#deathchasing

[simulamortem]

@deathchasing

The place had been cleaned up since he was last here. At least THE FIRST FLOOR, anyway, probably for the sake of making this auction presentable or whatever.

It was busier than he'd thought it would be.

The crowd stank of Psamathe. Dressed to impress, glasses of champagne shimmering in the lights. There were some younger groups here than might normally be at an event like this, probably FANS. There were familiar faces his programming tagged as Syndicate, too. Maybe he'd pick a few off on his way out.

The simulacrum was DRESSED for the sake of a bit of discretion - but his height always stood out in a crowd, and whoever looked long enough to notice his face beneath his hood, cap, and mask fell deathly QUIET and sometimes very pale. Although he wasn't in a suit, his attire didn't stand out too badly due to the variety of styles present.

His was something more akin to techwear. All black, with lean pants and hooded jacket fitted with canvas straps and pouches. His hands and feet were bare, his pants fastened open around the machinery of his inner thighs just as the slacks of his suits were - and like in his suits, his jumpkit and pauldrons were removed to achieve a human silhouette. With his head covered, a black mask over half his face, and optics dimmed, Revenant was, at a GLANCE, not immediately recognizable.

He ghosted between clusters of meatbags just as he did at Apex events. Eventually settled in a seat on one of the staircases overlooking the lobby, leaned with his arms resting on his knees and fingers laced together, and finally spotting Silva making up some AUTOGRAPHS near the buffet table. Revenant watched, unmoving.

[voltaage]

Please Dont Leave My Side Prompts

@deathchasing asked: things are easier with you.

      It helped that the engineer was something of a genius. Anything that worked with electricity-- which was most things-- could be understood by Wattson, given enough time. Any technical problem suddenly became nothing but a minor hiccup once within her grasp, and this time was no different.

      "I try my best, mon ami! Always happy to help!" Natalie cheerfully replied as she crawled back out from under Octavio's desk, dragging her travel tool box belatedly behind her. Once she was free to stand without fear of hitting her head, she did so, and turned to her fellow Legend with a wide, sparkling grin.

      "It seems the wiring in your outlet came loose. It's fixed now, so you should be able to game uninterrupted again." Natalie explained cheerfully as she glanced back to the set up in question. She didn't know how Octavio fit so many monitors into such a small space on the drop ship.

[soulscursed]

penned by  @deathchasing —

❛ you inspire me to be better! a better “what” is up for interpretation. (person? arsonist? alien?) ❜ 

there are few things that the doctor deems worthy of attention outside of his work, and beyond the pristine and hallowed walls of his laboratory. Attention worthy, a junkie is not.

A common story of attention-starved adolescence giving way to adulthood oppositional disorders and deviancy, and a predictable result of paternal failings — perhaps. But credit must be given where it is due. Octane's defiance, carved from such trivial deprivations, is nothing if not persevering.

When pestering Caustic throughout their few shared matches was not enough, Octane had set his sights beyond the arena. Caustic rarely leaves his lab unattended; it had been locked tight before the match, with little else of interest but a singular, innocuous gradual reaction left to run its gradual course securely in his absence.

He was not anxious — not like some paranoiacs amongst them, so self-important as to make productions of fortifying themselves behind steel walls and security protocols. But he was vigilant, as any academic with delicate projects should be.

Despite it all, there was Octavio Silva, grinning widely from where he'd perched on one of the lab's stools to await its overseer's return. Giddy with pride at his successful break-in, and perfectly oblivious to his unwanted presence, he peers across the room at Caustic expectantly.

Impractical a man as Silva was ( a child, really. ), even he has his own well-practised methodologies. His specialities lay less in the applied sciences, and more in deriving pleasure from poking and prodding at his colleagues. A goal without purpose, at first glance. But one needed little data about Silva to know that, for him, attention proved as effective a drug as adrenaline.

Regardless of the facts, some Legends proved more receptive to Silva's techniques than others. And as much as Caustic minded his personal property, he was not among them. He would not reward misconduct with the sort of outburst Octane sought. But, he supposes, a compliment warrants a response.

( After all, Miss Nox did not raise an uncivilised vagrant. )

" And yet. Given the source of your inspirations, your ambitions prove... "

The words sour his tongue, curling thin lips into a sneer that remains unseen beneath the mask. " ... rather lacking. "

He scans the laboratory for something amiss. Nothing out of place or visibly broken. Small mercies — though it does little to ease the doctor's weariness. Even under close scrutiny, men like Octane have their ways of leaving unscrupulous messes behind them, left unseen to fester until the grisly consequences bloom.

" Well ? I don't suppose you broke into my property just to sing my praises. "

Perhaps too much credit. It was likely Octane enlisted help for the actual break-in. Even more likely that he'd pawned the dirty work off on whoever ended up becoming his little helper. Caustic files away a mental reminder to find names — they must be dealt with, properly.

[falskihundr]

@deathchasing asked: ☼

[[ HEADCANON PROMPTS ]]

" My muse’s first memory. (Where it was, who was with them, how this memory makes them feel, e.t.c.) "

Bloodhound's earliest memory is the death of their father; of watching him run, futile, from the avalanche and failing to escape it. The helplessness of being able to do anything to stop it. The hopelessness of being trapped within their parent's home, for days, until Artur came and dug them out.

They try not to think of it, but it comes to them in sleep, sometimes. When they allow themself a rest deep enough to dream. Perhaps another reason why they try to sleep as light as possible, whenever they can.

They are certain there are other memories that came before. Happier ones, surely. But if they ever existed, they were buried a long time ago alongside their parents.

Besides the avalanche, the clearest of their earliest memories is the first year they lived with Artur. Not yet a decade old, watching him restring his bow after returning from a hunt. They had been anxious, the first time he left them in the village, that he wouldn't return. But he had.

And there was something so calming about sitting on the porch with him, watching the technical aspects of repairing a tool they barely understood the purpose of yet. Artur told them the names of the individual parts, and they drank it in with the undivided fascination that children are known for.

It's a very benign memory, but a fond one.

[aithusarosekiller]

James: I AM BEGGING YOU

Reg: no.

James: but-

Barty: Jay, we can't get a dog, we don't have the space

James: turns to Evan with puppy eyes

Evan: ...........

James: .....Ev?

Evan: ......

Barty: Evan don't give in

Reg: EVAN SAY NO

James, holding up a puppy: we can call him pebbles

Evan: ............fine

Reg: OH FOR-

Barty: EVAN YOU CAN'T GIVE IN TO EVERYTHING HE SAYS

Evan: he did the puppy eyes guys

James: squealing with joy

[shattersstar]

meier link, fallen.

unmade - thom yorke // vampire hunter d: bloodlust - yoshiaki kawajiri // persephone - tamino // i, carrion (icarion) - hozier // the fallen angel - alexandre cabanel // meier link art - mindy lee

[nikolai-alexi]

really trying to decide if I should join rskc fest 2023 or not. like I want to, but I’m afraid imma join and submit a prompt and then immediately get writers block panic bc the submissions are due in a couple days and then I won’t submit anything. but god I really want to write more rskc content like “weekend” and “3x3”. i just love them sm

[strixessabre]

Your favorite D has arrived

( Strixes' Sabre )

[retrocgads]

UK 1985

[mydearaloysius]

[simulamortem]

@deathchasing

Maybe he should've looked a long time ago. But the things did seem to be relatively recent; and when it came to mods, he had always favored the hardware side of things over the software.

He generally wasn't interested in throwing any more PROGRAMMING into the mix, if he could help it.

But this was only temporary, and he was willing to give it a try. If something went wrong, or he just didn't like it, the effects were scheduled to wear off by morning. Or at worst, he could have Silva KILL HIM AGAIN.

The beast slipped down into the room from the same open vent as before. Moved immediately for the sofa, pausing to conduct a brief search for the TV REMOTE before dropping into a seat. A small slat at the bottom of his chest opened to produce a padded tray - which Revenant plucked what looked like a black, ordinary little data drive from.

[clubstyleeurope]

#cse • @clubstyle_uae #fxdp #dynas #sportster #hd #dynadisciples #streetbobmob #fxdw #usa #tsport #dynadi #roadglide #bike #softail #dynaclubstyle #deathmachine #supportdynamitecrew #deathchaser #uae #dynaworld #racingbros #thrashinsupply #clubstylemexico #dubairiders #riders #harleysofinstagra #harleydavidsonmotorcycles #findyourfreedom #dubai https://www.instagram.com/p/ClgMeHjoD3y/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[babylonbirdmeat]

I deserve a coffin or perhaps even a casket not just for sleeping in but for fucking in

[dventelador]

CHarlotte anD MeiER LINK DESERVE BETTER MAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNN WTF i now declare the ending of Vampire Hunter D: Demon Deathchase as non canon. thank you

[falskihundr]

[ bloody ] !

This was . . . a shock. Not that Octavio had managed to get himself into some situation that resulted in personal injury. No, that was a daily--if not hourly--occurrence.

But that he had sought Bloodhound, of all people, out for aid? That was unexpected. Neither of them were particularly close, and Bloodhound's feelings were . . . complicated. They did not blame the son for the sins of the father, but- well, it was impossible to ignore Octavio's involvement with the Syndicate.

"Ah, Octane," they stammered, after a moment of staring from their doorway. "Here, félagi, let me assist you."

Quickly, the hunter pulled a roll of gauze from one of the satchels draped across their chest, moving closer to staunch however much of the bleeding that they could. "Are you in trouble? Is there anything I can do?"

[aithusarosekiller]

RSKC in 1977

Barty: wdym? I could absolutely outlive you all!

James: nah you're way too impulsive

Regulus: you'll probably be the first to die

Evan: oh absolutely

Barty in 1981, with tears in his eyes: suck on that, bitches