omimaitl - Tumblr blog

[omimaitl]

     This is the sort of thing a resolute hacker could have accomplished given the time and the means, but there’s such little style in that, and he didn’t drag himself out of the pits of death with grated-bone and broken nails for banality.  

     He’s got his crystal ball -- literally -- and dusty, tightly wrapped cords of hyssop and balsam, occupying the rare patch of bare space on one of the many singed surfaces in his apartment-hovel.  After his initial dial, the phone rings.  He thinks about how gross and dirty the screen of your phone can get, sitting in your pocket and stuff, and thinks twice before pressing it completely against his cheek.  When he hears the telltale click of a receptionist and he is, indeed, received, he curls his fingers around the polished quarts of the orb and sees that, yes, it worked, his name is magically penned in for the Once-ler’s two o’clock and there’s suddenly, magically, records of longtime communication.  

     ❝ Oh, you must be ... ❞ the woman says, fumbling with the unfamiliar name written on the timetable that she’s almost certain wasn’t there the day before.  He hums a little in recognition, bony elbow clattering against the table as he leans against it heavily.   ❝ I’ll connect you to him right away. ❞

[omimaitl]

[ RAXCITY ]

         ❝ WELL–YEAH, SO ?  who needs amps anyway, amiright ?  i mean, i’m not trying to be fancy or anything. just making use of what i’ve got, ya know ?  i think i sound pretty good ! ❞

     ❝ Certainly, the age-old and time-tested adage of ‘ I’ve peaked           my potential so I might as well become satisfied with the festering           level of failure I’m forever doomed to be accustomed to. ’ Just           puh-lucking at your worn out strings on that shabby old piece of           junk -- oh, I’m well aware that you’re not trying to amount to           anything. ❞

[omimaitl]

{ ;; raxcity }

      ❝ You do realize that you’re playing           the electric guitar ... and it’s not           plugged in, right ? ❞

[omimaitl]

ooc ; Hi im rebooting this blog after a year of no activity 

[omimaitl]

             -- NOT LONG FOR THIS WORLD. 

[omimaitl]

this blog is still alive...i just dont have many rps going on and i have school work. ill be on my other blogs though

[omimaitl]

     He’d done his research.  It’d be imprudently stupid to trapeze into an unfamiliar place populated by unfamiliar trouble had he not been adequately prepared to face them: listlessly pouring over tomes and delving deeper into the drying tributaries of less and less relevant information, he knows that this is the monk of the wind, or something similar, and his mastery of his art is lacking, thus giving him his lowly status.  The power of animation, life and death being pitted against a breeze or two, he thinks, is hardly a fair fight. 

     He promptly leaves, abiding by his request, only to reappear and manifest out of the humid air and thick, vast emptiness behind Raimundo, abusing teleportation and tearing a hole through the literal bowels of space, time and all planes just to get a laugh—and he certainly does laugh, as if he’s never heard a better joke, as if filmy pieces of his throat don’t slough off in the process.  “Nevermind that.  I’ll show myself around.”

風—          raimundo glared and released a groaned at this guy’s attitude,       just what the hell was his problem?      “I don’t give a fuck whatever you think of me,        and I’m not shutting up to a creepy guy that        comes to my home trying to enter like the high        bitch in charge of the place.”        He took a defensive stance.             “With that being said you better leave because I’m not getting       out of the way, get out of the temple.”

[omimaitl]

[omimaitl]

     "You know," he rectifies, words drudged from his decomposing lungs in a halfhearted drawl, "providing unnecessary information that I didn't inquire for--especially if it pertains to you--is a sign of burgeoning narcissism.  With that being said, be silent, and shut up."

     He laughs with thrilling scorn; the jejune quality of his quasi-threatening words is only amplified by the fact that it's coming from someone half his height, and he likes to think that this isn't as much an obstacle as it is the half-time entertainment.  "Let me tell you," he sighs, "it sucks to die young: I'd know.  I'm in a good mood.  Out of my way."

風—           “ok, first of all, I’m not a child and Raimundo’s the name,        second I didn’t worked my ass off to get these Sheng        gong Wu in the past years just to show them at any        stranger that came to temple, they are not souvenirs,        so unless you actually have a good reason I’m not               telling you where they are.”

[omimaitl]

[omimaitl]

     "Aw.  I'm hurt.  Didn't anyone ever teach you to mind your manners around royalty?  But maybe I just ought to take you for prisoner in the meantime--after all, it makes for pretty good incentive."

     "Nevermind that.  I'd rather cut off my ears than listen to you whine.  Plan B, then, I'll just make myself at home," he decides, concealing any indication of ailment in his rotting, teenage body with the illusion of fluid movement courtesy of his flowing cape--Jasmine's room isn't decorated to befit his tastes, but a seat is a seat, and he finds that an ugly, overstuffed cushion suffices for a more befitting throne.

     "So, I'm thinking," he says, lazy gesture to the left shutting the curtains and more purposeful nod towards the right shutting the doors with a resounding slam, "about redecorating the place.  I'm loving darkening Agrabah's doorstep, by the way.  Maybe this suits you?  No?  What about this?" he mocks, dimming lights, peeling wallpaper, tarnishing silver and decaying wood.  

     “You’ve no business with Aladdin of any sort, I’m        afraid. Even more, the likelihood of surrender from        Agrabah is less likely to exist than your honor.”

[omimaitl]

     He reminisces on his long, personal history of unfortunate associations with wolves and wolf-like creatures: they are most definitely annoying, dumb as their domesticated counterparts, and more so a burdensome nuisance than an actual functioning gear in the complex machinery of his ever-growing list of schemes.  He wouldn't dare deign himself to actually interact with it on any level of even ground, but filmy shreds of morality flutter about in his heart valves and promptly strangle any intent of killing it. 

     "Roll over, sit, get lost, whatever," he drawls, aristocratic vocalization strained with the effort to keep an even tone rather than simply shout: indicating with his hand that'd he'd rather it be anywhere but here, he snaps his fingers impatiently.  "Shoo!"

omimaitl

                [Having his prey half eaten already, the 3 meters tall wolf looked right in the eyes of the stranger that stepped in, in the middle of his diner.                 The wolf licked his mouth full of blood, staring right into the eyes of the stranger]

[omimaitl]

imezzotica : (NAHUATL), noun, to make use of blood.

                                   7+ years  of writing  experience  and  5+  of                                    roleplaying experience, specifically — makes                                    use  of  100x100  icons  and writes in script,                                    novella,   any   form,   etc.   prolific  and  also                                    mediocre and annoying  philosophy   student.

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[omimaitl]

[omimaitl]

     "Listen--

          I've come an awful long way to this revolting                hovel of a temple and I'm not apt to turn back                just because a child denied me access.  I'm                not above obliterating you and showing myself                around--so I'll say it once more:                 Where are the 'shen gong wu?'"

omimaitl

風—            “yeah…no, that sounds like a terrible idea.”

[omimaitl]

Mexico (2014)

[omimaitl]

     "Funny, then, isn't it, that oh-so-sinful greed and avarice are the two traits I owe to my immortality?  After all, I wouldn't be alive today if it wasn't for an insatiable appetite for getting what's due--I'd be dead, forgotten, tripe, you name it," he mocks, gleeful jeers lighting up his pallor and emanciated expression, steam-whistle cackle pried loose from his typically stoic, deadpan voice at the sheer absurdity of this man's desperately pious virtue.  He's had enough of manufactured interpretations of morality; he sees, rather, what is useful and what is an obstruction.

     He's dragged himself through a thousand years of pestilence and plague only to be reminded that he's not doing enough for his fellow man.  He scowls with indignant frustration and tugs at the collar of his runway-fresh shirt, glam diffusing like a miasma from his pores and drudged breaths.  

     "If you want to be a good samaritan, fine by me.  Have fun being stepped on and used--the only reason you feel obliged to help others is because you don't have anything better to do.  That's what this whole living forever thing does to you," he snaps, Versace sunglasses withdrawn from his breast pocket and deftly placed over his eyes, "it makes you think too much."

    « Getting ahead, as you say, is not exactly my goal. »       Nicholas watches the other man, now less with curiosity and more with slight disdain. He has no patience for immortals who waste their eternity seeking power, and he never has. Greed is a natural condition, and while he can forgive it in small quantities (and much was small to the 600-year-old), he often finds himself loathing those who become obsessed and crazed with their want of wealth and control.     « Too many good men have fallen victim to selfishness or materialism - men with great potential or immense skill. It turns kind men into monsters, intelligent men into fools, and merciful men into killers. And, I may as well add, most such men are now dead. »