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With the dimensional displacements not yet showing signs of slowing, and research forever futile on how to leave (besides those who simply vanish, falling back through the invisible curtain), it's impossible to say who might arrive and how they might shape this fragile series of lands, eras and cultures. Good luck out there.
Site premise was formed by the original staff of Gossamer - Alida, Prince, Rebecca, Morgan, and Tera, who created the dimensions of Elestis, Hialao, Parse, Barrows, and Wildewall, respectively. Additionally, Tethya was the result of a site event and was created by a former member, Velvet.
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PERMALINK // POSTED ON: Nov 13 2016, 04:29 PM
It wasn’t very interesting to wait around like this. Really, he had nothing to do. People-watching, he supposed, was a decent pass of time - at least here in the Barrows. There were all kinds of colourful folks to watch. He could see which ones were almost ready to snap, which ones already had, which ones were just the poor suckers that got themselves in this shithole by accident, those that had no choice. Everyone had their tells. He’d put mental markers on a few, the ones that would be most likely to jump at the chance for a war. There were obviously a few things each of them had in common; not well off, shitty neighbourhood, gang lifestyle, and especially those living in what was called the Edges. For such an uninteresting name for a place, there was so much flavour there. So much voice. That was a place that had personality. A rel reputation. So much so that even other locals kept away from it if they could. Except the real danger-seekers, the adventurers out for a thrill. Oh, and the idiots, but those ones didn’t tend to come back out. Not the way they came in, anyway.
Oh, Satou was laying low. He was behaving. He was cooperating just fine, playing his role to a perfect T. Little old man living alone in the remains of the estate he’d managed to purchase on what little he had, he was but an old feeble man after all. It wasn’t pretty, not at all. It was a shoddy little place , one level - no upstairs, no basement. Four rooms. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen-dining and then the back room which he’d converted into a game room. Little old man, little old house, helpless, hopeless, useless, but friendly. That was all people needed to know. He was, though, running a little operation of his own out of the Edges. Far enough away that his own property couldn’t remotely be connected to the operator of this place - and he always took the path through the main commerce areas, so if anyone happened to spot him, they wouldn’t even bat an eye. Just a little old man out for his round of shopping. But he’d make his way through, pass his way into the Edges, and find his way to the crappy old warehouse. He always brought a tagalong with him, someone who was out for adventure. He would assess them along the way.Judge them for their use. Were they at all useful to him, did they have skills he could use in the future? No?
...It was when that answer was a no that they found their way to the back room of the warehouse.
Satou had, in his time here, learned something utterly fascinating. The ordinary did not die. Oh, he knew they weren’t Ajin. Because when they did come back, there was no black matter that regenerated their flesh. It just knit itself back together - at least, to a degree that the wounds became nonfatal.He’d learned that when he shot a man, and the bullet hadn’t gone through his skull. He’d been utterly fascinated, mystified, even. And it was ultimately what had him try out his little experiment. As long as a wound inflicted was nonfatal, it happened just the same as it normally would. He could chop off fingers, for example, or an entire limb. Eyes plucked, tongues, skin….skin was harder, if he wanted to get it perfectly. He couldn’t mar it at all, and people did squirm around a lot, and frankly, he wasn’t a surgeon; he didn’t have the steadiest hands for fine work like that.
Little was known about the warehouse except that there were shipments that went out to the black market every week or two, depending on the demand. The gang that had taken Satou - yeah, taken, made prisoner, in a sense, but that was of course by design - didn’t seem to have put any of the clues together either, which worked in his favour for now. At least they didn’t keep him confined anywhere; he just had to go in when he was called for. An old military vet had his uses, after all, weary and battle-worn though he made himself out to be.
Truth be told his blood was on fire every time they had him do a job.
This time it was a little different. He wasn’t out on a hit this time - no suicide bombs, not that those ever affected him anyway. Nah, he was just supposed to go pick up some punk who’d showed in their territory. He’d been subdued and they wanted some lackey to bring him in - set him up for the fights. Who better than him to bring in a punk hero? An old man taking him in to fight for his life….that was humiliation at its finest. And really, though he put on the facade of disgust, he really liked it. He was off on his way to find the little shit now, armed with just one handgun, just in case, and looking as worn as ever. Milk it for what it’s worth.
How fun would this one be?
PERMALINK // POSTED ON: Nov 22 2016, 01:16 AM
@SAMUEL T. OWEN
He was considered a selfish person. People had told him all the time that he was a coward that only really cared for himself before his fight with the Pillar Men. Other students had known him as the jolly jokester who everyone liked, but no one could get too close to. After all, he was from the famous and prestigious Joestar family line, a family that had roots with the mighty Speedwagon Foundation. He was a child who grew up with a silver spoon up his ass.
It was the hand he had been dealt, and he had only realized how good he had had it later, when he lost friends and part of his peace of mind to an evil that was adamant about taking over the world. Joseph now always wondered, why the hell had he been the one who had been spared?
Cowardly. Selfish. Run and scheme and run some more. Win the fights by dancing around them. You have no honor.
But some people didn't realize that he did have compassion. The first time he had come across bullies roughing up a younger student in grade school, he had intended to walk away. He couldn't get into fights, especially not with the clothes that Granny Erina had just bought him. But before he turned the corner, he felt his fists clench and his teeth grit. The poor kid was sobbing. It hadn't sat well with him at all in the end to just walk away.
You see, he didn't like fighting because he was selfish, and he was all about survival, so he always came up with some ridiculous plan to win his fights. He had thrown himself out there in the end, grabbing a nearby water bucket and hurling it at the guy closest to the victim. The others had been stunned long enough for him to grab the boy who had been crouched down, picking him clean up off the ground and taking off. He had hidden him behind the bushes, winking before running out into the fields for the bullies to chase.
Granny Erina and Speedwagon both hadn't been amused by the school's headmaster giving them a call about finding Joseph in the midst of a brawl. It was the first time he had ended up battered, bruised, and hurting. He hated the feeling. Would he have done differently next time? Of course. He would find a way to make better use of his surroundings, not just that bucket.
This situation kind of reminded him of that first time. He really hadn't thought things through, had he? No matter. The best he could do was nurse his wounds. But...these wounds were beyond his healing.
Hamon had healing properties, but he was sure one of the blows with the crowbars had cracked a rib. His head still spun from the concussion he had gotten from the bat, so he wasn't thinking straight enough to tell. He couldn't control his breathing to create Hamon due to the pain of his lungs pressing against cracked bones. He had no way of soothing his own pain.
They dragged him, one man each hauling one of his arms over their shoulders. One of them was complaining how he was so heavy as he drifted in and out of consciousness. And then they suddenly dumped him down onto the cool, smooth concrete of some garage. Joseph all but faceplanted, letting out a soft and agonized groan as he slowly tried to roll off of his heavily injured side onto his back.
On of the men grabbed him roughly by the wrist, yanking him across the ground. Joseph put up little to know resistance. He was exhausted, and he needed his strength if he was going to formulate a plan. He felt something tighten uncomfortably around his wrists, and he blinked the haze out of his eyes, noting the zipties that now latched him to the piping stuck on the wall.
He didn't respond to the taunts of the men as they nudged him with their feet. He just pretended he had passed out. The men left, still grumbling, as Joseph carved each and every one of their words into his mind. How dare they. He was going to ruin them the moment he got the chance. For now he would just...rest.
PERMALINK // POSTED ON: Nov 26 2016, 02:20 PM
The ground crunched underfoot from all the tiny, miniscule bits of glass, dirt, trash and dog shit that got pounded to dust and rarely cleaned. Not that he cared all that much, not really. He just let his feet take him towards the address the mooks had given him. It was down a street he knew pretty well - then again, he knew most of these streets now. This one was an absolute shithole, even more so than a lot of the others. They really took him to the gutter here. He happened to know that there were three buildings here that belonged to his gang; a warehouse that housed a third of their ammunitions supplies, a club that made them decent money and had pretty cheap under the table deals for various drugs, and a garage that for the moment was mostly empty - it was just storage space; they had some booze there in boxes up above but as far as he knew that was it. Probably a few hundred packs of smokes if he had to guess, too. And right now, it housed a stupid ass hero wannabe.
But, he had to get into character. He was on the stage. He was playing the part. Satou’s face was grim, sullen, his lips downturned, his eyes sunken, tired bags underneath that were actually the most honest part about him. His steps were small and he had a slight shudder in his right leg every now and again to feign the appearance of someone who was recovering from an injury, or someone who had naturally weak knees. His right arm was pulled close against himself - closed-off posture that indicated anxiety and a desire to withdraw inside himself. He was an anxious old man who wanted nothing to do with any of this. He took slow, painstakingly slow steps towards the garage. There was one man with him, a twenty-somethinger idiot lackey who had accompanied him and, if he moved too slowly, would probably knock the old man to the ground. He wanted to put on a good show, so he’d make sure that happened.
He grabbed the metal handle of the large, old garage door and started struggling to lift it, bending and pulling with...well, definitely not his full strength; truth be told he could have lifted the door with ease, but he needed to seem feeble. The door shuddered and groaned as he tried to push it upward, but finally MacAvoy became tired with the old man, shoving him to the side. Satou let out a loud yelp and tumbled down, MacAvoy lifting the garage door the rest of the way. ”Go in there and get the fuck, you retarded bag of bones.” Satou struggled to his knees, eyes wide, staring into the largely empty space. He started to struggle up, but found hands grasping his shoulders, lifting him and pushing him through the door. He let out another yelp, stumbling forward, his feet moving faster than the rest of his body as he nearly fell a second time, catching himself with his hands, though the skin was rubbed raw. He took a moment to collect himself, swallowing thickly and rising to his feet in full again, eyes going to the young man who was awkwardly ziptied to the post. They really could have done a better job….if the point was to keep him here, they weren’t trying very hard. So much was just left to the hope that they’d injured him enough that he wouldn’t get up - neither of his legs looked broken, what were they thinking? If he did manage to escape, he shouldn’t have his legs available at all. They should have at least snapped them at the knees and shattered his ankles.
Satou’s eyes lit with concern as he peered at the young man, adjusting his cap just slightly. ”....I’m sorry…” he wheezed, the words left hanging in the air - the young lad could assume they were meant for himself, or meant as a quiet, fearful apology to the brute that had pushed him inside. He tried a tired smile as he stepped towards the young man, even as MacAvoy’s voice rang out - ”The fuck are you dawdling for old man? I said pick him up and go. Do I need to drag you both?” Good, good. Play it up even more. Satou swallowed again, shrinking in on himself before standing tall as he looked up at the battered gent. ”....I’m going to be moving you to another location. Please cooperate.” He started to work on releasing the man, keeping his posture closed and concerned, his expressions wary. Look the part.
PERMALINK // POSTED ON: Jan 7 2017, 07:08 PM
@SAMUEL T. OWEN
These guys were true idiots. he was missing a hand and he had been zip-tied by the wrists. If he really tried, he could easily pull his handless arm out, but then he'd be in a bit of a pickle. He didn't want to get punished for trying to escape. If he was really going to escape, then he was going to do it correctly. He had a plan for getting one arm out, and the other hand he could possibly slip out of by using Hamon. He had the issue that he didn't know where he was, though, not to mention he was heavily injured.
That kid had stabbed his leg, and he wasn't sure how much weight he could put on it. Additionally, he was sure one of his ribs were cracked, so running long distances wasn't an option. He'd pass out, and breathing hurt. Then there was the extra bonus that he didn't know where the hell he was. His only chance would be if there was some cargo shipment in a truck or something and he managed to get in without being noticed.
Before he could formulate a proper plan, the garage door was lifted, and Joseph slowly shifted onto his good side so he could see what was going on. There was a commotion, and then, suddenly, an old man came stumbling in so fast he almost fell.
"Hey...." Joseph struggled to sit up immediately at seeing him struggle. He shot a glare at the guy at the door. "Take it easy, will ya?"
Of course, he was ignored. Anger sparked inside of him as he glanced at the man cowering next to him. He looked to be around Speedwagon's age. What was an old dude like him doing here? He could already guess that the poor man didn't want any part of this. He probably had had no choice.
Joseph glanced at the old man as he spoke up, and he gave him his cheeriest smile, all teeth. "Sure."
He didn't want him to get into trouble at this point. He didn't deserve that. These bastards were gonna pay for picking on the elderly. He couldn't run. He'd have to find some other opportunity. So for now, he'd be good...
Joseph slowly got to his feet as he was finally freed. His sides were sore from the beating he had received, and his legs were quivering. He wasn't sure how long he could stay standing. But he had to. Moving along gingerly towards the door, he nodded to the old man. "Look, I don't know what someone like you is doing here, but I'll behave."
PERMALINK // POSTED ON: Jan 17 2017, 06:49 PM
Mmm….a simple hero. That was the first judgement Satou made of this man - no, no. Boy. He was well-built, yes, but he was no more than a boy; he could see it in his eyes. He was naive, young and naive. He didn’t look like he was all that young because of his impossibly muscular build, but his behaviour certainly betrayed him. Regardless, even if he was adult in age, Satou certainly surpassed him even then. So he was, in all cases, a boy. Hm, which meant that this act would fit rather well for him. He’d buy it. The feeble old man who was unfortunately trapped in this state because of sad, sad circumstances - he’d want to help poor old Satou, wouldn’t he?
He kept his head down at first - not to hide anything, really, but just to feed in the image of the fearful old man. He wasn’t just playing the act for the boy, after all - this entire group really thought they’d coerced a poor old gentleman into their ranks. “A useful pawn” or something like that - which he’d normally commend them for, but the poor sacks didn’t realize that they were the pawns to his end; a useful cover story, really. Though, he was beginning to grow tired of them; they weren’t what he was looking for - they weren’t interested in pushing the walls, in stirring chaos. They were boring, guarded little shits who only cared about their meagre territory. And while it was efficient, it wasn’t fun. He couldn’t use them to start a war. Some of the members, sure, he could twist them enough to become violent but….it’d only be a short-lived fire before they were snuffed.
Satou the old kind gentleman gave a little smile as the young lad they had captured agreed to cooperate. He bowed his head deeply in thanks, cringing at another stream of ”fuckin old sack, get him and come back here!” - though really he found their insults colourful and even entertaining. “Old sack”. That was fun. He liked that one. The lad spoke then, his voice softer and kinder now that he was addressing Satou. He started to lead the way back towards the others, head bowed to conceal his frown - from them; the boy would be able to see it, certainly. ”....Not much choice. I’m certainly in no position to fight them as I am…” He gave a rueful smile. ”I think they take pleasure in it...having an old man like me be the one to parade you around. You’re young and strong. Please, don’t let them get to you…”
”Shut the fuck up, you old man or I’ll shove your hat down your fucking throat.”
….Mmmm….now if they did that, then he really would get mad.
PERMALINK // POSTED ON: Feb 16 2017, 03:11 AM
@SAMUEL T. OWEN
Honestly, the more he looked at this old man, the more he thought about Granny Erina and Old Man Speedwagon back at home. God, he missed them, and this situation made him want to punch these thugs in the teeth all the more. They had to be next-level shitbags to have involved someone unwilling, much less the elderly. He probably couldn't even defend himself.
"Dude, chill!" Joseph fired back at the thug cursing away at the door. Honestly, if Caesar were here, he'd probably help him clean out his mouth with soap.
As he turned back to regard Satou, he turned his words over in his head. There had to be a way to get him out of this...
"I'm Joseph, Joseph Joestar, by the way. My friends call me Jojo." He had to at least get introductions out of the way. "As for letting them get to me, they won't, but I'm certainly not just gonna let this go. I'm gonna get out. And hopefully, I can come back and help you."
And they were interrupted yet again. Joseph scowled, rising to his full height despite his grievous injuries to face the thug who had threatened Satou.
"Just tell me where I need to go already or keep your insults to yourself," he snapped.
PERMALINK // POSTED ON: Apr 1 2017, 07:01 AM
This one had a kind heart. He was quick to come to the defense of an elderly man like himself; in truth it was a disappointment. Oh, he played his part, and he would continue to play his part, but his analysis of the young man was only proving to disappoint him. The kind-hearted would do him no good. Even if his blood ran hotly, he was a man with a conscience; that was enough to label him a failure in all senses. Or….all but one, perhaps; by his musculature he was clearly strong. He had his uses then as a pawn.
A pawn named Joseph Joestar. Or...Jojo. Now, that was a cute little nickname. But, not particularly clever; using an alliteration from his name wasn’t particularly creative or interesting. At least “the Hat” had some slight charm - he could be physically identified and spoken of with a whisper of mystery. There was no defining feature to “Jojo”. But, perhaps its blandness worked in his favour. After all - to be recognized as “the Hat” was just as much a hindrance; it was why he was, to a degree, glad to be in a new place, a new beginning. But for his purposes….he rather hoped he would be recognized. Not yet, of course, but when he was able to stand on top of the Barrows and the war that was unfolding.
War was unfolding. It was just going more slowly than he might have hoped. And he still needed to find a legitimate way to leave this gang….they weren’t quite what he was looking for, not at all. He needed more drive - they were too cautious. There were rumours of another gang, though, and that brought some slight intrigue. Of course, he would hold his judgement until he’d met them.
”Sa….Satou….you may call me Satou.” Samuel T. Owen, from which the anagram “Satou” was derived. He never said that “Satou” was particularly unique, either. He gave the lad a crinkly-eyed frown, one that feigned concern. It was very likely that when - if - the lad got out, he wouldn’t return to find Satou; he had other plans, and they didn’t involve waiting on foolish boys to save him. Certainly not this one. The very fact his aim was to return to save him only ruled him further away from usefulness; if he was to make use of this boy he would have to find those close to him, use them as incentive. He did not have the heart for war. His was for friends and family.
There was a huff from the other man, one that Satou was sure to flinch from, just for good measure. ”Where you’re going?” His face twisted then, sickly and menacing. ”You’ll see. Let the old fuck lead the way like we damnwell told him to.” There was a pause as the man leered at Satou and he lowered his head accordingly. ”And not a word about it from you. Just walk. Don’t talk. That’s it.”
Satou didn’t raise his head, but he nodded. He knew where they were going, of course; the boy was going to fight in one of the Barrows’ uglier rings. It would certainly be interesting to see how he fared - if, by chance, they could force his hand - force him into a situation that made him desperate enough - perhaps he would be able to use this boy to his ends. He did have his doubts, though; someone with a heart as soft as his…..no.
They were going to devour him.
Quietly, Satou began moving again, slowly, carefully - timidly. He had to play it up, after all. This was all about deceit on two ends. ”If you will follow me please….”