the speed at which they fly and the maneuver with which you will counter.â Her expression held a genuine curiosity, her shoulders had tensed up as though she herself was suddenly imagining the excitement he must feel during such times. âYou are a performer! In that sense, we are indeed similarâŚâ
The woman sighed as she looked towards the stage, it was clearly capable of hosting a boxing match, which didnât bother her in the slightest. She had performed with significantly less for significantly more. So long as her powers could be accommodated, it really didnât matter to her.
Although it registered to her senses, she didnât react when she felt his large hand on her arm. Her eyes narrowed as her brow furrowed slightly. The same scheming smile still remained on her face. âA fine lass?â She chuckled beneath her smile, her finger appearing on his chin and slowly tracing the edge of his jaw to his ear before traversing his brow. Her finger teasingly plucked long the edge of his blindfold. âTo what senses⌠do you detect a fine lass?â
There was a noticeable change in her interactions. Whereas before she had been calm and hesitant, she now seemed confident and alluring. There was no hesitation in her muscles and she still made no motion of resistance against him. Quite the contrary, she shifted her weight to lean closer to him. She sighed deeply, exhaling a swirling mist of subzero vapor.
âDescribe meâŚâ she insisted, now sitting up slightly. âWhat do you see in me Brandon?â
  The lass had a vivid imagination, Brad could give her that. Though, in a sense, she hadnât strayed all that far from reality. Though there existed a wide array of moves, each one with its own, unqiue set of tricks and variations, Kolkai had described the general feel of boxing, the core that made this sport such a thrill, almost perfectly.  Â
 Hell, she could be working part time in the paper for all Brad knew.
 âYes sir, mighty fine,â he assured her, but then felt her curious fingers exploring new territory. They were now traversing the sharper planes of his face, playing with the tools of his various senses, operating or not. Brad let his sentence sink in before following it up with, âthough the magic trickâs a secret, else it wouldnât be magical, ay?â
 It was an odd trick, one which he used on every person heâd met to that day. The key lied in Bradâs enhanced hearing, granting him the ability to eavesdrop on their more subtle actions; their breathing was one, the sound of their joints was another, and sometimes itâd be the wind that followed their movements. In some cases, he could even hear another personâs heartbeat.
 Kolkaiâs case, like many other lasses before her, was a cocktail of all the above.
 At that moment, the chairâs legs rocked to the lassâ groove. He felt Kolkaiâs bust press against him, then lean back and turn to a certain angle. Her breath landed on him and the chill straightened the hair of his goatee. Brad chuckled in genuine amusement and shook his head. Sheâd teased and heâd teased back, but now was the time for honesty.
 Luckily for Brad, he excelled at it.
 âReckon Iâm viewinâ a special piece oâ work. Youâre one happy lass, can hear it loud anâ clear. Itâs in the warmth thatâs cominâ outta your mouth and the wee lilâ skips tâ your heart too, anâ I fancy that aplenty in you.â His fingers got a firm hold of her arm, making sure she remained close. Despite being blindfolded, it was obvious he was looking into her eyes, his brows slightly furrowed, but his lips drawn back into a confident grin.
  âThatâs whatâs funny though; Your heart donât got much warmth to it, no sir. âS coldâs what it is anâ itâs colored me curious from the get-go. Got me wondering if an eveninâ glass of liquorâll give it some, anâ if it do, how much more those cool lips oâ yours âll whistle.â
Warm as Ice
âFine caliberâŚ!â She nearly burst into laughter, holding her stomach as she bent over to snicker wildly. âYour attempts at flattery are remarkably puzzling!â She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands over her knee. It didnât really seem to bother her, she simply noted his apparent willingness to compliment. She herself was often quick to do so.
With dreamy eyes she listened intently to his descriptions and introduction. The words with which he spoke and the way in which he spoke them fascinated her. It was a diverse world, and it never ceased to amaze her how many cultures could thrive amongst the many people who shared it. âMisfits is a cruel word⌠donât you think? To suggest that anyone is⌠unfit for interaction. Culture, and what we weave within it, is brought from a multitude of stories! No person is unfit to leave their mark upon itâŚâ
She blinked at his introductory statement. For a moment, her mouth hung open in amazement, her eyebrow cocked, before finally her lips faded into a devious smile as she reached forward to slide her fingers into his palm. Again, Brandon felt the silky smoothness of her hands. Her skin was soft like a fine snow, yet her handshake was deliberately firm.
âKolkai Terriha⌠The pleasure is mine, mister interesting.â Her smile remained as she carefully pulled his arm closer. Her other hand descended upon his wrist and carefully traced his ulna to the pit of his elbow, noting his musculature. ââŚand what is it you do here mister Interesting?â Her musing was calm, almost suggestive as she examined the shape of his arm, slowly returning to his wrist and hand where she would explore the palm and fingers. âYouâre a man who knows how to use his hands no doubtâŚâ She looked up and smiled serenely, waiting for his reply.
 Usually, in these kinds of conversations, itâd be Brad who would lead. Heâd start off with a fine, firm handshake -so as to leave a strong impression- and then easily weave it to another sign of affection. He couldâve kissed the back of the lassâ hand or complimented her charming accent. Instead, Kolkai, as sheâd come to introduce herself, had done all the job for him. Few lasses could do anything but fall face-first for his charm, let alone take the reins and make them their own, to Bradâs surprise.
 The spark of intrigue was quick to ignite itself to new heights.
 âIâm the man oâ the hour, lass,â Brad replied, his tone oozing with confidence. âAinât just me. All the lads in âere âre helpinâ Neppy in âis time oâ need, anâ by the sound oâ things weâve gone anâ done it.â As he spoke, he couldnât help but get distracted by the way with which Kolkaiâs fingers went about his skin, painting an invisible picture with gentle strokes He certainly didnât complain, no sir. When it came to these gestures, he proved a weak man.
 âAs for this lad, heâs a boxer, yes sir, anâ if youâd be willinâ to stick around a day more, you bet itâd be my pleasure to get to this steakâs juices.â Brad teased, a broad grin adorning his face. ââSides,â he said and the hand that was in Kolkaiâs grasp jerked as the fingers snapped in a catchy, albeit short-lived tune. âIâd also be a blind man if I ignored this mighty fine lass point-blank. Reckon you got good juices for sharinâ yourself, ay Kolkai?â
 All the while, his free hand, which sat on the far end of Kolkaiâs chair, moved a tad closer to her. Throughout their conversation, Brad had recognized a subtle undertone in her voice poking its head over the fence from time to time. He couldnât quite make out its meaning, though he felt the favorable intention in his gut. As such, his fingers let go of the rail and gently felt the lassâ arm. The complexion was smooth, yet the muscle was lean and well-defined. Wasnât this another happy surprise?
Warm as Ice
Kolkai was puzzled to see the businessman depart with such haste. She had expected a little more from her host, at least in such a public and prepared event. Often times the more impromptu performances warranted far less interaction, but this was a spacious auditorium and she was under the impression that there would be quite a crowd. The woman stood up slightly at the sound of his raised voice. âA diligent one⌠that fellow,â she sung to herself, expecting no one to hear. âI had hoped he might share moreâŚâ
Just then, the sound of a chair against the cold floor was heard just behind her. The radiant woman turned to spy another worker, offering her a seat. The puzzled look on her face instantly faded into kind gratitude as she raised her eyes towards the man himself.
To find that his were covered. Her eyes then traveled the length of his naked torso before returning to his partially covered face. Still, she displayed her sincerest gratitude. âWithout company it would surely be unlike home!â she reflected. ââŚBut thank you, handsome strangerâ Her hand swept low to catch her skirt as she took her seat, still gazing upon the man before her. She addressed him once again before he could walk away.
âI wish not to be a burden⌠but I seem to have lost my escort. Perhaps⌠you, couldâŚ?â Her tone was tranquil and questioning. âIf youâre not too busy, of course!â She still smiled cordially, hoping for a prompt and willing reply. Already, he had shown her a sort of kindness that had been absent since she arrived at this place. She bared no ill will towards anyone here, yet everyone appeared so on edge, so consumed by their work.
The atmosphere, in turn, had influenced her. The frost that stormed within her core was straining at her equilibrium, venturing just slightly into the creeping rime of distressed and uneasy thoughts. Her hand rose to touch his arm. The cool tenderness of her skin was immediately evident. Her fingers felt delicate and strangely welcoming, as though she often greeted people with her hands.
ââŚWonât you sit with me? Perhaps tell me of this place and the people who live here?â
  It was no joke that this was a hot day. Even when indoors and with the ventilation working extra turns on its filtering capabilities, the heat managed to clump up and hit the workers all the same. However, when the lass reached out and traced his forearm, Brandon felt a cool breeze traveling up his arm. Within a finger-snapâs time frame, the aura had journeyed his entire body and rid him of the buckets of sweat heâd shed to that point.
  It took Brad a second to recover. He neither jumped nor shivered as his body temperature regained its balance. Liars be biting their tongue, Brad was the kind of lad that fancied lasses with mighty fine finger-work, but she was on a whole new level. He also hadnât forgotten her words, sweet and alluring like honey.
  Suffice to say, his interest was peaked.
  âHell, anâ who am I to turn down a lass oâ this fine caliber?â Brad joked, a light-hearted chuckle escaping his lips as he spoke. He grabbed himself a chair and placed it beside hers. From what little heâd gathered to that point, she seemed a genuine enough lass. It showed in both her actions and words that she was welcome to touch.
  âSaint Streetâs one big pot oâ misfits,â Brad said and loosely put his arm over her shoulder, his fingers gently latching onto the end of her chair. âThereâs ole sailors, Noxian deserters, pirate folk, rural Pilties... Chinchangs too.â he rotated his head to face her, as if attempting to meet her gaze with his own. It was the gesture that mattered, not so much the eye contact.
  âAnâ speakinâ of Chinchangs; Nameâs Brandon Lee,â he introduced himself and presented his open palm to her. âMost interestinâ man youâll ever meet.â
Warm as Ice
No sooner had the man finished his sentence and many eyes became aware of the cold, recessive light near the back of the auditorium. The deep, warm colors of the interior were starkly contrasted against the cool, white luminosity of the petite figure that now emerged. A bright blue dress clung delicately to a slim, athletic frame. Bright, pearly hair shone vividly even beneath the subdued auditorium lighting. If ever there was a sore thumb to stick out, she was one of the more exquisite.
Despite standing in the presence of her escort who clearly had his own timetable to keep, Kolkai was eagerly greeting each and every person who crossed her path. Even as she entered, she graciously bowed and introduced herself to the first of many workers to cross her path, often taking them by the hand and enjoying a moment of conversation.
Yet her eye eventually fell upon Nepomutheno across the room, to which her expression lit up. Leaving poor Rodriguez behind, she hastily made her way to the mustachioed businessman, stepping with purpose.
âMister Nepomutheno!â she exclaimed with delight as she approached, her accent rolling through her excited tone. The ice elemental graciously raised her hands to his face in a greeting gesture. She lowered him to her level before she pecked his forehead with a respectful kiss. âWhat a wonderful stage your workers have prepared! Surely you havenât done all of this just for me? You must have shows all the time for the good people here!â
  What was the meaning of this? was what mister Nepomutheno would ask aloud, should he have been granted an additional second. There was too much chatter happening behind his back and this businessman would have none of it, whether there was time to spare or not. Fortunately for the workers, miss Kolkai Terriha was there soon as he turned around to shift his focus all to herself.
  The affectionate gesture left him stunned for a short moment. He snapped out of it after a blink, then he straightened his posture and cleared his throat. âThink nothing of it, dear girl,â mister Nepomutheno replied, his voice still far too rough, albeit courteous. âYour talent is thrice, no, ten times grander than any boxing match hosted in this auditorium!â He scoffed as he lied through his teeth. After all, it was no secret he attended the big games himself.
  Mister Nepomuthenoâs eyes darted behind Kolkai for a split second to analyze the workers. Some had still to recover from her sudden approach. Their movements were sluggish and lax. Then there was Rodriguez in the corner, checking on his glasses. A boiling sensation of fury stirred within mister Nepotheno, the sole external sign of it displayed in his balled fists. Before the fair lady could notice, he moved them behind his back, masking them behind a professional stance.
  He cleared his throat and continued, âI trust youâll make yourself comfortable during the remainder of the preparations. If you need any help with your luggage, ask one of the workers whose hands I can spare. Now, if youâll excuse me!â mister Nepomutheno concluded, turned his back at lady Kolkai and set off.
  âRodriguez!â was the last thing this businessman called out before exiting the auditorium.
  The suited man in the corner put on his glasses and raced after his boss. Some shouting that echoed from the same direction followed promptly and toned down in a matter of seconds. The silence had no time to settle properly as a chair was placed down and behind the pearly-haired lady. Were she to turn around, Kolkai would discover a shirtless worker with a red cloth-piece that covered his eyes, offering her a seat.
  âHave a sit, lass. Treat it like âtâs your home.â the man urged, his voice friendly and welcoming.
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[{ Exams are nigh, and right behind them follows summer practice. Iâve decided to work on smaller, more sporadic things meanwhile, be it for Brad or my other projects. Think of it as mini development before the big guns re-surface. }]

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Warm as Ice
              [{ Closed RolePlay with @thecrystalchoreographer }]
 Ring! Ring! rung the ringer in the corner of the auditorium. A suited man with slick hair and a groomed mustache practically ran to it, picked up the receiver and brought it close to his ear.
 âRodriguez!â he yelled to the speaker. âThis better be worth my time! Sheâs here, you say? Good! Escort her here and make sure she doesnât stick out like the sore thumb she already is. What..?! I donât care if it isnât âsleeping hoursâ! Put a bucket over her head if thatâs what it takes! Thatâs why I pay you, you brainless chimp! Get it done!â the man concluded and slammed the contraption back to the holster.
 âHell, Neppy, yâ got enough power in you to spare for the chickens.â
 Despite the ruckus that occurred all around him, Brandon Lee could still make out mister Nepomutheno Salvatoreâs voice. With that distinct coarseness and depth to his tone, how couldnât he? âT was the roar of a successful businessman, booming with assertiveness and authority.
 âBrandon, my golden boy!â mister Nepomutheno exclaimed with outmost delight. Only with the Chinchang did his harsh tone seem to simmer down. He laughed in that hoarse way of his and smacked Leeâs bare arm. âThereâs a man who understands work! Howâre we doing, boy?â
 âWeâre ahead oâ schedule,â Brad nodded affirmatively and took a look around him. Whether he was blindfolded or not didnât matter, rather it was the illusion of the action that mattered.
 Men came and went from all directions. He could tell from the weight under their feet that they were carrying chairs in pairs, one on each shoulder. Others had synced movements, most likely carrying larger furniture or pieces of the stage. Brad himself had set down a stack of four chairs before approaching mister Nepomutheno.
 âWe keep this violin playinâ, weâll get a spare one âfore the crowd gathers.â
 âGood! Good!â Nepomutheno rejoiced, and every time he repeated his enthusiasm, he patted Leeâs shoulder once more. âGood lad! If only you were under my wing! Iâd have made you a rich man within a week!â
  Brad cocked his head back and fired a short-lived âHa!â ââS part oâ the deal, Neppy. Reckon we fancy what we canât have, ay?â
 âIndeed, indeed!â agreed Nepomutheno, but his words came out quick, as if time was weighing on his shoulders. âNow then, ready the stage! Pronto! Our star will be here soon!â The businessman turned away and muttered to himself, âWhere the hell is Rodriguez..?!â
 âWord oâ mouth whispered she one mighty fine lass.â Brad walked to his chairs and, after a huff of preparation, lifted them off the ground. âSpare hourâs a long while, Neppy. Donât suppose youâll be keepinâ her lonely now?â
 Mister Nepomutheno sounded like heâd caught up early on what Brandon was suggesting. No sooner had he finished his sentence than the businessman with the slick hair and groomed mustache had burst into laughter.
 âPracticality, boy! Thatâs what I love about you!â
 The blind man chortled and it slowly faded away as he sunk inside the sea of workers.
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[{ Top oâ the morning yo! Hey, whatâs good yâall? I think -and sure feel- itâs been a while since Iâve spoken to you in a more âpublicâ fashion, so to say. Iâll tread off the path for a short while and let you all know you look lovely today. Did you do something with your hair? It looks great yo :)
Back to the topic of this post. Uh, Iâve been scrambling for some time as to how I should word it, but I suppose being more upfront about it is more my style than the rest of the approaches Iâd considered prior to it. Here goes: I canât bring myself to write for Brad.
Itâs not something serious, let me assure you. No personal matters or what have you. Context matters, however, and I figured letting you in on the outcome from the get-go instead of easing you into it would help me explain it better and without any agonizing tension building up in the back of your heads.
Iâm a man of many hobbies and interests. Personally, I consider that to be a good thing. I always wish to branch out and discover something new, to get excited at the intrigue and study it further, and perhaps go as far as to collect it, be it books, comics or model figures. Hell, it could be something entirely different than the above, such as a sport. Iâm looking at you boxing. It helps me a lot with inspiration and channels ideas into my head that I incorporate to my own little works of fiction.
If thereâs any ânegativeâ -in quotation- to point out, it lies more so in my personality. With anything that I enjoy, I become invested and eventually over-commit. Itâs not necessarily a flaw, seeing as how I identify it to passion, but I donât want to go deeper into this, or the post will wind up longer than Iâd want it to, haha ^^:
The point is that Iâve had too many ideas stirring in the big pot that is my brain, and in my attempt to cater to all of them, for I loved them all dearly, I lost my direction. Focusing my writing became difficult for the past two weeks, resulting in an apnea, a stagnancy of, well, putting words down and on digital paper.
What Iâd like to do for now is stop and recollect my scrambled thoughts, and see which project Iâd like to focus on for now. I wished to let you all know because another part of me appreciates honesty, and I treat you all the same way Iâd treat myself if there were two of me. Boy thatâd be a thrill.
Another slice-of-life update Iâd like to bring up, seeing as how it intertwines with all the above, is summer practice in a hotel. People whoâve been following me for a while know about this âescapadeâ, but Iâll keep the details vague to both new and old alike.
I donât plan on moving away entirely from Tumblr, not this time. I thoroughly enjoy what you all dish out every day, whether itâs a shitpost / meme, a headcanon, an aesthetic or a drabble / roleplay reply. Iâm no gothic, grim-dark lad, no sir. Iâm an anime protagonist. I donât give up on my nakama dachi.
Life may pile up at times with exams / summer practice, and even my personal dilemmas, but I guarantee Iâll be here to support your works. Yâall are awesome like that. More importantly, Brad is not dead, Iâm just a person who likes telling stories through his characters more so than exposition posts. Itâs one of my writing weaknesses, haha :â)
This has been a message from Nik Nak of House Paddywhack, ensuring you heâs still alive and kicking, and so is his blind boxer muse. Fatherus Kinkius canât terrorize this kiddo, not on my auntsâ watch.
[{ Treading tranquil train tracks }]
 She squinted at his colloquialismsâ was this how they spoke in the Lower Piltover regions? She could not even begin to guess at what they meant, what profound meaning they had, and she realized far too late that her confusion must have been written all over her face, an indiscretion she quickly sought to correct.
 âA pleasure to meet you Mister Lee. Itâs not always one such as myself meets a member of the Lower Piltover population without being threatened.â She laughed softly at her own joke, a high tinkle of laughter that quickly disappeared as she sought to decipher his next meaning. Devilâs motherâ didnât that mean far away from home? Or was that something else?
 âI have business here in the sticks, as it were. My familyâs companyâ new idea, new formulas, new proposals. And I am the lucky one who got to pursue them.â Her voice contains barely concealed dislike for the idea of leaving her cushy Central Piltover lab. She would much rather be there, than here, in this dingy train carriage.
As she listened to him, she examined his form again, discretely, so it didnât look too much like she was giving him the Upper Piltover Once Over. He was well-built, something she could at least appreciate simply for aesthetic purposes, and his hands were roughâ perhaps a labourer of some kind? His outfit was clearly not as expensive or well-made as hers; clearly he did not shop at the designer stores she did. She didnât need to examine him closely to make that observation, however.
 However, despite his appearance and manner and gruffness there was something about him that didnât immediately make her flinch away. Call it interestâ scientific curiosity, perhaps?
  âSticks 's too stale to be callinâ 'em, lass. Reckon backcountry 's got the cozier jingle, ay?â With his lips still curled up in the shape of a semicircle, Brad leaned further back into the railing. He pushed his cap up a fingerâs worth and turned to look outside, more so to feel the wind hit his face than to bask at the setting sunâs beauty. There was no better feeling of warmth than that, no sir, lest he counted a lassâ touch. Twas a close race between the two.
  âYâ fancy the business, sounds like. When the suitâs your size, that is.â Brad wiggled his brow during the punchline. It added that finishing touch, that extra kick which made it all the more glorious a jest. âMatter oâ fact âs that the remedy âs an easy one.â
  Brad sank his free hand into his pocket and his fingers shuffled about. Soon after they emerged victorious, for between his thumb, index and middle finger rested a small, plastic bag. âNuts.â he announced. âMiracle workers.â
  He straightened his back and fixed his posture, now pressing on the iron bar with his behind. âI'm finna bust a quick one or two.â Brad untied the sailorâs knot and picked a random one, twirling the hourglass-shaped shell in his fingers. They were fresh out of the tree, thatâs what Stark bragged about.
  Though his leading hand was in no condition to curl its fingers properly, he fretted not. Like the Saint Street saying said: The mighty, mighty man always knows of another path, and with that Brad moved the nut closer to his mouth and cracked the shell with his teeth. The trick was to put just enough pressure to ensure the top of the shell didnât end up falling into the abyss along with the hidden treasures.
  He presented her the bag as he munched. âWanna nut, lass? Trainâs got a short while more till Saint Street. They'll keep the hungry urges intact, yes sir.â
  â âSides, youâve colored me curious,â he admitted. âWhere âs your business takinâ you in these eveninâ times? Saint Street? Bigger Town?â
  With all that had happened today already, Brad felt it in his gut miss Marietta Darling would mention the former one way or another.
DONâT CLICK THEÂ âREAD MOREâ
[{ Itâs a trap! Donât click it! Whatever you do, donât disobey this ord---
                                       Match 13 - Boom Boom
 The undisputed Knockout pitted against a brilliant creation, the work of a single inventor's aspiration!
  Welcome back to your ole Ranch, gents anâ lasses! The James Oâ Spades welcomes yâ all with a warm shake and tonight weâre experiencinâ the mightiest bout yet! The contender ainât no man anâ certainly no woman, no sir! Hell, I ainât quite sure myself what it is the reigninâ champ âs punchinâ tonight, but I know who can lend me a light, âcause heâs taken over David Tutleyâs spot for the occasion! Gents! Lasses! Round of applause for the fancy inventor from way over at Central; Winfried Marxston ! Anâ hereâs the million coin question, fancy boy Marxston; Jusâ how in the blazes âll this work out?!
  Well, for one, Iâve ensured the BB Mark Iâs central programming follows the rules of the game to the dot, as it should, of course. Secondly, I modified its default height and so-called âmuscleâ to match the designated weight class of its opponent. It is, I believe, a fair fight from there on.
  Fair 'nough, Marxston boy, fair ânough indeed! Anâ how does Boom Boom fancy âis swinginâ ?! Follows the one-twoâs, âe doinâ the bob anâ weave, the hit anâ run?! âE got the ultimate counter set up for 'is opponent?!
  In all fairness, sir, prediction and strategy prove obsolete when faced with numerical equations and carefully constructed calculations. The Mark I will record the movements of its enemy and respond accordingly thereafter.
  So what youâre sayinâ âs that Boom Boom âs got the champ figured out like the back of âis iron hand from the get-go?!
  So to say, yes.
  Well, I reckon Iâm the lad that takes âis chances whether a robotâs in it or not anâ my wifeâs the livinâ proof, yes sir! Anâ while Boom Boomâs sitting stiff in âis own corner, the crowdâs lettinâ loose for their local fighter and defender oâ the title, Saint Streetâs mighty, mighty man, Brandon Lee, just out oâ the hall and trudginâ to the canvas! Check âim out, Marxston boy! Givinâ me shivers every time! âEâs seeinâ red aplenty tonight!
  The red blindfold metaphor is, admittedly, both witty and comical.
  What dâ you mean by that, boy?!
  Well, the cloth demonstrates that heâs blind with anger, no? The literal take on the metaphor was what I presumed to be the punchline. Iâm unsure as to how you perceive humor in this town, but, if Iâm correct, isnât the one saying the joke supposed to have knowledge of it before sharing it?
  Common misconception âmongst you fancies, Marxston boy! Weâre an upfront folk, we are, and I sure ainât kiddinâ when I spout that the champâs quite literally blind with fightinâ spirit, no sir!

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*pokes you*
ââââââââââââââ// @adosxa //ââââââââââââââ
  â âS sure not every day a mighty fine lass be âpproachinâ me all by âerself. Figured the man above âs declared it my lucky day.â He cracked a wide, welcoming grin for the lady and leaned closer. âOr perhaps youâre lookinâ to make a lucky lad outta me.â
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
Send ââď¸â and I will compliment a random mun!Â
From the lovely @banishingtheshadows, Nik Nak talks @dragonfist