𝐁Ⓧ𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍

"Ice." He gestured to the frost around her as if that were the resemblance. He thought it might be a common association between her and others, though he was likely referring to Elsa rather than Cinderella but neither of them had wings. "It's not murder if people refuse to get out of my way." His non-murdering argument was likely as good as his Cinderella comment. As for tasting, he looked at her with confusion. "I don't eat people," he stated, for the record. "And if I did, which I don't, you're not my type."

For the first time since their conversation began, genuine offense flashed across Iselin's face. Her lips parted ever so slightly before she let out an indignant, almost theatrical scoff, folding one crystalline wing closer as though shielding herself from the sheer impertinence of his remark. ❝ I'm not your type? ❞ she repeated, aghast. ❝ The audacity! Rest assured, darling, you were never under consideration. ❞ With a dismissive harrumph, Iselin drew herself up as frost curled lazily around her hands, pale eyes narrowing with renewed disdain, the frosted air around her growing noticeably colder. ❝ And don't insult my intelligence by redefining murder to spare your conscience. It remains murder whether your victims were too slow, too stubborn, or simply unfortunate enough to be standing where your colossal ego decided it wished to go. The word is remarkably indifferent to your excuses, ❞ a faint smile touched her lips, all elegance and superiority. She tilted her chin upward, looking down her nose at him with practiced superiority, ❝ Though I suppose that's the trouble with narcissists... They do mistake inconvenience for consent. ❞

"It would be a privilege, diabla," he said. The infernal fire reflected in the vampire's eyes, a pair of blood rubies ravenous with hunger. "Once we win, let me hurt for you."

Maroon eyes widened, expression startled as if the man had staked him. What was he without being a monster? A damaged freak driven by the whims of his mutation? Being a monster let him pretend there was a choice. Anger bleeds out in his moment of vulnerability -- his eyes flash red, he bares his teeth, his claws bite into his palms. "Who do you think you are?" he snaps. "You're reading into too much bullshit. A guy was drunk. I handled it. I collected my credits and went home. That's all there is to it."

Isaiah neither flinched at the flash of crimson nor acknowledged the fangs that now hung between them like unsheathed blades. Instead, his cat-like eyes settled upon the crescents of claw digging into flesh, finding the wound beneath the weapon. ❝ Perhaps, ❞ he answered evenly, a smirk around his lips at the very, stray thought of himself having nine lives. ❝ Or perhaps I have simply lived long enough to recognize the sound a soul makes when it rushes to defend the story it tells itself. ❞ There was no accusation in his voice, only a quiet certainty that refused to compete with anger. Isaiah had been in his shoes before, as a young impatient man yet to understand the wisdom of a moment stolen to consider everything before him and as a husband who failed his own wife. ❝ I do not presume to know you nor do I wish to strip away the choices that have kept you alive. But I have found that the fiercest monsters are seldom the ones before us: They are the names we accept when we cease believing we deserve better. ❞ His posture remained relaxed, unwavering, a cat observing, not yet threatened, even if there was always the potential for it, ❝ If I am wrong, then you have lost nothing but a moment of conversation. If I am right… Then I hope one day you will grant yourself the same mercy you deny yourself now. ❞

"There is never a right time," he says. "Only degrees of opportunity." Olivier was not brash -- he wouldn't charge ahead into a fight he couldn't lose, clinging to blind-faith or strength alone. He was arrogant. In the way young prodigies are, effortlessly excelling all their lives that the prospect of true competition was unfathomable. "There is no guarantee that opportunity will be better tomorrow," he argued. "At some point, you must make a move."

Izumi's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, more in contemplation than irritation, as if weighing his words before finding them wanting. ❝ And a move made at the wrong moment can erase every opportunity that follows, ❞ she made sure her tone was level though unwavering, as a ribbon of violet psychic energy coiled briefly around her hand before dissolving into the air, restrained as naturally as her breathing. ❝ You speak as though patience is indecision. It is not. It is choosing the battlefield instead of letting your pride choose it for you. ❞ Her gaze never left his. She found it hard to. ❝ When the Society moves, Olivier, it is because the outcome has already begun to favor us, not because we grew tired of waiting. There is a difference, even if...passion sometimes makes it difficult to see. ❞

"I can see that." The way she talked, the way she was fluttering those wings of hers. "Is it an accident we crossed paths here, Cinderella?" Now he was certain he got that character wrong. Yep, just as clumsy as whatever compliment he had given her. "Not afraid. I've accepted what I'll do, but you should believe me." Maybe he didn't look threatening right now, but it would be already too late when he did, if it came to that. "Unless you don't mind becoming a slushy."

A delicate frown creased Iselin's features, one pale brow lifting ever higher as she stared at him. ❝ ...Cinderella? ❞ The word hung in the air as though he'd spoken an entirely different language. ❝ I fail to see the resemblance, but points for originality, I suppose, ❞ she remained exactly where she was, crystalline wings unfurling to their full span behind her as frost whispered across the ground beneath her boots. ❝ You need not concern yourself with my departure just yet. I'll happily leave you to your...foraging...once I'm convinced you won't be marching back to Sol City with murder on your itinerary. Until then, indulge me. ❞ His final remark earned nothing more than a disdainful scoff, the corners of her lips curling into a dangerously amused smile. ❝ Turning me into a slushy? My, you do sound determined to get a taste of me. The least you could do is buy me dinner first, darling. Most people have the decency to pretend they're courting me before making such forward propositions. ❞ And yet, as she spoke those words, she was eyeing him from head to toe, as if already considering that experience to be...interesting, to say the least.

The way she was looking at him made him feel the need to explain, yet he stopped himself because it would do neither of them any good, so he left it at that: food.

❝ Lucky? ❞ Iselin repeated with a faint, knowing smile. One immaculate brow arched at his explanation, and despite herself, the compliment landed somewhere beneath the layers of practiced poise she so carefully maintained. It was flattering, if hopelessly clumsy, but she would never reward him with the satisfaction of knowing that. ❝ No, darling. Luck is what people pray for when they can't bear to acknowledge excellence. Everything about me is intentional. My wings, my composure, my charm... None of it happened by accident! ❞ She gave one leisurely beat of those crystalline wings, scattering glittering frost across the overgrown earth before her expression sharpened again at his final remark. The confidence in her posture remained, though genuine curiosity flickered behind her pale blue eyes. The ice gathered once more around her fingertips, not yet threatening, merely waiting. ❝ Better left out here? Saving people from you? Tell me... Are you warning me because you're afraid of what you'll do? Or because you're hoping I'll believe you should be left alone? Those are two very different confessions. ❞

"Hidden until when? For what purpose? Existence is not the same as living," he sighs, in a bored challenge. "You may survive, but a life in darkness is not a life. Better to be a quickly burning match and blaze brilliantly, then the dying embers of someone else's fireplace, no?"

Izumi held his gaze without flinching, her expression settling into quiet disapproval as though she had heard the same argument countless times before. ❝ A match burns brilliantly for a moment, then leaves nothing but smoke. You mistake patience for surrender. There is a difference: We remain hidden until there is something worth stepping into the light for...not because we fear it but because we choose when and where to fight, ❞ she replied evenly as a faint shimmer of violet psychic energy traced her fingertips before fading just as quickly, restrained as deliberately as her words. ❝ If you cannot endure the quiet before the storm, Olivier, then you will never appreciate what it means to survive long enough to change the weather. ❞

"Yeah, and a broken neck silences a guy forever," he said, with a snort. "My knuckles know that if you come out on top, nobody fucks with you. Even the monsters barging past city limits know that." The first honest lesson taught to him by life was how to bare his teeth. His pale lip curls to show them off, but he stops himself with a scowl. Not everything in this world was trying to hurt him. "An idiot who thought he was invincible," he sighs. "Drunk, showing off at The Lady, didn't want to leave nicely."

Isaiah listened without interruption, his expression as still as carved obsidian while Alvaro spoke of broken necks and bloodied lessons. His gaze settled briefly on the vampire's restrained fangs before returning to his eyes, finding far more fatigue than menace there. ❝ A kingdom built upon fear appears unshakable...until the day its people discover they no longer fear it. Then it collapses all at once. ❞ The corner of his mouth softened into the faintest hint of understanding rather than reproach. ❝ The man at The Lady earned the consequences of his arrogance, perhaps, but I wonder if your victory was over him? Or over the boy life once convinced that only bared teeth could keep him alive? ❞ The question lingered between them, carried no sharper than the evening air.

Leon was nobody's first-pick to be a teammate, not anymore. In his youth, he'd been athletic -- a sports captain, a rising star brimming with vigor and a competitive spirit. But, now? He was older, slower, and saddled with a career-ending injury.

Iselin's eyes rolled so effortlessly they may as well have been practiced, though the faint curl tugging at one corner of her mouth betrayed that she wasn't nearly as irritated as she pretended to be. With a lazy flick of her wrist, frost crawled across the ground around Leon's boots, hardening the muddy earth into solid footing while delicate shards of ice climbed the nearby brush like crystal vines. ❝ You should thank whatever lucky star saw fit to make you handsome, ❞ she said dryly, folding her pale wings against her back. ❝ It compensates remarkably well for you thinking that I am your personal bodyguard. ❞ Her gaze drifted toward the tree line, where every rustle sounded just a little too deliberate, before returning to the strange gourd in his hand. ❝ Take what you need, old dog, but do try not to confuse confidence with immortality. I'd hate to discover your looks weren't enough to keep the wildlife impressed. ❞

"Food." He stated as if he were being interrogated like he committed a crime. "I'm here to get food." Though, of course, going to get food in the wastes was one of those answers that puzzled most people. "Why are you here?" he asked back, "to freeze over everything again?"

Iselin narrowed her eyes ever so slightly at the single, matter-of-fact answer. Food? For one dangerously misplaced heartbeat, she wondered if it was one of those dreadful flirtations people insisted on using, the sort she never seemed to recognize until several hours too late. Her gaze drifted over him from head to toe with clinical precision, and, in another life and under considerably more civilized circumstances, she might have found the notion amusing enough to indulge. Yes, I'd let him eat me. Instead, his accusation earned an exaggerated gasp, one gloved hand rising theatrically to her chest as though he had delivered the gravest insult imaginable. ❝ Freeze everything over again? ❞ she echoed, genuinely appalled. The accusation had struck a nerve, though her current predicament, being out there in the open, managed to restrain any waterworks from her face. Vulnerability is not a good look for her in public. ❝ How ambitious of you to blame me for an apocalypse I wasn't remotely responsible for. I generate ice, darling, not global catastrophes. There is a difference, subtle though it may be be for the terminally cynical, ❞ her crystalline wings caught the light as they shifted behind her, frost curling lazily around her fingers once more. ❝ And unlike you, I'm here because I happen to prefer the city remaining inhabited, safe. An unfashionable sentiment, I know. ❞

Luckily, that roar was not him, because this could have been a different story, though he had thought about it on a number of occasions, joining team roaming mutant, attack the city. No, he needed to recharge before he did any of that, so that's where he was headed into the deeper parts of the wastes, far from any civilization. "I already belong to it." He looked around the vastness before he stared at her blankly, as if she expected him to say yes to helping like an upstanding citizen. "I'm not here to help."

Iselin’s expression scarcely shifted, save for the subtle narrowing of her pale eyes as she weighed his answer against the unsettling calm with which he delivered it. For a fleeting moment, she wondered whether she had misheard him, but the silence that followed confirmed otherwise. Frost crawled over her fingertips in delicate veins before rapidly thickening into crystalline gauntlets, while behind her, vast wings of sculpted ice unfurled with a sharp crack that scattered glittering shards across the grass. ❝ You already belong to it? ❞ she repeated evenly, her voice as cold as the air now gathering around them. ❝ What exactly is that supposed to mean? If you are not here to defend the city, then why are you here? ❞ Solguard’s Snowbird held his gaze without blinking, the temperature steadily dropping as more ice coalesced around her hands into jagged, weapon-like shapes. ❝ Consider your answer carefully. I’m willing to listen, but I won’t appreciate my time being wasted. ❞

A night's wind licks his black curls, and carries the sorceresses embers towards him. "Easy with the embers," he said, as he came out from the brush. "Some of us demons are flammable."

The corners of Svetlana’s lips curved into a knowing smirk as the embers obediently dwindled, pale blue eyes settling on Alvaro with unmistakable amusement. ❝ Funny, ❞ she raised an eyebrow. ❝ I remember you being rather enthusiastic the last time I set you ablaze. ❞ A soft, wicked chuckle escaped her before she visibly winced at the word heroic, her nose scrunching with genuine distaste. ❝ Чёрт, don’t call me that. I’m no hero. If this city decides to kill me one day, I’d rather leave a crater than a legacy. ❞ Her gaze followed his own into the darkness, infernal senses catching only fragments of what his vampiric hearing had already unveiled, and one brow arched with genuine approval. ❝ Three heartbeats from that far away... Not bad. You’ve become a better hunter than I remember. ❞ Infernal fire curled lazily around her clawed fingers as she stepped beside him, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. ❝ Come. Let’s enjoy our dinner while it’s still warm. As for dessert... ❞ Her eyes slid toward him for the briefest moment. ❝ You can bend over for me later, охотник... ❞

Alvie & Your Choice || Open Starter

Isaiah's gaze drifted to Alvie's battered knuckles, lingering on the dried blood and blooming bruises as though they were verses etched into stone. He folded his arms loosely across his chest, thoughtful rather than judgmental. ❝ Violence is a strange language... It promises clarity, yet all it leaves behind are echoes and scars, ❞ his eyes lifted to meet the vampire's, wary of the predatory nature of his existence, but at the same time, experienced enough to never judge books by their bloody covers. ❝ A broken jaw may silence a man for a night but it rarely changes what made him speak in the first place. ❞ After a brief pause, he inclined his head toward the injured hands. ❝ Your knuckles seem to understand that lesson better than most. Who's the unlucky fool? ❞

Olivier & Your Choice! || Open Starter

Izumi's frown deepened as she folded her arms across her chest, regarding Olivier with a look that suggested he was being far more dramatic than the situation warranted. ❝ The Society is not meant to entertain you, Olivier. It exists so we can survive long enough to have the luxury of being bored, ❞ her gaze flicked briefly toward the supposed wings he seemed so eager to spread before returning to his face. ❝ You speak as though meetings and curfews are pointless inconveniences, but discipline keeps us hidden, and hidden keeps us alive. If all you want is excitement, then perhaps what disappoints you is not The Society, but the fact that responsibility is less glamorous than you imagined. ❞