Spiral RPG

Running

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 20:32:54 GMT

Who: Wolverine, and anyone who might happen upon him
What: Fleeing from the garden into the city from the shadows.
Where: Around the Tea house
When: Night March 09th
Rating: PG-13 (mild language, violence)
Open: yes

He dashed from one sickly pool of light to another, soon the grass became concrete and he realized he'd left the cover of the foliage behind. He dind't like this, standing in the open, in the light, but what else could he do? They were the shadow. He could smell them behind him still coming ever closer to his protective island of light. He looked around desperately, spotted another pool of light, this one a little bit brighter, coming from a lone streetlight.

He leapt, skidding on the concrete. He rolled, crashed into the lamppost, and climbed wearily to his feet. To his utter horror he realized that he could just make them out on the fringes of the light, shifting and changing, surrounding him. One of them bent and scrutinized the bloody trail his skidding had produced. He didn't know what to do now, he knew that fighting these thing was useless, they didn't cut right. He looked about for a solution, wishing he could somehow take this light with him.

His eyes traveled up the poll to that glowing globe that represented all of his hopes. An idea struck him, and extending the claws in his left hand he slashed through the poll. The pain of the electrical shock was nothing compared to watching the bulb fall, it glimmered decieved him that it would stay lit, and blinked out.

He stood now in the dark. Hearing them around him, feeling and smelling them too, his eyes adjusted to the dim moon light and he could see them, still surrounding him seeming, for the moment, content to observe.

Driven now into the corner as he was he felt there was no other option then to face these thing. Hoping against hope that he could somehow manage to escape. Somewhere, from something burried deep within his mind, he heard a small voice, fire it said.

He didn't understand where this had come from, it confused and enraged him further. He faced his tormentors and loosed a defiant roar, extending the right side claws he assumed a ready stance. His body trembled once, betraying his resolve, his claws scraping the concrete creating minute sparks. He waited...

Sat, 07 Feb 2009 03:25:15 GMT

Who: Wolverine, and anyone brave/stupid enough to brave the glass rain
What: Hunting
Where: The garden
When: Night January 25th
Rating: PG-13 (mild language, violence)
Open: yes

Wolverine moved silently through the over grown foliage, he was naked except for his dog-tags. He occasionally stopped and sniffed to ensure he was still on track. He stopped at the edge of this particular row. He could now see what his nose had told him would be there.

A raccoon crouched under a ruined trellis in front of an equally ruined fountain. It licked at the bloody stump of its right forelimb, most likely caused by the recent weather. He gauged the distance, he knew he could jump it but there was open air between his hiding place and the raccoon's. Going into the open meant being exposed to the cutting rain. He didn't like the idea, but he hadn't eaten in three days either. He had coiled himself for the spring, when the raccoon turned it's head in his direction, he saw it mask and paused. His hand went to his face as if expecting to find himself wearing a mask.

He shook his head to clear away such thoughts, thoughts? He shook himself again successfully refocusing on his prey. He flew from the bushes, The falling glass cutting his face, arms, shoulders and back. The raccoon would hear nothing save the snikt as he unsheathed his claws.

The raccoon had no time to react as Wolverine's left hand pinned it's head to the ground and his right plunged his claws through it flank. The raccoon heaved one great and pained sigh then lay still. Wolverine was still for a moment as the last of the cuts were closed and the embedded glass was forced out of his skin.

He looked uneasily all around him sniffing as well, only when he was sure he was alone did he begin to eat.

Wed, 04 Feb 2009 01:04:01 GMT

Who: Wolverine
What: His entrance
Where: An ally between two empty stores
When: Just before the rain turned to glass
Rating: PG-13 (mild language, violence)
Open: No

The first thing he noticed was the smells, familiar, city smells, water, garbage, car exhaust and so on. Then he noticed the rain, what could only be described as cold and miserable, and lastly that his body ached and that he was lying on his back on something soft with several hard things beneath it. Only then did he open his eyes.

He was in an ally, lying in a pile of bagged trash in front of an over flowing dumpster. He sat up and put his hand to his head, which was masked down to his nose. He slid his fingers under his mask and pulled it off so that it hung behind him, and rubbed his forehead.

His head felt fuzzy, and he realized that he could remember nothing about himself, not his name, his address, or most importantly right now, how he'd ended up lying in the trash in this ally. Strangely enough though he felt oddly accustomed to amnesia. He looked down at himself and saw that he wore a shirt of a yellow spandex material with black stripes around his shoulders and sides. At his waist was a belt with an encircled “X” on it's buckle and a pair of pants of the same material and color scheme as the shirt, further examination relieved that these were all one piece. Tucked into his belt was a hard plastic case, which when opened revealed two thick cigars and one empty slot, a small lighter was not far from this case. He felt some bit of metal against his chest. With his fingers he traced the small rectangles to the ball chain that kept them on his neck.

He pulled the dog tags from under his shirt. The first clue to who he was.

“Wolverine.” he read out loud, but like a domino falling this one word sparked four names in his mind :
Logan, Charles Xavier, Mutant, and Weapon X.

He had no way of knowing for sure but Logan felt like another clue to his own identity, his other name. If Logan was who he was then mutant was what he was, he was sure of this. The other two he had a more trouble placing. Who ever this Xavier guy was all He could remember was a wheel chair and a great deal of respect, and whatever Weapon X was it sent a chill up his spine.

Enough about me, he mused, let see if I can figure out where I am. There was nothing remarkable about the buildings he stood between, but when he looked up he saw that instead of stars the sky was dominated by a huge spiral staircase. I'm pretty sure it's not like that where I'm from. He stood and began to walk towards the mouth of the ally.

The wind, which was in his face, now changed direction and born upon it was a strange scent. Almost human but not quite. He proceeded down the ally slowly, the scent grew stronger, as if what ever was back there was following. He knew this feeling, the feeling of being hunted, it pissed him off. He waited, not letting on that he knew they were back there, and when they smelled as if they were right on top of him he loosed a feral roar from his chest and spun around. With a motion his muscles remembered even if his mind did not he clenched his right hand into a fist. From between his knuckles three gleaming blades, three feet long each, sprang. The pain of the claws bursting through his skin shocked him but soon faded. He slashed diagonally, felt the claws sink in with some satisfaction but then all resistance disappeared.

He jumped back trying to get a good look at what he'd cut, his nose told him they were still there but all he could see were the wavering shadows cast by an unseen moon. Releasing the claws from his left hand he stood waiting for the attack. Like something out of a nightmare the shadows seemed to flow together and become a reaching hand, He slashed at it, and again felt at first as if he'd made contact but then his claws once again passed harmlessly through. The hand retreated, but the shadows began writhing, coming together and flowing apart until they resolved themselves into at least a dozen semi-humanoid figures.

He felt a touch of fear in the back of his mind, but something savage and fierce beat it down. He stood defiantly looking at the figure that seemed to be in the center of the group.

“You're in my way, Bub. That ain't a good place to be.” He charged into the group, slashing, stabbing, kicking, growing ever more frustrated that he couldn't seem to wound what ever these things were. He growled, swore and took his fair share of knocks. He was astonished to find that, like the flesh between his knuckles, all his wounds seemed to close almost instantly. He began to fight his way toward the mouth of the ally, making good progress. He was almost out when with one final leaps towards freedom something caught his rear leg and brought him painfully to the concrete.

Tentacle-like protrusions began to wrap themselves around him attempting to hold him still. No, not again, not like this, was all he could think though he had no idea why. Finally he was wrapped and completely immobilized, wrapped tight in what felt like steel rimmed fog. He was lifted and carried some distance. All he could do was watch the sky pass by and make the most foul promises to his captors when he got free of them.

They carried him into a building, florescent lights, drop tiled ceiling, nothing remarkable. He was laid on a gurney, bound with leather straps across his chest, wrists and ankles. He struggled uselessly against his bounds, his words had long since devolved to growls and snarls of rage. They began cutting into him. This sensation brought another word up from the abyss of his fractured memory, it was associated with Weapon X, Adimantium. He thrashed and struggled as they explored deeper into him, his strange healing ability allowing them to do things that would kill a normal man.

His enraged snarls soon became whimpers of genuine terror when he felt the sensation of ice fingers in his mind. He saw images, thing that interested them he supposed. He saw many a bloodied battle field, blood on his hands, he saw the images of no less than four women, all of whom he felt he had loved at some point in his mixed up life, all of them dead, at least one by his own hand. I'm going to go crazy, he thought, disturbed that these Things were opening up his mind to chapters of his life that he himself did not have access to.

He felt something inside of him, something just beneath the surface of his rational mind break through, and he thought no more. Instinct took over and he roared and redoubled his efforts to free himself. He was writhing and snarling on the table when the Shadows apparently decided they'd seen what they had wanted to and faded back into the scenery. He heard a snap and the sound of something small and metal hitting the floor beneath him. He gave one last roar before his right hand was free, wasting no time and taking no consideration for his own safety, he began to cut himself free. Once out of the restraints he ran head on into a large window crashing through it. He landed gracefully several stories down and loosed a challenging roar into the night air.

Following his nose Wolverine found a large garden, he plunged into the depths of it, seeking the dark shelter of the foliage.

If nothing falls there'd be no sky: closed

Thu, 29 Jan 2009 15:27:03 GMT

Who: Itoshiki Mikoto
What: After deciding to seek shelter an empty store leaving becomes a huge problem.
Where: Business District, Store #4
When: January 29 (After the glass rain stops)
Rating: G
Open: Closed

The sound of crashing glass had an oddly soothing effect after having to deal with it for over a week. Mikoto almost missed its familiar echo as it hit the roof of the building. He had sought shelter when the snow came down in an empty store. Unfortunately after the snow came the glass and he ended up trapped by the unbelievable weather pattern.

His stomach had growled insistent on action but only a fool would go out into hazardous weather. One laceration out there would allow more glass to possibly get caught in the wound. He would not lower his efficiency as a doctor, even if he starved to death in the process. Thus he stayed in the store while rationing what little food he found in the upstairs living quarters.

While being held up in an abandoned store Mikoto had started to clean it out of boredom. The process slowly endeared the empty store to him; a comforting sense of normality in a mixed up world. After a week of being trapped there, he was sure that he wanted to start his new clinic here.

Now the only problem is finding enough medical supplies to keep the practice operational. He thought to himself as he descended into the empty store. A brief glance out the window confirmed that finally the glass had stopped. It wasn’t necessarily safe but the weather might bring another disaster down on his head.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much to work with to protect himself. When he had entered the city he had been indoors before. His slippers were hardly adequate to go crunching around on glass and a clicky top pen wasn’t really an adequate weapon. So once again Mikoto was trapped in the empty store with plenty of time to think about what to do next.

Cutty Shardy Glass of Doom [Log]

Sat, 24 Jan 2009 06:03:33 GMT

Who: Hyuuga Neji, Tayuya, and later, Hinata.
What: Neji further explores the strange new place he's landed in, unsure yet of what or who he'll find~
Where: The streets of Spiral, west side by the tenements.
When: Early in the glass rain.
Rating: Since Tayuya is in this thing, R for language.
Open: No, small party here. ^^

Neji had set out his newest mission already in a bad mood. Finding oneself unexpectedly in another place than one expected to be was not a pleasant sort of surprise, and Neji didn't usually care much for pleasant surprises, either. And just when he was considering sucking it up and braving through the situation, the drab rain plopping cold on his skin began to unexpectedly sting, and when he looked down, he noticed small slivers of what appeared to be glass sticking out of his skin, as if a mirror had been shattered in the silver clouds. He narrowed his eyes in annoyance at the atmosphere, as if the phenomenon that occurred in it was of it's willful accord. He tried his best to stay under shelter, but he found himself staining his white gi and his whiter skin with specks of blood all the same.

Finally, he stopped underneath the slim shelter of a rooftop, catching his breath while he gazed out at the horizon. It could let up soon. Or, with his luck, it could start raining sheet glass and hailing icicles.

Arrival into the Spiral [Log]

Fri, 23 Jan 2009 07:58:12 GMT

Who: Hyuuga Neji.
What: Neji makes his entrance into Spiral City.
Where: The staircase and the streets next to the tenements.
When: A day or more prior, when the snow is turning to rain.
Rating: PG for now, may or may not, but probably will, go up later. XD
Open: Yes.

It had been a long day. A long, hard day. His knuckles were scratched and bleeding from hitting wooden enemies all day. But the more it hurt, the stronger he knew he’d become to overcome it, and the rush in that, in getting better every day, was always as sweet as the previous day. But it had been a long day, and he was dead tired. He was putting away something in his bag when he’d opened the door to leave the office where he’s just left his report, not looking ahead because he knew what was supposed to be there. But when his eyes focused ahead of him, after letting the door close behind him, he realized very abruptly that what was supposed to be there, simply wasn’t. His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like surprises. No ninja liked surprises. He activated his anti-illusion jutsu, but there was no change in his environment. He tried a stronger one, but to no avail. He looked back to the door, but as he’d suspected, after not ever hearing it close, the door had disappeared completely. Using his shinobi speed, he raced up the stairs, figuring he’d use the roof as a vantage point. But as he’s also suspected, the stairs just kept going on and on. It was a powerful genjutsu, alright. He stopped moving upward, then, with no other option, he began to slowly descend, finding himself reaching the bottom sooner than he should have, considering how far up he’d climbed. A powerful genjutsu, but a very obvious one.

Exiting the enigmatic staircase, he started to find an entire cityscape in front of his eyes, a huge, ominous building looming over in the center. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. He’d never before heard of a genjutsu that could cover such a huge area, but since he was getting stronger every day, he had to realize that others were too. Including enemies. The genjutsu felt amazing real even to him, he, who’s superior eyes let him see the truth in almost every situation he encountered. The buildings were all in such fine detail, unlike the slight blur of a dream-like quality that most genjutsu possessed. The further away you looked, the blurrier it got, and you could eventually break a genjutsu simply by convincing yourself it wasn’t real. And to further trick his senses, it was wet with slush and melting snow and rain, the cold water droplets keeping his senses alert to all that was around him. But the further he looked, even with his Byakugan, the more he saw. A hospital’s charitable cross symbol, to the right. To the left, he saw a field of gravestone markers and a mess of plant life just beyond them. But it was that omnipresent, darkly exquisite building in the very center that drew in the eye, as if it alone among the rest of the city wanted to be seen, noticed. Or perhaps not -- Without his Byakugan, the surrounding darkness would be a much greater hindrance, though he could only imagine what he might not be able to see. A shinobi trusted his instinct, but at the moment, even his instinct wasn’t sure what was wisest to do. The only choice seemed to be to scope out the area, find vantage points, and prepare to have to use the terrain to defend himself. He only had the weapons on him now, just over a dozen kunai and shuriken, and what else was in his bag, a few spare rations, his wallet, and his identification, and maps that he wasn’t sure he could use anymore.

By random, since there seemed to be no point in trying to weigh the pros and cons of which side of the unknown terrain to search first, he set down the path to the left, finding himself surrounded on both sides by what seemed to be residential areas. Except that, according to his senses, there were far less people in the area than there was room for. In fact, the place was virtually deserted. None of it boded well with him, in fact, he was downright on edge. But he didn’t let it show. He adjusted his pack, set his eyes on the horizon, and set off.

Shinji Arrives

Sat, 17 Jan 2009 21:47:46 GMT

Who: Hirako Shinji, Sarugaki Hiyori
What: Shinji arrives in the city and his inner hollow takes the moment of confusion to seize control.
Where: The ally between Tenement 4 and 5
When: Night
Rating:PG-13 violence language
Open: No

"You all were wonderful materials." Aizen had said as he raised his sword. Something happened then but Hirako Shinji didn't get to see, he was tumbling, hearing a voice in the back of his mind that wasn't his own (yet it was?) He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable cut that would destroy him.

I'm sorry everybody, He thought regarding his friends scattered around him. All going through the same thing he was, all probably about to die, one way or another. When the final blow didn't come he opened his eyes again and was shocked to find himself no longer at the mercy of his traitorous lieutenant, but sitting on the polished wood step of a great spiral stair case.

"What the hell?" He said out loud, his own voice sounding alien to him, sounding tainted by the voice that spoke in his head. He looked up and could see no discernible end to the stair in that direction. He looked down, and while he could make out a clear exit in that direction just the sight of it sent a chill creeping up his spine, and the new darkness in his mind felt a thrill at his fear.

No question about it, I'm going up. He resolved and began in that direction, but the first few steps yielded a queer sensation under his feet.He looked down to identify this sensation and saw that with each step up he took the stairs shifted beneath him so that it seemed he hadn't moved at all. Weird, he thought, and tried to walk faster only to have the steps match his speed. With out further thought on the subject he took to the air and began running full speed, with generous use of shunpou, toward the pinnacle of this strange stair case.

After carrying on in that manner for nearly two hours, and covering a considerable distance, with still no sign of the top, Shinji grew tired and decided to take a break. The moment that his feet touched the smooth wood surface of the step beneath him, the stair case leapt into motion once again. It carried him quickly down, stopping only when it had deposited him in what he assumed was his original position on the steps.

Well, well, seems up isn't really an option. The voice sneered delightedly. Give up and go where it wants you to go.

If it means irritating you, Shinji sneered back, I'll sit right here til I starve to death. He was surprised that he'd managed to sound confident, he certainly didn't feel all that confident.

But there is a door down there, a door means civilization. the voice said reasonably yet still sneeringly. Shinji stubornly ignored it and continued to try and find a way up. Of course civilization will also put you closer to Soul Society, closer to getting your hands on Sousuke, but if you just want to die...

Shinji couldn't believe such a simple tacit had actually worked. His head filled with murderous thought aimed at his former leuitenant he stood and begen to decend the stairs. I hate to admit it but you've got a point. I'm doing this because I want to though, not because you talked me into it.

Now he had reached the door. He felt a dark dread lay just beyond it, but with a resolute face and a deep sigh he opened the door and stepped through.

Hirako Shinji tumbled into space, and landed hard on a pile of broken glass. He'd been confused and frightened, on the stair case but once he'd hit this new atmosphere the voice within grew stronger, and he grew angrier. The wound in his shoulder throbbed, and as he watched the blood ceased and white stuff, it looked like liquid bone, began to flow over and seal it. To his horror when it reached the peak of the wound it branched out and began covering his arm.

What the hell is happening to me? He wondered desperately.

Just relax, it'll be over soon, the cold voice whispered in his head. It was stronger now, it began to seep into his conscious mind. He felt as if a hole had opened in his heart, or rather the hole was his heart...

Dropping down on all fours he roared his hunger into the night. he stretch luxuriously in this place that seemed built for him. He sniffed the air. He coiled his legs beneath him and sprang into the night, leaving deep groves in the concrete from his claws, he was hungry after all and there were several tasty smelling things in this place.

For a moment, she caught a faint flare of reiatsu. A familiar faint flare of reiatsu. Eyes widening slightly, Hiyori raised her head, expression changing as she drew blond eyebrows together into a frown. It couldn't be...

Shinji..?

And yet, as she felt the energy signature flare again, this time angry and wild, tinged with the dark and potent flavour that she knew so well, there was no mistaking it. No mistaking that sense, that feeling. She knew him, knew him as well -- ok, better than -- she knew all of her comrades, and it wasn't as though she was about to just forget what his reiatsu felt like. Even if he WAS a stupid, dickface baldy.

Growling slightly to herself, the blond pushed herself to her feet with a scowl, hooking fingers into the pockets of her sweatsuit. Damn idiot Shinji. Whatever the hell was going on, he was either having fun without her, or he was fucking something up again. Stepping over to the window, brown eyes stared out at the heavy snowfall, large irregular flakes whirling in the icy wind, drifts already building up even farther. It was dangerous out there. But... annoying as he could be... it was Shinji. He was one of them. Scowling, Hiyori climbed up onto one of the many stacks of crates scattered around her warehouse, leveraging her shoulder against a dusty window. With a sharp creak as stiff metal shifted, the vaizard shoved the pane open. Scrambling out with a muttered curse, she made her way towards the feeling of the reiatsu, gritting her teeth and slipping into shunpou as she felt the raw power surge again. Something was wrong...

One scent in particular caught his attention. He grinned someone he knew.

"A little going away gift for you." He purred, as the small voice pleaded. He twitched excitedly as he jumped onto the roof of a nearby building, chunks of accumulated snow tumbling off of the eaves. He turned his head this way and that, trying to get a direction on the scent that wafted through the driving snow.

How sweet, dinner is being delivered. He grinned and settled down for the ambush.

She didn't know how, or why for that matter, but that didn't change the fact that not only was Shinji here, in this dark, twisted place, but something was wrong. It reminded her of the time years ago, when they'd all been so new at this, so unsure in where their path was going to take them, what was going to happen with them. And that fact chilled her to the bone, even more than the biting wind and blowing motes of icey precipitation. She knew that sense, that wild, raw twisting energy, the bitter edge that limned his reiatsu with an eerie gleam.

The Hollow. Which in and of itself didn't make sense. Not because it was strange to feel the taste/scent of Shinji's reiatsu mixed with the darker sense of the Hollow, but because right now... she couldn't feel Shinji hardly at all. And that actually sparked something akin to fear in her heart, something she ruthlessly damped down as she ran.

Shinji didn't lose his control, hadn't for years. But if he had.....

Growling again, she pushed off the concrete harder, shunpou speeding up and sending clouds of powdered white flying behind her as she streaked through the wintery cityscape. Whatever was going on, she had to figure it out. And if she needed to kick his stupid, hat-wearing ass.... well, then she'd just have to do it.

He repressed a gleeful snicker as he saw her coming into view, she looked different though. The red clothes she was wearing would only blend with her blood, he'd just have to spill it on that white undershirt. He felt the other one trying to struggle back into the fore-ground but in this place he'd have to do a lot better than that.

The cero formed at his fingertips as he watched, waiting for her, waiting til she was right underneath him.

Taking the bait? He sneered, you never were very bright.

"Scream for me little monkey!" He screamed delightedly as he fired the cero at the mouth of the ally, closing her in. He decided to make things more interesting, he drew the blade that hung from the remnants of his belt, the sword screamed at his touch and that delighted him more. He leaped, bearing down on her and laughing wickedly.

She hardly had any time to react before the cero crashed into the alleyway, sending debris and melted snow raining down on her. Thankfully, her reflexes were still sharp, and she managed to evade most of it with a lurid curse that turned into a startled exclamation as he bore down on her. It was all she could do to yank her sheathed zanpakutou around in front of her, gritting her teeth at the shrieking crash as metal bit into the saya, the force of his blow sending her skidding backwards. The snow didn't help, her feet slipping on the slick, icy pavement, digging into piled drifts as she slid back into them. Panting, she growled, scraping bangs out of her face to stare at him.

If she hadn't seen it for herself once before, she wouldn't have known it was him. But Shinji it was, the Shinji she'd seen years ago, the one she -- along with the others -- had fought against in those first few days, while they'd struggled to get control. But... it didn't make sense. Even before, over the century they'd spent in exile, she'd only seen Shinji lose his control a scant handful of times, and not once had he transformed this far. Scowling, she snarled at him, oblivious to the shudders of cold that were sliding across her skin, the redness that was rapidly appearing as the icy winds buffeted her exposed flesh.

"The fuck, Baldy. Quit playin' around, or I'll hafta kick yer ass all over again."

"You won't get the chance." He sneered. "Come on, show me what you can do."

He thrust his claws towards her face. His other hand brought the sword around, thrusting the tip down for her eyes. His sword hand hesitated, he looked to it and saw his armor receding. So as long as I hold this you can act out, is that it? He threw down the sword and felt the armor returning.

You're not getting this body back. he sneered.

Dodging out of the way, she retreated slightly, an uncommon move for her. But it wasn't because she was afraid to fight him -- she wasn't -- it was because... he wasn't him. Twisting her wrist, she brought her blade up to bat his out of the way, the blade scraping against his hierro. Damn armour. Skidding backwards again, she crouched for a moment in the snow, watching him.

Fine, if he was going to be like this... well, then she'd just have to beat the hell out of him until he couldn't fight anymore. Gripping her sword in one hand, she held up her other hand in front of her face, feeling the reiatsu surge as the familiar white bone smoothness coalesced. Clenching fingers around the edge of the mask, she flashed him a feral grin.

"A'right Baldy... ya wanna play rough... then I'll play rough!"

Yanking the mask down, she pushed off, leaving a cloud of ice in her wake, blade slicing up towards him through the flying snow.

He jumped back, the blade missing his face by inches. He regarded the mask.

"Hm, that's a cute mask. Has someone new come out to play with me?" He said, as he landed and lunged forward, launching three balas in rapid succession. He jumped up and landed gracefully behind her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her in front of the energy balls.

"Don't worry they won't kill you," he whispered into her ear then licked it, "just tenderize you a little, so I don't have to chew so much."

She fought back the shudder, comprised mostly of revulsion, partly of cold, and partially of something else she couldn't place, and smirked. He really thought she was that easy to deal with?

"Don't think yer... gonna get the chance, dickface."

Twisting slightly, she curled her fingers slightly and wrenched her arm nearly out of it's socket, slamming the energy of the cero into his stomach. Let's see how he liked that. Using the opportunity to dodge the bala -- or at least, mostly dodge it, as the energy singed her hair and burned her shoulder and upper arm. Biting back a hiss of pain and a grimace at the scent of charred flesh, she took enough time to pause and think. She couldn't just fight like she usually did. It wasn't just the fucking blizzard she had to contend with now. There wasn't any Hachi here to put her arms back on, or work barriers and binding kidou. Not that she couldn't work a perfectly good kidou herself, she just... didn't like it.

But that was still preferable to possibly dying, at least that was the thought in her head as she spun, furiously muttering incantations before she let the binding spell fly at him. If she was lucky, it would pin him to the wall and she could... if necessary.... do what they'd all once sworn to do, should control falter.

The cero had taken him by surprise and knocked the wind out of him. He roared angrily and rushed forward again, but the kidou, kidou?had found its mark and carried him to the alley wall.

"Clever little girl." He said as he grasped the crackling energy and pulled it away from him, but this would have been more effective. He delved into his memories and found what he wanted.

"Bakudou no. 69 Rikujyokoro." He sent the spell flying. He grinned and began running charging her.

Her eyes widened as she tried to dodge, breath coming in a pained grunt as she slipped on the ice, faltered and felt ribs crack as the spell connected, fingers gripping at the crackling yellow beams, sword hilt still clutched tightly in one hand. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Sure, he was better at kidou than she was, but she sure as hell hadn't expected this form to actually USE it. Still trying to break the kidou, she coughed, tasting the coppery tang of blood in her throat.

That wasn't good. Coupled with the way her chest felt so constricted, she could guess that she had at least a couple of broken -- hell, they were probably shattered -- ribs and a collapsing lung. Stupid fucking baldy.... Gritting her teeth, she readied the blade as best she could, still barely able to move. If she was gonna die, she sure as hell wasn't gonna make it easy for him.

The hollow batted the sword away and grabbed her pinning her arms to her sides he sank his teeth into her shoulder, but before he could tear free that first savory morsel he felt the curious sensation of someone grabbing his ankle.

He was pulled down away from reality and into the confines of their shared mind. The hollow looked at HIM standing there blade naked in his hand.

"Oh, we were just getting to the good part." He hissed.

"Show is over." Shinji responded and charged.

On the outside, his body, now without a mind, could no longer sustain the kidou. He stumbled back from the sudden drain. He howled like a wounded animal and fired a cero as he retreated.

Her cry of pain at the teeth in her shoulder broke off in a choked grit of teeth. No. She would NOT cry out, not like that. If she was going to die, she wasn't going to give him the fucking satisfaction. And then suddenly... she felt the kidou vanish as teeth ripped their way free of her shoulder and clawed hands let go, her slight form dropping in a bloodied heap to the white-covered pavement, her shaking form rapidly gathering a dusty coat of white. Shakily, she dug the point of her sword into the thickening snow, levering herself up onto it with gritted teeth.

Not good. She'd lost more blood than she'd realized, and it didn't help that she could feel her own mask chipping away, the Hollow's power fading as she tried in vain to hold onto it. Raising her head, she blinked hazily through a blinding whiteout of snow, and caught a glimpse of him just long enough for the cero to hit her directly in the face, the energy striking and shattering the remains of her mask, sending her small body flying backwards to slam into the brick wall with a sickening thud before sliding down into a snowdrift, a silent heap of red fabric and blond hair.

The hollow without saw his prey take the hit and doubled back. He loomed over her and sniffed cautiously.

Shinji and the hollow clashed in the sky with the pyramid pointing accusingly at them and the desert looking ready to fall at any moment. Shinji looked across the crossed swords at the hollow wearing his face, grinning HIS grin.

"Even if you beat me here it's too late to save her." The hollow cackled. Shinji kicked, connecting with the hollow's stomach and then slashed vertically up, cutting the hollow's chest shallowly.

"If she dies you're going to wish I'd killed you." Shinji bellowed and thrust savagely, there was the repulsive sound of metal grinding against metal and then the satisfying thunk of the blade sinking into flesh.

The Hollow looked wide eyed at him for a moment, then grinned and shrugged.

"I'll be back, you'd better be ready. She won't be around to buy you time when next we meet." The hollow said as it dissolved.

The outer hollow straightened up abruptly and a vertical crack appeared up it chest. The armor fell to the left and right, leaving just Shinji in his haori and shihakushou, the mask remained. He felt he needed to lie down but he fought that down and knelt down next to Hiyori.

"Thank you, Retsu." He said, almost as a prayer, as he began working the highest level healing Kidou he could recall.

Hours seemed to pass before the worst of Hiyori's wounds finally closed, his efforts constantly thwarted by the angry roar of the storm around them, the freezing cold that was rapidly sapping warmth and life from her. He left scrapes and bruises to nature as he could no longer fight back the exhaustion. He collapsed, sprawling across Hiyori's small body, the snow beginning to pile up around and over them.

Lelouch Lamperouge - Arrival : Open

Fri, 16 Jan 2009 06:10:21 GMT

Who: Lelouch Lamperouge
What: Lelouch arrives in Spiral City under otherworldly circumstances and is is greeted by a bizzard.
Where: The staircase, the Church gate, inside a dingy dilapidated Victorian estate
When: Nao?
Rating: G....for now. (Violence, torture, language all sure to come!)
Open: Obviously.

Bright lavender eyes strained to suppress an arsenal of tears as they swelled behind the sinuses of a timid little brunette.

"Onii-sama, I love you!" she pleaded, burying her face into a limp bloody hand.

Dulling violet eyes lifted slightly -sightlessly as the man behind them struggled to push his failing organs to allow him to reply.

"Yes...I....destroy...worlds.." There was a deafening pause as Lelouch vi Britannia forced his reluctant lungs to fill with enough air to finish. The dim silhouette of his sister was fading fast, the rest of the world with it.

"...create...worlds..." His vocal chords gave out as the last traces of air escaped his heavy lungs. The pain which had engulfed his entire being stemming from the gaping hole just below his ribcage had now almost deadened. For the moment, he thought it almost...felt good to...not breathe..

'Oh, Nunnally..' he thought to himself as his consciousness faded. '..don't you see? I created the perfect world for you. Please don't cry..'

The prince's defeated body lay there motionlessly for a few more short moments as the roar of the cheering crowd surrounding them slowly grew silent within his ears. His mind lost all sense of gravity. The last bit of feeling left the man's body as the dull shadow of his sister gradually merged with the darkness of its surroundings.

As the ever-tense body of a war criminal went completely limp, the glazed tired eyes which once posed a threat to so many sunk shut forever.

"Onii-sama-? No! Open your eyes! Onii-sama! ONII-SAMA!!-"

The panicked voice of his sister echoed and faded to silence in his mind. Time and space melted away as his soul began to fall back through dimensions and into the oblivion between them. In a state of pseudo-consciousness, he found himself floating blindly through the space, racing towards something that his tired mind was too sedated to comprehend. And then suddenly, chaos broke as the wall of oblivion gave way to existence, and he was suddenly flying forth through something that was very clearly air. Gravity once again regained its grip on the discarded prince and hatefully pulled him downward. All of his senses returned to him and he inadvertently let out a startled yelp as skull connected with the cold concrete of a curious staircase, the rest of his body flying over him, sending him into a chaotic tumble down the structure that muchly resembled the plummet he took off his throne. Only...bumpier.

When his momentum finally gave out, his now already re-marred spiritual body came to a rest awkwardly on the stairs, head facing downwards and legs sprawled out behind him. He groaned and stiffly lifted his upper body, clenching his teeth and bringing a hand up to his bleeding forehead. "Oooowwwwwwww..." he asserted in a notably agitated tone. Sitting himself up into a more sensible position, he rubbed his eyes thoroughly before daring to open them for the first time since he'd closed them back in the living world. There was a short pause before the scenery apparently made an impact on his mind. "Stairs-!?" he exclaimed in confusion. Stairs; the bane of his existence. Why were any such exhausting things ever implemented into architecture? "Oh good! I have to take the stairs to hell.." He sighed frustratedly and stood, dusting himself off to lean slightly over the edge of the center of the structure and gaze upwards into the never ending spiral. His eyelids leveled a bit as he frowned and cast his gaze down to the sight of a much closer ground . "Yeah, I get it; I'm supposed to go down.." he growled, pulling himself back into the safety of the staircase and taking the first few steps of his inevitable descent. "As if I weren't fully aware.." the latter part of his sentiment fluctuated to address whatever divine beings had ruling over his soul.

Sighing, he stuck his hands in his pockets, continuing to make his way downward at a moderate, dignified pace. "..but it was all for a purpose," he reaffirmed to himself calmly. Though he couldn't shake Nunnally's devastated, desperate image from his mind. "...it was for a purpose...she will be happy now.." He paused for a moment and frowned slightly before shaking the doubt from his mind and continuing on. "Stairs.." he reiterated.

Eyes drifting to the side as he walked, he gazed curiously at the doors lining the descent. Looking into a reflective black window on one of them, he observed himself casually. He didn't look any different than he had in the living world. He even-...his eyes were still blood-red, the terrible birdlike symbol glowing in both of them. His soul was branded for eternity, he figured. The actual power itself was probably useless now. That horrible mark only served to single him out as a hardened geass user -the most disgraceful among the damned..

He was no longer dressed in his royal garments. Instead, he was wearing a simple black tailcoat lined in gold, white frills spilling out black gold-lined cuffs, a button-up grey vest, and a black cravat tucked underneath it pinned in the middle with a single red button. It was simple, but dark and elegant. He liked it. Arching an eyebrow at his spindly reflection, he let out a single arrogant huff of approval and he moved a white-gloved hand up to straighten his coat. He closed his eyes as he turned from the he window and continued down the row of doors.

He passed several more of them before stopping in front of one and eyeing it over with bland caution. He stared at it for a few moments and frowned. "Tsh." Rolling his eyes, he gripped the doorknob and turned it. There was no use in lending caution to things now. The gods were going to punish him however well they liked, and no amount of precaution on his part was going to do anything to avert them. As far as he was concerned, walking straight into his fate saved him the trouble.

Stepping over the threshold blindly, he suddenly found himself falling -but not a very long distance. It was more like a few feet, but nonetheless his inept body wound up landing face-flat...in the snow? The cold burned his skin through his clothing almost instantly on impact and his back arched harshly as he sprang alertly to his feet. The harsh gale-force winds of a blizzard enveloped him, searing his skin and rushing up his nose, threatening to suffocate him. Coughing and lifting an arm to shield his face, he fought to keep his footing as the gusts battered his body. His scrawny frame may well have been snatched up by the winds and tossed around like a rag had half of him not been submerged in snow.

'..th-this is...the ninth layer!' he thought to himself as he wrapped his other arm tightly about his ribcage, thoroughly convinced that he'd earned himself a spot in the most foul part of Hell.

Bracing his eyes against the wind, he dared to look up and squintilly peered through the nearly-solid wall of white, expecting to see somewhere through the flurry the shadow of the devil, chained there in all of his atrocity. But instead as he squinted, he saw something else. His eyes widened and eyebrows narrowed in confusion. A church!? A church in hell-!? Great, he had the luxury of being subjected to denunciation before being thrown into the pit.

But he didn't have the time to think about it. Not that he had the choice; he felt that his brain cells would freeze over if he stood there much longer. Wading through the snow drifts, he floundered hastily towards the gates of the church and flung his hands onto the bars dramatically. Using the bars to stabilize himself, he called out through the gates. "Hello-!? Is there anyone here!?!" he pleaded, wide glazed eyes tempting to frost over. He stood there clinging to the gate in desperacy for a few moments wheezing and coughing, his weak lungs no match for the frigid air.

That's when he realized it; there would be no one. No help. No solace. No respite. The church was merely a front, there to taunt him as he suffered a continual state of dying. This would be his eternity. Digesting the thought, his shoulders sank and his eyes drifted numbly to the ground as his hands slid down the bars and he dropped limply to his knees. If this was going to be eternity for him, he might as well get used to it; fighting it would only make it worse.

He hovered there for a moment before turning his body around slightly and laying exhaustedly down in the snow.

((ooc: Oh. My. GOD. That was TORTURE. Ever feel like you can't make yourself cry? Yeah? Okay, try this; take one of the saddest, most beautifully-orchestrated character deaths in fucking anime history, scrutinize it detail-for-detail, re-write it in detail your own words from that character's perspective, attempt to do it justice, then come back to me and tell me you haven't cried. Wowsa! THAT was a heart-wrencher! T---T))

Mikoto Itoshiki - Running like a fool: Closed

Sun, 04 Jan 2009 19:08:58 GMT

Who: Mikoto Itoshiki, Allelujah Haptism
What: After much panicked running. Mikoto makes his way to The Gate of the church
Where: The Gate
When: Sometime after the party
Rating: G
Open: Closed, Completed

Somehow he had gotten lost between here and there. He was sure of it as time was hard to follow in such a strange place. What a fool he had been to wander without realizing where he was going or asking for help. How many times could one circle about endlessly on himself before he found his way?

What he had believed to be a dream had faded and when it had he was left in the same clothes he wore when he entered the city. However it left doubts in his mind. His doubts grew in the pitch dark feeding off the fear that surfaced as he noticed the peculiar emptiness the city possessed. Paranoia seeped into his mind as Mikoto continued to try to make his way to the church.

“What if she wasn’t real? What if none of this was real? Why am I here?”

He had talking to himself softly in the darkness as he wished to assume he was alone whether it was right or not.

“What if she was lying to me? What if she’s the one who makes this place dangerous? I trusted her. She was the first person I’ve seen in this odd place and I trusted her? Who does that sort of thing? Stupid! Stupid! STUPID!”

Mikoto looked about cautiously as if he expected something to attack him for suddenly being so loud. However without anything familiar around him to help guide his way the doctor refused to enter the dark buildings. Therefore he continued on with his plan as it was his only option.

In a desperate effort he decided just to run for what he could see of the church. He traveled quickly barely stopping to catch his breath because of the intense desperation to find someone or something recognizable again. Unfortunately, upon arriving at near the church Mikoto realized that it was actually still just out of reach. A gate prevented him from moving and farther. Out of breath and exhausted the doctor sank down on his knees. He wiped the sweat from his face and covered his face with his hands.

Mikoto Itoshiki - Arrival: Closed

Thu, 25 Dec 2008 04:49:39 GMT

Who: Mikoto Itoshiki
What: The doc goes a door and ends up somewhere odder than usual.
Where: Spiral Staircase
When: Xmas Eve
Rating: General Audience Approved (G)
Open: No

The silence of the clinic was eerie. Mikoto had a love/hate relationship with after work hours. Mainly it was the frustration that despite how few patients he had, he always ended up staying late and doing a lot of stuff himself. The young doctor grabbed a clipboard and headed off the supply closet to do inventory.

(I hate it when it’s like this. It’s like death really is looming over me.)

He reached for the door knob and entered the stairwell unaware. It was instinctive to enter a well used door and not expect the world to change between entering and leaving. Thus he was trapped before he even realized something was wrong. Mikoto froze when he noticed very obviously this was not his supply closet.

“Ah?! What is all this?”

He ran to the rail of the stairs and looked around. Mikoto stumbled back surprised that this was no practical joke. In the process his clipboard over the edge and he listened to see if it would land. A clacking noise against stone confirmed the worse. There really was a giant spiral staircase and an underground city in his clinic closet.

“How did I miss this?”

Mikoto turned his back and tried go back the way he came. The door was gone. A sinking feeling over took the doctor as he realized he was trapped. Left with no choice Mikoto followed the stairs downward towards his clipboard.

“What is this place? Some sort of mole people society?”

He muttered out loud looking about the dark cityscape. There was an unusual flare to the atmosphere as it appeared to be some sort of festival in progress. Mikoto frowned. He was hardly dressed for such an occasion or was he?

[ooc: I didn’t want to muck up the Party with this if it wasn’t acceptable. *heads for the party thread* ]

Gothic Christmas Party - Open to All

Wed, 24 Dec 2008 20:03:10 GMT

Light in the city... is a tremulous and tentative thing. Even in the brightest of days, those faint shimmering rays only break through the darkness in hesitant and quavering beams to pockmark the dusty pavement below with their impotent promises of hope. But hope is not a thing that lives long in this place.

As the sun -- perhaps it is a sun, perhaps not -- rises to it's highest point, then begins it's abrupt descent into the maddening darkness once again, the City itself seems to change. As the first faint chime of rusted and long-silent bells begins to break across the facade of grey and black, there can be seen the faintest glimmer, almost a shimmering beginning at the corners of one's vision. It centers on the church, as though the towering and shadowed edifice of night is the source, perhaps the origin of this strange scintillation in the air. And as the bells begin to toll yet again, their quaking and brittle voices growing steadily stronger, the ripple spreads outward, like a circular pattern from a stone thrown into a still pool. Leaving a very different sight in it's wake.

Battered streetlights, crooked and worn railings and window embrasures, all night-kissed by the phenomenon, and all suddenly transformed. Dark cracked marble, black wrought iron, swirling up into towering candleabras dripping hot wax from thick taper candles onto the lush petals of midnight-dark roses twisted with deep green holly into thorny adornment upon those same walls. Even the streets seem to change, their worn pavement and asphalt giving way to slick black cobblestones veined in deep bloodred marble.

Even the air seems thicker, heavy and weighted with exotic perfumes and the icy harsh kiss of winter, swirling around you in a heady and intoxicating perfume. This is the night's hour, given over fully to the enticing and alluring scents, smells, and tastes of a time long-since past. A time filled with nigh-sinful pleasures and indulgences. A time, perhaps... when pleasure was bought at a heavy price....

[ooc: So welcome, all, to the gothic christmas party. Essentially, this is a city-wide event, a phenomenon that has changed the City itself, centered on the Church. Think of it like an enormous street-fair, Christmas themed, yet in a darkly gothic way. The streets are still strangely empty, as if this party has been set and yet no guests have appeared. There are long tables lining some streets towards the center, set with any conceivable sort of delicacies, but do remember that not all such treats are entirely benevolent. Be prepared for highly-sinful stuff, so that means strong wine, decadent candies and chocolates, etc. And the strange thing about this feast is the very feeling in the air, as though it is all too easy to get carried away by your sensations and leave sensibilities to the wind. All denizens of the City will find that their normal clothing has disappeared -- it's up to you if you want them to be suddenly-nekkid in the street. >D -- and has instead been replaced by finery in an equally dark and sinful style, things that just drip and reek of indulgence, opulence, and decadence. Think high-gothic gowns, tuxedos, velvet and lace and frills and all the works. This post is open to all players in the RP, and you may feel free to have your own mini-logs within it, however we ask that you not create additional "party" logs, unless they specifically deal with events away from the party-proper. Thank you, and enjoy. - Neko]

Open log- Arrival

Wed, 24 Dec 2008 02:53:46 GMT

Who: Allelujah Haptism and WHOEVER~
What: Allelujah finally wanders down from the staircase after taking ample time to consider if this was all an extended hallucination or not.
Where: The base of the staircase, entrance of the city.
When: RIGHT NOW.
Rating: PG-13. Alle's a little confused and might be jumpy.
Open: Yes plz!~ Jump in whenever you want!

------

It wasn't a dream. It wasn't an illusion. It wasn't a hallucination or delusion, his deprived senses making up impossibilities to free his mind from the imprisonment. The longer he stayed here, the more certain he was of this fact. The walls felt so real- the stairway was firm under him. All the physics that he remembered were correct. It was a world that made sense.

...Except for when it didn't. He had waited, upon arriving- having been shuffling from a transfer in the facility to suddenly appearing on these stairs. He knew it had to be a dream. But upon trying to move up.... he went no where. It was like the impossibilities of an Escher drawing, an eternal circling stairway, going forever upwards and forever nowhere. But this place was real.

...You thought that about a lot of things. The back of his mind, strangely empty and quiet without his vicious split personality, meekly chastised him. He thought Hallelujah would stay with him always. He had thought maybe, after Celestial Being finished their goal, he could live a normal life.

He had thought he could save Marie.

...None of those were true, were they?

...He supposed not.

So perhaps this place wasn't true either. Glumly, he had set out to attempt walking downwards, finding himself growing closer to the city below. His arms bound to his chest, unable to move, the restraints still hanging from him like a dog that had escaped its master's grip... he had no idea what he would do upon arrival. What could he do? Look for help. For aid. Explain that he wasn't the monster they all thought he was. Try and find a sympathizer. Perhaps someone who had agreed with Celestial Being's goal?

Mismatched, metallic eyes chanced a look up, the dark circles under them only giving him a more haunted appearance, right above the metal of the muzzle. That was all he could hope for- someone to find him that wasn't part of the Federation's military.

...Maybe Marie would come find him. She was in the military, right? She would convince them. Contented with this thought, Allelujah shifted slightly in the straitjacket, the leather leads dragging behind him as he slowly began to make his way into the city.

Adam Monroe : Ghost of Christmas Past : Closed, Finished

Mon, 22 Dec 2008 12:26:04 GMT

Who: Adam Monroe
What: Ghost of Christmas Past Event
Where: In the garden.
When: Sometime not long after Adam gets his gift
Rating: PG
Open: Nah. Just Adam reaping the price for his gift and seeing a ghost from his past. It's not really that great and it's rushed, but I don't think I'll have any other opportunity to get it posted today. No one needs to really read it, but it sets the stage for him to be moody about it later.

Bokura wa kitto matteru kimi to mata aeru hibi wo sakura namiki no michi no ue de
"Surely we're waiting for the day we can see each other again on the street lined with cherry blossom trees"

Midday? It was difficult to tell the time of day, to keep track of how much time had passed.

Adam hadn't been able to bring himself to return to the darkness of his temporary residence, so he'd kept moving. Over the box, down the stairs, out the door and through a cemetery which had left him feeling somewhat melancholy and reflective. He had stopped moving shortly after he passed under the arched entryway of the garden, which was where he found himself now.

Mirage. It had to be a mirage, because it couldn't be real. Not in purgatory or in hell could a woman so beautiful (more importantly this woman) exist. And yet, somehow, there she was. Her back was to him, but it didn't take a face for him to recognize her.

Not this woman.

He tried to call to her, but it felt as though the words stuck in his throat, a hollow feeling wrenched at his chest and he felt sick.

Four centuries of living had done little to heal his heart - it still ached at the thought of her. Four centuries had done little to assuage his fury at Hiro Nakamura for his betrayal. And yet, somehow, he had forgotten her name. He, Adam, John, Takezo, a hundred names and a thousand lifetimes - the man who taught an amnesiac how to heal his own mind using the same power that sustained him - had managed, somehow, to forget the three syllables that could bridge the gap and make her turn. The uttered sounds that would make her see him, recognize him, remember him.

Hime. It wasn't right, but it was something. She was his princess, or so the legends had come to say. His, perhaps, or Hiro Nakamura's.

No. She was his.

He grimaced, shook away thoughts of his rival, and focused. His hand tightened instinctively on the sword he held loosely at his side - the sword he had decided earlier that her father must have made. The old man's profession, after all, suited that theory quite nicely.

"Hime-ko," he called, his voice coming out as more of a whisper than he'd intended, as though it had been swallowed up into the same void as his memory.

She turned then, at the sound, rather than the correct name and he sucked in a breath, feeling his heart contract painfully. Again, her name died in his throat, a whisper across his lips.

"Hime-ko."

Again, a poor substitute, but who was he to argue if it was truly her name or not? She had responded and he couldn't remember anyway. Perhaps it was - a princess through and through.

She smiled sadly as she regarded him, a wistful look that made her all the more beautiful. He moved forward then, as though her acknowledgment broke the spell over his body, and without thinking, he approached her, reaching out to cup her face in his hand. He leaned down and kissed her gently, taking her into his arms in an embrace he'd longed for for lifetimes.

She gently guided him down to sit beneath the tree, and he followed her lead, letting her lean into him. They sat, together, beneath the sakura tree, a legend painted from eons past.

Presently, he began to realize how much he'd exerted himself walking and how poor his sleep had been the night before. Her presence was soothing, and he felt warm and relaxed. He could almost feel the sun if he closed his eyes, despite the absence of its presence.

Adam drifted, and when he woke, he woke in a blizzard of Sakura petals and Yaeko was gone.

[OOC: I make no claims against the accuracy of the hirigana used in my LJ-cut text. The lyrics are from "Sakura" by Naotarou Moriyama.]

Adam Monroe : Gift of Memories : Closed, Finished

Sun, 21 Dec 2008 11:48:51 GMT

Who: Adam Monroe
What: Adam's Gift of Memories
Where: Adam's apartment; 4-303
When: The morning after this log with Henry
Rating: G
Open: No, this is just a quick one-post with Adam receiving his gift and losing his memories.

Morning?

Adam wasn't woken to light streaming in the window, not that he was particularly accustomed to such a thing on a regular basis. Still, the darkness left him feeling somewhat disoriented. He had no idea how long he had been asleep, or, at first, where he was.

The memories filtered back in slowly as he lay, staring up into the darkness, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. After awhile, he could pick out shapes, vague and looming like specters waiting silently.

Swinging his feet down out of the bed, he let the blankets fall back. The room was a satisfying temperature - just cold enough to send a shiver through him when his feet touched the floor. He slipped his clothes on and picked his way carefully across the room, avoiding the largest of the shapes with relative ease.

The icebox, he noticed after a quick inspection, was the only thing stocked in the apartment. His stomach grumbled loudly. He couldn't starve to death, but that didn't mean he didn't suffer from hunger, the same as anyone else.

Opening the door, he noticed long white box lying somewhat haphazardly just beyond the threshold. The light in the hallway was better, illuminated by small dome-shaped lights in the ceiling that glowed a dull, unpleasant orange color - better but not great. Adam bent to inspect the box, and noticed then that there was a small white envelope affixed to the front of it. He bent and tore the envelope off the box and thumbed it open. Inside was a small white card adorned with flowing bold black brush strokes.

剣聖武蔵
Kensei Takezo

The envelope fluttered to the floor released from Adam's slack fingers.

Recovering slightly from the shock, he crouched down and opened the box, surprised to find his hands were shaking just slightly. Only one thing, he knew, could be in a box this shape, addressed to that name.

"Jiyuutou," he breathed, reaching into the box and confirming his own suspicions. He ran his hands over the sword almost reverently, eyes distant, remembering. How many years had he had this sword now? How many centuries had he known it, lost, found and lost again, always seemingly drawn back to him, somehow.

And yet, as he grasped it, pulling it from its sheath with a practiced flourish, he struggled to recall exactly where he had first crossed paths with it.

He turned it over in his hand, appreciating the glint of the light off its blade, thinking. Thinking of the princess, the swordsmith's daughter he'd given his heart to so many centuries ago; a wound that still cut him as deeply as he knew this blade could go. Deeper. Adam swallowed down a bitter laugh. Of course, it must have been hers, her father's. Just a sword.

And yet, he thought, sheathing it, so much more. A lost appendage come home to re-stitch itself to his body. Inseparable.

[OOC: It will become more apparent later exactly what memory Adam has lost here.]

Log: Open

Sun, 14 Dec 2008 15:56:29 GMT

Who: Kuchiki Rukia and anyone she comes across.
What: Rukia wanders the City in search of anything familiar.
Where: Mostly the rooftops, but she's ranging pretty far.
When: Dec. 14, morning.
Rating: PG
Open: Definitely, the girl needs some interaction.

Straw met concrete with a soft impact, waraji touching down onto the rough facade of the building's roof as the slight figure landed, dropping down into a crouch as she did, one small hand still resting -- always ready, always prepared -- on the hilt of the sword at her hip. She froze there, stance perfectly still as violet eyes scanned the landscape -- if it could be called that -- around her, looking for any sign of... well, anything that seemed even remotely familiar.

Still nothing... No reiatsu, no sign of anything... just this place.

Straightening up, Rukia frowned, dark brows drawing together in frustration as she continued scanning the city skyline. What she was looking for, she wasn't really certain of, but it wasn't as though that was a deterrent to her determination. Closing her eyes, she relaxed fractionally, stretching out with her senses. Perhaps, if she couldn't see anything familiar, she could sense it.

Her motions stilled for a moment, the only movement the rippling of midnight tresses as the slight wind caught in her short hair, lifting it away from her face to rustle like a dark silken fringe. After a moment, indigo-hued irises opened again with an irate look.

It doesn't matter if I can sense anything if there's all this... stuff in the way!

"Stuff" wasn't really an accurate word, but then she couldn't come up with a fitting term to describe the sense of roiling, heaving energy she felt in this place, the phantom voices and hints of energy that pulled at her from all different directions. It was like hearing the faintest echo of something, of voices caught and filtered by the wind, a constant seething net of spiritual energy that somehow dulled and hindered her own senses, kept her from the clarity that she normally had, the ease with which she could generally pick out the spiritual signature of someone she knew.

Ichigo wasn't here, she was relatively certain of that, not only because of the fact that she doubted even this interference would have been able to mask the orange-head's wildly out of control reiatsu, but because she just... knew. That fact was both a welcome one, and an irritating one, because while she was glad that she knew he wasn't here, at the same time it was aggravating to try and puzzle out just how she knew.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she once again gripped Sode no Shirayuki's hilt and pushed off, sending herself airborne towards the next building. Chalking her odd sense of clairvoyance where the substitute was concerned up to the simple fact that she'd had to patch his ass up enough times to know when she'd have to do it again, she turned her thoughts back to this strange place. How had she gotten here in the first place?

Rukia turned the events over in her mind as her feet impacted with the next roof, choosing instead to run along the carved and decorated edge of this building. Things had been normal -- or at least what could be considered normal. She'd been with Ishida, Sado, and Renji. In Los Noches, holding off the Exequias so that Ichigo could go...

Stopping suddenly, she thought for a moment. What... what was Ichigo going to do? It had to have been something important. Yes, that's right. Something about a rescue. Chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully, she wracked her brain for the elusive information. Why couldn't she remember? It must have been someone close to them, someone important for them to have gone into Hueco Mundo. Thinking about it carefully, she was relatively certain she could recall -- vaguely -- a pair of warm eyes and a gentle smile. There was also the faint thought -- suggestion, more like it -- of orange hair, though she was inclined to believe that was more her mind trying to put random facts together, seeing as Ichigo was the only one she knew with orange hair. But the face that went with the feelings, the voice... even the name eluded her.

Frowning even deeper, she contemplated the little threads of remembered traits as she reached one hand into the inner pocket of her shihakushou, pulling out the little silver phone with it's pink chappy trinket attached. How it had gotten here, she didn't know, just that the small white box she found on her bed, the one with only her name written in thin silver script, hadn't contained anything else. Just the phone, but she'd clutched the little device to her with an almost-greedy fervor, not because of it's physical form, but because of what it perhaps represented.

A link back to her own world. At least, that's what she'd hoped, but the little device stayed irritatingly silent.

With a sigh of disgust -- more at her own failing memory than at anything else -- she pushed the doubts and confusions back into her mind. She'd remember, it was probably just this place playing with her mind. Shoving the phone back into her pocket, she continued on her way across the rooftops.

Gift of Memories Event!

Fri, 12 Dec 2008 08:25:52 GMT

Who: Phoenix Wright
What: Phoenix's Gift of Memories
Where: Phoenix's new apartment, #1-911
When: Night, after this log with Hyuuga
Rating: PG
Open: No, this is just a quick one-post with Phoenix receiving his gift and losing his memories.

Phoenix was just settled into his new apartment -- he figured he may or may not be in this for the long haul, but either way, he was going to need a place to sleep. And out on the street? Please. Despite what some would say, he was not a hobo.

The apartment wasn't too nice, but it wasn't so bad -- he'd seen worse in Los Angeles, that was for sure. There was a small kitchenette; a tiny living room supplied with a couch, coffee table, and a broken television; a cramped bathroom, room enough only for a toilet and a shower, which worked! (for now); and, finally, the bedroom, featured with a bed, a dresser full of someone else's clothes (creepy as hell), and a bookshelf Phoenix hadn't really browsed through.

At least he hadn't seen any bugs yet. And that was a plus.

What he had seen, though, was a small white package on the coffee table. It was the only thing in the entire apartment that was sitting out -- that was "out of place". And it stood out.

Phoenix had been curious ever since he was a child -- the lesson of "don't touch the shiny red stove burner" had been a hard one for him to grasp -- and that curiosity had carried over, first in his career as an attorney, and then in his quest to get closer to Kristoph and learn everything about him in a desperate attempt to find a contradiction. Curiosity hadn't failed him, and it wasn't going to fail him here.

The small, white box had been labeled with a sticker, rather like the ones that adorned gifts around Christmastime. This sticker was rather plain -- black, with a name written in silver ink that stood out against the dark label.

P. Wright.

Phoenix stared at it. He highly doubted a coincidence. This... had to be some kind of crazy dream, right?

Slowly, Phoenix took the box, ripping the white paper off. He dropped the paper to the floor, staring at the small box in his hand. It only took a second to pull the cover off, and inside was a small, black velvet jewelry box. He opened it, slowly.

Sitting inside, where the jewelry should be, was a small, golden pin -- not much bigger than a button -- carefully, meticulously detailed. The outer edges were rimmed, intricate detail carved into the metal, and the center of the pin had been marked with a small set of scales -- the scales of justice.

It was an attorney's most prized possesion -- their badge. Phoenix didn't have to check the identification number on the back -- he already knew it was his.

Taking the pin in his hand, Phoenix squeezed it, hard, discarding the box with a careless toss onto the table. This pin had been destroyed. He knew it had. That's what they'd told him in the hearing. They'd said specifically that it would be destroyed. So how... how could he...

He stared down hard at his clenched palm, the badge painfully clutched between his fingers. He couldn't... he couldn't... have this back. He didn't deserve it anymore. He wasn't that fresh-faced young defense attorney ready to fight the law for peace and justice. Unlike some people, he'd only gotten worse with time. He'd become every bit the criminal he'd been so many times accused of being. Maybe Edgeworth had been right, maybe everybody was guilty. Maybe everybody was really a criminal.

But what if he could start over? With his badge back, he could turn over a new leaf. The one thing that represented what he wanted so badly to be again, what he never could be... maybe he could go back and challenge the law again. After all, why else had he become a lawyer in the first place?

...Why had he become a lawyer in the first place?

Phoenix frowned, his grip on the badge loosening, trying to piece together the scene in his mind. It had been... third grade, and there had been a classroom trial. He'd been accused of stealing one of his classmate's lunch money. Phoenix couldn't quite recall who. Somebody had stood up for him... even though everybody else was calling him guilty...

Phoenix thought of Larry. It had been Larry, hadn't it? Wasn't there somebody else...?

No... he guessed not...

Slowly, carefully, Phoenix took the badge, pinning it to the inside of his hoodie. Nobody else would see it -- after all, he wasn't supposed to have it -- but it would still be there, a constant reminder. And Phoenix would know. That was enough. His most pressing thought, right now, was to find out who'd given him this gift -- and why.

Mashou no bishoujo Etna

Mon, 08 Dec 2008 07:00:09 GMT

Who: The Beautiful Overlord of the Netherworld, Etna, and anyone with the (mis)fortune of running into her.
What: Episode I: Prinny's Spill, Etna's Way
Where: At the foot of the staircase to House 7--she's claiming one as her own.
When: Night
Rating: PG-13--Etna swears from time to time, children~.
Open: Why, yes!

"Get your ass back here! What do you think you're doing!?"

Etna flung herself from her throne without any hesitation, grabbing her trusty spear as she did so. The spear was heavy; most would guess it was too heavy for Etna to bear, as she resembled a teenage girl. It was just another plus of being a demon.

"How many times do I have to tell you Prinnies? You can't escape!"

Burning with anger, Etna took down the hall after the Prinnies. Almost immediately, she caught up to them and stepped on one to pin it down. She looked down at the Prinny with a smirk. Her eyes, however, told tales of horrific pain that would come to the Prinny.

"Q-queen Etna, d-d-d-dood!" The Prinny, a soul sewed inside of a peg-legged penguin costume, squirmed beneath the Overlord's foot. The Prinny was quickly silenced as Etna stomped down harder; organs would be squished if there were any.

"Listen," she started in a sweet tone. "I know you Prinnies are in a hurry to get away from me, but maybe I'll spare you if you tell me where exactly they're all running to." She squished down harder, causing the floor beneath them to crack where she was pressing down with her foot. "But that's just a maybe~."

"T-t-the pantry, dood!" The Prinny screamed in pain.

Etna only smiled in response and ran off to the pantry. "THEY BETTER NOT BE EATING MY DUMPLINGS OF THE DAMNED!" Speeding down the hallways, Etna failed to notice that the Prinny was still stuck beneath her boot. The beyond furious Overlord ran inside the pantry, slamming the door behind her so the Prinnies couldn't escape.

Only, she wasn't in the pantry. Turning around, she didn't see a door to go back through.

"What the hell is this?!" Etna looked down the center, into the darkness. "Is this a...staircase?!" She groaned and leaned on the rail, looking down. A heavy sigh escaped her lips. "I don't think I'm in the Netherworld anymore..."

The sound of her Prinny trying to get away brought her back to reality. Soon, she was chasing the Prinny down the stairs with her spear. "This is all your fault! Come back here and let me teach you a lesson! I changed my mind! I'm not going to let you live!"

"Q-q-q-ueen Etna, dood! This isn't my fault, dood!" The Prinny frantically cried, ran, rolled, fell, and tumbled down the steps in an effort to get away from the ominous glare behind him.

"Your ass it isn't ! I'm going to have to conquer this lame world now because of you!" Etna grinned as she ran. A wicked plan indeed; an overlord wouldn't just visit another realm.

"W-what kind of twisted logic is that, dood?" The Prinny squealed another "Dood!" before tripping and tumbling down the final few stairs, stopping just at the bottom.

Etna slowed her running to a walk and wiped the "glisten" off of her forehead with the back of her glove.

"This place looks like a dump~. Oh, well. It will belong to me soon enough..." Just for fun, she kicked her Prinny. Etna had to remind it who was the boss, too. Much to her dismay, the Prinny didn't roll nearly as far as she wanted it to.

"Damn it! This place is such a drag...I'm not even at full strength here..." She groaned and whined, but she hefted her spear back on her shoulder and walked through the gates and into the city...

Five minutes later, the Overlord was still looking for any sign of life. "Damn it, this place is too quiet. Everything here is sooo boring. I might as well be Overlord already.

"S-stop, complaining, dood. I'm the only Prinny here, dood!" Her penguin minion dramatically lamented its fate by standing on one peg, pointing a fin to the sky, and dramatically crying with its eyes closed. This resulted in several punches and another few kicks.

"First thing we'll need is a castle..." She moved towards the housing complex, looking for any sign that someone lived there. She also completely ignored the Prinny's cries of pain in the distance. "HEY! Hurry it up! I pick this one!"

And there she stood, in front of House #7.

Log: Open

Mon, 08 Dec 2008 02:23:16 GMT

Who: Hyuuga Hinata, and anyone who wishes to join.
What: Hinata arrives in the City, quite confused, and a little damp.
Where: The fountain in front of the square, not far from the base of the staircase.
When: This evening, around 9ish.
Rating: PGish, likely.
Open?: Certainly.

Hyuuga Hinata stared silently at the limpid pool in front of her. The surface of the polished water glistened like a clear pane of glass, not even the soft breath of wind on her cheeks marring the pristine surface of the depths.

Fall..she wanted to fall.

Everything was different now. Confused, and twisted from their natural shapes of beauty and simplicity into a myriad of strange and un-natural curves of reality that seemed to claw at her every step of the way. But that was just how it felt to her.

The heir to the Hyuuga glanced back over her shoulder momentarily, clear white gaze picking out the distant lines and shapes of the place she called "home". But only in name. No, there was very little in the Hyuuga mansion that held sway over the dark-haired girl. While it was her birthplace, the home of her clan, never had it welcomed her with loving and warm arms. Rather, it's caresses of home had been cold and chilled with an icy hatred and a burning cold sense of failure and worthlessness. The scintillating feel of worthlessness and failure was something she could accept. That, Hinata at least felt she had earned. It was the icy cold hatred that he directed her way that caused the crushing pain she felt down to the core of her soul.
She stepped closer to the edge of the still waters, damp grass tickling slightly against her bare feet, like thousands of small fingers reaching to touch her skin. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back, letting the pale moonlight illuminate her young features. Things hadn't always been this way. The deep and abiding hatred that Neji held for her certainly had been. But where there had once been fear of that same hatred, there was now pain. Not pain that his malice would strike her, but pain that it was SHE who caused it. Not through any fault or artifice of her own, but merely through the circumstances of her birth. Branch House. Main House. The words soured on her tongue like a peach left in the sun too long, rancid sweetness making her wrinkle her nose in imagined disgust as she lowered her chin, opening opalescent eyes to stare at the full moon's reflection on the water. She wanted nothing less then to cause his pain. She raised one slim pale hand, staring at it. She had soft hands. Not that they were physically unmarred, years of training as a shinobi had settled that. But they were still soft. Soft and weak, used to fine food and servents and the gayer things of life. Not hands like his. Hardened by fighting and clawing simply for the right to exist. The right to be counted among those that mattered.

Now she understood why she had once thought she loved Naruto. When she was a child, the blonde-haired loudmouth had always seemed so different from the cousin she had grown to adore. Loud, outgoing, fearless; determination warring with stubbornness and a burning raw need to prove his worth to those who had turned their backs on him. An abrupt contrast to the steely cold of Hyuuga Neji. But now, Hinata no longer saw Neji as the icecicle she once had. Beneath the cold and brittle exterior that the long-haired Byakugan-user showed the world, a fire burned. Hinata knew that, she had seen it in his eyes when he fought. In a way, Neji was like a colder, hardened version of Naruto. Cold with bitterness, fury, and enmity; a sort of burning inside him, yet tempered and weathered and molded from rampant flame into cold burning steel.

She shivered slightly in the white Hyuuga robes that she wore, shaking her head in an attempt to loosen the cobwebs that always seemed to form whenever she thought too much about her cousin. Looking back to the mirrored lunar body in the water, she again closed her eyes and imagined herself soaring through the sky on silver wings. Concentrating her chakra into the soles of her feet, the young heir took a step out onto the surface, the pale blue glow of energy forming a seamless barrier between her pale skin and the crystalline surface upon which she trod. One step, then another. As she walked, she closed her eyes, occasionally spinning in a tight circle on the water, feet effortlessly following a dance that only she could dance. Listening to a song that only she could hear. The only sign of her presence on the water were the even concentric circles that moved slowly outward from the contact points where her feet touched. She silently made her way to the center of the pool, staring down through the clear water into the murky velvet depths. She took a deep breath, raising white-clad arms from her sides and leaning her head back. Relaxing, she let herself fall backwards, the crystal-clear water splashing up around her as her body impacted with it's coldness. She sighed as she felt her long hair fan out from her head like a dark areola around her pale face. Taking another breath, she held it as the water closed over her head. As she relaxed further, she felt her body sink under, pearlescent eyes watching the trails of bubbles as they streamed upwards from her sinking form towards the hazy sphere that hung above her in the sky.

Falling...she wanted to fall.. to vanish, and fade away as if she had never been.

She let her eyes drift closed, feeling the last tenseness melt away from her body. Perhaps it would be better if she did just fade away. Melt into nothingness as the snow melts into spring. As she felt the darkness start to take her, she heard something strange.

Are you so sure? Is that what you really want? Find your true desire, your true fate; then decide.

Hinata started awake, choking on the water all around her that rushed into her lungs. She sputtered, clawing for the surface that seemed to only be getting further away. Her hand reached skyward, towards the misty orb that hung on the other side of the watery boundary that thwarted her. Despite her attempts, it was in vain. As the darkness once again closed in and her vision blurred into shades of grey and black, she felt her body relaxing. As the blackness closed over her vision, she thought she saw a pair of white eyes and an outstretched hand reaching towards her. She raised her arm slightly, trying to grasp the ethereal fingers as the blackness finally took her.

N..Neji..nii-san...?

Hinata jolted awake, coughing and sputtering on the water that clogged her lungs. With a rattling choking gasp, she shot up out of the water, grappling for something to steady herself on. Her searching fingers felt cold stone, smooth and polished under questing fingertips, and she grabbed for it frantically, throwing her arm across the top and hauling herself up to rest her chin on the cold rock as she drew a ragged breath. Dead? No...no, she wasn't dead. She distinctly remembered the feeling of a strong hand grasping hers as the blackness had closed around her. She wouldn't remember that if she'd died. Hinata swallowed hard, clinging to the wall tightly as her other hand reached up to shakily rake dark indigo bangs from her forehead. Her hair was soaked, wet strands sticking to her forehead and curling out slightly. She wiped water from her face, glancing around her. This wasn't the pond....

Shaking, the girl felt chilled fingers grip the rough stone of the ledge she was clinging to. No longer in the pond, now... she was sitting in a fountain. A slightly crumbling, old-seeming thing, it's mechanisms seemingly silent and dead. In fact, the dried, dead leaves floating on the water around her seemed to bear testament to the fact that what had once been a watery masterpiece was now little more than a still pool.

What.... is this place?

Hauling herself up, she stood on shaky legs, drawing sodden and dripping robes around herself in a futile attempt to keep out the wintery chill. It was a City, obviously. But not like any City she'd ever seen before...

COMPLETE

Sun, 07 Dec 2008 22:20:25 GMT

Who: Henry Townshend and Adam Monroe
What: Henry arrives in the city.
Where: At the foot of the staircase.
When: Night
Rating: PG-13, for blood and cursing.
Open: No.

Henry remembered descending. He'd taken spiral staircase after spiral staircase, each step slow and sure, guiding Eileen, his gaze flittering around. A staircase floating in nothingness, leading to nowhere. Or, at least, it had seemed like nowhere -- until they'd reached the door of room 302.

Everything had gone downhill from there.

And when it was time to face Walter and end the nightmare, Henry had jumped into a hole, one going down this time, further and further down until he'd reached the core. They'd fought, and Walter had won. Henry's head had burned, and he'd blacked out.

And then, he'd found himself sitting on the last stair of a spiral staircase, knowing, somehow, that going back up was pointless.

The burn that had started in his head had spread to his chest -- a seering pain. Henry cracked open his eyes, and, for the first time, forced himself to look down at his chest -- although he already had a good idea of what he would see there.

21121

The numbers had been carved in very carefully, but they hurt like hell. Henry sucked in a sharp breath, letting his head fall back, staring up at the dark, inky sky.

He'd lost, and if he was twenty-one, Eileen had been number twenty.

"Eileen," he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh, god..."

Requested Characters

Wed, 21 Feb 2007 04:03:44 GMT

Post here with character you'd like to see join the RP and we'll post them up here!
(Ones with stars next to them are currently on hold.)