the sheep, the hunter & the opportunist; and together we shall dig graves for all that die in us, and we shall stand in the sun with a will, and we shall be dangerous.
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
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𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐎’𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒, the strong scent of tobacco and wet asphalt filling the space between them. The tip of Kenji’s boot flirts with Cesco’s foot, the question his companion poses giving rise to a sense of danger, but it’s subdued and sits at the pit of Kenji’s stomach, like pleasure does. A purse of his lips, a quirk in the corner, and a glint in his eyes— he chooses them so handsome and smart, so violent and cruel; may they ever rip his chest open, he hopes it’s in bed, caught in a vulnerable position, surprised.
But not here.
❛❛ Oh, Cesco, whisper threats into my ear when you’re gonna do it, I like them more that way, ❜❜ He rolls his eyes but gets closer as if he means to be threatened again, and wants to be in the right position this time. ❛❛ Ask me again if there will be a problem, ❜❜ He’s turned sideways, leaned against the building, looking at Cesco through drunk and lidded eyes; a determined desire to play in their depths.
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: closed for @darkvoiids ♡ 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: outside a bar. 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄: late at night.
𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝. cigarette ash is scattered on the concrete, slightly wet from a recent burst of rain and he turns his gaze to the dead hand soldier. neutral ground, it’s not a common thing for the terrors to walk a path without a fight within it but alas you can’t burn down other enemies without fuel being provided by others. there’s so many steps to war and not all scream violence and for blood to spill. slow moving chess pieces with guns hidden under the board, it adds a kick to the electricity in cesco’s veins. ❝ i’ve heard from a few dead birdies some concerning things about you. ❞ slight colour of intrigue and humour in those cold eyes. his head tilts in curiosity, another drag from his cigarette before he lets the smoke go through his nostrils. a con artist wears many facades, it’d be a shame if an alliance fell through because one of them broke. ❝ we have nothing to worry about, do we? ❞
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𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆, but here he is, walking down a dimly lit street where he hears laughter and shattering glass. A group of children is making quick work of the bus stop— one smashes the LED panel with a baseball bat, and another kicks in one of the glass panes before the whole lot runs off in a rumble of shouted profanities. Kenji sighs in disillusion– the reality of walking to the casino seems to be dawning, but he hasn’t a clue about the liberties the youth took to ruin government property; their fashion is too shameless for the sort of street, though he supposes they aren’t too far into the city, so perhaps there’s more oversight here.
He sees a figure approach the bus stop and feels a flicker of hope— has he found a wayward kindred soul ? But that dream comes to a rude halt when the stranger finishes what the group of hooligans started. Kenji watches, stunned, as the last glass pane is kicked down. He doesn’t know what possesses him also to approach, but the oddly friendly reception he receives warms him a little; Kenji nods.
❛❛ Is it ? ❜❜ He quirks a brow, examining the wrecked property, and raises his foot to get the last bit of glass. He stumbles a bit when the sense of his folly compels him to realize the absurd situation, and he quickly wipes off any glass that sticks to his shoe. He clears his throat and looks at the stranger, unable to untie the lace of discomfort around his tone. ❛❛ Well,�� sure, I guess, ❜❜ Kenji stumbles here too, ❛❛ I guess that was alright. Say, are any of the buses running ? ❜❜ He asks with a frown, then adds, ❛❛ Do you know what the fuck is going on today ? ❜❜
CLOSED STARTER for @darkvoiids ft. a muse of your choosing ;) location ; NYC STREETS
The world was burning and it was glorious. Veer could not imagine a better way for chaos to reign over New York City but chaos created and brought about by Snake Den. The perfect plan. However, they still didn’t plan on participating, they still didn’t attempt to pluck the fruits of their labour, but instead ensured they were well away from the actual violence. An onlooker in the streets of the city they’d made their home, a voyeur.
Though being a voyeur would mean that they never got to participate, and they certainly participated. They licked their lip as they watched a few kids make work of a bus stop. It was beautiful to see the youngsters having a great time. When they moved on, Veer couldn’t help kicking in the last remaining window, because it needed to be done, and chuckling as he did. He turned to another stranger, perhaps another voyeur, and smiled. “It’s very satisfying, would you like to give it a go too?”
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𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐎’𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃, something amusing on a channel that has been showing static all night. John feels at home with the impatient words and the deranged look of a man forced to show grace to his enemies, for that man finds comfort within him, too, but he has long found a favorable hiding spot. John would not recognize himself among the sheep if he were still in the wastelands; his countenance is much older in expression and decision– it looks prudent and retains no marks of former degradation. A half-civilized ferocity lurks yet in the depressed brows and eyes full of fire, but it is subdued, and his manner is devoid of roughness, enveloped instead by decorum.
❛❛ There is something to be learned from their avarice and ignorance, ❜❜ John offers with a smile, consoling Arturo’s resentment at the position he was put in tonight. ❛❛ A city burning below while they merrymake up in their tower, among other wealthy and powerful. If anything, we can be grateful for their willful lack of good conscience and sense— it grants us opportunity. ❜❜
John places a hand on Arturo’s shoulder and leans closer; they’d look like two businessmen locked in a transaction to any onlooker. ❛❛ But take comfort, Arturo, in knowing that they might mouth off, drink, and laugh, but they know they’re trapped. There is hell on the streets and they won’t go down, they’re too afraid. Seize that fear and keep them occupied, in a few more hours we will have the information we need to take down these corporate clowns. ❜❜
@darkvoiids
LOCATION: stoneage party, the night of the purge. FOR: father john ledger.
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐇𝐒 believe that it was he who should join the flood of the stoneage fools? to socialize, to fraternize? he was thankful that john was at his side -- for the very second that any of the guests looked at him the wrong way, said the wrong thing, he may not have been able to help himself from destroying everything. the smile he has plastered on immediately drops when he is in the company of the one person in the room that feels like a safe place to land -- someone whom he can trust, someone whom he deeply respects. while those within stoneage's clutches may have the rest of the world fooled that they are deserving, normal people -- they are leeches. festering along the flesh of those just trying to live, those who simply wish to be human.
" i don't know how you do it. " he mutters to john in private, eyes turning to his fellow pariah after he speaks. " listen to people. for a room full of the richest and smartest people in new york city... i lose brain cells every time someone in this room opens their mouth. "
#𝟎𝟎𝟏 . ⠀⠀ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ﹕ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ john & arturo ⠀ ❫#𝟎𝟎𝟑 . ⠀⠀ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 ⠀ ﹕ ❪ ⠀ the 1st annual purge⠀ ❫#brothers!!!!!!!!!11#ty for the starter <3
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* ◟ : 〔 GEMMA ARTERTON , CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER 〕 BURNADINE LEIGH , some say you’re a THIRTY EIGHT YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both LOYAL and RUTHLESS, one can’t help but think of WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE by POWERMAN 5000 when you walk by. are you still a BLADE RUNNER for STONEAGE INDUSTRIES, even with your reputation as THE HUNTER? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and THE MEANS TO THE END, THE ARGUMENT SCOFFED AT, THE ULTERIOR MOTIVE; THE RUBY IN THE STORIES, THE POEMS, THE RED LIPS, THE SHOCK OF CRIMSON IN A HANDSHAKE; A CAT'S INSCRUTABLE STARE, THE EYES ON AN ANGEL'S WINGS, GIVEN FOR GREAT DISCERNMENT, AND THE SUBSEQUENT TERROR OF THE ONE THAT BEHOLDS, although we can’t help but think of RIZA HAWKEYE ( FMA:B ) + LEVI ACKERMAN ( ATTACK ON TITAN ) + NATASHA ROMANOFF ( MARVEL ) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.
— NAVIGATION.
#lawlessintro#if u saw my attempt before this no u didnt#tumblr wasnt letting me ctrl v... in this day and age#also only her bio is up! hcs + connections are under co <3
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𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 and Kenji means to drive one away with a shrug and then walking away, but he’s stopped when he turns to look and beholds the most stunning face he’s seen in the day’s hours. He blinks— slowly, as that’s the speed at which his mind works after an entire day of fooling everyone around him— and observes the eyes opposing his. They are dove’s eyes— angel’s; the solidarity with which he receives the question turns out to be enormous.
❛❛ That’s been my experience, yeah, ❜❜ He offers a small, polite smile, not yet large enough to reveal his shark’s teeth. ❛❛ Is there something you need help with ? ❜❜
sunglasses pushed into her blonde hair replace headband she's often spotted in, long legs covered by tight denim material as she waits on the train. dancer has lived a life full of private chauffeurs and too expensive for no reason uber trips, the subway is supposed to represent a new chapter ⸺ if only she could work it. " so times square station can get you almost everywhere in this city, right ? "
[ 💌 starter for @darkvoiids at some subway station ]
#𝟎𝟎𝟏 . ⠀⠀ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ﹕ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ kenji & barbara ⠀ ❫#kenji: are u lost bbygirl#meanwhile i hang my head in shame#ty for the starter! <3
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𝐁𝐎’𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐒. He glances at the box as if attempting to see through it, blinking as if he will be able to the next time he looks at it— ❛❛ Oh, my robes… ❜❜ John trails off, distracted, and uses his freed hand to feel around his black garbs until he chances upon the hole in the fabric he discovered in the morning. The memories return to him all at once, in an onslaught of comfort to be himself once more, and he feels glad, for he’s certain when he speaks up again. ❛❛ Knitting tools— they’re knitting tools. I mean to mend my robes with them. ❜❜
He is quick to move on then, for he detests to linger once the lacuna of memory loss is filled, and he hopes no one notices. ❛❛ If your clothes are in need of the same, let me have them for a day or two, they’ll be as good as new when I return them. ❜❜
It’s a dark spring evening; the clouds appear inclined to thunder, and John thinks they better find shelter before the approaching rain is certain to drench them. He finally spares a glance around, looking for the nearest place to duck into, and observes that they seem to be alone.
❛❛ Now, Bo, ❜❜ John comes to a stop and smiles; he means not to alarm them, at any rate. ❛❛ Where should I drop you off ? ❜❜ ( When are you safe to be alone ? ) ❛❛ How far is appropriate enough ? ❜❜ ( What perils does the degree of your crime invite ? )
As quickly as Bo became the shy version of themself who could get stuff done among the hungry wolves of New York City, he slipped back into his own skin. They’d lived in the Wastelands for such a long time, having other people tell them what to do, where to go, which direction to take, that seeking directions was natural. But they had the Neon Pariahs, and they had a goal, a very clear directive that they could fill in for themself. The glint of mischief returned along with the feeling of straightening their back and letting their keen eyes study the fellow Pariah.
Bo considered every member of their little troupe as family. And those they connected with and took along as further additions to the pack. They didn’t consider themself a valuable piece however, and for too long had their survival been based on how well others could defend them from the talons of those in the city, that now they could actually return the favour.
With John they felt younger, smaller, protected. But they also felt like they were in the company of a true believer, of someone who would also fight head and nails for their goal. The steadying hand on their shoulder was accepted, perhaps even leaned into. He understood instantly what the other’s intent was, and while not able to voice the gratefulness, they took the package without question. Their mind was a construct of wires and code and patterns, but in John’s company they felt human.
“Gladly,” they said in response, pulling their voice level down a few notches, as they fought their beating heart. The adrenaline was welcome, but in the other’s company, they could forget the fight or flight response. “What’s in here?” they asked. “Are you starting a new project?” Their eyes shot back up as they studied John’s features. It was the only thing that kept them from looking over their shoulder. Even though they knew it would take a few minutes more before their code had run its course and anything would happen. They were called the Worm for a reason: their footprint might be small, but they could have dangerous consequences.
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𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍, Kenji notes it with a mild look, satisfied for getting this far along. He is learned well enough in cards, but he would be wise to admit that luck has been leading his fate tonight.
❛❛ Nearly ? ❜❜ With a delicate brush of his eyelashes, he holds the stranger’s odd gaze; the mechanical eye still whirls, but Kenji can learn to live with it. ❛❛ Not tempting enough for you? ❜❜
The mention of a flush dampens Kenji’s confidence, but he is attentive not to let it show. He looks at his hand— a straight— and wonders how such thin cards can feel so heavy in his hand. He regrets that he spoke, for there can be no good rationale behind allowing his opponent to humiliate him further. Kenji’s lips are half asunder, as if he means to say more, and he draws in a breath; but it escapes in a sigh instead of a sentence.
After some moments of reflection, he reveals his deck before another bid can be made.
Kenji stretches like a lazy feline, blinking at the table with dissolving interest. He finally groans in defeat and frustration, then settles back into his chair. Whatever scandalous declarations made next are a testament to the amount of alcohol consumed tonight, as well as the urge to pursue his thoughts of recklessness, for now that he’s got a start on them, he feels he ought to keep going while there’s still the matter of his decency left to lose. With no regard for the rest sitting at the table, Kenji throws his offer out with all bait and no hook. ❛❛ I’m flushed elsewhere if you’re still looking for something to hold. ❜❜
pakorn's throat scorches a hoarse laugh, only visible by the way in which his lips also curl in a sneer. there would be virtually nothing in this life that made him blush. much less casual banter over the table. these things, exchanged underneath the notion of adrenaline, often lacked when it was taken elsewhere. not to mention the — whiskey consumed.
his eye clicks, zooms on the playing cards held in kenji's hand, on the little smile on his expression. imprints them into digital code that doesn't forget easily.
"if that's what you're into." pakorn never professes to be anything eloquent. the way his smoke, mechanical-laden voice courses through the world is no different. ( he is what is so painfully different. ) "i can hold your hand to make you feel better. give you a lil' kiss on the forehead." the devil's wink makes pakorn's smirk easy. poker is, after all, mostly about the rapport — and then about the wagers.
"korn." he gives the shortened version of his name. the less intimate one. "you look like you are feeling yourself, kenji. nearly made that triple." another player tosses his cards into the muck, leaving pakorn and kenji with their hands. the optic pupil blacks out, then returns to pakorn's usual, lighter-brown coloured iris. "you think you got a flush in that hand of yours? no wonder i wanna hold it. that's hot."
#𝟎𝟎𝟏 . ⠀⠀ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ﹕ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ kenji & korn ⠀ ❫#the way i dont know crazy 8s either .... ifjdsdfdsfj#if this doesnt make sense. yeah.#kenji lost and hes willing to lose his self respect too!
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𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐈𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒, lighting a cigarette and pretending to be occupied watching the ends of the alley. His eyes flit to and fro but stop midway when the man’s grunts of exertion are cut off by a resounding thud, and upon blinking, Kenji discovers Sian standing over the body with a chilling lack of disturbance to her countenance. Kenji, for his part, glances to discern whether the man is breathing, and seeing his chest move, takes a long drag of his cigarette to taper his disturbance. Six years for the shock of her transformation to wane, but he’s still harrowed with residual jolts.
With the poor thing subdued on the ground, Sian turns to Kenji like a cat leaving a mouse half killed, or a bird half eaten. He kicks himself off the wall, watching her with a scowl. Where she got the idea that the man was after him, he could not tell. She has her private manner of interpreting the attack, and Kenji doesn’t feel inclined to intercept her inner demons; it has long since proven effective to go without question. Still, it’s worth confirming. He looks at the man as if he had hurt himself by accident and nobody was to blame, and feeling no impulse to sympathize with him, he flicks his cigarette at his still body before departing the alleyway. No one at Dead Hand has reason to be tipped off about their secret meetings, and if they caught word, they would do more than send spies.
❛❛ Oh, fuck off. ❜❜ He cuts in, ❛❛ You jumped at his neck before I could even tell you the bastard was following us. ❜❜ If he’s a ❛ lil piggie ❜, Kenji thinks peevishly, she’s a dog afflicted with rabies. At her question, he shrugs, unaware of Beom Seok’s shifts at the bar, and repeats something from their childhood– ❛❛ You can take mine, ❜❜ He places his hand on her head and teases her hair, ❛❛ For being a good little doggie ! ❜❜
Kenji throws the door open, dragging her inside.
cherry bomb.
nearby the Space Karaoke Bar & Lounge ; ━━━━ K-town, New York. for @darkvoiids // 𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈.
YOUR HEART IS DRENCHED FROM THE THRILL : just how you need it to be, 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐄 ━━━━ bad luck is being delivered personally, by yours truly!
❝ would ya look at that? ❞ Sian rouses herself from the oncoming onslaught of a ham-hocked punch spiraling for her temple. 【 he's gonna hit you. he's gonna hit you! he'sgonnahityou! 】 the auditory hallucinations scream, like a swarming crescendo in differing voices & tones. She's ready though ; stopping it with an open palm, pushing it back to send the attacker stumbling over his own heels, backwards. The peel of her gritty smile is a trademark for her, the epinephrin working as her own personal fix. She steps after to hurl the final blow, staunching the flow of battle long enough to straighten to standing. ❝ i've still got it after all. ❞
Pausing to rearrange her blazer, she walks over to Kenji so that she’s shoulder to shoulder with her bestest pal. ❝ ━━━━ we gotta toughen you up, lil' piggie. i can't always be here to fight all of your battles. ❞ Sian's grin slices wide, lollipop stem hanging & crimping along with the pinch of her brow. They both know she happily does so for him at the best & worst of times. But then: ❝ or maybe they came for me? ❞ The tilting of her head creates a stark contrast to the BEAST who had been scrapping just moments before ; it's an innocence that comes out every so often, not feigned.
( you don't bother to mask any of your emotions like you once did in the past ; with a brain as chemically imbalanced as your own, you find it to be more of a bother than it's worth )
The thought, like most she decides, isn't that deep. There are never too many enemies to go around in her opinion. & 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐌 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 AND 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄!
All but already forgotten, a moment later Sian throws a pointing index finger around the corner to where she can hear the telltale sounds of their favorite karaoke spot nearby — their initial destination before the ( surprise! ) scuffle. ❝ you think Beom Seok's gonna be there tonight? he's the only one who lets me have two umbrellas. ❞ Only if she behaved!
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— 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧.
written by luca for lawlessfm.
【 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫. / 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡. / 𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢. 】
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𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 — @ofcruelheart.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐔𝐒, as well as the liveliest pleasure he has known, lies in music. Formerly he used to ask his late wife, beloved in life and memory, to sing for him. She would hum carols and hymns, a lilting voice like that of a songbird, expert in consolation though untrained in technique. Of past decades following the longest period of separation from her yet, he has not found a voice to rival her gentle melody, perhaps because he loves her too much, and nothing exceeds love in its purity, even when one is not so expert a singer. However, recent trips to the opera house revealed on its stage a wonderful surprise— no, something more than surprise seized him— a deep conviction that this was not common, nor at all like the pathos generally possessed by vocalists, for it was not natural at all. Deaw held in their synthetic vocal cords a voice wild, melancholy, and elevating; but for all of its beauty, it was empty of substance, worthy only of repulsion.
It took hours to reconcile himself to this discovery, and days to persuade himself into action. He knew that a mind like Deaw’s, molded with a grand artistic gift, could not be without some spark of honorable charity, hence it ensued that John sent an invitation with a plead for Deaw to sing hymns at the church, which the replicant accepted not long after it was dispatched.
The agreed-upon date arrives, for in the letter’s contents John included the offer to show Deaw around the church, insisting that it’s not much besides a pleasure to walk in a small, yet natural garden, where they might discuss the hymns of the evening.
John���s cane adds a third thud to every footstep as he ambles to the church’s doors, where Deaw’s slim silhouette waits for him. John ought not to show his curiosity too obviously, for his vitriol could slip through what cracks would form in his regard. Instead, he plasters a kind and warm smile on his face, extends out an arm for a hand-shake—
❛❛ —Deaw, Father John. Allow me firsthand to thank you for agreeing to this meeting, and to welcome you to St. Anthony of Padua. ❜❜ He retreats his hand, his fingers sheltering themselves beneath his robes, repelled from the contact. ❛❛ Please, come in. I feared this day could not come soon enough, and I’ve been eager with anticipation to show you the church. It’s not much but, well, there is a stage for hymns and a more than willing audience. ❜❜
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𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄, a heedless approach to decisions, and overall drunkenness. Kenji glances with a joyful countenance at his opponent across the poker table, observing with some deliberation the cards upon the felt and no doubt repeating Kenji’s bid with an air of amusement himself; or perhaps caution, but amused caution nonetheless. Kenji makes note of the particular eye— a replicant, is it— and wonders what advantages cybernetics enhance in a game of poker.
Well, it does not matter. He lines his pockets otherwise; to gamble is to seek thrill and nothing more.
❛❛ Are you flirting with me ? ❜❜ Kenji says, a smile with a pleasant dimple on each red cheek and a devil's wink to accentuate the proposal. ❛❛ What I’m sure of is that this table is in dire need of some heat and, well— ❜❜ In his drunken foolishness, he makes a vague motion toward himself and then reaches for his glass, which is already half-empty, and empties it some more.
❛❛ —Kenji, ❜❜ he begins, in the interval of swallowing one mouthful of whiskey and taking another— ❛❛ It is a joy and a pleasure to make your acquaintance tonight. ❜❜ With his pledge and drink raised in reverence to the replicant, he tilts its final drops into his mouth.
open starter ›› loading . . . pakorn "korn" natharuetai.
location ›› the old world casino. ( will you bet. watch. annoy. )
in the midst of this noise, he is only a man. or, well, something close to it. in his renewed days as this wrong version of himself, pakorn reaps what he sows on the poker table more often than anywhere else. and what he sows: victories. giving a free thrill-ride to anybody who dares to take on the something-masculine-shaped, a man placed slightly to the left of himself. how much you wanna put down? so many tried to sweep the stakes with all their chips, giving him double. his brain ticking at a thousand miles per hour to keep up with the chase. hair slicked back, one eye with no patch to cover it, ticking red and zooming-black as he analyses those sitting down at his table. here, the noise drowns out what un-makes him: the tick-tick of the wires, the augmentations slapped against him to keep him running.
"double or nothing." his voice, heavy and cigarette-laden. his expression, unchanging from its set jaw. ( are you sure you can make him feel the thrill. ) he could be talking to anybody, with how he never makes eye contact. focused solely on counting every card in his hand, its metal fibres twitching, steel knuckles twisting to flip their faces to his own. then — he does glance up. "you sure about that?" ( his fellow hanging men hear this tone often. that false questioning. you're never sure about that. )
#𝟎𝟎𝟏 . ⠀⠀ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ﹕ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ kenji & korn ⠀ ❫#kenji IS under the impression tht korn is a replicant#hes also very drunk and is likely fucking himself here so feel free to make korn the victor fjdksjf#i know nothing about poker
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𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄, a package of sewing tools tucked below his arm while the other steadies his cane with each step forward. Suddenly, John jumps in shock, widens his eyes, and stares at the brute who ran around the street corner and nearly collided with him. Recognition dawns quickly, a shaky sigh follows, and John regains the genteel composure he lost for a moment. This is no brute ! Why, the panting figure before him is in the great possession of a truly marvelous mind, full of circuits and math, which John wouldn’t deem worth chastising if Bo were not so accelerated all the time.
❛❛ Bo ! My, what velocity ! ❜❜ The old man chuckles, a kind and sincere response to the apologies falling from the young one’s hurried regret, and he places a steadying hand on their shoulder. He is, through his initial reproach, familiar with Bo’s behavior, and he is aware that they must be running from some sort of crime committed, as is their habit to do. John conducts himself immediately, offering Bo a haven in his company.
❛❛ –Come, walk with me. ❜❜ He turns them in the opposite direction, not daring to dart his eyes, for undue caution may draw suspicion to anyone who could be following. ❛❛ And may I express the hope that you will help with what I’m carrying. ❜❜ John lifts the package toward Bo, giving it to them with a private, knowing look.
OPEN STARTER from Boudhayan Pandey - member of the Neon Pariahs location RANDOM CITY STREETS
Boudhayan always planned to be inconspicuous, either by walking along with the crowds, or by sticking to the shadows. He’d learnt to hide, the friends he’d made when coming to NYC had taught him. Taught him how to act normally, how to be a city dweller and not a wastelander, how to blend in.
A skill he needed, because while he was as much a coder as a hacker, the latter earned him the most money. And he followed a set of rules when it came to the practice: 1) proximity to power, the closer they could be to the source, the better. 2) don’t take chances, always go in with a plan and a back up plan. 3) never take too long, best to get out within a set time frame. 4) make as few chances as possible, don’t leave a trace. 5) absolutely don’t have a signature method, switch it up.
Bo closed their small 9-inch notebook, and shot down the street, mission accomplished. They planned to get out of there as quickly as possible. Heart beating in their chest as the adrenaline started to work, this would never get old.
They rounded the corner and almost collided with someone. “Sorry, excuse me,” they uttered quickly, slipping into the shy persona that worked so well with people.
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𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄, proud leather shoes gracing the asphalt in enterprising resolve, but meet with an abrupt interruption when his left foot kicks something straight ahead. A question is raised just then, along with Kenji’s eyebrows, and he looks at the struggling man and then glances at the object he all but launched to discover a large potato, rolling sadly into the gutter.
❛❛ Oh, ❜❜ A huff, a soft humph surrounded by frowning lips. ❛❛ No, it’s too far away now. I’m going in that trajectory, see, ❜❜ Kenji points a finger ninety degrees left, but he bends down to pick up a fallen cucumber which he shoves into the man’s crumpled paper bag with a shocking lack of restraint. ❛❛ It would be inefficient for me to go out of my way. On the other hand, you seem inclined toward inefficiency. ❜❜
He could have yielded his amends and picked up the potato, but this mistake he never endeavored to rectify. He discusses the demerits so neighborly, in a spirit so rational, that any may be persuaded to agree with him. As for the man missing out on his potato, though, his regard remains to be seen, and Kenji’s concern is on the edge of impatience.
❛❛ Well met, enjoy your– ❜❜ gutter potato, ❛❛ –yeah. ❜❜
status: open — outside some grocery store idk
Hands full with an assortment of paper bags, Marcellus finds himself in the midst of a sporadic juggling act. All for the sake of a single smoke. Naturally, it would’ve made sense to put the bags down first. Yet the underlying itch for nicotine had eaten away most of his patience. And, well, he's always had a knack for making small things more complicated than need be.
A small, triumphant grunt leaves him when he finally bests the challenge. Cigarette now stuck between the lips, he cranes his head towards the lighter. Tilt too far and some items fling themselves from crinkled paper bag confines onto the parking lot. “Shit.” Cigarette temporarily forgotten, he happens to see someone in his periphery.
“Could you get that, please?” Marcellus asks, still hunching at an awkward angle but polite despite how annoying this all was.
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* ◟ : 〔 kentaro sakaguchi , cis man + he/him 〕 kenji nakamura, some say you’re a thirty year old lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both charismatic and hedonistic, one can’t help but think of nausea by jeff rosenstock when you walk by. are you still a soldier at dead hand, even with your reputation as the opportunist? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and a lazy upward gaze, a slap upside the head, the lonely creature of contradiction; hung on the family tree, dangling as you question why the saying goes 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree', where else would it fall? you are the fallen fruit, premature and always in some kind of need, although we can’t help but think of dennis reynolds (it's always sunny in philadelphia), richie (the bear) and hasegawa taizo (gintama) whenever we see you down these rainy streets. ( luca , 25 , she/they , mdt . )
— NAVIGATION.
#lawlessintro#finally!#i have yet to write his hcs but theyre coming soon! as soon as i finally get some sleep!
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* ◟ : 〔 jeff bridges , cis man + he/him 〕 john ledger , some say you’re a seventy one year old lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both methodical and vindictive, one can’t help but think of take me home , country roads by john denver when you walk by. are you still the sheep, priest at the neon pariahs, catholic church even with your reputation as the sheep? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and the family at the table, faint conversation in the kitchen, the hearth before the otherness came. succumbing– all of your love gone up in a storm, left alone in the golden mist. the strategy of the ancient hunt tucked under your left arm, the cross held in your right; the lamb that looks into your eyes before the slaughter. although we can’t help but think of helmut zemo (MCU), rick deckard (blade runner), father daniel flynn (bad times at the el royale) whenever we see you down these rainy streets. ( luca , 25 , she/they , mdt . )
— NAVIGATION.
#lawlessintro#u can find um. information about john... it says biography on the nav page but well. maybe the headcanons are more useful fdsjkfj#ooc.
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tags.
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