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[larsentevis]

By Calder Moore

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stinky

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Deepti °016 - 017 Collection, “Broken Formality” J-043G Sux-18 Crash Glass Smoking Jacket

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ungfio

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- Fernando Pessoa, from ' The Book Of Disquiet'

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saturn fields

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@aspectofnine @drownedsniper-a

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Mr. Purple Ball makes a sound reminiscent of a cackle at the mention of the former Sunsinger turned Deathsinger (or whatever the hell the bastard was now).

“Nah, I ain’t that pretentious ball of Ascendant asshattery.” The Void sphere flares, its shape expanding and flickering, until, in an instant, it transforms into the apparition of a humanoid form.

Noticing the translucence and lack of fine detail, the figure jumps and stomps and grunts itself into full corporeal form.

At the end of the profane jig stands Tevis Larsen, original Nightstalker Hunter and once cohort of the likes of Andal Brask, Cayde-6, and Shiro-4.

Despite his efforts to shape himself into this plane, his image is as disheveled and rakish as he was when…alive. Re-alive. Risen. That.

He flashes a grin at the admittedly terrifying visage before him, brown eyes aglow with violet shining beneath a mess of dark wavy hair.

“I’m just a humble former Guardian,” he says, bowing at the waist. “Now mostly a Vexified waste of Void. No body. No Light. No Ghost.”

He tells her the latter with a knowing smirk.

A rough-edged orb of Void energy saunters over vaguely.

“S’up.”

Full of wit and charm, this jagged poof ball is.

The Ram didn't flinch, nor did she seem to notice the mass of Void as it hovered in her vicinity.

The Ghost Cores in the eye sockets of her Helm however...

A soft static rippled, flickering the 'iris' into an inconsistent, pale glow as they rolled to focus on the orb. Half illuminating and half shadowing the sockets in which they were housed, highlighting the damage not only to the armour but the cores themselves.

"...And who might you be...?" the voice, muted and hollow reverberated in the nasal chamber of the blackened skull, "I, don't believe you are Toland..."

Her words had a marked accent, one placed in Nordic or Scandinavian dialects but hazed with an unseen impediment.

In all, for a murderer, she appeared rather demur and tranquil in the growing dawn light.

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Every day and night.

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“Big Jim and the twins, broham.”

“Balls, my dudes.”

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“Meat and potatoes, bro.”

“Balls, my dudes.”